#unless I go full mental breakdown and like get hospitalized i at least need to finish the semester

[victorianboyfriend]

i don’t think i can do this anymore seriously

[samble-moved]

reminder that homura is a middle schooler. she is 13 or 14 years old, depending on source. she is not old enough to drive or have a permit. she is not old enough to live on her own (it's implied her parents are out of the picture in some way — in the US she'd need to be in adoptive or foster care, or at least have a guardian or social worker, but this appears to be handwaved in the series and none are ever shown). she cannot vote. she is not old enough to get a job (earliest i've seen is 14 in the US, and that's usually in not great environments, in summer, and for low pay and short hours). she is only "independent" in the sense that it's forced upon her by lack of any adult support — nobody helps her fill out school transfer forms, she lives alone, she has no shown family or even mentions of relatives, nobody visits her in the hospital, etc.

i say this because a lot of "anti homura" arguments act as if this information doesn't exist, and that homura is "actually an adult" or at the same level as one due to looping. she canonically is not. her brain and physical body are not developing, she is only learning walpurgis tactics and memorizing test answers. her brain is not developing so she's not "mentally 26", like is often claimed by "homura is a predator" truthers. i'm not even going to touch on how weird and borderline creepy it is to say "she's a child but so mature for her age (from extreme, repeated, potentially pre-series trauma), so she must be an adult and can be treated like one".

there is a reason that children are typically tried differently in the US. unless "tried as an adult" for very serious crimes, it is widely accepted that children (and even young adults) are more impulsive, think less rationally, and are generally "less responsible" for their actions due to not having the experiences of a full grown adult. children are less mature, more prone to "overreaction" and panic, and are immature — because they are kids.

homura is a child. she also has extreme trauma, potentially from before the series even began (where are her parents? are they just neglectful? dead? why isn't there even a single adult helping her?) that is never helped or addressed. homura doesn't get help for any issues she has (obvious ptsd and depression, borderline delusions over the past being "just a dream" in wraith arc). she is not some spoiled, rich, mentally stable almost-adult who's never faced a consequence. she is a young and traumatized teenager, young enough to be a middle schooler, and has experienced:

neglectful, absent, missing, or dead family/parents

watching her friends die horrifically almost a hundred times

having zero adult support at all, no caseworker or help

bullying, half being because she's disabled

having her soul ripped from her body without consent and learning if she ever loses her soul gem (or god forbid accidentally drops it somewhere), her body will basically be "dead"

learning she and all her friends turn into eldritch horrors when they die, a process shown in rebellion to be something they are aware for (aka the horror that witches aren't "just" bodies being moved, they are actively and constantly suffering and aware to some degree the whole time)

learning that the witches they fight are girls around their age who fell into despair, and not purposeless monsters

learned of the prospect that witches can potentially "regrow" via familiars, thus if their consciousness transfers, this shows the possibility of literally eternal suffering as the witch is "reborn"

realization that, the more she tries to save madoka, the worse the situation gets

having a full on breakdown with delusions in wraith arc, thinking maybe madoka was all just a hallucination or a dream she had

finding out in rebellion it wasn't a dream, but then thinking she betrayed madoka by not stopping her from contracting

becoming a witch whose whole theme is based around suicide and wanting and waiting to die, but not being able to

being a witch whose familiars are malicious towards her and belittle her

trying to "fix" her believed betrayal of madoka by making a new world, ending up hated by sayaka and isolated from her friends

is still stuck as a witch while the last event happens!!! (her soul gem is never shown purified)

all of this while she is 13-14.

homura is not some cruel adult playing god because she is bored and likes the power trip and wants the world to burn. she is a deeply traumatized and mentally ill child who never got help. she is not a predator — and i honestly don't know if that is more of a "she's a predator because she's the most openly sapphic" or "she's a predator because she's traumatized and thus 'acts weird' due to trauma" belief nowadays in most anti-homura spaces, i've seen both. she is not a murderer or rapist or whatever else i've seen (yes, "homura is a sexual predator" claims exist, despite this never once even being implied). she is not an abuser — you can argue she's cold or rude, but she is not "an abuser".

if a child like homura existed irl (and they do exist), a professional's first thought would not be "this is an evil, irredeemable, abusive predator who can be treated like an adult", it'd likely be a reaction of horror and deep concern of "what happened to this child to make her act this way?". someone being "the perfect victim" — that is, being soft, demure, sweet, docile, flawless — in response to trauma is a harmful myth for a reason. some trauma victims will react with anger. some may be overly happy in an attempt to prevent further abuse. some, like homura, end up acting "cold" to try and avoid being further hurt. it doesn't mean homura doesn't experience emotion, hates her friends and wants them to suffer, is a predator, is "a bad person", etc.

think! when you write posts about how homura is actually an evil, awful, no good, very bad person with no positive traits, remember she is a middle schooler. of course, she's not a "real" child, and thus doesn't exist to have her feelings hurt over it, but consider this: would you say these things to/about a real child? are you aware that "real children" (often victims of trauma themselves) relate to homura due to this? i was one of them at 14ish, and while "homura is evil [for acting like a traumatized child often does]" discourse never left me particularly hurt, i know it does genuinely upset several people i know. and if you had, say, a real life child relative who acted "cold" after seeing their friends die horribly, would you call them an evil and irredeemable abuser as well?

[kazumahashimoto]

such a tragedy the anime fucked cheer danshi nearly beyond recognition like i don't even think necessarily the anime needed more time to stew because quite frankly the back half of the episodes adds so much meaningless nonsense with takeru and hisashi that it takes up soooo much valuable screentime that otherwise is meant to be dedicated to kazu. this is part of why i made an incomprehensive guide to cheer danshi so i could give direct comparisons like look how much more there is for them in the anime vs the original

and this doesn't even cover all the time the anime spent on creating a plotline out of nowhere where hisashi quits the team. like honestly i think twelve episodes Could Have worked fine, but they decided to give the first FIVE episodes of that to just the first volume of the manga. there's four volumes in the original (which the anime is still based around, go breakers updated the art style and changed some things but it's significantly shorter than the original), which would mean three episodes per volume. buuuut theoretically the last volume is the shortest one and Could get squished into two, honestly even one episode for the finale so there you go right there if you Absolutely needed the first five episodes to establish the main seven then that Could still work but then they chose to do absolutely NOTHING with the middle episodes like we still get sho's moment which is. fine? the original is so much more intimate with it though. BUT AT LEAST SHO GETS THE FULL EPISODE 😭 they sanction kazu's mental breakdown to the second half of the episode as a b plot and they rush through the entire thing so quickly so they can focus on haru for all the scenes where it's meant to emphasize how much distress kazu is in. the qualifiers get completely cut from the show (budget cuts i bet, cheerleading is hard to animate, BUT STILL, THEY CHANGED THE TIMELINE TO HAVE THIS AFTER KAZU'S BREAKDOWN), they cut out the scene where saku tries to confront kazu, haru is the only one that visits kazu in the hospital, instead of showing haru crying and holding kazu while kazu sobs but doesn't hug him back all we get is haru putting his hand on kazu's shoulder. they pushed new years for after the breakdown to give kazu a chance to reminisce on the good ol days with haru since watching the sunrise together has been a tradition for them since they were kids, where in the original kazu can't stand to be around everyone while he feels so hopeless so he leaves to be alone in a dark room while haru is fast asleep on the roof with everyone else watching the sky.

like they fucked it so bad!!!!! they coulda done it!!!!!!! but they had to focus on hisashi and takeru of all people. and haru, of course. i can't even get upset when people find cheer danshi boring cos like THE ANIME IS and the anime is the only thing accessible unless you wanna buy the untranslated mangas yourself like i did 😭 SHIT'S FUCKED BASICALLY.

[uwuowotf2waslife]

The mercs with an s/o who is on the autism spectrum? If you want to

 as a person with diagnosed autism( ASD that later changed to SCD but concidering my countrys lack of proper diagnosis and non-existant support when i was growing up, im not sure,it might was a result of chronic abuse or i was a really weird kid) its my duty to answer this ask,

always know that you are perfect with all your imperfections 

just because maybe your brain is wired different it doest make you less of a person

you are poetry

Scout

-my boy has adhd ( probably undiagnosed until he was examined by Medic) so you two might have a little problem at the begining.

-he might be the closest to a jack russel in human form, but he cares about you and is willing to sit down and do his research so he can understand you and your struggles. He isn’t a hypocrite, he is a hyperenergetic bundle of daddy issues and is sure he will annoy you from time to time, he annoys pretty much everyone except his mom on rare occasion, he is a hanfull and he knows that years now. But he also has come to understand that everyone has struggles and little things that make them more special than others.

-if you have problems with communication , he’ll be your mouth .Problems with sensory overstimulation? he will escort you to the safest place and hug you tighter than he thought hes capable of. People mistreating or bullying/insult you? the bat is in his hands and his ready to hit home runs on their balls. You might not be the perfect couple, you will struggle like every couple and have fights and arguments, but he is ready to phase every difficulty that comes on your way. He loves you and he is here for the ride even if its bumpy.

Soldier

-( I and i think a big part of the community claim he is actually autistic) Probably the most tricky of the mercs, since at one side he might completely relate/understand you and the relationship go smoother than soft butter on bread, or he might have problems communicating the relationship problems with you.

-as all relationships you two must sit down and communicate your problems. Believe me he isn’t mentally retarded ( a horrible misconsumption ive seen being thrown around), yes he is stubborn and can’t read social cues to save his life, but he is a loyal beefcake with a golden heart hardened by a lifitime of war. He knows he isn’t the perfect man, he has nightmares and panic attacks on the regualr after so much trauma in his life. But he also knows that if he S/O needs him, it doesnt matter if its a small or big thing, he is ready to go through hell and back to make them happier or more comfortable 

-you can’t stand loud noises? copy that privet, he will stop yelling/ screaming around you. Certain things make you uncomfortable/ anxious? hes at your side and he is ready to snap necks...you have his heart and his adoration, he ain’t a coward or a pansy, you’ll win over any challenge that comes your way like the absolute unit you are and he is there to assist

Pyro

-fresh from the start they can recognise you have autism, i lowkey think they might be ( actually in young adults asd and mild schizophrenia can be mixed and confused by not good qualified doctors, its been years since i read that study so correct me if im wrong) or have really good gut insticts. Either way, they know you are struggling and trie in subtle ways to help you

-did an important call without stuttering? hug and smooch on the crown of your head, completed all your work/homework? they will cover you in stickers and cuddle you in their pillowfort, stood up for yourself? my girl theyll make a huge cupcake tray and youll two will eat while watching sappy disney films

- you won’t struggle as much, i see them as more easy going than other members of the team. But they also have big issues that may create problems in the relationship that you both need  to work on. They are more than a handfull and they aren’t unaware of it, they spended years locked inside their own head doing god-knows how vile and harming things to their mentality and body, they can’t believe they are alive and they wake up every day next to the most beautifull human being they have come across their lif, ( Y/n). You will bond slow but strong , you are their sunshine and theyll make sure their sunshine shines no matter what they have to do

Engie

( lowkey i think is canon he has some form of high-functioning autism, just hide its behind the southern warm and soft hospitality)

- when you confess, he hugs you ( a big thing coming from him since i dont consider him a touchy fella)  and returns the confession that he is too. He knows each person experiences different so he won’t press you for explanations or description of what you have is excactly. He just assures whatever happens, he is there to help you with

- doesn’t really change how he views you, but he takes the initiative for things like talking to strangers, calling to order or things that you struggle with, but he doesnt baby you. You are an adult person and will be treated as that, even if sometimes he feels he needs to “help” or “protect” you

-one of the most  easy going of the mercs, but his work is his priority so there will be long arguments about it. He understands your frustation, but he is a workaholic years now before you came in his life and can’t bring himself to change that. His work is his routine, the only comfort he knows and the only place that accepted him for who he is. But, he will be more elastic and have more breaks/ days off even if it means the project will be finished an hour or two later, unless it has an urgent deadline. He knows he can be very cold and emotionless, he is an engineer, not a spy for that reason. Furthermore he has his own times when he is stubborns or has an anger explosion because something broke/didnt meet his expectations or got way too invested into something that turned to be worthless/ uselless so he isn’t the one to judge if you are in a sour mood or you have your own “ explosion”. After all said and done, late at night when you are both alonein his workshop he will just cradle you in his arms and make a silence promise to always be there for you through thin and thick ( as we say to go through 40 waves and 40 more ) because you are something that no machine or creation can emulate or recreate, you are ( Y/N) and you are the love of his life.

Demo

-arguably one of the three more knowledgable of the mercs in the topic of mental health department. Being raised in an orphanage i doubt he didnt had at least a dozen other kids who had from high to moderate to severe autism ( during the 20th century it wasnt uncommon for people with autism to be thought less human or that the family of said people couldn’t provide for them in severe cases so theyd be dropped on orphanages and psychiatric hospitals)., so he has some first hand experiene with what autism is. It isn’t something for him in all honesty, after so much trauma and hardship in his life he is at peace that peopleare different and their brains are rarely wired the same

-he also know he isn’t ideal, he acts really stupid when he is drunk and his alcohol consumption alone is a very big problem for any relationship he ever had in his life and i doubt he is the image of psychological perfection, but he also knows that if you are willing to keep him around you have seen him wasted out of his mind, he is more than willing to put up with anyof your quirks or difficulties.

-you want to stim? go ahead he’ll leave the room/the house so you can stim to your hearts content, you want to stay? sure thing lass, hell sit in a corner and drink a bit while you have your thing. Work/ school/ home life is stress full and you are in the verge of a breakdown? he has already wrapped you like a burrito and he is holding you while you cry/vent, you dont want to be touched at that moment? hell take you to an open field and you can blow things up to get all those feelings out of you. He isn’t ideal, he is at peace with that, but now that you appeared in his life, you became the apple of his eye. He’ll cherish you and protect you both as body but as a mind and a soul for whatever shit life throws at you, he was never one to back down a challenge.

Heavy

-due to the language barrier and his nature as a quiet man it’ll take him some time. If you bring it up he’ll simply nod and run to Medic or Spy for translation. He isn’t shy to do a doctors worth of research so he knows what he has to deal with, he knows his english is broken and would prefer to have a migraine over the amount of books hes read than make you feel uncomfortable. Probably will ask advice from Medic ( the most qualified on the team) untill hes satisfied he knows enough.

-probably the sanest of the mercs, but he isn’t perfection. He had to endure famine and death from very early in his life, always be the stone his family anchored on and most people on his life, so he has his own big problems. At one side he is used to so many things, he is somewhat indiferent. You aren’t harming anyone nor its life threatening, so it doesnt really change what he feels about you. All people have flaws, noones perfect and if they do think they are perfect, they are very, very wrong. I won’t lie to you, some times hell get confuse with your behavior or will get tired of being the “ anchor” of the relationship, but he will never admit it. He survived the Gulags and years in Siberia, this is nothing but a walk in the park for him. He isn’t a fuckboy, he doesn’t want you just for some fuck and then hell forget you exist, he is much more sentimental than he appears to be. He beginned this with you because he sees you more than a body, he sees you as someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with even if itll be a challenge, he was never a quiter and he wont be now.

- don’t expect much communication help from him, unless its in russian. But whenever you feel the tiniest bit of self-doubt or anxiety his arms are open to embrace and warm you with  his love. He might was raised among anarchy and war, but he is a gentle giant with a heart bigger than Russia herself. He knows you two will struggle especially on the communication domain but he is willing  to do what it takes to make your life easier/ less challenging. He came here to stay, only if you allow him 

Medic

-Arguably the most medically qualified of the mercs, but considering the era of his studies hes at least rusty on modern terminology and general understanding of what autism is. Nontheless his a doctor ( with or without a medical license) and i doubt he ever followed the rules of ethical and unethical medicine. He is a healer primeraly and he can’t claim to be the most mentaly stable of the team.

-he might be many things, he knows hes at least crazy by normal standards and has made extremely questionable choices in his life,but he cares for the people he is close to, lovers and collagues alike. He won’t try to ‘change’or ‘medicate’ you; unless you specifically ask him for, like yes he has defied any sort of ethical medicine and has played god many times in his life, but he knows that if he changes you, you won’t be ‘you’. You will be you still, but nothing more than a lobotomized version of yourself and he fears that. Let’s be real, he probably choosed you because you are a smart individual ( that includes both street and book smarts alike) so if he “killed” your smart he would essentially kill you and this doesnt sit well with him.

-feeling down? no worries, the doctor is here ( afterhe finis hes re-connecting snipers new kidneys). Stressed? Archimedes will be your own personal cheerleader and the rest of the flock won’t let you all stressed and alone while Medic is working. In the simplest of works,he wants you to know that  he might be a madman on the field and the medbay, but he is also your lover and that means he cares about you. He doesnt care if act a lil strange or you have some special things about you, guess what? he doesnt cares. H e never cared and he will never cared, all the greatest minds had something  special about them and you are no exception. He chosed to have a relationship with  you and you accepted the love request of a surgery-happy maniac , im sure he is beyond equiped to handle you in all aspects. He might not be the most touchy but he will make his point across that you are someone who means wayy to much for him to change

Sniper

- ( i highly think he is autistic, just the way hes potrayed in most fanfics he acts lowkey autistic, mostly in the communication and sociable part) growing up in the middle of nowhere probably he has never even heard ‘autism’ as a word , so his very lost. (another headcanon of mine is that he is also iliterate) You need to explain to him what autism is and how it affects your life. He has a non-pleasant expression on his face, because he realises most things that you say what that “autism”is and the thing it has are things he actually  has and felt throughout his life. He looks like hes having a religious expierience and when you are done he only nods and hugs you almost mechanically.

-he will need some time, not because ofyou, but because of him. You might think he is breaking up with, butin reality he just needs some time alone to sit down and think about all the things you said. Its one of the biggest revalations he has experienced on his life and it has hit him like a wall of bricks.

- after a few days he will return to the base and will ask you to meet with him on the most secluded of his snipers nest. While you prepare for the upcoming breakup, he actually showers and wears somet hing nice for the first time in a while. He goes out of his way to make the sniper nest a bit more “ comfortable” even bribe spy into giving him one of his fancy wines. Once you go up the nest and you two meet, he is the most clingy he has ever been and almost drinks the whole bottle out of pure anxiety. Once his tipsy enough he actually confesses that from the things you said, he found out hes also autistic. Que him basically clinging you like a broken koala baby while half-sobbing to expell all the tension he  has inside him. Please pet his hair and rub his back,he will melt and quit his rugged manly man persona for that moment. He needs you there, he needs your soft touch to ground him while his whole life comes crushing down and a weight he never imagined is being lifted from his shoulders.After that, its quaranteed you two won’t be seperated ever again, he needs you to ease all this pain he has gathered from his troubled life and he will provide you the world and the stars.

Spy

- he knows what autism is( as a spy he should know about human psychology/mental disorders just to know how to impersonate any person with or without issues) and he is a very observant man. He has above average attention span and knows how to read body language so he has figured you are autistic a long time ago. He is just waiting for you to open up about it or confess it, but he also knows the social stigma around autism so he keeps his mouth shut because he really doesn’t want you  to feel uncomfortable or ‘naked’ in front of him

- i heavily headcanon him to be at least depressed/having an ugly anxiety disorder or even a dissosiative disorder considering a big part of his life is carefully crafted theater , so he can’t say he is any more better than you.Furthermore he never really cared about what society thinks about mental ilnesses, whos here to judge who sane and not? he has seen so much shady things behind closed doors of “ pure” people he has lost all respect for what society thinks its normal and what is weird or not acceptable. Yes he follows the rules of “good” society but thats more of a habit than a need. Plus have you seen what the good ol’ society behind close doors? yap youll need a good bible study and some church to wash away the sins.

-eventually when you confess to him,he doesn’t really act. He knows its a heavyemotinal moment for you but he can’t open up for his own problems, at least now. But he will embrace you for now and say all the sweet words you need to hear...untill the same time he gets drunker than he can and confesses to you in french all his psychological troubles while he cries on your chest. He won’t let go unless he wants to vomit and he will cling to you for dear life while he experiences one of the ugliest meltdowns he has experienced in the last decade. Probably will wake up with a monster of a hangover, but once he feels you wrapped around him and feel your heartbeat on the bones of his back something will meltin him. He will gather whatever strenght he has, turn around, give you one of the most genuine smiles he has ever given in his entire life and peck your lips bore he starts whining and requiesting you to either kill him or fetch medic. Perhaps one day hell say all the things he wants to say in you mother tongoue but for now, just know he will cherish you and love you like the most exquisite poetry that has graced his life

[spacegayparty]

Heart-warming Tea and belated Arrivals (Oneshot)

Pairing: Logan x Roman/Logince. (minor: thomas x Patton, Sleepxiety)

Summary: It was supposed to be a sleepover before starting a road trip together but instead, a bunny ruined it all and left Logan and bear with the unbearable: each other... unless-

Tags: bunny mention, mentions of an injury, biting mention, rabies and hospital mention, mentions of Virgil being panicky, jealousy, mutual pining, alcohol, drinking, wine, food mention, cooking, passing of time, kissing, onesies, mentions of frogs, mentions of dragons and unicorns

ao3

My KoFi  - Support me ♥ or Commission me

Story under the cut

A foot tapped. Up and down, up and down.

The clock was running, ticking. It was deafening in the stretching moments of silence.

Finger pads rubbed against a resistant fabric. Back and forth, back and forth.

Unaffected, the clock kept running. Its arms lethargically jumped from one to another number. One, two, three, four seconds.. five.. A sigh, followed by a groan. Two different sounds, two different people. Tic, toc. Tic toc.

It was 9.13 pm.

Roman shifted, shifting one leg over the other for a moment only to discover the tapping was not as satisfying without a ground underneath his foot. Logan let his fingers trace over his watch and patted it as if touching a device to show time could actually influence its course. Long legs glanced over at Mr. Watch who caught him. They both averted gazes.

9.16 pm.

Notification sounds chimed loudly. Vibration could be heard and spiked up hands grabbed their phones to check for the important messages they were all waiting for. The relief was so great, for a moment, the clock was mute to their worlds.

***

9.11 pm

Pattoncake: We didn’t forget about you! Just a few issues, nothing to worry about!”

9.16 pm

Pattoncake: Uh... so, we found a cute little bunny and I wanted to pet it and Virgil told me not to and it bit me and I am bleeding and Virgil is freaking out and driving really fast but we are on our way to get me checked because Virgil said this might be rabies. Pattoncake: I don’t think i have rabies but we took the bunny with us. Sorry, kiddos! I am fine and Virgil will be fine! I will sing with him, so he calms down.

*Prince Roman and Logan are typing*

9.17 pm

Logan: It is responsible to have foresight. Take care of the injury and calm down Virgil, if possible. It is advisable to drive when in a calm state. If Virgil needs time, maybe call a cab.

Prince Roman: Stay safe, padre! We shall defeat any and all disease if necessary! If you need someone to drive in place of our stormy knight, I will jump in for you!

Pattoncake: I am okay! We are there, gotta go before Virgil carries me! *chuckles* Love you!

***

Roman squinted at his exchange of messages. This could not be everything. A mortal bunny had dared to injure his friend, ruining their whole get-together! He had been so delighted all day and he needed it, he deserved it! Why was the world so mean to leave him stuck with the nerd when he has had such a horrible time all day! He wanted to sneer at life, at this situation. A foul feeling within him prevented him from following his easy whims. It sucked all energy out of him.

Stupid nerd..

Said nerd himself was similar in terms of thoughts. His apathetic stare into nothingness seemed more tense then usual, his shoulders pulled up in discomfort at the situation. Glasses were adjusted almost obsessively while calculating meticulously just how and when the others could be back and whether it was worth it.

They had travelled back home to Virgil’s apartment and Roman as much as Logan were much further away from their respective homes. Roman wanted to do some travelling and perhaps look out for some career-related things while Logan had returned because he wanted to use the extended weekend to meet his friends. Together, they had agreed to have one sleepover at Virgil’s and one at Patton’s. Inherently, Virgil’s home was supposed to be the meeting point for a comfortable night in preparation for a small road trip.

Logan only wanted to see his best friends again but now he was stuck. He was stuck with Roman and it was too early to go to sleep, even for him.

“We could prepare a few things for them-”

“Shut it, nerd. You already eyed the whole kitchen Virgil has probably deep-cleaned before. If you want the dude to have a full mental breakdown, you can’t mess with his shit or he will cry or something.”

His words, his tone. They were as sharp as his cheekbones. The fire was burning in his eyes and it came all towards Logan.

“I meant we could cook for them. It is past dinner time and they will need sustenance upon return.”

The contrast between burning Roman’s fierce tongue and Logan’s nonchalant commentary was stark. It was like two different worlds clashing together. Out of all people, Roman just had to get stuck with the least fun person in their group. Logan was okay. He was handsome, decently dressed but he was so stuck-up. The dude was literally wearing a necktie to a sleepover with friends! They usually wore onesies! Roman was in his dragon onesie and he felt stupid because of him.

“I mean, yeah, whatever.”

The two got up into the kitchen, a neat space. Roman was right, this room was meticulously cleaned. The taller one noted to himself that Virgil had to be sleepless from at least cleaning through a whole night. That was for sure.

“Oh, what the hell-”

Logan perked up. His eyes had been lost in the details of admiring how perfectly clean everything was. A part of him assumed Virgil did not use the kitchen after cleaning it. Probably too busy or worried about ruining “everything”. The smaller friend was focusing on something else instead. He had his gaze fixed on the fridge, particularly a photograph on it. It was Virgil and his roommate - Remy - who was currently out of state to visit someone else.

“What’s the matter, Roman?”

Logan’s direct voice cut right through to Roman.

“Can you believe this? Logan, they are dating. Virgil did not tell us shit. They are abso-fucking-lutely dating.”

The nerd squinted at the photograph. Roman snatched it off the fridge and examined it.

“Yes, definitely. Clean your glasses, specs. This is a pair of dating pals.”

At last, he handed it over to Logan who adjusted his glasses to sit exactly where they had resided before. The photograph was one of these instant photographs, he believed the term was polaroid. There was nothing too peculiar about the photo, just Virgil and another person in front of a fountain. They looked at one another, holding hands

“They are holding hands, Roman. I do not know whether this is indicative of a relationship. We all hold hands with Patton a lot and cuddle. Speaking of which, you give anyone but me a lot of kisses which would usually be seen as a rather romantic gesture.”

Something in Logan felt off. His words seemed more fired up and he adjusted his glasses once more, hiding away the hard glance in his button eyes. He rushed past Roman and reached for one of the bottles of wine around.

“We can prepare sandwiches for everyone.”

...Well, that was something. Roman almost wanted to believe there was jealousy burning in Logan’s eyes when he tried to open the bottle. Whatever. The theatre student busied himself with finding the necessary ingredients for sandwiches. Cheese, ham, salad, mustard, cream cheese, gherkins, and tomatoes. Oh - and the sandwich toast, of course.

He placed all things on the kitchen counter where Logan still resided in intense fury as he tried to stab a cork.

“Hold on, calculator watch. I got this for you.”

Roman approached the other from behind, in complete disregard for personal space and put his hands around him. He placed his fingers on Logan’s and softly tugged them around the bottle’s neck and the its opening. There was a heavy fight in his limbs and he could feel cold anger radiate from him. Not that it mattered. He wanted this wine, too. If they were to stay with one another for even another minute, he would need to numb his system.

“Let me help you, Logan.”

At once, the nerd loosened his grip and turned his head just enough to glance at Roman for just a minute. Their eyes met, ever so softly gazing at one another. It felt like a deja-vu. His heart was yearning. For a moment, they just looked at one another. Logan’s neck tickled. His skin was covered in delightful goosebumps. The wine at their hands might have been still but Roman’s heart was sparkling like fireworks in the sky.

“Do it, then.”

Demanding as always, Roman thought. For a moment he had been lost in the charm of Logan - not that there was too much of this. Still... it was a mesmerising experience. Instead of falling for these siren-like songs Logan sang with his eyes, he carefully used the corkscrew to push it deeper through the cork and then, he carefully pulled the remaining pieces out.

Not perfect but just good enough.

“Thanks.”

He could hear the eye roll. Maybe he wanted to hear it, rather than listen to his tell-tale heart. Glasses clang together, rattling. Liquid flowed into glasses and Roman was handed a rather filled glass of red wine.

“You think Virgil would not tell us about his partner- or partner?”

Swish. Logan turned around, wine in hand and mischief in his eyes.

“Why would you think so?~”

The taller one stared down at Roman and sipped his drink. It was as red as his heart or Roman’s racing thoughts. He shifted and cleared his throat before rewarding himself with an idea for stalling.

“How about a toast? Don’t you have manners?”

Logan rolled his eyes. It was in his whole face which seemed to sneer at him. Despite the reaction, he stepped closer and reached out to let their glasses’ rims meet.

“To Remy.”

“Who is Remy?”

“The person you assume to be Virgil’s partner. The one on this photograph -”

“I get it, I get it.”

Roman took a big sip.

“I’m just glad Virgil is dating someone. Like, wow, I was worried he would get it on with Patton.”

Alarm rushed over Logan’s face but he caught it quickly and drowned it in a face of wineglass. Their glasses were almost half empty already.

“I don’t want to sound as if I was against our friends dating but I, too, was worried about our group dynamic suffering from imbalance.”

Eyes rolled once more but it seemed .. so sassy all of a sudden. It gave Roman a smile.

“Also, I really am glad they didn’t move together.”

Logan nodded hard.

“Good luck we found Thomas. Wait, actually - you found him, did you not? It was a good choice to introduce him to Patton after one of your plays.”

Warmth bubbled up in Roman’s big chest.

“You-you really think so?”

Genuine eyes locked with Roman’s blurry honey orbs.

“Of course. You found a rather kind person and successfully introduced him to someone who would like him. Thomas and Patton are a cute couple.”

The other snickered and turned around to start preparing some sandwiches. Patton and Virgil would probably be thankful. After he had seen the kitchen, he was even more so convinced that Virgil needed a break. He was quite for a while. Roman continued on his wine, drinking faster than wine should be enjoyed but the mood had him look into the glass like into the howling abyss.

“They are a cute couple..”

The smaller student joined in, silently putting his near-empty glass down. He cut the cheese slices and tomatoes and gherkins patiently.

“Of course they are! Patton is an absolute sweetheart. He is the cutest of the group. How could you not love him?”

Tic toc. Tic toc.

“I guess you are right. He is the loveliest in this group.”

9.57 pm.

Logan finished his glass and poured himself more but only took a few tentative sips before emptying the bottle into Roman’s glass.

“Lo-” “Ro-”

The two looked at one another. Shock froze the room. They were stuck staring. Mouths agape and fingers grabbing into the air. Bodies turned to one another but nobody leaned in.

“Uh- mayonnaise. We should make some with mayonnaise. Patton really likes them with mayonnaise.”

“Ah, yes.”

Disappointment darkened Logan’s voice. It edged on hoarse by now. He wordlessly retrieved a whole jar of mayonnaise. It was unopened. Bought for Patton only. Logan made no more attempts at communication, downed the rest of wine instead and opened the jar.

“Woah there, you worried about Patton that much?”

The nerd nearly hissed at this. Bile burned his tongue. He didn’t even have the heart to miss one of his best friends amidst this situation.

“How about you sit down, Logan. I can finish the rest. You did so much already-”

Roman approached him, his arms finding their way around Logan who violently stepped back.

“Don’t touch me!”

He pulled away, his eyes wide. Logan hugged himself, his back pressed against the wall behind him. His eyes vaguely glanced at the fridge, the picture of Remy and Virgil burning into his mind.

Life wasn’t fair!

“Logan -”

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this. I- I have made a mistake with this. My apologies, Roman.”

“What do you mean?”

Logan pushed himself off the wall. His steps were unusually uncoordinated, his vision hazy and delayed. He had not eaten, he had drank a good glass of red wine and for all he knew, he was tall and lanky, even a bit more so than Roman.

“Logan, please talk to me. Don’t just go - what are you doing? What is wrong?”

Worry rose in Roman. He knew he usually picked fights with Logan, he would challenge and fight him on any and all points he ever made but seeing him like this? This was torture. Roman did not hate Logan, he just did not know how to connect to him and when he got close, Logan pushed him away like this.

“I am leaving. I - I think I will sleep in a hotel or whatever. I will leave you space, so you can have fun with Patton.”

The theatre lover stepped back a bit.

“What do you mean by that.”

His sentence was a question but he stated it, almost like a threat. Logan held onto the door frame for support and barely tilted his neck enough to glare at the other. They were blurry with pearls of tears and pure hurt.

“If you have an appreciation for Patton of that kind, maybe you shouldn’t have come. Maybe I shouldn’t have listened to you speak about this. It is for the best we both go home and forget about this.”

He turned to leave, his dark blue shirt rubbing together and creating a sound so painful, Roman did not know such harm could exist outside of tragic plays.

“What are you - What are you insinuating. I d- I don’t like Patton this way if you mean that.”

Logan seemed to care about his drunk strive more than anything. He kept walking, feet stepping into nothingness and leading Logan into walls, furniture and so on. He was a dead man walking.

“Fuck it, me-me....figuratively..”

Logan stumbled and fell onto the couch, luckily. A few steps aside and he would have met the table or maybe just the floor. None of which were as pleasant as meeting the couch face-first. Roman was head on his tail.

Thump thump.

Tic toc.

10.38 pm.

“Logan, are you okay?”

The nerd grumbled. His body slowly wiggled away from Roman but stopped when his height took in the length of the couch.

“Go away..”, he mumbled into the soft cushions.

“No way. You tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt at all?”

A soft head shake.

Roman squinted at the sight but at least Logan answered him, somewhat. A weird suspicion stirred up inside of him. It was like the foreshadowing in books. Something was about to happen and he felt as if he had enough clues to know where this was going.

“Come on, let me help you. You got sleeping things with you?”

Logan curled up and made a little sound.

“I will get it for you, just wait.”

He didn’t know what was going on but he took it. Logan was talking to him again. Maybe he just had a bad phase or was caught up in a bad headspace? When he was in a bad place or remembered shit things, he often snapped at others. Not that this was a good thing, it just happened and sometimes it was difficult to keep things in line. To be fair, it was a little exciting to see Logan show some feelings. Even if it was those kind of feelings people usually didn’t want to see. It gave Roman a funny sensation inside. It was like a warm comfortable hug for his brain. He was the only one who could do that. Logan yelling? Only he could do that and he had developed an odd pride for it.

Roman got to the bedroom and swiftly got to the deed of sniffing around in Logan’s things. Figuratively - oh no. Now he also started with this insanity as well. Well, a little clarity never hurt anybo- What was this? He pushed his fingers deeper into Logan’s bag and slowly pulled out.. a onesie. The unicorn onesie he had gifted him last Secret Santa.

Butterflies tickled his stomach from the inside and Roman found himself smiling, eyes wet. Logan had not forgotten. He did not.. he did not hate it or him at all. Roman hugged the onesie to himself. It was supposed to be a little fun gift, not too serious. It smelled of the other so much, it had Roman convinced he had worn it before.

Slowly, he detached himself from the fabric and brought it over to Logan.

“Hey..”

Logan was sitting by now, rubbing his temples and groaning.

“My apolog-”

“Logan.”

The nerd stopped himself and looked at Roman. He noticed his glasses were on the table rather than on his face. All anger seemed wiped off like makeup with a cleanex.

“Let’s wear our onesies and watch a film together.”

He hummed.

“Will you meddle with the vote again?”

Roman laughed, tossing him the unicorn suit.

“I have just decided we will rewatch Frozen I, so we can watch the sequel together with Virgil and Patton!”

“I am in pain just thinking about it.”

The shorter student smiled at him and quickly left to finish the sandwiches and clean the kitchen. His mind was a bit hazy, slightly warmer than usual but it was okay. Everything was okay.

When he returned, Logan was cuddled up in his onesie and a blanket - another one was next to him, still folded. The remote was in place and Frozen I was selected. He quickly slipped into the bedroom and changed his attire. Within a few moments, he was back and cuddled up next to Logan. He softly opened his arms.

“I will snuggle you if you want to~”

10.53 pm.

“Roman, will you ever be quiet?”

Of course he snuggled up to him. Roman started the film and hugged Logan back, before leaning in and whispering.

“Maybe Patton is objectively the cutest but you are by far the more attractive and feisty one, teach~”

Logan closed his eyes and snuggled Roman closer.

“...thanks.”

He glanced at him. Roman glanced back. They inched closer, closer, their noses nearly touching. Lips met, covering one another. Logan slowly moved on top of Roman and straddled him, one of his hands cupping Roman’s face.

Eventually, he pulled back just enough to mumbled back to him.

“You might be rather handsome yourself..”

Roman beamed!

“But Patton is rather aesthetically appealing, too~”

The laying friend pouted but Logan leaned down to softly peck it away.

“You don’t like Patton?”

Roman shook his head.

“Well, we have another thing in common, then. How pleasant.”

Fingers entangled. Logan shifted to brush through Roman’s hair with his free hand. He closed his eyes.

“Are we throwing off the dynamic now?”

Logan shook his head.

“No, we are not dating Patton, so it’s fine.”

“That does not even make remotely.. any.. I mean.. that.. that doesn’t make sense, Logan.”

The taller one smiled.

“What is so illogical about this? I think I did not get your point ~”

Roman stuck out his tongue for a moment and sighed contently before mumbling.

“How about you come down here and I will tell you?~”

“Sounds sufficient~”

***

3:37 am

“Hey Virgil, look! I think they finally got together.”

A silent snort shook the air ever so softly.

“I sure hope so. This will finally balance out the group dynamic. This whole tension between them got fucking unbearable.”

“Language-”

“Shh, let’s go get a snack for your new pet.”

Patton hugged his bunny close.

“Why would you call a bunny “Froggy” ?”

The two slowly sneaked into the kitchen and left the cuddling dragon and unicorn alone. Tomorrow would be another day.

It would just never be quite as sweet as Logan’s and Roman’s embrace.

[kirishwima]

seeing as you are still up for requests... could I get the boys reactions to finding out MC retricts food & shows signs of an eating disorder (undiagnosed but this kind of behavior has been going on for several years). It's perfectly fine if you don't want to write it, if you're uncomfortable with that topic! I don't want to pressure you into anything and I'm glad for the content you've written so far either way

hey! i don’t mind, i’ve dealt with ednos for years and it’s not something that ever fully goes away, but i feel that talking about it and being open is something that really helps.this is triggering content however, so please be warned, and don’t read it if hearing about eating disorders and behaviors triggers you! 

YOOSUNG:

* This boy loves to cook. Loves it! He’s always been looking forward to cooking for his future partner, isnisting he’ll always add a dash of love in every meal.

* So when he sees how little MC eats of his home-cooked meals he feels...disappointed, to say the least. Is it because they don’t like his cooking? They find it too salty? Too spicy?

* He’s too embarassed to ask at first, but after trying out different recipes and still seeing the same response from MC, he asks them about it.

* They just insist they don’t eat much in general, but that they tend to have a lot of snacks throughout the day and that that’s the reason why. Yoosung doesn’t really question it, since it’s true that he’s not with MC 24/7-it’s completely logical that they could be eating whilst he’s not home and being too full by the time he comes back to eat a full meal with him.

* Yet...something doesn’t add up. Even though MC insists they’re constantly snacking, there’s never anything missing from the cupboards, and at night they always insist they can’t eat any more-yet after looking closely at their patterns for a whole day, he swears he barely saw them eat much of anything!

* Eventually he gets worried and sits MC down to properly talk to them about it. He says how much it scares him to see them like this, and how he can see the impact this dietary lifestyle has on their health-how they seem tired and dizzy far too often, and how much it can impact their mental health too.

* He doesn’t expect MC to breakdown when he talks about it all-but seeing them explain through tears to him that they realise this behavior is wrong, but it’s something they’ve been doing for years and have no control over breaks him. He had no idea MC was struggling so much, even thoug they’ve been living under the same roof...

* He hugs them tight, kissing the top of their head as he promises he’ll help them work on it. He has no clue how, and has to ask for a lot of help from the RFA to find a good therapist for MC, but from then on he’s always sitting with them through meals, helping them slowly increase their portion size and distracting them when they get too anxious over what they’re eating. He’ll help them fight through this, together.

ZEN:

* He’s honestly always home late, and whenever he asks if MC already had dinner, the answer’s always yes.

* Yet, when he goes to the fridge to grab some leftover food to eat too, he notices there’s always far too much for MC to have also eaten-not unless they made a triple portion, which he doubts.

* When he asks them about it, MC insists they just made too much food. Soon after though, he notices that the portions do indeed decrease, and that it seems like they did eat-pies would be cut and a piece would be missing, or cutlery would be left in the dishwasher to be cleaned the next morning.

* Yet something nagged at Zen. Call it a premonition if you will, but he simply knew something was bothering his beloved, and he felt that their troubles and the food in the fridge had something to do with one another.

* He’d notice their nervous habit of gripping their collarbone between their thumb and index finger, how they’d stare at the mirror often and trail their hands down their sides with a frown-he tried to sneak up on them each time, wrap his arms around their waist and give them a kiss on the crook of their neck, reminding them how beautiful they look, but he’d be always met with a roll of the eyes or a huff, MC genlty pushing him off of them as they swtiched back to their normal self.

* The last straw came when one morning he asked MC if they wanted to jog with him-they said yes, and yet as soon as they neared the park and prepared to run, he turnt to say something to MC only to find them falling to the floor, squatting down with their head resting on their knees as they took deep labored breaths.

* Zen immediatly picked them up, taking them to a bench to sit on so he could take a proper look at them, notice the paleness of their skin and the sheen of sweat on their forehead from the hot summer air. He gave them some water yet they still shook, their colour turning an almost sickly green. 

* He was about to call the hospital when MC stopped him with a shaky hand, telling him that it’s their sugar levels acting up. With a confused frown, Zen dashed to the convinience store across the street, getting a dozen bars of chocolate and a sugary drink and running back to MC, opening the drink for them and forcing them to drink a few gulps of it.

* When they settled down and seemed better, Zen was furious. But more than that he was worried. What happened? This isn’t normal, did they not eat anything?!

* MC gulped down their anxiety and came clean to Zen-told him about their eating habits, how they kept torturing themselves with a constant need of control, how they’d skip meals and over-work themselves with exercise. 

* Zen’s heart broke. His MC was going through this all? And he never noticed? 

* He swore to help them get through it. He tried to be there for every meal, calling them if not, and tried to show them how fun a correct healthy lifestyle can be. He’d reming them of how much he loved them the way they are everyday, and will never stop telling them so until they start to believe it themselves.

JUMIN:

* He of course learns about it as soon as the chef informs him that MC is either refusing meals or asking him to not cook them at all.

* He’ll waste no time in talking to MC about it, reminding them how important a healthy lifestyle is, and how he can take them to meet his nutritionist for a custom-made meal plan tailored to them and their needs.

* To say he was not expecting MC to break down at that is...an understatement lol. He’s immediatly by their side, holding them close to his chest as they cry and explain how it’s not a matter of meal plans or lifestyle-it’s something out of their control, how getting food in them terrifies them, how they know it’s not right or healthy but there’s this sick sense of power from controlling their hunger in this way.

* Jumin isn’t able to process all of that right away-instead he’ll sit MC down on the couch, his hands wrapped around them as he asks why they’d need to have this control they insist they need over their body. 

* “My love, you’re wonderful the way you are, and I fell in love with your mind, bosy and soul. It hurts to even think that you don’t see the beauty that’s in you. However, this is more than just a worry over your appearance, not when you mention how you need to feel this ‘control’ as you say. This sounds far deeper...I think it’d be best to seek out professional help about it. What do you say?”

* He’ll find the best therapist with a specialty on eating disorders for MC to have sessions with, and he himself will sit down with a nutritionist and learn all there is to know about how to help MC recover-how eating frequent small portions helps, how they can start slowly introducing foods they’ve been labelling as ‘bad’ into their diet for variety, and so on. He’d then transfer this ifnormation to their chef, and make sure MC receives each and every one of those meals.

* He’d make absoloutely sure to be with them for at least three meals a day. He’d refuse to leave for work until they have breakfast together, would visit MC at their workplace or ask them to join him at the office for lunch, and have dinner with them back at home, messaging them frequently to remind them to have snacks inbetween meals.

* He’ll never stop reminding them of how much he loves them, and about the amazing things their body can do, quoting facts he heard from doctors and the internet. Hel’ll make damn sure MC knows just how amazing they are, no matter what. 

SEVEN:

* This boy...he has such a shitty lifestyle lmao

* He’ll forget to eat so often, and his diet pretty much consists of junk food and soda, yet thanks to the work out he gets from missions, this dude always looks fit, and MC...they love him, but it hurts to always be comparing themselves and the amount of food they eat to their boyfriend.

* It’s a secret competition-they try and find out Seven’s eating patterns, how much he’s eaten in a day and what, and force themselves to eat less than that, no matter what

* Well, no matter how busy Seven may be, he’s always looking out for his dear MC, so it doesn’t take too long for him to realise just what they’re up to

* He’s heartbroken, and initirally thinks he might be the cause of it-has he made MC this way? Have his habits made MC think they should follow suit?

* He’ll sit them down and talk with them, ask what’s up, why they’re doing this to themselves-he might come off as agressive at first, but that’s simply how he shows his extreme concern.

* When MC explans their situation, and what they’ve been doing, Seven is conflicted. He hates that they feel this way about themselves, and hates himself even more for giving MC a bad example to follow. He’s also unsure of what exactly he can do to help.

* He cusps MC’s face between his hands and vows to help them get better, and promises he’ll also fix his bad eating habits, so that they can get better together

* Once Seven makes a promise, he means it

* He’ll immediatly throw out all of the Honey Buddha Chips in the house, much to Yoosung’s dismay, and hold MC’s hand tight in his as they go grocery shopping for healthy meals and snacks to replace HBD. He’ll look online for therapists MC can visit and discuss pros and cons with them, and he’ll even contact nutritionists to help him out.

* He’ll never miss meal times ever again. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, no matter how busy he is, he’ll be there with MC so they can eat together, and he’ll wait as long as it takes for them to finish their meal too.

* He’ll never let them hurt themself ever again.

V/JIHYUN:

* He loves MC very very much, but he’s also...a little daft when it comes to such matters.

* He genially doesn’t realise what MC has been doing, since with work and all he’s often abroad for a few days at a time, and MC always says they’ve eaten when he asks

* He does notice some weird habits MC has-how they constantly seem to be poking at themself, as if feeling for something beneath their skin, how they flinch when he tries to hug them, how they drink a lot of water and tea and coffee and never seem to want any snacks with their evening tea or anything of the sort.

* V only puts two and two together when, whilst cleaning the kitchen cupboards, he finds a box full of bottles with diet pills and metabolism boosters, most of which were half-empty.

* He’s shocked and confused-how long had MC been taking this? Was this the reason he rarely saw them eat? Has he done something to accidentantly encourage this behavior?

* He loves them so much and finds them beautiful as they are, do they not see themself the same way?

* Before talking with MC about it, he contacts his own therapist first, telling him about his findings and how worried he is for his S/O. His therapist gives him some important information on eating diisorders that V wouldn’t have thought of otherwise-how it’s never just about weight and appearance, how it might not even be simply restricting, how just telling MC to eat healthier might not help at all.

* With new information at hand, V takes MC out to a park where they can sit together in the quiet summer afternoon and watch the sun set. There he takes a hold of their hand and tells them how much he loves them, and how he never wants to see them suffer, and that he’s noticed behaviors that worry him and make him think it’d be best for MC to seek professional help.

* He’ll be gentle and discreet, and allow MC to slowly tell him all there is to say about their eating disorder and habits, he’ll let them cry on his shoulder and even cry with them, unable to see them in pain, and vow to help in any way he can.

* He introduces them to his own therapist, who in turn refers MC to an eating disorders specialist, and V is there for them after every session, holding them tight and giving them all the encouragement he can.

* He’ll never miss meal times, and when he’s abroad he’ll videocall MC to make sure they’ve eaten at least something, and he’ll send them encouraging messages throughout the day

* He just wants them to be their best, healthiest self, and he’ll be there for them through it all

hi, your local med student and fellow mentally ill aunty here, to remind you that if you’re suffering from a menal illness and/or eating disorder, please don’t be afraid to seek professional help! no matter what your brain tells you, you’re always worthy of help and you should never be afraid of asking for it-you deserve a good quality of life, always! 

-send me a mystic messenger headcanon/scenario for the characters to react to!-

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part two) Fandom: Supernatural AU Main characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Ash Miles, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: ±5400 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part two: Jo picks up Y/N from the airport and doesn’t waste any time warning the intern for a notorious wrangler called Dean Winchester. When she arrives at Gold Canyon Ranch, she soon understands why. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘Broken Halos’ - Chris Stapleton (car scene) and ‘No Good’ - Kaleo (saloon entry). (check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify!) Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @coffee-obsessed-writer and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish for helping me. You girls are awesome betas.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     It stops raining just as suddenly as it started coming down, but the asphalt in front of the airport entrance still shimmers under the streetlights. Knowing that it's going to take at least forty-five minutes for her ride to arrive, Y/N treated herself to a cup of coffee from Starbucks, which she sips on while seated on her suitcase. Whenever a set of headlights approaches, she looks up hopefully, but up to now, all cars have passed by. With a bored sigh, she tucks her flat-ironed hair behind her ear and yawns, despite the caffeine she’s consuming.      She checks her phone again. “Come on, already…”

     When she looks up from the device, a black pickup pulls up to the curb. It triggers her to straighten her back and seek eye contact with the driver. As the car comes to a stop, a young woman has turned to look outside her downed passenger window.      “Are you Y/N?”      “Yes,” she responds a bit hesitantly as she rises.      The driver grins and signals her to come closer. “Well, get in. I ain’t got all night!” 

     Y/N smiles back somewhat nervously, draws out the grip of her suitcase and rolls it to the side of the car. With difficulty, she manages to push the heavy load in the open cargo area, making sure not to scratch the paint or spill her coffee, after which she hastens to the passenger-door and gets in. Before she settles down, Jo picks up her ivory white cowboy hat from the seat and puts it down behind her, offering her passenger a place to sit. As she does so and closes the door, the driver holds out her hand. Y/N shakes it, surprised by the strength of the young woman’s grip.      “Jo Singer,” she introduces herself. “Welcome on the Gold Canyon Ranch Express.”

     While Jo steers the car back on the road, Y/N takes her in. She’s slender, not very tall, but the confidence she radiates makes up for that. She’s rocking the ripped jeans and western boots, a comfortable loosely knitted sweater covers the skin that her tank-top doesn’t. The young woman has plaited her hair in a messy braid which falls down from her left shoulder. With one hand at twelve o’clock on the wheel and the other casually hanging outside the door, she averts her focus from the road for a brief second, turning to her passenger.

     “Sorry ‘bout the wait. Cattle just came in and Dad got a little caught up. He gets that way sometimes,” Jo apologizes as she lowers the volume of the radio.      “That’s okay,” Y/N assures, holding up her coffee. “I had company.”      “What is that, by the way? Do I smell cinnamon?” Jo eyes the coffee container as if it’s alien.      “It’s a Cinnamon Dolce Latte,” Y/N states before taking a sip.      “A what now?”      Registering Jo’s expression, she sniggers. “Cinnamon, coffee, and milk, basically.”      “Fancy.” The driver grins. “You’re from up north, right?”      “Yeah. Freeport, Maine,” she elaborates. “It’s quite a change of scenery.”      “I’ll bet,” the cowgirl behind the wheel reckons. “Ya’ll have pretty cold winters over there, huh?”

     Curiously, the new girl looks over at Jo. The Southern charm in her voice is rich. Her accent has a lot more soul to it than the ones she picked up in the arrival hall and the coffee place back at the airport. Not even the local taxi drivers who were chatting as they waited for a ride sounded like Jo. 

     “Yeah.” Y/N nods, answering the question after a beat. “Lots of snow too.”      “You won’t ever be cold in Arizona, I can promise ya that, Yankee.”      Y/N chuckles. “Yankee?”      “That’s what us Southerners call Northerners,” she explains. “Better get used to it.”      “I thought Arizona was considered the Southwest,” the intern says.      Now it’s Jo’s turn to smirk, as she gives her a side-eye. “Aren’t you as smart as all get out? But you’re right. My folks are from the South. The ranch belonged to my grandpa back in the day. When he got too old to work the land, Mom and Dad moved in to help and took over when he passed. I was born and raised here in Gold Canyon, but what can I say? It’s hard to lose the slang when you’re around a bunch of Southerners.”

     Jo continues to make small talk. Y/N doesn’t mind it, though. It’s nice to get to know the ranch owner’s daughter and at least there’s not an awkward silence dwelling in the old pickup. Easy conversation about the weather is soon traded for other subjects, like the ranch and the horses.      “Dad mentioned you’re a reining rider. What level are ya?” Jo asks.      “Debuted in Open a couple of months ago.”

     She tries to stay modest, but a proud smile forms on Y/N’s lips anyway. Hours of practice and years of training have brought her to the highest level in reining sport. When the letter from the National Reining Horse Association came in to inform her of the promotion from Non-Pro to Open, she remembered being so excited that she ran through the house screaming high pitched and hugged her parents so tight, she almost suffocated them. It took hard work, blood, sweat, and tears, but she made it. It all paid off.

     “Whoa, you must be pretty damn good then!” Jo responds, eyebrows raised, impressed.      Y/N doesn’t really respond, not sure how to take the compliment. Instead, she looks down at the coffee container in her lap. “What about you?”      “I’m not a reiner,” the cowgirl smiles. “I race barrel.”

     Now, it’s Y/N’s turn to be fascinated. Surely, reining is an exciting discipline of horse riding, but barrel racing is a whole other ballgame. She always enjoys watching it at the rodeo. The speed, the acceleration, the tight corners around the barrels, beating the clock, every fraction of a second counting; it’s the definition of thrilling.

     “What’s your PR?” she wonders.      Jo looks at her sideways, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “16.1 seconds.”      Y/N huffs, amazed. “That’s fast!”      The ranch owner’s daughter shrugs it off. “I’ve got a very good horse.”      “My grandfather taught me that a  horse will never become extraordinary unless it’s matched with a skilled rider.”    Jo smiles at those wise words and gazes at the road ahead.

     The beams of the headlights reach out several yards in front of them. Everything beyond remains in the darkness of night. Although the rain stopped falling down on the dry and thirsty land, clouds still shield out the frail moon’s radiance. They left Metro Phoenix about ten minutes ago and Y/N can barely see what’s out there, but what she can see, captivates her. For a girl who has never been to the southwest of the US, it seems foreign, not from this planet even. A pair of tail lights glides down the straight two-lane freeway towards an invisible horizon, while a few lights on the mountains give an idea of the relief in the east. Dust, sand, and rocks alongside the road are all that she can make out, joined with tall cacti and small bushes every now and then. This is the first time she has seen a cactus in its natural habitat. She didn’t know they could grow that tall.

     “You should stay away from those when you go on a trail, especially the little fluffy lookin’ ones,” Jo suggests, noticing her passenger’s amazement as she watches the cacti pass by. “There’s nothing fluffy about the damn things when you get too close. I’ve seen the most gentle and laid back horses go full bronc after running their ass into a ‘cholla’.”      Y/N chuckles; she can imagine that happening. Appreciating the tip, she turns her attention back to the driver.      “Any other good advice for my first day tomorrow?” She dares to ask, curious about what lies ahead.      Jo smiles at her, appreciating her eagerness. The girl beside her isn’t the first rookie to ask her this. To her, it’s a sign of insecurity, one that comes along with the lack of experience.

     “You didn’t do a lot of ranch work back in Maine, did ya?” she confronts.      Out of balance, Y/N looks aside at the driver, then averts her gaze. The gentle expression on Jo’s face should tell her that she doesn’t intend to make her feel uncomfortable, but she can’t help herself from moving in her seat a little, lost for words.      “How can you tell?” she replies shyly.      “Your boots are too clean,” Jo grins, nodding at the intern’s feet.

     Somewhat stunned, Y/N looks down at her shoes. Wanting to make a good impression, she polished the brown leather. Honestly, she spent more time cleaning them than she normally would before a show, but it might have been a better idea to leave them dirty. A blush warms her cheeks as she shakes her head slightly; apparently, she’s a little too eager to prove herself.

     “You got me,” she admits. “You’re right, I lack experience when it comes to stable work. But I really want to learn.”      Thankfully, Jo takes away the embarrassment and seems to appreciate her enthusiasm.      “Don’t worry about it. We had workers who didn’t even know how to pick out a hoof, let alone ride a horse,” she reassures. “You’ll be fine. Keep your eyes and ears open, your head low and if there’s anything you need, you can always come to me.”

     Slightly put to ease, Y/N smiles at her shiny boots. Jo is right; she will be okay. There is no need to be nervous about tomorrow, she’s not completely oblivious after all. And with the ranch owner’s daughter as her new ally, she feels confident enough to believe that she will manage just fine.

     A moment of quietness follows as the young blonde takes the exit and directs the pickup onto Superstition Mountain Drive, leaving route 60 behind them. Soft music comes from the amplifiers, a country ballad bathing them in pleasant tunes. Despite her insecurities, Y/N feels comfortable with Jo by her side, and as she glances over at her, a future image of them becoming friends forms in her head. It doesn’t seem unlikely, not at all. Her wit, her confidence, the joy that she seems to have in everything she does; she can appreciate that.

     “There is one other piece of good advice I’m gonna give ya,” Jo continues after a while. “And it’s very, very important that you stick to it.”      Curious, Y/N waits for a follow-up, eager eyes on the blonde cowgirl in the driver’s seat who waits a couple more seconds, underlining the importance of her message.      “Do not, under any circumstances, fall for Dean Winchester.”

     A little underwhelmed, Y/N’s facial expression shifts from confused to amused. She scoffs, for a second thinking she’s joking. Jo’s dramatic build-up prepared for a line she was going to remember during the tough moments while staying at the ranch, so it’s a bit of a downer when it resulted in advice on men.

     “Who’s Dean Winchester?” she asks, unimpressed.      “He’s a wrangler at the ranch,” Jo enlightens her. “Also a shameless womanizer who has broken more hearts than I can count. That bastard lures gals into his bed like it’s a fucking competition. Or in the haystack, his truck, the restroom of the saloon. Whatever place he finds fit to hump somethin’.”

     Y/N’s jaw drops, after which she covers her mouth to muffle her chuckle. And ten minutes ago they were talking about the weather. Well, that escalated quickly.      “I’m serious,” Jo underlines, noticing the cynicism in her passenger’s laugh.      “You don’t have to worry about that. That’s not what I’m here for,” she assures the ranch owner’s daughter.      “That’s what most of them say,” she returns, having heard this before.

     For a second Y/N observes her co-driver as questions start to buzz around in her head. What are Jo’s motives? Might there be something more behind what seems like just good advice?      “Did you…? Did you ever, you know…?”      Insecurity overwhelms her once again, disabling her to form a proper sentence. A little confused, Jo looks over, but at the sight of Y/N’s raised eyebrow and a subtle smile twitching at the corner of her mouth, it suddenly dawns on her what she’s getting at.      “What?! Oh, hell no!” She shudders in disgust. “Christ! He’s my cousin!”

     Y/N eyes grow large when she realizes what she just implied, but then Jo snorts and they both burst out in laughter. How this conversation went from climate and desert flora to sex and men puzzles her completely, but she’s sure that she just gained a friend. When both of them can talk again after another convulsion of giggles, Y/N can’t help but wonder about this wrangler with a reputation.

     “What’s so special about this Dean?”      Jo wipes away tears that came running down her face in the uncontrollable laughing fit she endured. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

     She switches on the turning signal and turns left onto a long driveway. Fenced pastures stretch out on either side, running up towards the hills. Cows are chewing their roughage at the hayracks, but look up when the headlights of the Chevrolet captures them briefly as the car passes. Up ahead, a wooden sign arches over the road. ‘Gold Canyon Ranch’ it says in bold capital letters. The pickup surfaces from underneath the sign and proceeds up the driveway, which fans out into a square. In front of a house - which is built from sandstone and has a red-tiled roof - Jo parks the car and turns off the ignition.

     Amazed by the setting, Y/N gets out of the truck and takes it in. Several buildings, all in the same architectural style, surround the square as well. The soft and easing sounds of horses rummaging around in their stables originate from a large barn to the right of the family home. Then there’s that familiar and soothing smell of the farm, although the scent that’s reaching her senses now is sharper, more earthy than she’s used to up in Maine. Then another sound draws her attention; the sound of a cheerful crowd and country songs. Y/N looks over the top of the Chevrolet and watches Jo walk over to a building complex at the other end of the square.

     “Leave your suitcase. Let’s fix us a drink first.” She hints at the saloon, from where the music is coming. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the bunch.”      Y/N follows in a fast stride, forking her fingers through her hair and straightening it out quickly, then she tucks her checkered blouse into her jeans, even though she just decided that she was going to leave it hanging over her belt. This is ridiculous, she scolds at herself. Why are you so nervous?

     She doesn’t have time to think about it, because when she’s about to catch up with Jo, the blonde swings open the double doors and makes her entrance. The musk of hard work mixed with beer and nicotine welcomes her, mingling with the lingering heat of the day. The music shifts to a new song, the guitars and a strong beat sounding through the space. Burning stares come her way as they walk into the saloon, making her feel like she got stuck in an old spaghetti western starring Clint Eastwood. Where is that cowboy to save her now?

     “Look what I found out in the rain,” Jo jokes, casually putting an arm around Y/N’s neck. “Our Yankee!”      Cheers rise from the group of men, glad that they made it back. Half-empty beer bottles litter the wooden surface of the table they are seated at; it’s clear that the party has been going for a while now, eyes getting hazy and laughs roaring louder. It’s a good thing that Jo basically drags her inside, because if she had been on her own, she would have frozen on the spot.

     A middle-aged woman with chestnut brown hair steps from behind the counter to meet them halfway. With a dish towel hanging over her shoulder, she approaches the new face, smiling genuinely.      “Y/N, this is my mom,” Jo introduces.      “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Singer,” Y/N greets, humble, remembering her name from the email exchanges they had to arrange her internship.      “Please, call me Ellen. Welcome. Make yourself at home, honey,” she says as her husband flanks her.      “And this is my old man.” Jo pats him on the back, triggering a mutter.      “I’m not that old,” he states, redirecting his attention to the new guest. “I’m Bobby. Nice to meet you. Sorry ‘bout the delay.”      “Oh, that’s alright,” Y/N smiles back at him, starting to feel more at ease.

     The family seems really nice, but the group of men - which Y/N assumes is the ranch crew - still curiously lurks at her. Intimidated, she lets her eyes roam through the bar, trying not to stare. At home she had her brothers to back her up, their presence alone usually enough for guys to take a step back. But yet again she becomes painfully aware of the fact that she is on her own this time.

     Her eyes glide over the workers and wranglers. At the far end of the table, a guy - who she guesses to be in his late twenties - looks back at her from under his cowboy hat. He has two poker cards in one hand and nurses a bottle of beer with the other, resting his strong forearms on the edge of the wood. Emerald green eyes seem to read her like an open book, taking her in with enough confidence in his expression to compensate for what she lacks. He puts his lips against the mouth of his beer bottle and takes a swig, slowly, without breaking eye contact. Did he really take his time or did her mind just process that in slow-motion? Suddenly aware that she’s staring, Y/N looks away and focuses on Jo again, who has continued the introduction.

     “This is Ash, one of our wranglers and in charge of the cattle. Don’t let the hair fool ya, he’s a pretty swell guy under all the craziness.” She walks behind him, peeking into his cards. “Wow, you really just raised with a two and a three?”      The guy next to Ash shoves two piles of chips forward, flashing the bluffer a big grin. Jo has settled between the two men, smirking at Ash’s annoyed face. Resting her folded arm on his shoulder, she turns her head and now puts a hand on her neighbor’s back.      “Benny Lafitte. Best farrier in Arizona. Also, a master on the ground when it comes to starting young horses.”      The man with a nicely trimmed beard tips his hat at Y/N, observing her with his blue eyes for a second before the ranch owner’s daughter moves on.      “Over yonder is Garth. Wrangler and our man in the stables.” She nods at the fragile built guy with dark hair, who shyly looks up and greets the newcomer. “He’s harmless, great mounted shooter by the way.”

     Jo straightens her back and folds her arms in front of her chest as she turns to her cousin. He doesn’t look back, though. His eyes haven’t left the new face, who forces herself to meet his gaze. After everything that Jo told her about this guy, she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being the spectator for her discomfort and shyness. But my God, she gets why the girls swoon by the sight of him. He has great features, a few days old scruff adding to his strong jawline. Broad shoulders pull at the fabric of his jacket, his strong fingers running slowly up and down the smooth glass of the bottle. He looks like he just walked out of a Marlboro commercial, western hat and all.      “And this is Dean,” Jo states simply, observing them both.      As the guy in question takes another swig of his drink, he finally tears his eyes away from Y/N. The weight that was pressing on her chest is lifted and instantly she finds it easier to breathe.      “What? No catchy intro for me?” he asks Jo. “Now, I know it’s hard to describe a man like me with words--”      “Oh, I already described you just fine, Winchester,” she returns impudently. “Every girl about to encounter you deserves a fair warning.”

     Dean raises his eyebrows at that remark, not sure how to interpret the remark. His eyes flick back to Y/N again, startling her. She must have flinched, because her reaction ignites a grin.      “You know us now, but what’s your name?” Dean asks, even though he is already aware.      Pushing her self-consciousness out of the way, she speaks as clear as she can, not just addressing him, but the entire crew. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you all.”

     When their gazes lock again, the cowboy’s smile grows a little wider and he flashes her a short and subtle wink. It’s close to unnoticeable, had she blinked she would’ve missed it, but she caught it, alright. 

     “Your turn, brother,” Benny calls for his attention on the game.      Dean glances down at his cards once more. A pair of queens; surely he’s going along with the raise, but he doesn’t want to be obvious about his good hand. He shoves two stacks of chips forward to meet the stakes and waits for his friend’s response. Translating his expressions and possible tells, the blue-eyed wrangler stares back at him while dealer Garth unfolds the final card; a queen of hearts. Benny seems to ponder, but Dean doesn’t give him an inch. 

     The farrier throws in five more chips. “I raise with five hundred.”      “One thousand,” Dean counters.      Benny chuckles. He’s got to be bluffing, right?      “Fine,” he agrees, adding five more to the pot as he throws down his cards on the table for his opponent to see. “A pair of Aces.”

     A good hand indeed, but not good enough to win. Dean bites his lip, looks down at his cards, then back at the young woman that caught his eye. This time she’s prepared; Y/N doesn’t look away. All she does is stare back into those green orbs, standing her ground. Before it becomes obvious to the others in their company, Dean averts his gaze first. For Y/N it feels like a big win in this strange staring contest that started from the moment she walked in. The hand that Dean lays out on the table is his victory. Three of a kind just won him over three thousand chips. Interesting, how a queen of hearts in the last draw is the key to winning this game of cards.

     “Well, shit!” Benny laughs, leaning back in his seat and admitting his defeat. “Guess the next round’s on me then.”      “Let me pour you a drink, sweety,” Ellen suggests, bumping her shoulder into Y/N lightly. “You can use one after all that traveling.”

     A heavy breath falls from her lips as she joins the ranch owner’s wife at the bar. Ellen isn’t wrong. Boy, she needs a drink, but not because of the long flight. The attention from Dean, him looking at her like he did; it’s unlike any attention she has ever received. It felt exciting and suffocating at the same time. Unable to truly understand what she is experiencing right now, Y/N thinks about what Jo said. The words she spoke in the car are starting to make sense now. The way this man has a grip on her since the moment she laid eyes on him, throws her off. He shouldn’t be having that effect on her, she’s not that kind of girl, after all. She’s the kind that keeps her eye on the ball and doesn’t let anything distract her. And if guys would try? She would give them a run for their money. With three brothers, Y/N learned to stand her ground in order to compete with her siblings. She developed a smart mouth and isn’t easily intimidated by men. But somehow all the lessons learned flew right out the window the moment Dean Winchester laid eyes on her.

     “What are you having?”        The one person who got her drowning in her thoughts settles on a stool on her right. She glances aside at Dean, who has a gentle smile on his surprisingly plump lips.       “A beer would be great.” She turns to Ellen, who is waiting by the fridge for an answer.      The wrangler puts up two fingers as he makes contact with his aunt behind the counter, signaling her to double it. Skillfully, she flips the caps off the bottles and hands them over.      “Here ye go. On the house,” she insists, her expression gentle.      “Thank you,” Y/N returns gratefully with a slight nod of the head.

     As Ellen Singer leaves to join her husband, Y/N is forced to deal with the guy in the seat next to her. Conflicting emotions battle each other inside her chaotic mind. Working on this ranch is going to show her Dad that she can build a company worth his investment. It will teach her everything she needs to know about ranch work. She made an agreement with herself that she is going to use every second of her time to learn. Wasting it by fooling around with one of the wranglers does not fit in her schedule and it certainly isn’t going to deliver the message that she’s taking this internship seriously. But she cannot deny that a part of her is curious about this cowboy. He ignited a downright confusing interest, all that with a few lingering stares and a couple of words.

     When she glances aside at the handsome man, elbows on the bar while holding her beer loosely by its neck, Jo moves into her peripheral vision. With a stack of plates in her hands, the blonde cowgirl enters the area behind the counter and continues to the kitchen, but not before shooting her new friend a glare that asks her what the hell she’s doing and tells her to stop it right now. Jo’s good advice fights its way to the surface and Y/N’s common sense takes over again. Dean didn’t take a seat because he likes her, he took that seat because he wants to get laid tonight.

     “So--” he starts off.      “Just let me get one thing straight,” Y/N interrupts, “I’m here to learn about the ranch management, not to entertain you during lonely moments. You might be able to wind any other girl around your finger, but not me, so forget it.”      It’s out there before she’s able to stop herself. She doesn’t fully understand where the words came from and how she managed to gather the courage to speak up, but the harsh message is out, hovering between them and throwing her admirer off his game. Jo - who spied on them from around the corner - seems impressed and smirks, amused, before disappearing again. 

     She’s not the only one who is left stunned. Dean has raised his eyebrows and needs a moment to recover.      “In my defense, I was gonna ask you if you were looking forward to your first day tomorrow,” he says with a chuckle, rubbing his chin.      “I like to set boundaries,” she states, taking a swig of her beer.      “Apparently.” Dean clears his throat, collecting himself before he speaks a little lower. “Good thing I like to break them.”

     The charismatic man has turned towards her now, his hand holding the beer resting on the counter. He’s not hiding that this hard-to-get demeanor actually intrigues him more. His arrogance, on the other end, only fuels Y/N’s persistence to shut his attempt down.      “It wouldn’t really be breaking boundaries if I’m just a number on the long list of girls you picked up. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long day and tomorrow probably isn’t going to be much shorter, so I’m going to get some sleep.”

     With those words, she knocks back the last of the beer and leaves the bottle on the bar. Before he can stop her, she hops off her stool.      “I’ll show you the way,” Jo offers, surfacing from the backroom again.       With a suppressed grin on her lips, she passes Dean, who watches the two girls walk away from him, flabbergasted.

     It’s then when the puzzle pieces fall in place. That little bitch... Jo just cockblocked him! He bets his lovely cousin told all about his intermezzos with some of the women that have passed through these doors. She just ruined a perfectly good chance to get together with the new girl. 

     Without giving him one more second of her time, Y/N starts to walk towards the exit of the saloon, followed by Jo. “G’night, everyone.”      They all reply, either with words or by waving, all but Dean. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head, turning on the stool to meet his beer again. It doesn’t happen very often, but his pride has taken quite a punch. When he looked at the woman that had him do a double-take when she walked through those doors, he could have sworn he saw her react to him.      Maybe you’re getting sloppy, he thinks to himself. Maybe you’re getting too old for this shit.  

     No, that can’t be it. Just because he’s heading towards those dreadful thirties, doesn’t mean he has to change the way he plays this game. Benny is half a decade older than him, he still lives like a bachelor and will most likely do so for the rest of his days. The intern probably has some history that causes her to act this way, a backpack full of misery; not something he wants to deal with anyway. Too complicated, at least that what he’s tries to convince himself of.

     “Hey, amigo? What’s that on your face?”      Ash looks over at the bar, observing the man who just got rejected. He shuffles the cards for the last game of the night.      “Oh, I see it too,” Garth acknowledges, pretending to be shocked by the sight. “That doesn’t look so good.”      Dean feels his cheek and casts a confused gaze at his friends as Benny starts to snigger.      “That’s one ugly lookin’ red handprint that’s swelling up, man,” Ash continues.

     Garth giggles, his laughter coming out in a high-pitched sniggering sound. By now Dean gets what’s going on and rolls his eyes. Who needs enemies when you have friends like these assholes.      “That’s gotta hurt, Chief. Want me to get some ice for that?” Benny adds, sparkles in his bright blues.      “Y’all can kiss my go-to-hell,” Dean mutters, unable to appreciate the banter.

     Now all three burst out in laughter and even Bobby can’t help but join in a full belly laugh. After the fun, Benny gets up from his chair and walks over to fill the empty spot beside him.      “I think this is a good thing,” he comments, his accent as gentle as Southern comfort. “It'll keep you sharp, a gal like that.”      “She’s quite somethin’, isn’t she?” Dean smiles at his drink.      “She ain’t easy, that’s for sure,” he agrees. “Good thing she ain’t the only lady friend in town.”

     Benny redirects Dean’s eyes to a beautiful dark-haired woman at the pool table. Casey is a guest that enjoys her time at the ranch every holiday, especially since most of that time is spent with a certain wrangler. She must have arrived just now, because he didn’t notice her earlier. Or was that because his eyes and mind were too occupied by someone else? It doesn’t matter, because when Casey makes eye contact before pocketing the striped number thirteen, the sexual tension between them is already stirring up. He might not spend the night between the sheets with Y/N, but he will be satisfied by the end of the night either way.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part three here

[rosie-janeposie]

Closed Doors

PART 4 of Stolen Moments Collection

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24538531 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Summary:

           "There's a 93.7 percent chance I could make it up to you later," the blond grinned and gave her a wink. "I have somewhat of a good memory you know." He sat forward in his seat, "So, you found another vault?" McNully’s held sympathy for the girl he was getting to know. The rumors at Hogwarts seem to always convey this fearless girl who dove headfirst into danger. But, here she sat hiding away a part of herself. The part that was scared.  Notes:    Hello, my Lovelies! We are heading back into Ellie's second year at Hogwarts. Cause come-on finding the vaults has to be rattling. That and the MC is supposed to be a pre-teen to teenager, so hormones are all over the place. So, Ellie is taking some time to herself... or at least that is what she thinks.

McNully is her break from reality at this point.

For those who may not know, for reference. There is always a year difference between the Quidditch characters (Skye, Orion, McNully) and Friends in Ellie's Year (Rowan, Ben, Penny, Etc.)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hogwarts Mystery. Nor do I own Murphy McNully, if I did we would see him a lot more in-game.

I do own Ellie however and any shenigans she may do in later drabbles.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)            

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  If anyone had asked the little redhead why she was hiding up in the commentator's box, she would not be able to tell them why. Only that her glasses have not been on her face, and her head had nothing but pounding for the last hour. "Jacob, what did you get into?" The small redhead whispered, rubbing the tears from her eyes. Had her brother really been up to something when he had disappeared? She was so upset about her brother's disappearance that she had overlooked the possibility of Jacob getting into serious trouble. Vaults… Black Quills…

And now this Cursed Ice.

The Ice that trapped Ben in the corridor before classes were even in session. He must have been so scared, in that dark, deserted Hallway. She couldn't imagine Ben alone in that cold embrace for as long as he had been. Then Rowan to be placed into the Hospital Wing because she decided to help Ellie break into the vault. Rowan was lucky for a stunning spell.

The sob left her lips before she could stop it. Her arms came up to cover her head. Her fingers were weaving into her hair.

"Oh. Bennett," A male voice snapped her out of her breakdown, "I didn't realize anyone was up here yet."

Her head shot up. Her puffy-red eyes were met with the sight of the Quidditch commentator and her impromptu Quidditch coach, Murphy McNully. "McNully…" She sniffed as she tried wiping your eyes, "So-sorry, I can leave…"

Ellie had never seen McNully in his full school uniform before. The gray pull-over and cloak just looked so out of place over his signature white button-up.

"There's no rush." His prepubescent voice cracking slightly as he rolled somewhat closer to the girl who was pressed against the wall, "You okay?"

She sniffed as she tried to push back the red-mop that she called hair plastered to her cheeks. "Ye-yeah, I am okay…" she tried to stop the tears.

McNully watched her quietly before he turned his head to the stairwell, "I know how to charm the lock on that door?"

"Huh?"

"You're looking to escape prying eyes, right?" McNully smiled gently as he rolled to the door. Ellie paused at the quiet click and "Collorportus." McNully pushed his chair so that he was in front of the Ravenclaw girl once more. "That way, no one can get up here…" he paused before he tilted his head, "Well, unless they use 'Alohomora.' But for the most part, we are 76.4 percent safe."

"Only 76.4 percent sure," the redhead quipped, a sniffle sneaking through, "and why did you decide to lock the box? Your adoring fans are looking to you for Quidditch knowledge..."

"They'll live. I had the sneaking suspension," He started moving to set up the commentator's megaphone, "that Hogwarts Curse-Breaker wanted some privacy."

"It would be nice…" she whispered as she attempted to pull her hair back into a ponytail.

McNully opened the box containing the mouthpiece. He pulled away before he connected the mouthpiece to the magic megaphone, "I have to warn you, it's gonna be loud, though."

Ellie smiled, standing from the back row, "I think I could handle a little noise…" she dusted off her school skirt and became preoccupied with straightening her tie.

"So, is it true that you snuck into the Gryffindor common room?" McNully asked casually, trying to make light conversation.

"Oh, you heard about that, did you?" Blue-green met Honey-gold, Ellie placed her glasses back onto her face, "Why am I not surprised…"

"News about you travels fast," He answered with a shrug as he looked out onto the pitch. She followed his gaze to the field. Various shades of faded red-pinnies Gryffindors trickled onto the ground. "So the question is… why?"

"A Black Quill…" Ellie sighed, dropping her head into her hands; McNully quirked an eyebrow to the Beater. "Merlin, I feel so stupid saying it out loud now." She went to turn, almost falling off the bench she was standing.

McNully laughed lightly, holding out a hand for her to grab for balance, "How about you take a seat. There is only room for one person in a wheelchair at a time."

"MCNULLY!" The redhead giggled as she accepted his hand, nearly falling in the process.

"What?" He chuckled back as she settled onto the bench next to him, "I believe I have a right to say that. So, you broke into Gryffindor Tower for a black quill?"

"The quill was a transfigured note from Jacob; it had some sort of connection to the curse vaults…" she muttered. Ellie turned to pout at the Quidditch commentator, taking him back, "Merlin, I really do sound mental… plus, I had to miss your commentary on the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin match…"

"There's a 93.7 percent chance I could make it up to you later," the blond grinned and gave her a wink. "I have somewhat of a good memory, you know." He sat forward in his seat, "So, you found another vault?"

Ellie looked away from him, "Unfortunately, yes. And this time, Rowan got hurt."

McNully's had sympathy for the girl he was getting to know. The rumors at Hogwarts seem always to convey this fearless girl who dove headfirst into danger. But, here she sat hiding away a part of herself, the scared part. "How bad?"

"She's going to spend the next few nights in the Hospital Wing…" she admitted hugging herself, "But she keeps saying she is better than ever."

"That's good, though! I'm sur-" McNully was shocked that the practice whistle through the air. He was momentarily flustered to see what had happened. Ellie smiled as she started to make herself comfortable amongst the benches. She smiled, watching her new friend (Was he her friend?) sink seamlessly into his pastime. She liked seeing this caring side to McNully, a piece reserved for something other than Quidditch.

The stress of the day's events began to tire Ellana out mentally. She felt eyes start to become heavier and heavier. She felt the sudden weight and warmth of a blanket drape over her. It smelled of chalk, Sprucewood, and mint. It was familiar and so comforting.

A few days later, Ellie would deny it if brought to the attention of anyone, but she didn't mind having to hand McNully back his cloak in front of the whole common room.     

 Notes: 

Alright, my Lovelies! If you enjoyed it leave a kudos and/or comment down below.

Summer Mid-terms are around the corner, so I may not be able to produce any shorts relatively soon.

So, while I am working on mid-term papers and tests, don't be afraid to leave prompt ideas or suggestions (they can, but don't need to involve Ellie) here or on my Tumblr. I would love to see what you have in mind for McNully!

Until next time!

~Rosie 🌹

[scripttorture]

Hi, lovely to send an ask to your blog. I have a character who's been kidnapped and kept in a cell for an unspecified amount of time. The cell is the size of a spacious room, with a mattress, sink, and toilet, the victim has access to move about as he pleases. The abductor kept my victim well fed, didn't physically harm him unless he had to (ie. Victim tries to escape, attack, bite back with words), he wanted him in good shape. (A)

(B)Whenever my victim acted up, other than sometimes having tophysically restrain him (roughs him up in a corner and leaves), hepunishes him by turning the electricity off, leaving the victim inpitch darkness and icy weather, and with no sound source but his ownbreath. Regularly, the abductor comes at least once everyday (or asoften as five days a week), sits with the victim for a few hours, andeither talks about his life, tries (and fails, at the time) to softenvictim's heart...(E),...left him food and left. Either until he got bored, or when victimcracked and broke down begging for any stimulation and company. Themental breakdowns increased in intensity when the victim lost accessto the TV, he'd unconsciously hurt himself, cry and scream until hepassed out, refuse to eat or move from his spot in fear of themonsters lurking in the pitch blackness in the room, and will justsit stuck listening to his violent hallucinations until the abductorput mercy on him.(F)At the end of the abduction time, Victim starts to show new symptoms,he rather becomes"animalistic" in someway, he loses(forgets temporarily) the ability to put words together, so hesnarls, whimpers, acts physically his needs, becomes very aggressiveand uncooperative, lost a drastic amount of weight, refusing food,tried on multiple occasions to hurt himself for the sake of feelinganything but the emptiness of his cell, and in a psychotic outburst,destroys the TV, and...(G)(oh man I forgot where I left off... please bear with me if I mistookthe paging) He spent the next few days mourning the TV, missing thecharacters he used to obsessed over as much as the family he slowlystarted to lose memories of. It was a pitiful sight. Since thebeginning of the abduction period, the abductor has been feedingVictim lies, from the reason he kidnapped him (preserve his amazingabilities, keep him safe from others who were after his skills, noone appreciated his...(H)His skills as much as he did, and it was obvious b***) but the damagecame when he gradually convinced him his family didn't care, that'swhy he was trapped for so long. And victim was convinced his familyloved him above all else, but as time passed and hallucinationsbegan, he lost that conviction, not at all helped by abductor'sconstant false reassurance. Abductor also lied about the time frame,coming down with cake to celebrate their one year anniversary whenit's been a few months.  (I) Little did victim know, his family werekilled the night of his kidnapping. Finally, at the last day, or afew days after he lost the TV, abductor has moved the broken pieces,only to miss one screen glass shard that victim hid under hismattress. And it happened as victim tried to stab his abductor, inself defense, the abductor threw the victim off, and his head hit thesink. Cue panic stricken abductor, not thinking straight with theamount of blood, and wrapping the victim up...(J)... wrapping him up and throwing him in an alley across the citybefore fleeing the country. Now my biggest dilemma lies in twothings! One: I need him to have amnesia for plot related reasons,very important, but I'm afraid that will make all of what he wentthrough redundant, so the list of after effects I made him have is..Severe anxiety, depression, anger management issues, avoidance ofdark places (full blown panic attacks if forced into an sort of darkroom)… K) Vague, abstract night terrors, extreme loneliness even inthe company of friends, and fear of neglect. He has a few namelesstriggers, any show on TV like the shows he used to watch, not feelingclean, showering more than once a day as he lost that privilegehaving to use the sink to clean up, horror movies for all thereasons. Two: how does the state (any) and hospital actually dealwith this situation, I realize this is out of your expertisepossibly, but I'd appreciate a nudge… (M) A new cycle of abusebegins between him and his boss, manager and unit mates, but I'llleave that for another ask ^^; This got so long, I'm sorry, but I'dlike your criticism and input on my story so far, it actually takesup two other victims of abuse and my MCs road to recovery. I'm veryadamant on making this right. Thank you!!

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This is a follow up to a previous ask. Honestly- I’m still finding the question a little confusing. I’ll answer to the best of my ability but I may well have misinterpreted it.

 That said- I think you need to do a lot of reading and completely rewrite your story if you really do want to make this realistic and respectful. At the moment I think it’s a very long way off.

 I think I said that last time so this time I’m going to be blunt. I do not think you are ready to write torture.

 Firstly, specify the amount of time this character is held. Decide. Don’t keep things vague in the hope that it’ll seem more realistic.

 You don’t have to tell your readers the detail of how long your character is held or every detail of what happens to him but if you don’t know then you can’t work to show the effects realistically.

 I can’t decide what your plot should be for you. And if you’re unwilling to define what you’re putting your character through and for how long I can’t give a reasonable estimate of how likely he is to survive.

 Memory loss in torture scenarios does not work in the way you’re describing. That kind of ‘amnesia’ and losing old, established memories of family members does not happen. Not without significant, disabling brain injury that effects other things like being able to move and breath.

 If you want to know what memory loss in torture survivors is like I have a post here that covers it.

 Torture survivors do not regress into some sort of savage ‘animalistic’ state. They do not forget how to speak.

 Frankly I think these kinds of unrealistic tropes are incredibly insulting to survivors.

 It’s saying that torture has ‘made’ the survivor dangerous and unreasonable. Those are exactly the kinds of arguments people use to stop survivors getting treatment in real life. Don’t add to that.

 Hallucinations in solitary are not common.

 They become more likely if a person is held for a long time (over a month), but since you are not giving me a time frame I can’t say whether this is likely or not.

 If the character is held long enough that hallucinations and a psychotic break become likely then- given the conditions you’ve described, the character is likely to die from cold, starvation or disease before the captor dumps them outside.

 People can die from the cold very very quickly. If the character is repeatedly subjected to freezing temperatures for a long time then they are probably going to die of hypothermia.

 Additionally the phrasing throughout this sounds as though it’s taking the abuser’s ‘side’ over the victim’s.

 No one ever ‘has’ to abuse anyone else. It is never necessary.

 On a related note- I think you’re severely underestimating the damage caused by beating. It is very easy to beat a person to death. The way I’m interpreting the question it sounds like the abuser beats the victim when he tries to escape. It sounds like the abuser beats the victim until he stops moving every time this happens.

 There isn’t much difference between beating someone unconscious and beating them to death. If the character is regularly being hit until he passes out then he probably wouldn’t live for more then two weeks.

 Which is not long enough for the extreme effects of solitary confinement you’re describing.

 I think this scenario is a very strange mix of treating people as too resilient and too fragile. The physical abuses you’re describing seem really like to kill the character. At the same time the mental health issues you’re describing are completely unrealistic and-

 Well honestly? As a mentally ill person I think this depiction of mental illness is insulting. It is degrading. It shows no understanding of mental illness and no compassion for people who are mentally ill.

 I struggle to speak sometimes because of my mental illness. It does not make me an animal. It does not mean I can not think. And it certainly doesn’t mean I can’t describe what I was going through when that moment has passed.

 The list of ‘severe’ symptoms you’ve given isn’t what you’re actually describing the character having. Your description does not sound like mood swings, anxiety and depression with a few triggers.

 If you were writing these symptoms accurately I would tell you that your list is not enough. If I was just relying on that list I would suggest more symptoms and writing them to a greater severity.

 But I can’t just rely on the list. Because your description of the character’s mental state and what he goes through contradicts your list. Which suggests to me that you either haven’t decided what symptoms the character should have or you don’t understand what mental health problems are like.

 I do not think you are ready to write mental illness.

 I could go into more detail. But I don’t think it’s going to benefit either of us if I go through this and tell you why every single detail here is wrong.

 My job here is not to write your story for you. And it isn’t to make moral decisions for you either.

 If you are serious about writing torture or abuse respectfully then for now you need to stop writing. Instead I need you to do some reading. Because if you want to do this ‘right’ then you need to gain an understanding of what torture is, what it does to people and how they cope with it afterwards.

 So I’m going to give you a reading list. I think you should read each of these books carefully.

 Why Torture Doesn’t Work by S O’Mara

The Question by H Alleg (if English isn’t your first languages this is available in other languages, pick the one you’re most comfortable with)

A Darkling Plain by K R Monroe

A Sourcebook on Solitary Confinement by S Shalev

To the Kwai and Back by R Searle

 I think you should also read Black Jacobins by C L R James.

 Take your time. Make notes.

 When you’ve done that I think you should go to Amnesty International’s website and look at their recent interviews with torture survivors. Pick two or three large studies. Read detailed accounts from at least fifteen different people.

 Then I think you should come back to the story and completely rewrite it based on what you’ve learnt.

 I am not saying that you should never write torture. But it’s obvious from the plot and characters you’ve proposed that you don’t know enough to write it well yet. Take the time to gain that understanding before you write. You will write a better story for it.

 If you don’t want to do the research don’t write about torture.

 It’s a difficult topic to engage with. If you try and fail then that isn’t your fault. Reading about torture is upsetting. Not every one can deal with it in depth. That isn’t anyone’s fault or failing.

 But if you can’t cope with reading about the reality, if you can’t educate yourself, then you can’t speak on behalf of torture survivors.

 If you can’t listen to them then you simply don’t know enough to tell their stories.

Availableon Wordpress.

Disclaimer

[prorevenge]

Karma is a girl's best friend

So, this isn’t particularly me getting revenge, as much as Karma helping me out. But i figured it belongs here and is pretty pro, considering. TL/DR at the end.

So, I met my now ex-husband, let’s call him X, on a dating site, and he seemed decent enough via the emails and texts and phone calls we exchanged for the first few weeks. Well, I fianally agreed to meet him in person, at a public place. When I laid eyes on the man in person, every fiber of my being said, “No, this doesn’t feel right.” I should have listened.

Several things threw up red flags in the time we were dating, to which, again, I should have listened. Oh, well. Hind sight is 20/20, isn’t it? I won’t list those, other than he lied to me from the start about little things in his life, so our relationship started on lies I wouldn’t discover until it was too late. We dated about a year, before I had to move in with him and his mom (I was 19, he was 21), due to a situation with my mother.

Everything was fine (as I can recall) in the time we lived there other than I HATED his mother, and she equally hated me. We got our own place, and a month later, got married in a simple courthouse wedding (we had been together 2 years at this point). …. Then it started going downhill. Anytime I didn’t want sex, he would flat out DEMAND it, saying it was my “wifely duties”, would be a pissy man child for 3 days after if I still refused. (That is technically a form of rape, for those who don’t know.) He also wouldn’t stop if we were in mid intercourse and I told him to stop because it was hurting… I should have gotten out then. I thought it was just me.

A little over 2 years of being married, we have a kid. X refuses to get up during the night to help with the baby, stating that since he was the only one working until after I got back from maternity leave, he shouldn’t lose any sleep. So, I learned to nap when the baby napped. At this point, our son is too little to truly play with, so his constant gaming is somewhat excusable. However, if I wanted to spend any time with him at all, I had to do what he wanted. He NEVER did things I was interested in.

Well, time goes on, and our son starts growning up, and is really actively wanting to play. Great! I stay home with him during the day, being super mom, and work a part time in the evenings. Hence, very little sleep for me. X works full time during the day, and immediately when he comes home says hi to us, showers, grabs food, then heads off to his gaming room. Doesn’t play with our then 3-4 yr old, who litterally brings him toys and says, “Please play, Daddy?” . All he does is take the toy, and says “in a bit, buddy.” But never does. When I was home on nights I was off work, he expected me to still do everything in the house (NEVER helped with housework, unless I specifically said “please have this done before I get home.” Rarely does anything with our son, then complains when son doesn’t want to be with him, and cries for me.

About the time our son was 4, we moved half a state away, to my initial home town ( one set of parents lived there, my other set lived where i was raised from 13, up), and into that set of parents’ home, until we could find something. Was only supposed to be maximum 3 months. We were there over a year…

About a month after moving there, i got pregnant again, and we were excited. I thought this would complete us, make me happy, finally, etc. Well, my parents one night asked me why I would even want another kid with him, as he clearly never helped me, and was on his video games all the time. That struck a nerve, and I realized I DIDN’T want another kid with him, but as I was almost 3 months along at this point, and don’t agree with abortion unless it’s medically necessary, I was stuck. So, on the night before MY birthday, he insisted on birthday sex. I told him no less than 4 times that I didn’t want to, before saying, “Fine, get it over with so you leave me alone about it.” I had some spotting the next monrning, didnt think much of it. Then, on MY BIRTHDAY, miscarried. I spent from 3pm-2 am in the hospital, with my grandmother and parents tending to my son. X was there, so worried, upset, etc. Honestly, I was relieved, I just couldn’t say it.

A month later, my ex fiance, from high school sent me a message that he missed me. In truth, I had missed him the whole time as well. We reconnected. A month later, I told X I wanted a divorce. He begged me to give him to our anniversary to fix it. I told him I knew he wouldn’t change, he hadn’t any other time I said I was unhappy, so why should this be different?

During this time, he orders a couple thousand dollars of new things for his new apartment (leaving me, as caregiver of our child, in debt). He tried to tell people the reason I left was for my ex. No, Asshole, the main reason i left was because you made me fucking miserable. I had to work 2 part time (27hrs each) per week, working litterally every day, just to try to keep my head above water, while he paid the bare minimum in child support. (Half of our son’s daycare + 20$ per week, that’s it.)

So, I eventually move back to my other parent’s home, 3 hours away, because I started getting sick, and needed help with my son. Turns out, all that stress I was put thru DESTROYED my already compromised immune system (thanks, genetics!) And I have ulcers covering the left side of my intestines. Anyone with ulcers can tell you, this compromises daily life, as ulcerative colitis is pretty much just as bad as Chrons disease.. well, fucking great. So, not only did this asshat treat me like crap when we were together, but the stress caused me to have a condition where i now have to take pills and shots for the rest of my life.

On to the karma: Being back home, my life (other than still having health trouble) has drastically improved! My parents here help with my son more than his father or my other parents EVER have; I’m now very happily married to the fiance from high school, who is more of a father to my son than his own dad ever was; we have a huge apartment, with my loving dog getting to finally live indoors again. All in all, I’m in a better place than I ever had been in the past 10 years. X, however, isn’t doing as well. He had a mental breakdown over the divorce (or at least faked it well enough). He is on meds that habe made him gain more weight than I have ever seen on that man, and he ACTUALLY has to take care of our son when our son goes to his place. Which, since X works a weird schedule, is rare as hell except in summer.

So, not only did he lose a caring, good wife to someone who treats her way better, but he also rarely gets to see his kid (who, tbh, is doing better without seeing him all the time). AND he has ballooned up weight wise, which makes me feel so pettily happy when I see him whenever we meet to exchange our son. ^_^

TL/DR :: Now ex-husband used to rape me, not help at all around the house or with our son, and flat out ignored our son and myself. Now he’s having major depression and mental issues, living in a terrible apartment, and has gained a crap ton of weight, while I’m doing so much better with my now husband, who treats me like an equal, not an object, and who loves my son as his own.

(submit your pro revenge story) (story by irishlady)

[whentommymetalfie]

Deep end -part two

A/N: second and final part! And a huge thanks to everyone who’s left feedback on the first part, I’ll get to responding soon, I’ve just been completely wrapped up in this. But know that it’s very much appreciated <3 <3 

Part one

Wordcount: 6200

Warnings: mental breakdown, disordered eating, mentions of drug use

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300168/chapters/35496216

As he drives back to the office, Alfie tries to gain some sort of control of himself and the onset of conflicting emotions. He’s pissed, alright. That cold detachment is Tommy’s absolutely worst side; it’s hard to love him when it comes out. Though isn’t that the thing with love? You don’t just love people when it’s easy. Not just some fucking reward after they’ve been especially good in bed, or when they’re giving you tender looks across the breakfast table. No, you love them all the same when they’re being stubborn little bastards. And he shouldn’t have let Tommy storm off. Because that boy has the capacity to do an astonishing amount of damage to himself in a very short amount of time. And if Alfie let’s something happen to him… Fuck, he’ll never forgive himself.

The office is empty. And the discovery leaves him standing helplessly in the middle of the small, dark room, at loss with what to do for a moment as he feels that all too familiar unease crawl in his guts. If Tommy isn’t burying himself in work to cope, he’s doing something far worse.

Despite doubting that Tommy would seek out other people, the Garrison with its promise of whiskey is the next place he checks. Grace states that she hasn’t seen him in days, but solemnly promises to call the house if he shows up, and additionally offers to knock him over the head with something and keep him there if need be. Alfie honestly considers picking her up on that offer.

Leaving the pub, Alfie makes his way to the house instead. A tiny, naïve part of him hopes that maybe Tommy just gave up and collapsed in bed. But the bedroom is as empty as the office and he resists the urge to pick up the nearest object and hurl it into a wall. His eyes lands on the nightstand, and a very unwelcomed thought enters his mind.

Tommy wouldn’t… he’s not that fucking daft.

Right now, he is.

The drawer is empty, the bottle of morphine nowhere to be found.

A spike of fear rushes up his spine, making the adrenaline flow through his veins.

Fuck. Fuck-fuckfuck- He sets off down the stairs again, trying desperately to block out the pictures flashing by in his head.

When he parks the car outside the stables, the evening dusk has turned into an inky darkness. The air is cold enough to sting in his lungs as he walks over the empty yard, a pale moon serving to light his path slightly.

“Tommy?” he calls out as he enters the large building, despite knowing he’s not supposed to be loud around the horses. The jittery fucking creatures… There’s no answer of course. Walking up to the white horse, the one Tommy usually rides, Alfie heaves a sigh.

“Maybe you could be a bit useful for once and tell me where Tommy’s at, how about it?”

The horse only gives a loud huff in response, breath turning into white puffs of smoke in the cold air.

“Figure this should be a mutual thing,” Alfie mutters. “Always looking out for you isn’t he? Think it’s only fair you do the same.” He looks into the large, dark eyes. The horse blinks at him, before throwing its head back in what could be interpreted as a nod. But it’s not of much help.

He takes a walk around the stables, feeling utterly aimless in his search now. In spite of this, he looks through every corner of all the buildings, the stalls, storage rooms, even the hayloft. And as he’s climbing that fucking ladder, muttering curses under his breath, he fights to keep the panic at bay. If he doesn’t find Tommy here, the only remaining place to search is every single fucking alley in all of Birmingham.

How long does it take for someone to freeze to death?

Grunting in pain as he heaves himself up onto the floor, Alfie finds himself in a surprisingly spacious room. The ceiling sits high up over his head, and the moonlight shines in through a large window, tinting the stacks of hay blue and grey. It ignites a tiny flicker of hope for some reason. It seems like the sort of place Tommy would like –high up, airy. Quiet. Close to the horses.

“Tommy?” his voice doesn’t echo here, muffled by all the hay. It’s comforting, somehow. But he receives no answer. He navigates carefully between the large piles of hay, scanning the little corridors they form. But there’s no sign of Tommy.

There’s no point. If Tommy doesn’t want to be found, Alfie won’t find him. Least of all here, with the myriad of possible hiding places. He takes a moment to just stand there and breathe, head cradled in his hands. Fuck, he can’t think… His breathing is too loud, drowning out all the thoughts…

Out of options, and with a heavy weariness having replaced the adrenaline, Alfie returns to the house. He needs help.

He finds Arthur in the kitchen, seated by the table with a glass of whiskey. Taking a quick glance around the room, Alfie realises he’s the only available option right now.

“Where the fuck is everyone?”

“Pol and Ada are upstairs with Finn, think John and Esme-“

Alife has already stopped listening. “Tommy hasn’t come home, has he?”

“Thought you were supposed to handle him?” Arthur mutters, looking down on the paper in front of him.

“Well, that was the fucking plan, wasn’t it, but I can’t find him. And-“ he cuts himself off, suddenly doubting whether he should tell Arthur about the morphine or not.

“Did you check the stables?” Arthur wonders, eyes still fastened at the paper.

“Of course I fucking did.”

“Maybe he just needs to sulk for a while,” Arthur offers then, but a wrinkle has appeared between his eyebrows and he closes the paper to look up at Alfie

Alfie hesitates for another second, before realising he’s got no other options. He closes the door and lowers his voice. “Doctor prescribed me a bottle of morphine,” he says. “I don’t use shit like that. Prefer the pain. So it’s full. And it’s gone now.

Arthur gets out of his chair, jaw set tightly and eyes sharp.

“We’ve got to find him,” he states. “I’ll call some of the blokes. Get them out looking.” He snags the glass up from the table and empties it. “Fucking knew something like this would happen.” The words are followed by a headshake. “First that thing at the hospital and now this… Wound so tight his fucking spine is about to snap.”

Thank fuck Arthur can pull himself together when it counts. Alfie gives him a crooked grin, allowing himself to feel relieved, just for a moment.

“Just look at the two of us…who would’ve thought, eh? Finally agreeing about something.”

Arthur lets out a humourless chuckle.

“I’m sure that tomorrow you’ll say something inappropriate and shit will be back to-“

The sound of the front door opening cuts their conversation short, and Alfie immediately sets for the hallway. He almost walks straight into Tommy who’s unsteadily making his way towards the stairs. Tommy recoils at the sight of him, hand shooting towards the handle of the front door.

Without a word, Alfie takes a firm grip around his arm and pulls him into the kitchen with its warm light, to get a better look at him. A dizzying mixture between relief, worry and anger makes his heart beat a staccato in his chest.

“Did you use any of it?” he asks brusquely, cradling Tommy’s face between his hands as he searches his eyes for any signs of the drug. Reeks of whiskey, he does, but the pupils aren’t dilated at least.

“No,” Tommy hisses as he rips himself loose and takes a step backwards, staring defiantly at him. He pulls out the small bottle from his inner pocket and slams it down onto the kitchen table. It’s still full.

Arthur takes one look at them and leaves the kitchen, giving Alfie’s shoulder a light slap in passing. “Just wake me up if you need to, yeah?”

Then it’s just the two of them.

Struggling to control the now towering rage, Alfie turns to face Tommy. He looks absolutely feral, eyes bloodshot and wide –too large in the gaunt face.

“Right, now, we’re going to talk. Whether you fucking like it or not,” he states and closes the door. Tommy’s eyes snap to the lock. His right hand clenches into a fist where it hangs by his side.

“Nothing to talk about,” he mutters and makes a move to walk past him. Alfie grabs him, fingers closing tightly around the bony shoulders.

“You’re not leaving this fucking kitchen until you tell me what’s going on with your head,” he spits. “Is this how it’s going to be now, eh? You running away to sulk somewhere while I just fucking… drive around all of Birmingham looking for you? Half convinced I’ll find you dead in some alleyway?”

“Let go of me.” Tommy grabs his wrists, but Alfie refuses to budge. He’s not backing down this time.

“You fucked up today, you realise that, don’t you?” he says, unable to keep the rage from his voice. “And you’re going to keep doing that until you start putting yourself back together.” Hands still on Tommy’s shoulders, he stares him down. “Not even going in to see your little brother, who fucking worships the ground you walk on, that’s a shit thing to do.”

“I know!” Tommy snaps, eyes just as cold as the hands gripping Alfie’s wrists. But there’s a frenzied glint to them, building under the icy surface. “Unless you haven’t noticed, that’s what I fucking do. I fuck shit up.” He takes a shaky breath. “I nearly got you killed- and now Finn…“

Alfie’s hands drop uselessly to his sides, and Tommy backs away from him, arms wrapping themselves tightly around his ribs.

“What are you on about, eh? Think that car accidents are beyond even your control.”

Tommy’s gaze has turned to the floor, and his voice is low as he speaks. “I didn’t come with him,” he says, swallowing thickly. “I promised, but I- I was so tired, I just needed to- to sit down for a while, so I said I couldn’t…”

“What?” Alfie struggles to make sense of the incoherent muttering.

“I promised we’d go to the stables.” Tommy’s eyes shift to the door. Back to the floor. Anywhere but Alfie’s face. “And he went alone and if I’d gone with him, this never would’ve happened.”

Leave it to Tommy to believe himself responsible for every single misfortune in the world...

“That boy runs around half of Birmingham alone on a daily basis,” Alfie reasons. “Climbing fucking trees and fences and God knows what. No one could’ve known this was the day when people just lost their fucking ability to drive a car.”

Tommy shakes his head, nails digging into his arms as he begins to pace the kitchen floor.

“I should’ve known… But I fucked up. Just like I fucked everything up with Changretta,” he mutters, seemingly more to himself than Alfie. “Should’ve… should’ve kept more weapons in the house. Should’ve known something like that would happen…

“Where the fuck are you getting all this from?” Alfie can’t come up with something else to say right then. But Tommy doesn’t even seem to hear him, continuing to mutter quietly to himself as his nails dig into his arms, bloodied knuckles whitening.

“I can’t do anything right… God I’m so fucking stupid…”

Fuck, Alfie can’t take any more of this. “Tommy, sweetheart, what are you talking about?”

Tommy’s head snaps up, and he stares at Alfie with wide eyes, as if he only now realises he’s not alone in the room.

His eyes shift to the door and he tries to get past Alfie again, moving quickly this time. Alfie just barely manages to grab his arm.

“Let go of me.” Tommy tries to wrench himself out of the grip, but Alfie refuses.

“I can’t let you go anywhere in this fucking state.”

“You can’t keep me here,” Tommy gasps. “You can’t just- just lock me up.

“I can’t watch you do this to yourself,” Alfie says, struggling to keep his voice steady as Tommy fights to get loose. But he can hear it crack. “Over and over again.” He snatches Tommy’s other wrist, trying to gain eye contact. “Why is this so fucking hard for you? Why won’t you just fucking talk?”

Stop pushing, a voice screams in his head. You’re going to break him. And despite Tommy’s frighteningly weak limbs and how easy it is to hold him still, it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He wants to tell Tommy that it’ll all be alright, wrap him up in a hug. Tell him he doesn’t have to talk…  Just stay there with Alfie. Promise to not hurt himself…

“Let go.” Tommy is pleading now, desperation clear in his eyes. If you let him go now, you’ll never get him back. “You’re hurting me.”

The words make Alfie release the bony wrists, as if he’s burnt himself on the pale skin. But he’s still blocking the doorway.  

Tommy stumbles until he’s backed himself into a corner, and there’s nowhere to escape. He stands there, lips pressed together and his whole body shaking as he cowers against the wall.

“Did something happen that you haven’t told me about?” Alfie feels like he’s pleading too, now. “Did Changretta-“ Fuck, he can’t even bring himself to say it out loud. “Did he hurt you? Is that why you won’t talk about it?” You’re a fucking coward, Alfie Solomons…

Tommy shakes his head, his nails leaving red marks as they rake down the back of his hand.  

“What is it then?” Alfie takes a step towards him, halting when Tommy flinches and presses himself against the wall. “I can’t help you if you don’t fucking let me in.” Still shaking his head, Tommy hides his face behind his hands, every muscle wound tight.

Alfie is out of soothing words right then. He’s watching someone drown, but is unable to even get into the water himself. And Tommy just stands there, breaths coming in frantic gasps and arms trembling.

“Fucking say something, Tommy!” he finally shouts. Desperate. Helpless. “Why are you doing this to yourself? Just- fuck, what’s going on with your head?”

“I don’t know!” the words tear from Tommy’s throat as he screams them at Alfie from behind his hands. “I don’t- I don’t know-“ It dissolve into a wordless cry and he sinks down onto the floor, curling inwards on himself as he clasps his arms around his head.

Happy now? You broke him.

The scream turns into sobs. “I can’t do this, please, I can’t…”

Finally regaining his bearings enough to move, Alfie sits down next to Tommy, wrapping both arms around his shaking frame and pulling him close. Still cowering under his arms, Tommy curls up tighter into the protective ball. Wanting to shut the world out. Or maybe just desperately trying to hold himself together. Alfie resorts to simply lifting the tightly wound ball of limbs into his lap.

“It’s alright, love. I’m here,” he whispers shakily, trying to swallow down the lump that has formed in his throat.  “I’ll always be right here. We’ll get through this, yeah?”  

Tommy winds his arms around Alfie’s chest, burying his face in his shirt as he cries. The sobs turn into something akin to howls, and the fingers that grasp at his shirt are convulsively tight as his entire body shakes. Alfie begins to rock him slowly back and forth, his hand rubbing circles on his back.

“It’s okay, love. Get it out.”

Tommy probably couldn’t stop even if he tried at that point.

It’s just pouring out of him now, all those things he’s kept bottled up so tightly. Alfie’s never seen him cry like this. Barely seen him cry at all, in fact. And then it’s always been somewhat calm, just like most things where Tommy’s concerned. Mostly silent tears that seem to well his eyes by their own volition. Like water seeping through a tiny crack in a wall. This is different. Like a force of nature, detached completely from Tommy’s own will.

It feels like he sits there for hours, hushing and soothing, with Tommy crying desperately in his arms. He whispers soft reassurances, without knowing if they’re even true anymore. It’ll be okay, you’ll be okay…  But mostly, he just holds him. At some point, he’s got tears in his own eyes. There’s so much raw pain emanating from Tommy that it’s honestly overwhelming.

It all comes out in a jumbled mess. Tommy sobbingly rambles about voices in the dark, about moving walls and about being scared, so so scared… it mixes together with memories from the hospital. You can’t die, you can’t leave me, please, please promise that you won’t leave me…

Alfie promises, over and over again.

He doesn’t understand even half of it. Must be a lot of old pain finally bubbling to the surface in that incoherent, fragmented chaos that only makes sense to Tommy himself. I’m sorry, I’ll do better, just give me one more chance I’ll fix everything…But Alfie doesn’t question it. Just grants forgiveness when he asks for it. And stays with him. Maybe sometimes, that’s all you can do.

Then finally, the storm passes.

The sobs die out to whimpers and hic-ups, and Tommy calms down enough to breathe again, falling limply against Alfie’s chest. Alfie can breathe a little easier too. Before he can figure out what to say now, Tommy’s voice comes from somewhere in his shirt.

“Are you going to have me committed?” he whispers.

The question catches Alfie off guard.

“What?”

“To an asylum or something,” the quiet voice continues. “Would be better for everyone. I think… I think something broke inside my head. When I was locked up.”

Alfie rests his chin on the top of Tommy’s head.

“Do you think you belong in an asylum?” he asks softly.

“Sometimes,” Tommy admits, still without retreating from his shirt. It’s wet with tears now “At night. Or… when I’m alone.”

Alfie strokes his hair, continuing to rock him gently back and forth.

“Nah, see, you belong here, don’t you? With me. And your head isn’t broken.”

Tommy tighten his grip on his shirtfront and draws a shuddering breath.

“I don’t know why you put up with me,” he mutters out the familiar words, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand as the last few tears spill from them. And fuck how Alfie wishes he could just pluck that thought right out of his head…

“I put up with you, right, because I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in the entire bloody world,” he answers. He’ll answer this question no matter how many times he gets it. “And that thing I said, back in the warehouse, I meant it. Might have been a desperate move, right, but fuck if I didn’t mean it. I would give everything up for you. In the blink of a fucking eye.”

“Why?” Tommy asks from the confines of his shirt.

One day he won’t have to ask these questions. One day, Alfie will make him understand… But for now, he just holds him a bit tighter.

“Oh, let’s see. Where to start… Because you’re the only person who can keep up with both my brilliant sense of humour and my razor-sharp wit,” he muses, smiling as Tommy finally looks up at him. “And despite your at times questionable plans and decisions, you’re the brightest person I know.” He cups Tommy’s face and runs a thumb gently over the cheekbone. “You have a talent for overlooking all my faults, love. But I assure you there’s plenty of them,” he says softly. “But when I’m with you, there’s no part of me that feels wrong.”

Tommy smiles up at him, a tired and bleak smile, but still a smile. Then he lays his head back against his shoulder and finally exhales, his whole body growing a bit heavier in Alfie’s arms.

They stay in the kitchen for a while longer. Alfie is unwilling to break the fragile peace that has finally settled in the room, or pull Tommy out of the calm state he seems to be in. But eventually, Tommy’s eyes begin to droop, eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to keep them open. And Alfie isn’t sure his still rather sore side can handle carrying him upstairs just yet.

“How about we go to bed, hm?” he suggests. “Just to lie down for a bit.”

He receives no answer, but Tommy slips down from his lap and lets himself be pulled up to his feet.

The way upstairs has never felt this long before, but once they finally reach the bedroom Alfie tucks Tommy in under several layers of blankets, pulling him into a close embrace that Tommy instantly nestles into. And he can finally exhale completely, not realising until now how fucking tired he is. Tommy’s wiry body feels pleasantly relaxed too, the nervous twitches and tense muscles having disappeared with the tears. At least for now.

His eyes fall on the nightstand, and he sighs, knowing he has to ask.

“So,” he begins as he gently scratches Tommy’s back. “About the morphine, yeah? Let’s just get that conversation over and done with.”

Tommy’s eyes fasten on the bedside lamp and the soft light it spreads in the room.

“I just… wanted to not feel anything.”

“But you didn’t take any,” Alfie states, and a long stretch of silence follows.

“I was afraid that I… That I wouldn’t be able to stop,” Tommy finally whispers, and the honest answer causes his heart to twist. “But then I- I don’t know. I just wanted to come home.” The arm wrapped around Alfie’s waist tightens its hold slightly. “To you.”

“See, it’s better then, innit? Pretty sure that could’ve gone in a whole other direction a year ago. Know it’s bloody hard, but… I recon getting better isn’t just something you do once, and then it’s over and done with,” Alfie muses. “More of a… long term thing, I’d say.”

“How you got to be this wise, I’ll never know,” Tommy says, and the little huff of air against Alfie’s chest could almost have been a laugh.

“It’s the beard, love, told you that multiple times. Recon all my reading’s got something to do with it. See, I’m just fucking steeping myself in all sorts of knowledge. Especially lately, what with being stuck in this bed and all.” Tommy hums and huddles a little closer, settling deeper into the embrace. “Austen, eh? Is this the type of thing she writes about?”

“Nah, if anything she’s given me an edge romance wise. Luckily. Got to weigh up for my many flaws, don’t I?”

Tommy raises his head and gives him a tiny, crocked smile as he runs a finger down his temple with a feather light touch.

“What flaws?”

Despite the obvious ignorance in this statement, Alfie still feels his heart grow a few sizes at the words. Taking the hand, carefully avoiding the injured knuckles and raw scratches, he places a soft kiss on the palm.

“How is it that you can see nothing but the good in me, eh? And nothing but the bad in yourself?”

Instead of offering an answer, Tommy buries his face in the crook of his neck, and just breathes. Alfie strokes his back, letting the fingers run up into his hair and softly rake through the tangled locks.

“Can we leave the light on?” Tommy whispers when Alfie reaches out for the lamp on the bedside table.

“Of course.” Alfie lays the arm back around Tommy’s shoulders. With a soft exhale, Tommy closes his eyes, his breathing growing deeper. Alfie looks down at him. The long eyelashes are even darker than usual, a few tears still caught in them. God, his stupid, beautiful boy…It shouldn’t be possible to love someone this much.  

“I know that you’ve felt alone, love,” he mumbles, continuing to gently run his fingers through his hair. “That you’ve got this idea, right, that the whole world rests on your shoulders. But if you just took a step back every once in a while, I think you’d see that you’ve got people around you who want nothing more than to help you. You just got to let them.”

Tommy doesn’t respond, but Alfie thinks he can see a faint smile cross his lips. And that’s enough for now.

…

Tommy sleeps until late in the afternoon the following day. After watching him doze peacefully for the better part of the morning, Alfie eventually goes downstairs to make sure there’s something for him to eat when he wakes up. Preferably something he won’t reject.

As he stands there with flour up to his elbows, kneading a bread dough, Arthur comes into the kitchen.

“How’s he doing? Tommy?”

“Know what, I’m not going to stand here and say it’s fine, because he does that often enough himself. And it’s honestly not fucking fine,” Alfie states, forming the dough into two loaves. “Think you and John have to take on a heavier load with the business for a while. He needs a proper rest.”

Arthur nods, running a hand over his mouth.  

“Yeah, yeah sure,” he says. “I’ll have a word with John.”  He scratches the back of his head. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s always sort of idolized Tommy. Figure it’s hard for him, dealing with any sort of disappointments. But I’ll talk to him. He’ll understand.”

Alfie hums and goes to wash his hands. “Yeah, he usually catches on to things a lot fucking quicker than you, doesn’t he? Bet this is a new experience for both of you.”

“Glad to hear you’re just as fucking infuriating as ever,” Arthur grunts, but it’s followed by a huff of laughter. “Next time you get shot, why don’t you ask them to aim for your head, eh? Bet that would do a lot less damage. Considering it’s completely fucking empty.”

“Nah, nah, next time, I’ll just make sure to be next to you. Use your face to distract them,“ Alfie retorts, grinning down at the washbasin. “How you and my Tommy -widely known to be the most beautiful man ever having set foot on Birmingham’s filthy streets, mind you- how you two can be related I’ll never understand.”

“And still he’s with you,” Arthur says, and is rewarded by a generous splash of water in the face. He jumps backwards far too late and exclaims towards the ceiling, “When will I know peace?”

Chuckling, Alfie goes to heat up the oven while Arthur grumbles insults under his breath.

Everything is comfortingly normal.

An hour later, the house is filled with the scent of freshly baked bread, and as if on que, the rest of the family shows up in the kitchen one by one. Alfie leaves Arthur to deal with them. John in particular.

“I’m directing any and all questions to my dear friend Arthur,” he states, placing two cups of tea and some bread on a tray. “See, I’ve got someone upstairs who’ll be needing my full attention for the remainder of this day.”

Alfie goes back upstairs with the tea, seating himself on the edge of the bed and reaching out to stroke Tommy’s hair. Slowly, Tommy begins to stir under the hand, and his eyes open a sliver.

“Morning,” he mutters and looks sleepily up at Alfie.

“Afternoon,” Alfie says with a nod towards the window. Tommy’s eyes widen briefly, and he makes a move to sit, sinking back against the mattress only when Alfie’s hand comes to rest on his chest.

“No, you’re staying in bed today. Arthur and John are running shit.”

Tommy gives it another feeble attempt. “But I-“

“It’s not a discussion. See, you’re going to rest your pretty little head on that pillow while I feed you bread. That’s the only thing happening today, alright?”

By some fucking miracle, Tommy resigns to this fate without as much as a displeased huff, sitting up in the bed and leaning back against the pillows. Getting in next to him, Alfie places the plate with bread in his lap.

“Go ahead. Eat.”

“Did you bake it?”

“Of course. Won’t do with anything else when it comes to you, love.”

Tommy begins tearing the bread it into smaller pieces, taking one at a time and chewing each piece for a long time before finally swallowing. While he’s eating, Alfie makes sure to provide some distraction, talking about this and that. He’s had a lot of time to think, hasn’t he, being stuck in bed with his own head for so long, so there’s no lack of conversational topics.

“I need to go and talk to Finn,” Tommy says when he’s finally managed to eat the whole thing. “Apologize.”

“Thomas Shelby apologizing?” Alfie smirks. “Hell really has frozen over, hasn’t it? Must be the weather.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy grumbles and bumps his shoulder against Alfie’s, which he responds to by cradling his head in his hand and kissing his temple.

“Nah, I’m just teasing, sweetie. You’ve had great progress in that area lately.”

The door opens.

“Tommy, look at my cast!” Finn is suddenly standing on the threshold, smiling brightly as he holds his left arm up for Tommy to see.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Tommy points out as he climbs onto the bed, sitting down by the wall and stretching his legs out over Tommy’s.

“I’m not! Look, I’m in a bed now!”

“How’re you feeling?” Tommy asks, giving Finn one of the pillows to lean against.

“I’m good. Well, my head hurts a bit. And the arm. But I actually think it would’ve been well cool if I’d lost the arm instead of just breaking it, ‘cause then I could’ve had a hook hand!“ Finn talks a little about all the possibilities such an item could open up. Patiently waiting for him to finish, Tommy just sits there and listens for a while. Eventually, Finn runs out of thoughts on the topic.

“I’m really sorry, Finn,” Tommy says then. “For not coming to see you at the hospital.” Finn blinks in surprise and then gives a small shrug. “It’s okay, you weren’t feeling good.”

“It doesn’t change anything.” Tommy pauses, searching for the right words. “I got really scared. And sometimes when you’re scared, you do stupid things. And I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to the stables like I promised.” Another stretch of silence follows as Tommy lowers his gaze, looking down at his damaged hands. Alfie gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m not… well, right now.”

“I know,” Finn says. “You need to rest your head. And I need to rest my arm. So we can both rest for a while.”  A pleased grin flashes across his face. “John told me you punched that bloke in the face. The one with the car. He was really nice though, but it was still pretty cool that you did.”

“I’d punch a thousand blokes in the face for you.” Tommy smiles wearily and gives Finn’s hair an affectionate tug. Finn is grinning from ear to ear.

Then he sees the plate with the breadcrumbs, and his eyes snap to Alfie.

“Did you bake?”

“I did- ” Alfie can barely finish the last word before Finn is out of the bed.  

Tommy sits up a little straighter.

“Finn, you shouldn’t-“ his shoulders slump in defeat as Finn disappears out the door, he and sinks back against Alfie’s arm. Alfie presses a kiss onto the top of his head.

“Don’t worry, love, someone will catch him and bring him back to bed.”

“Not sure I could get up even if I tried,” Tommy mumbles and shifts in the embrace, head slipping down to rest on Alfie’s chest. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m so exhausted.” Resting his cheek against the top of his head, Alfie gazes out the window at the dreary scenery outside, the grey rooftops and grimy bricks.

“How about we go away for a little while?” he suggests, choosing to not point out to Tommy that it’s not such a mystery he’s finally hit a wall. “Think a change in scenery would do you good.”

“Where would we go?” Tommy asks, much to Alfie’s surprise.

“Oh, I’ve got a place in mind. I do distinctly remember promising to take you to the sea. Got a house there, don’t I? We could… go for walks on the beach. Sleep in…” Alfie slides a hand up Tommy’s thigh, giving the inside a squeeze and adding with a grin, “Make love.”

Tommy gives a huff of laughter at the last suggestion –he often does when Alfie uses that phrase. But Alfie likes saying it. Make love. Has a nice ring to it. And it’s his prerogative to say it as much as he bloody well likes. Tommy takes his hand.

“I’d like that.”

…

Alfie wakes up from a spontaneous afternoon nap to find Tommy missing from his spot on the sofa, having previously been curled up right next to him. Someone has removed the book from where he’d let it slip onto his face, and it’s now placed on the table.

Sitting up, he immediately catches eye of him, standing out on the balcony overlooking the beach. Alfie goes to join him, grabbing the blanket hanging over the back of the sofa. He doesn’t say anything, but he knows Tommy can hear him as the wood creaks under his feet.

Alfie wraps the blanket tightly around Tommy’s shoulders, resting his chin on his right one as he tugs him closer against his chest. For a little while, they just stand there. Alfie breathes in the salty air and decides this kind of air should be canned and brought back to Birmingham to give some respite from the appalling smell there.

“We should go inside,” he eventually says and places a soft kiss right under his ear. “You’ll get cold.”

Tommy gives a hum and leans into the embrace, gaze fastened on the waves crashing against the beach.

“Just a little while longer.”

His shoulders feel relaxed under Alfie’s chin, and his eyes are calm.  

“You know, there’s something I haven’t asked you about,” Alfie furrows his brow, watching the dark clouds sail by overhead. “Where were you hiding out at, eh? That night when you disappeared.”

“The stables,” Tommy answers. “There’s… this spot up on the hayloft.”

“Ah, I knew I wasn’t completely off.”

“I used to hide there when I was a kid,” Tommy says and leans his head back against his shoulder, looking up at the sky. “Don’t’ think you can find it if you don’t know about it. It’s right under the window. Used to sit there and… look at the horses.”

Alfie hums. “Did you do that a lot when you were little, eh? Hide?” Tommy shrugs, face getting that distant look to it which conversations about his childhood always bring about.

“I liked it because no one could find me there. Felt safe, I guess.”

“It’s good that you told me,” Alfie says encouragingly. “Then I know where to find you next time.”

“There won’t be one,” Tommy promises, immediately pulling himself out of whatever memory he was lost in.

Alfie turns him around so they’re facing each other, gently taking Tommy’s face between both hands and tilting it upwards. Tommy meets his gaze, eyes unwavering and soft in the light of the slowly setting sun.

“If there is, I’ll come looking for you, love,” Alfie says firmly. “I always will.”

Tommy captures his lips in a gentle kiss.

“I know.”

[icharchivist]

Okay this start to seriously annoy me (as in angering me, not “making me spiral down out of controle” (edit; okay maybe a little but hi that’s me from the future and i’m doing fine, i’m just annoyed but no breakdown there, not really)) so bear with me, but also, tw: s/uicidal & selfh/arm mention and stuff like that. I’m super annoyed at my mom. (also generally it’s in general for all my #ichapersonal posts but pls d/on’t r/eblog especially not this one bc i’m just. so. damn annoyed.)

Also it’s really just ranting because i really need to let it out this is seriously weighing at this point I just need to rant it out;

(also it’s a long post so if you’re on mobile and the readmore didn’t work and you want to avoid it go quickly blacklist either my tag or #longpostforts, it’ll hide the post for your dash)

My mom has this tendencies to always bitch about “kids who says “I’ve never asked to be born””. She had been bitching about it for as long as I can remember bc if i recall, my elder sister (yknow the one who ended up running away from home, never to be seen again for what, 17 years now (17 years?? holy fuck how time flies)(also i’m starting to really feel like she made the right decision at this point)) actually told her that at some point while they fought.

bc my mom believes children should be grateful of life given, that “life is a gift”.

So regularly she goes on rants about how “kids who says “they never wanted to be born” are so ungrateful, life is a gift, you should be grateful to your parents, to me” (she singles herself out everytime) “for how much time and effort we take to raise you, we give you a chance in this world how can you be ungrateful and say you never wanted it”, and stuff like that.

You’d think that after having me spelling her out that i’ve been s/uicidal since i’m 13 she would change her fucking reasoning but nooooo

This is so unnerving. I’ve heard all my life that kids thinking birth is a curse or w/e are ungrateful toward their parents but is she seriously the fuck hearing herself??? It’s not about the fucking parents, if a child tells you that, be concerned about what it means of their suffering, not about what it means for the parents, you apathic selfish person.

My whole life had been a struggle i would have gladly spared myself with thank you very much.”life is a gift” so were the multiple trials I had to manage as a teenager because both of my parents were unable to manage their fucking divorce? I’m sorry what about my life is a gift to me? As far as I know I’ve been the emotional backbone of this freaking family for years and had been there for all of my mother’s breakdowns, but I’ve never had that back. I was the gift to at least try to soften the blows, but it wasn’t a gift for me that’s for sure.  Life sure wasn’t a gift when I first told my mom i was s/uicidal  and had s/elf harmed and that the only thing she told me was “look I have more important things to deal with okay” (see, the kind of petty things i still remember and I’ve yet to have a proper apology about because “nooo but Chloé I wasn’t doing okay you can understand” hA. Jokes on you I had YOUR CONCERNS, MY FATHER’s and MY OWN and back then I was getting out of an ab/usive relationship with my ex and the fact i just lost most of my friends at once while i was trying to manage how the fuck I could at least ease the issues between my parents and with my ex’s jealousy & aftermath, also my own mom’s h.omophobia when i was trying to bring up that aspect was sure helpful, also freaking important exams coming, and also remember it was when you completely fucked up your relationship with my other sister that I also had to manage, “i wasn’t doing okay” neither did i but i’ve never shut you down that I know of.)

Or at least it wasn’t for me, since then my mom ran to tell my dad to say “see our daughter is s/uicidal because of you!” (no??? I didn’t say that??? even if it was true I didn’t??) and since then had my dad using it against me on official paper (you never know true love until your dad try to tell a judge that “because of the de/ression given by your mom” you were “untrustworthy” and that therefore he shouldn’t give you any money and that you learn that upon reading the judgement’s request) and making s.uicide jokes in front of me about me to people i don’t know (which!! he did!! right before I cut ties with him! in front of clients of him!! seriously why do i have those fucking parents.) But hey i’m sure it was a good “gift” for my mom to have something to guilttrip my dad with for ONE trial which turned against her considering how he used it. WHAT A GIFT.

GUH this is something I hate, I have a lot of wounds like that that I don’t even care about anymore (or at least don’t think about because no one can change the past and it’s something to live with) and our relationship has evolved past this point, but then she says this kind of things and all that bitterness comes back full blown. 

We’ve discussed about it.  I told her. I had to hammer it down multiple times (HA. And even there how much of those conversations ended up being “it’s because of your father/your abandon issues about your sister? Because me too you know, this is hard for me too here’s how it affects me and let’s not talk about your self destructive tendencies” wow thanks mom) How can she so carelessly throw this kind of things. We’ve discussed about it more than once for fuck’s sake. And she throws it in front of my step dad, the one person we can’t talk about mental health with because the guy always have a mean comment to make about it and doesn’t believe in d/epression this family is a fucking joke.

“Kids saying “i’ve never asked to be born” are ungrateful, life is a gift that i gave you” fuuuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

I don’t even know why she said that out loud, I was just walking from the living to my room and I have no idea of the context, but I legit just snapped at her telling her to fucking stop with that and she tried to defend myself like “do you know how hurtful it is to hear from a kid that they never asked to be born” you don’t say, do you know how hurtful it is to hear from your own parents that your self destructive tendencies due to how much said parents put you through are “not important”? 

Ya know what’s even funnier -because my parents told me about that- Apparently they wanted me so much when I wasn’t born yet that they almost tried to do a fertility boost while i was already a featus and it would have killed the featus to do it and it’s just last minute that they realized “wait there’s already a baby inside” - good for my parents, lost my chance it seems. (also fun fact since I was born strangled by the cordon thingy, it’s like i was too stubborn to die what a moron @ me).  AND, WHAT MY PARENTS DECIDED TO TELL ME, freaking beautiful really, is that when they did the echography to see what my birthgender was, my father was so dissappointed over hearing I was a girl (and that therefore i’ll be the 3rd girl of the family) that he left my mom who was pregnant with me at the hospital. He actually took the car and drove back home, home that was 30 mins away from the hospital in car, and he left my mom alone at the hospital. She had to call her best friend to bring her back home. My father blamed my mom because ofc he has the genetic understanding of Henry VIII.

as a result i spent my entiere childhood feeling like i wasn’t wanted by my dad bc he told me all my life he would rather have had a boy and always made it feel like i wasn’t good enough, and my mom always priviligized my sisters (which may be a result of me being the younger one of the family, but then when I was 7 I had my elder sister (who was a/utistic so my mom was always overbearing with her before she left) running away from home and my other sister who right afterward almost died due to medical complication, having my mom overprotecting her especially that close to the departure of my other sister and she kept being overprotective afterward. That may have played a part. And i mean when we come to have convos where my mom ignores me completely unless i mention my sisters? And the fact she willingly admit that she “doesn’t want to force herself to care about things she doesn’t care about” while mentioning that she has more in common with my sister than I? Ya that doesn’t help the feeling. But ya know it’s just ~the youngest sibling feeling~ lmao) - Also my mom who l o ves to remind me that apparently I was an overdynamic child who was a nightmare to take care of because I was hyperactive, so she was always tired and loves to remind that it was hard for her to handle me, that sure didn’t play at all in making me feel unwanted. Especially when she’s unable to say anything about me that doesn’t come from the time i was “an unbearable hyperactive child who completely stopped her from wanting any more children” because of course this is the kind of things you say to a child and you make good care that you only ever talk about that and not anything else about said child even if the latest actual anecdote (that isn’t “actually blowing off because this family is hell” she never mentions those lmao) dates back from when said child was 9.

(also it adds to the whole “with all the time we took to raise you” what i was taught by my parents is that i was unadequate and would never be enough, thanks - all my morals i got them in fictions and online all i’ve learnt from my parents was a caucionary tale of what I should never become. Which is also something that annoys me when, the rare times my mom says she’s proud of me, she always adds “i’m so proud to have educated you this way” and it’s always, always on subject that i’ve learnt online or in fiction and regularly things I got mad at my mom for not knowing so ye fuck that. It’s too easy to just take other’s people achievement as your own and refuse to listen when they tell you to stop.)

lmao did i ever mention too, my previous therapist and i discussed a lot about my d/epression and while i personally pinpoint my 13yo as my breaking undeniable point (because when you are hurting yourself because the physical pain makes you forget the emotional pain, this is time to stop prentending nothing bad is happening), my therapist said i had symptoms already when I was 7yo but i was too young to recognize them and since it’s the year the brain usually have a huge development, i developped all the unhealthy coping mechanism - but she also mentioned that the fact my father went to abandon my mom at the hospital because of me, was probably at least a bad vibe that carried on all my life.

So ya!!! beautiful!!! I spent my whole life from the womb to feel unwanted, to the point i completely shut down and thrived upon people appreciating me, which put me as a target for being b/ullied so much i just ended up not get too emotionally invested in anyone and emotionally distant in general after too much fuck up from my part by trying to be loved, and which was so determined to please all my life that I tried to fix everyone’s miserable lives around me until my mental health gave up completely.

(and like don’t get me wrong - my parents made me feel unwanted all my life, i was b/ullied up until high school, i lost all the friends I had before high school because of the a/busive relationship i ended up winding up into, and it fucked me over. It truly did. But I don’t think i’m “unloveable” I think just that it doesn’t matter to try. My high school friends, who are the people i consider my best friends today, are the most precious thing that happened to me and I will never second guess how they care for me. I have wonderful friends all around the world, I don’t feel “unloveable”. But i do feel like not wanting to try. If people leave, I won’t care because eh that happens. Even if i know my friends are here for me, and that I will always want to be there for them and support them, I can’t bring myself to go to them unprompted when i feel bad - even if i know they don’t consider me a burden I was taught all my life my emotions were such anyway. Things that are hard to unlearn. But there’s no “no one loves me” or ignoring completely my qualities there. I consider it a miracle i’m this kind while i’m this bitter, that I care so much about things even if i know it’s coping mechanism, but that i can still get this enthusiast about things sometimes -  and honestly when I look back i recognize that i’m strong, even if i don’t consider myself strong enough considering how everything still goes wrong and I can’t go back on my feet no matter what, so much my own physical health is sending me SOS. But i’m not blind to the point of ignoring that it takes strength to get this far- i’m just so, so tired of having to be strong all the time and knowing if i let weakness in for one moment all hell breaks loose for me.) 

“Life is a gift it’s ungrateful to tell a parent you never wanted to be born” hi, i never asked to be born, you never made me feel like i had any reason to want to be alive except for what I could bring you and you only, i’ve never thought i’d live past 18 and was s/uicidal at a young age because i felt unwanted and felt like carrying everyone’s burden. Y’know, things we talked about multiple times. 

“ye but your elder sister made it associate to a trauma” well that’s a trauma for me as well thank you very much.

See, this is what actually sickens me with my parents. This sort of thin veiled sentences that somehow hit right in the nest of everything that once went wrong in my fucking life. This sort of little sentences that are even worse to me than actual insults because it disregard again everything we talked about. If i needed more proof (and i didn’t) that my parents never listen to me or care for my feelings outside of what it can bring them, this is a wonderful exemple.

I’m angry, i’m done, this family is a fucking mess, I’m tired. bye. 

[study-early]

January 1st 2017 feels like a long time ago, but it still feels odd that a whole year has passed. This year has been a hectic year to say the least. I've not been particularly active on here, but a lot of things have happened, good and bad which I have learnt from, both in my academic and personal life. 

 1- Keep Looking Forward 

This sort of falls into two areas. 

 When starting my second year of University, I lost focus on why I was actually there. I had applied to university in the interest of learning as much as I could, but had forgotten this over my first year. Others aspirations, career advice and department information, all the events and new things at university had distracted me. It left me de-motivated and in a cycle of feeling like a failure and too much of a failure to do anything about it. I was aiming for everything, not what I wanted. 

 If you're very busy, sometimes you end up living day to day. There's nothing wrong with this, you need to get through now to get to tomorrow. Any student who has had several deadlines on the same day or experienced final exams knows sometimes you just need to pull through. However you shouldn't forget why you are doing what you are doing now. It's the same for the future. It shouldn’t be like that all the time. 

 Look ahead, whether that's a month, a year or years away. I had also lost focus on what I actually wanted to do, focusing on what I thought was the right thing to aim for. Aim for what you really want, whether that is related to your studies or not. Keep reminding yourself why you are where you are now and where you want to go. 

Write down your goals and what you want

SMART Goals are particularly good- these are Specific, Measurable, Attainable, Relevant and Timely (Have a deadline) 

Review these from time to time, regularly if you can

Look back at what your previous goals were, if you've had it long enough, go back and look at your studyblr a few years ago 

Listen to others, but don't compare yourself to them, you do things your own way 

 2- Your Studies Aren't everything 

 If there is anything I learnt this year that Studyblrs seem to need to remember is that your studies aren't everything. Celebrate your academic accomplishments, celebrate graduating and celebrate your careers, but don't focus on it too heavily. 

 A career doesn't need to be all encompassing, you have a life outside of it. You can get gratification outside of it. Remembering this helped me a lot. I'm interested in science and technology, and whilst I know almost nothing about coding, I’ve read a lot about Artificial Intelligence. A lot of talk about AI is about the loss of jobs. When you put all your aspirations on a career, hearing this is pretty discomforting. It was nerve wracking for me, someone with my entire career ahead of me. 

 Make sure to give yourself time out. There's so much out there now on self-care, but actually give yourself time out. Have things outside of your studies you put effort into and get joy out of. Only you know what this is, it can be totally embarrassing or be 'useless' to your CV but if it improves your life you should pursue it in your spare time. 

 On this point, friendships and relationships are perfectly good things to work on. In theory, I could work more and get firsts instead of seeing friends or travelling home at weekends. I use the phrase in theory, because in reality I would definitely have a breakdown. Your social life isn't in direct opposition to your grades. Even if it is, it's totally valid to choose your social life. It's about balancing the two, not eradicating one.

If you plan your time, make sure to plan in time for things other than studying  

Alternatively, give yourself realistic goals of what you want to achieve in a day, then leave the rest of it free for your interests 

Take up a new hobby or something you've always wanted to try 

Got a friend you've thought about seeing but haven't? Or someone you want to get to know better? Go for it, message them or meet up with them 

 3- Get the right amount of rest 

 Similarly, resting is about balance. You want to keep your stress down but not keep yourself in a state of idleness. 

 Being busy doesn't necessarily mean you are at your most productive. Resting is not doing nothing. For one, your brain needs sleep to process information, form links and consolidate your memories. Second, taking breaks, even when you're awake provokes a similar process. (x) (x) (There’s plenty of research out there if you’re interested in it)

 This year I learnt the importance of rests after I went over a month without going home and ended up in hospital. It's a hard lesson to learn, even then sometimes I would push myself too far. Often, as soon as I gave myself a break, the façade I had been keeping up by being busy would crumble down. 

 Do a little bit of rest and other things a lot to keep your stress down, but make sure not to be too idle. This summer, I let depression leave me in a state of doing nothing. As soon as I got a job, just working in a café, doing that little bit of work helped me get going. Taking a small step helped me to study for my Autumn exams, as it got me moving. 

Keep in mind if it's worth staying up to study more, or if it would be better to sleep 

Find a sleep schedule that works for you, aim for 5-7 hours, and closer to 10 if you're a teenager 

Naps are good in moderation 

Sometimes doing a little bit makes you feel a lot better 

Try telling yourself to do 20 minutes of studying, and if you want to keep going, keep going, if not, stop 

 4- Exercise 

 I was as sceptical as anyone of the suggestion that exercise was good for managing your stress and especially sceptical when suggesting it to manage depression. However I'm a convert to the idea. 

Exercise, and other basic routines, are a base for you to improve your mental health. Anti-depressants, eating regularly, exercising, sleeping enough, all the small pieces of advice you get can seem trivial. They seem especially trivial, when you have relapsed and feel as if they have failed you before, that people tell you these things will make you better when they don't. 

 I say they're a base, because that's what they are for me at the moment. Recovering from a mental health problem is not inspirational leaps forward, it is constant work, constant discipline and constant failures. It's like taking on an extra job, except that it's all the time and you never get holidays. The aforementioned list has been a base for me to recover, some days I can do these and work through the big things, but other days they are just there to keep me going. If I go to the gym, or if I make dinner, I feel like I've achieved something. Looking after yourself in a little way makes things a bit better, to give strength to improve.

 Exercise as beneficial is definitely something I have learnt this year. In the past it has been a negative experience for me, being lonely in school lessons and punishing myself for insecurities in my body. This year I've changed my attitude to exercise, as a tool to improve my mood, to release energy, to refresh my mind, wake me up or tire me out for bed. 

It was difficult, to part with my money, to have the courage to go the gym and use the equipment (I’m terrified of falling off the treadmill and the men looking at me in the weight room), but all this made me happier for overcoming my fears. Little struggles and little achievements helped me with the bigger struggles.

Take walks if you haven't got the opportunity to do much, a 30 minute walk isn't actually as time consuming as it sounds 

Talking walks in nature, or parks if you're in a city, are really relaxing, at least in my opinion they are Walks are also a good time to meditate or practice calming techniques, especially if you walk to quiet spots 

If you're interested in a team sport find out if there's a team you could join, most are pretty open to all levels 

The internet is full of things you can do in your house, or with no equipment, more than I could list 

 5- Sometimes you need to 'Fail' 

Perfectionism sucks. Let's be real here. I'm not the only one who takes anything less than what is the best as a failure. Over this year I've learnt to try and ditch this idea.

 As you might’ve guessed, it's been a bit of a rough year for me. Expecting myself to be perfect and outstanding at everything is a large part of this. One thing I've learnt, especially in the months after I left hospital, is that sometimes it is better to do something half-assed or badly on time than to do nothing at all. You’ll get a higher mark on an assignment if you hand something okay in than if you don’t hand it in at all. 

 Similarly, things won’t always go perfectly straight away. You need to practice things and sometimes things don’t work at all unless it’s been a long time. For me this year, I missed out on the societies at university because I expected to make friends straight away and got nervous if I didn’t. Expecting everything to be perfect means you could miss out on good things. If you’re starting University this year, remember this, you may have chosen the wrong place or course, but you also may not be settling in straight away.

This is about mindset. Most of it is learning, something you figure out on your own 

Stop putting yourself down, look at what you are good at. Write down what you like about yourself, accept your achievements, think about what others would think of your thoughts 

Reframe your view on mistakes. Try to foster a Growth Mindset, look at your mistakes as opportunities to improve 

Be realistic about your goals and give yourself goals you can actually achieve 

Remember no one is perfect and they all make mistakes, repeat this to yourself.     

6- I've given up on hand writing notes 

 There's not really a lot to say here. It's also something that lots of people have said already on here, Writing out pretty or 'aesthetic notes' isn't everything. 

It can help you to study, but don't let the time doing this outweigh the benefits. I largely stopped because it was easier for me to take messy notes in class or on a laptop, then not write the up until before an exam. Also because for several of my subjects, it wasn't mostly memorisation anymore but understanding of concepts. Writing nice notes weren’t helping me understand more, and they weren't useful for my group projects or writing essays. 

 This isn't to say I don't think it has it uses. I still take notes the way I did during my A Levels for Spanish, but that's more memorisation. Essentially, take notes in the best way for you and what you’re learning, not what people have said is best or what looks best for your blog. 

Do whatever form of note taking works for you 

Try out different methods of studying and notetaking, to see if you find something that works better for you 

There's plenty of software for recording classes, mine was paid for by a government grant, but there are plenty of alternatives 

Actually listening in class, instead of taking notes, has always been useful for me in understanding content, or at least taking very brief or messy notes, with shorthand phrases 

 7- Taking other notes 

 Whilst I don't carry folders of notes around anymore, I do take a notebook with me everywhere I go now. 

 It cost me 95p from the University shop, it's not particularly pretty inside or out and I've used it as a coaster quite a few times so it's covered in ring marks. I take it almost everywhere with me. If I'm going somewhere with decent lighting and a chance of sitting around it's coming. 

Notebooks are great for keeping all your ideas together in one place. A rough book can be a first point to remember things, before you put them elsewhere. And if you want you could keep some sort of journal or diary. 

For me, it's been useful just to work through things at times I usually wouldn't, like on the tube or on a walk. Often your best ideas are at times you're not at your desk working. I've got notes about assignments, blog posts, public lectures I've attended, meetings I've been to and just a general mess of ideas. If writing helps you think, it can be an aid in thinking and planning. Writing out my thoughts and having these all in one book helped me to process and plan this year. 

8- Alcohol 

When I turned 18 and could legally drink, alcohol went from being something that would make me throw up to something fun and sociable. Too many bad things, embarrassing things, traumatising things, that have happened to me this year have been related to alcohol. Alcohol became a crutch, making social situations unbearable without it, and to me drinking more and more in these situations. 

 At university, the view of what constitutes a normal amount of drinking is distorted. At least in the UK, people drink a lot. Like a lot. And from what I've seen, people at my university in London don't even drink as much as elsewhere in the country, but it’s still a lot. 

The normalisation of binge drinking is dangerous, as it causes so many problems for people but these are not seen as being as problematic as if they were illegal drugs or other forms of self harm. And that's what binge drinking is, a form of self harm. The increased risk of cancer from alcohol use is massively underestimated by the public and I’ve seen first hand the immediate damage to people’s emotional, mental and physical health I’m being fairly dramatic, but it feels like 99% of the time alcohol abuse is treated so casually, it’s disturbing. 

One of my biggest study tips for other university students out there would be to drink less. Obviously, not everybody drinks, but at the same time at university it feels like everybody drinks. If you drink, you probably know going out and getting wasted doesn't just take up the time you are doing it, you can lose a whole day of work from being hungover. Do this every week and it adds up. From my experience, going out once a week was below average for freshers. 

I'm not going to be judgemental about this. I'm hardly in a position to be, considering I'm not completely sober. But it's something I've sadly not seen on study tips posts before, even though many people first take drugs or drink at university or college. Sorting out any problems you have with drugs, including alcohol, helps a lot in general, not just with your studies. 

9- Remember the Good Things

One of the nicest moments I had recently was when I reviewed goals I had set over a year ago on my blog. After having a quite frankly terrible year I expected to have met very few of them. However I had actually met quite a lot of them. 

Suddenly I remembered all the effort I had put in during the last year, and actually recognised it. Take a little time to think about what you’ve achieved. When you get praise actually listen. Appreciate yourself and your efforts. 

Look back at 2017 honestly but recognise all you have done this year. 

 Happy New Years!

[dwestfieldblog]

THOSE WHO DO NOT WANT TO HEAR MUST FEEL

This temporary apocalypse could be seen as a globally overdue Long Night of the Soul, an initiation of sorts which might result in a deeper understanding of what actually matters for human evolution (despite the very best efforts of the scum who are trying to reverse any spiritual progress because it weakens their hold.) There are several ways in which the negative side could truly take over, starting with the horror nightmare prospect of DT (aka ‘Just Another Scumbag’ as Bannon once called him) re ‘elected’. The realistic pessimist in me is sure that if he wins, this planet in this dimension is finished. His winning will be a final signal to the world to give us up. In my lifetime, we have never been so close to the mass breakout of totalitarianism and utter lack of empathy than we are now. Actual fascist populists, not some wet Liberal bleating but the real thing, ready to go live. Covid has bankrupted hundreds of thousands of businesses, millions have lost their jobs, migration from the truly poor and dangerous countries continues...into the becoming poor and dangerous countries. Those who live there and are already ruined by the disasters in every home will be easy prey for the populists. Speaking of whom...

Steve Bannon has spent a great deal of time and other people’s money in setting up a network to overthrow the (arf arf arf) ‘deep state’ and replace it with... a new deeper state...still run by the rich, who will use the populists, who in turn will use the mass of the angry and frightened...etc etc...And power, as most people recognise it, will stay in the hands of the unhuman swine with the most gold and the least soul. WER NICHT HOREN WILL, MUSS FUHLEN...

‘...the human nervous system properly programmed, can edit and orchestrate all experience into any gestalt it wishes. We encounter the same dismal and depressing experiences over and over again because they are repeating tape loops in the central programmer of our brains. We can encounter ecstasy over and over by learning the neurosciences that orchestrate all in coming signals into ecstatic tape loops.’ R.A.Wilson. Prometheus Rising, Hilaritas Press.

It takes a lot of effort and Will to do this but what else is worth it other than to attempt to break out of the vicious cycle and evolve? Even I have managed this when I focus on choosing it. Giving up ingrained behavioural habits often hurts; this is, however, a choice. It doesn’t have to unless you are a masochist.

Flew to England for three weeks in August, full flight sold out, all of us wore masks (apart from one 6 foot 6 mad eyed American who kept pacing up and down the cabin.) Right up to the point where we were all given a bottle of water, some crisps and two biscuits...All masks off at the same time, all passengers attempting not to breathe while we drank and ate. Love seeing how many in both countries wear masks under their nose or even only on their chin. As Bill Hicks would say ‘Any questions why we’re f.....d up as a race?’ As Jonathan Pie does say; ‘Put a f...... mask on.’ I have been coughing since February, and drinking heavily, so not especially optimistic about getting C19.

I avoided almost all of the news while in UK, watched five minutes in total on the TV and only read headlines in the paper. It was enough. Since I have been back in Prague I have continued to avoid the news other than that which I am told by friends and students but I can tell from daily receiving over one hundred emails that things are truly breaking. Hexagram 23 and total Weltschmerz is upon us. Mental health is twisting up globally. One by one, all my friends are suffering serious damage, one way or another. Hearts are breaking apart and many damnable souls, who should be burning, are not. People are afraid to breathe or to embrace, looking to the very worst set of leaders in my lifetime for answers and being manipulated en masse to mass crises.  

(Jaz Coleman....On the Day the Earth went Mad...watch the video, listen. Feel. Weep. Rage. Change.) QUI NOLERUNT AUDIRE DEBERE SENTIRE.

Love the interviews I saw with those who voted for Trump and realised they made a mistake...after FOUR YEARS. What clued them in? Which particular excremental atrocity of his foulness gave them the alert? Will the Electoral College let him ‘win’? Before I left, I saw the Trump interview where he said ‘It is what it is’, with regard to the massive number of deaths in the USA. ‘We are below the world’. Blood pressure rising, I even checked his Twitter account where he published two letters, one from the eternally unlovely NRA and the other from the American Police Federation, assuring him he was the best president to ever serve their interest and they would back him to the hilt. His plan to stir the US up into open civil war continues and Putin sits back and smiles. As does Jared it seems, the smug sadist advisor in the same style as (England’s off Broadway Trump) Boris’s Dominic Cummings.  Herd Immunity? Well yes it might work at some point after a few years and millions dead. You evil alien bastards. The  main individuals in the British Government will make millions from a no deal Brexit, perfect timing. The country will die.

The newest PC bullshit has got even the wonderful JK Rowling into trouble just for speaking her mind politely about transgender issues. I love PC... it is how dumb useless Liberals can act out their secret fascist impulses and feel hard of c..k and wet of p...y...feel good to be so righteous... same with overly ill humoured religious folk,  but the PC tribe cannot use God to justify anything so they are a bit weaker...You morons... ‘People who menstruate’, People with a cervix’? PEOPLE? Really? Women is a bad word is it? Too specific? (Well it has the word men in it, so seems almost inclusive.) You bastards are annihilating language; raping semantics...get another hobby you ridiculous cretins. (Be sure the populists well understand how to manipulate such fools.)

Extinction Rebellion is being used (among a multitude of other groups in other countries, hello Black Lives Matter) by the Kremlin to stir up shite, they are mostly well meaning on the road to Hell. Stop being so dumb and stop helping those who are against you at home and abroad. Dogmatic faith leads to mistrust, violence and hatred, says the lone derranger...And as for the absurd Q Anon, it is those who seek a Deeper State who are using you to do it. Well done.

Jacob Blake, shot seven (count them) times in the back by police even though charged with no crime and paralysed was handcuffed to hospital bed. That goofy twat of a 17 yr boy who wanted to be a policeman, shooting at blacks because he believed he had carte blanc (arf) from Trump to defend his country against ‘terrorists’...he will probably escape much punishment because... he was bullied at school...WHO WASNT?? The only people who weren’t were bullied at home. Guns ‘open carry’ in various states as the NRA rejoice in what they encourage. ‘Your first amendment means I can say your second amendment sucks d...s’. JimJeffries. Damn straight. By the time even I was 17, I had grown out of wanting to kill half the world. Wannabe cops are a little slower. 

Everything is the new normal. Too late for a mid life crisis unless I die at 108 but I never forget that statistically there is more chance of being killed by death than anything else. ‘Heres to my love! O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.’ Walking... see three funeral services shops in the road leading to/away from the hospital, clever businessmen...walking...masks off, between two conveniently placed flower shops and smoking outside the fuming crematorium in black suits and highly polished shoes. Waiting. That’s us.

I MISS YOU MARLENE. I MISS YOU MARLENE. I MISS YOU MARLENE. Nice headline seen on US newspaper...‘Can any good from cyberstalking your online crush?’I wondered that after falling in fascination with a woman in Germany who wrote like a poet and wove a spell of stories to charm and beguile. I would have walked from London to Hamburg to see if she was real. Everyone expresses love and the need for it in different ways. Reprogramming a deeply imprinted circuit is usually uncomfortable and so it proved for both of us. We shall see...if there is time. ‘One of us is crazy and the other one’s insane’

I can remember one of the days I Changed (seven years old?) We had a history lesson and were told about English kings and their ‘Divine Right’ to rule. Because God told them. And they told the people. And the people believed them. I remember the light in the classroom, where I was sitting, the smell of the tables, old unused ink wells, pencil shavings... and just thinking whatever a child’s version of F..K OFF...THATS BULLSHIT ISNT IT? would have been. That was the first moment I started questioning the class system, gullibility and bastards. A couple of years later, the absolute freedom of being, sent to collect the class register, walking down the empty corridors and not in the classroom...a beautiful feeling of being OUTSIDE. Free. Two of many experiences which have never left me. (The Angel Choir, the Rituals, the EYE across the Multiverse dream, the Reconnection...) Even if Freedom turns out to be as much of an illusion as everything else, it is still as beautifully sensual to me as music.

One summer night in 1990 after my 3rd breakdown, I had a dream. I think. Bear (or even bare) with me on this, I know how this sounds but it is only reporting what I saw in my mind. Two Aliens, thin and shadow like, came though my open bedroom door in the night (I could see the silhouettes) and one took a long shiny silver needle like a hypodermic for a horse and stood behind me and pushed the needle in through the top and centre of my skull, penetrating my brain. I FELT it slowly being pushed in, it hurt but I was paralysed. There was no voice but I heard (try not to laugh) ‘So now you have Superintelligence’. They moved out, the door closed, I slept. As usual with me, I remember every single dream I have ever remembered as if they were films I have watched over and over...and after a dream, the atmosphere stays with me for 23 whores. Later that day, I picked a big hardback book to find some info on something (A Cyclopaedia) with pages as thin as a bible. I sat almost motionless and without food for eight hours, DEVOURING every subject in it. Economics, geometry, geopolitical events, medicine, beliefs, systems.....the next day I finished ninety percent of it and went on to read books by five philosophers from second hand shops, started watching insects, stopped swearing, worked out, and read and read and read. All the knowledge I hadn’t cared about in school and college I picked up that one summer. It led to making new friends, new possibilities, new work, new love and led me to fly to Prague in this sequence while continuing to practice many ‘New age’ techniques by a writer called Stuart Wilde. They all worked and I continued...with regular fallings and breakthroughs.

‘Religion was invented when the first scoundrel met the first fool’. Faith is believing what you know not be true’. The seeker finds a belief and stops thinking for themselves...‘Every ideology is a mental murder, a reduction of dynamic living processes to static classifications, and every classification is a Damnation, just as every inclusion is an exclusion.’RAW

I had a four hour conversation with a Christian bloke, thirty, intelligent, believes in Satan as an actual being with horns. Etc. He couldn’t quite see any flaw in saying that any prophet who saw angels, white light and heard the voice of God, healed, etc but was not actually Christ, was only being tempted and used by the devil. He told me to watch the beautiful side of evil...

‘Every act of authority is, in fact, an invasion of the psychic and physical territory of another’. Human progress ‘is the concrete manifestation of some person’s refusal to bow to Authority.’  

‘WE GOT ELECTED ON DRAIN THE SWAMP, LOCK HER UP, BUILD THE WALL. THIS WAS PURE ANGER. ANGER AND FEAR IS WHAT GETS PEOPLE TO THE POLLS. THE DEMOCRATS DON'T MATTER, THE REAL OPPOSITION IS THE MEDIA, and the way to deal with them is to flood the zone with shit.’ Said Bannon, who also said. ‘Darkness is good. Dick Cheney. Darth Vader. Satan. Thats power.’ Has he met Putin yet? Is he also on speed dial along with Boris and Trump? People! Create better leaders. NOW.

Happy birthday Aleister Crowley on the 12th October and Happy Halloween to all readers, stay healthy and sane (arf) Remember you are magick...buy the re-release of Musick to Play in the Dark by COIL and become moonlight... And those in America, if you actually do truly believe in a good God...go and vote and remove that evil ego and his cohorts in the White House with absolute overwhelming victory or we are done in this lifetime. Be healthy.

LOVE!!!

[pinkrabbitpro]

The Weight of the World   

by PinkRabbitPro

Summary: Cat Grant is mentally ill.

Disclaimer: I’ve this running around in my head for awhile, and dropped it several times for various reasons. It deals with Cat’s mental illness, missed meds, a bit of a breakdown, and Kara realizing that choices she’s made may have made some things harder for Cat. If any of those things might bother you, please avoid.

AO3 Link

Cat Grant is mentally ill.

That she is beautiful and brilliant and more than a little successful doesn’t change that fact. Sometimes, it seems to even enhance it.

Technically, Kara Danvers knows these facts. She’s picked up the prescriptions for assorted medications, the names of which drew worried frowns from Alex when mentioned, she’s heard Cat’s bitter jokes, and even seen a few serious signs, but most of the time she doesn’t really believe them. Most of the time Cat is fully in control, and if she’s acid tongued or bitter, it’s to a purpose. Most of the time, Cat Grant seems far too large a figure to be betrayed by her own grey matter, too intense, too smart, too...

And then she enters her boss’s darkened office after hours one night.

Cat hasn’t left for the day—Kara just spoke to her driver—and she’s not in the meeting rooms. Kara stopped by on the way up from the garage. Given her workload, Cat should be in her office, but she’s nowhere in evidence.

Not at first.

Then Kara uses super-hearing and picks up the too rapid flutter of her heartbeat, the rhythm distinctive enough to be easily recognized. A moment later, she finds the rapid timbre of her breathing under the air conditioning sounds, running fast and shallow. “Ms. Grant?” Kara whispers, senses immediately on alert. The other woman has enemies, more than a few capable of turning violent.

If she’s in danger, it might explain the lack of response.

Tipping up her glasses, Kara begins scanning the room on a wider bandwidth, seeing through the walls and furnishings. She finally spots her boss in the small niche that leads back to a private office and washroom. She’s sitting on the floor, back pressed firmly against the rear wall, arms wrapped tightly around her folded legs, head down, face hidden in her knees.

The body language is so not Cat Grant that Kara freezes. On the verge of panic, she double checks herself to make sure the woman wearing Cat’s clothes is actually Cat. It’s her and there’s no blood or any sign of injuries. She scans further. No one else is in the area unless they can hide from Kryptonian super vision. Which is very unlikely.

“Ms. Grant?” Kara repeats and cautiously moves forward.

Cat shivers and ducks her head, hiding her face more firmly.

Kara doesn’t know what this is, but it’s not normal and not good. She reaches Cat and kneels down beside her in an instant. “Cat?” she whispers, scared now. “Are you hurt?” She doesn’t quite touch the woman, but flutters her hands close, hunting for any sign of injuries. “I can call Supergirl—”

“Don’t,” Cat hisses, her chin snapping up, her eyes wide, pupils blown.

Kara rears back ever so slightly, startled to realize Cat’s eyes and cheeks are glistening with tears. “She can get you to the hospital faster than—”

“Don’t,” Cat repeats, her voice ragged, but hard, almost angry. “Don’t play this game.” She drags in a harsh breath, her voice breaking and making her next words a plea. “Don’t make me play it.”

Kara freezes in the face of the raw emotion directed her way.

“Tomorrow I can probably do it again...” Cat whispers brokenly, her eyes dropping to avoid Kara. “...go back to pretending...”

“Pretending?” Kara whispers, struggling to sound confused, even though she knows exactly what the other woman is talking about. “You’re not talking about—” She starts to deny her ties to Supergirl, but Cat cuts her off.

“Please.” Cat’s voice breaks and her hand lands on Kara’s. “I know it’s my fault for panicking. I should have realized you couldn’t be her all the time, but I can’t...” Her voice fades and she’s silent for a long moment. “Reality’s already hard enough...”

Blinking rapidly at the threat of tears, Kara feels like her sternum might crack under the pressure on her chest as Cat babbles, just barely making sense.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes desperately. “I shouldn’t have pushed. I don’t know how not to push, but I know...I know I screwed up, but please don’t...not now. I don’t know how you made it seem like there were two of you, but please stop. I can’t...” Her voice breaks and she can’t finish for a moment. “Just please stop,” she whispers after a beat.

She’s shaking and as Kara watches helplessly, she wrings her hands together, sharp nails dragging across the backs. Kara’s vision lets her see the ugly tracks that cut from her knuckles to her wrists. “Cat,” she whispers and draws Cat’s chin up, the pressure on her chest increasing at the hurt she sees in hazel eyes.

She did this, she realizes in a sick rush, deliberately made this woman doubt herself to protect her secrets even as she turned to her for support and advice.

Suddenly it seems hopelessly cruel.

“No more lies, not right now,” Cat begs while Kara’s still struggling to process what she’s hearing and seeing. “Please don’t make me.”

Kara can’t do it to her anymore. “I won’t,” she promises, sounding nearly as shaky as Cat. “But Cat,” she draws the other woman’s chin back up, terrified by the way she won’t meet her gaze, “you need to tell me what’s going on. What’s happened?”

Despite the firm hold keeping her chin up, Cat’s gaze slides away.

“Look at me, Cat,” Kara orders, using what she thinks of as her Supergirl voice. “Look at me.”

Hazel eyes finally swing back to meet Kara’s scared gaze, though there’s a glaze there that Kara has never seen before. Not drunkenness or exhaustion. Kara’s seen both of those. But a broken, lost quality that scares the hell out of her.

But at least, the older woman is listening now, if not tracking well. Kara keeps her voice firm, and speaks slowly and carefully. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Are you hurt? Did someone—”

“Meds,” Cat exhales. “Missed my meds.” Her shoulders twitch and she starts scratching—almost clawing—at her forearms. “Itches,” she mumbles.

It’s a struggle for Kara to stay calm and not simply sweep Cat up and rush her to the hospital, but she’s terrified of making things worse. She catches Cat’s hands, forcibly halting the scratching, though she’s careful not to cause additional injuries. “Did you take them when you realized you’d missed a dose?” She knows a bit about such things, but it suddenly occurs to her, it’s too damn little.

Cat shakes herself, visibly struggling to regain some control. “Two,” she says softly. “Missed two doses.” She pauses, then nods carefully. “Took a dose.” She scrubs a hand over her face, then mutters more coherently, “I took one dose.” She even manages a bit of Cat Grant frostiness when she mutters, “I know not to double up.”

“Good.” Kara pats her shoulder lightly. “I can take you to the hospital,” she offers, hoping Cat will agree. Instead, she shakes her head. She’s Cat Grant after all. Kara wonders how much of her refusal is rooted in the way the paparazzi will doubtless report the story. She’s under no illusions it would stay secret.

“I’ll be fine. Just need to take it easy for awhile.” Cat swallows hard and straightens her shoulders fractionally. She’s trying to pull herself back together, though it’s a shaky effort at best. Kara’s retreat from the need to lie seems to help. “I’ll be fine.”

Kara wants to argue, but she’s uncertain what’s best. “Is it okay if I call someone? A doctor. To see what she thinks.” It’s hardly Alex’s specialty, but Kara trusts her judgment and there’s no risk of a flashy headline. “She won’t tell anyone anything. I promise.”

Cat is silent for a long moment then finally nods.

Kara steps away and calls Alex, quickly explaining the situation. When she’d done, Alex carefully questions her for details she’s never thought about. At some point, she searches Cat’s desk and finds a discarded prescription bottle. The lid is off and it’s still half full. A half drunk glass of water sits nearby. She reads Alex the details off the bottle and hears her whistle softly.

“She’s in for a couple of rough days,” Alex diagnoses after a few more questions.

“This is my fault,” Kara whispers.

“What?” Alex asks in confusion.

“When I fooled her, made her think I wasn’t Supergirl. I made her think she was crazy. She begged me not to do that again—”

“You didn’t do this,” Alex argues. “Unusual chemistry did. Her brain doesn’t work like other people’s.”

“But if I hadn’t—”

“Kara, no. Her brain is different. That’s why she has an empire and people hang on her every word...and there’s a price to pay for that.” Alex sighs softly. “Some choices you made may have become the focus of her illness,” she admits, “but they didn’t cause it. Things like this would have happened if she never met you.”

“You didn’t see the look in her eyes, or hear her voice when she begged not to do that to her again.” Kara wipes away a few tears.

“You did what you needed to survive.”

Kara’s too lost in her own guilt to hear the regrets that underlie her sister’s flat tone. “But—”

“Save the self flagellation for later,” Alex orders, then softens her voice as she continues. “Right now she needs you, and you can’t help her if you’re lost in your own issues.”

“She looks so hurt.” Kara rubs at a few more tears.

“She is,” Alex sighs. “Bluntly put, she’s dealing with a chronic illness. One that she manages to hide most of the time, but right now it’s kicking her ass. Now, do you want to help her or wallow in guilt?”

Kara flinches as if struck. “Help her.”

“Okay,” Alex says kindly enough to make Kara realize the blunt words were no accident. “Then you need to understand something, she’s facing two problems. One, she doesn’t have the meds her brain needs to self regulate, so her mood, thought patterns, emotions, they’re all messed up.” She pauses momentarily before trying to explain. “Two, she’s taken these drugs long enough that she’s physically dependent on them. She’s literally in withdrawal.” She falls silent, giving Kara time to consider the explanation.

“The itching,” Kara says at last, remembering a stoner from high school who had a similar issue when he quit everything cold turkey. She can almost hear Alex nodding.

“That’s part of it,” Alex confirms. “That’s a common symptom of detoxing. You may also see other things—nausea, panic attacks, dizziness. She might even spike a fever. That’s all normal. Hopefully it’ll stabilize now that she’s had her meds, but it may take some time...”

“Does she need a hospital?” Kara whispers into the silence.

“Probably not. Two doses shouldn’t cause anything dangerous, but she’s needs to be under constant observation and if you don’t want to—”

“I’ll do it,” Kara says instantly.

Alex doesn’t respond to the immediate answer, simply asks, “Do you think she’ll talk to me?”

It requires some negotiating, and a lot of promises to keep her secrets, but finally Cat agrees. Kara’s about to hand the phone over when Alex says, “And, Kara, I need you to not listen in.”

Kara blinks in confusion. “But—”

“You’ve put me in a position of serving as her doctor, and as such, I have to respect her right to privacy.”

A hard swallow follows as Kara struggles with being blocked out. “But what if I need to know something?”

“I’ll tell you what I can,” Alex promises. “But only with her permission.” Her voice is firm—command mode activated. “Now hand her the phone.”

After doing as told, Kara steps back, deliberately not listening in as Cat speaks to Alex, though she can’t avoid hearing the dull, exhausted timbre of her voice or the slow cadence of her mostly one syllable answers. Finally, she taps the phone for Kara’s attention and hands it back with a tired sigh.

“Alex?” Kara can hear the fear in her own voice as she silently wills her sister to explain everything.

“She’s been through this before,” Alex says, sounding relieved. “Says she’s never had any dangerous symptoms. That’s good.”

Kara can hear Alex’s internal debate. “But?” she prompts.

“It’s no guarantee she won’t this time. Drug responses can be unpredictable.”

Casting a worried look the older woman’s direction, Kara checks on her physical condition as only she can. Everything seems within normal ranges, though Cat’s pulse and breathing are running fast. “Should she be in a hospital?” she asks, afraid of missing something.

She hears a soft sigh, then Alex gives a hesitant answer. “I think she’ll be calmer with you, but Kara, you need to monitor her closely. If she has chest pains, an irregular heartbeat or is straining to breathe or if she spikes a high fever, you get her to the hospital fast.”

“I will,” Kara promises as she glances back toward Cat, who’s still compressed into a tight knot and seated on the floor.

“I’ll keep the phone with me. You call if you have any questions, need anything.” She pauses again. “And Kara, if you need me to come, I will. I just think right now, she’s best off with you. She trusts you and that’s not easy for her. But I also think she’d probably trust me more than a random ER doctor, so we’ll work it out...that includes the DEO medcenter if need be.”

Surprised, Kara sucks in air, uncertain what Alex is saying.

“I’m not saying that because I think anything’s going to go wrong, but because I want you to know you have our full support if you need it...if she needs it.” Alex sucks in a breath. “She’s earned it. She’s been there every time we needed her, willingly risked her life and put herself in harm’s way. She’s one of us now.”

Kara’s throat locks down and she has to blink away a few hot tears.

She’s silent long enough that it must scare Alex because she finally asks, “Do you need me to come over?”

Peering over at Cat where she sits on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around her folded legs, face again hidden, Kara just wants to make things right again. As she watches, Cat looks up, moving slowly, like everything hurts, but there’s quiet trust in her eyes and a silent plea. “No,” Kara says after a long moment. Cat doesn’t deal well with people when stressed. “You’re right. She’s better off with just me.” She straightens her shoulders, accepting this responsibility. “I’ll take care of her.”

“Like I said, if you need help, I’m here. We’re here.”

Nodding, Kara says her goodbyes and hangs up, then goes to crouch down in front of Cat who’s put her head back down by then. “Hey there,” she says gently and reaches out to pet silky hair with a gentle hand. “Can you look at me?”

It takes a long moment, but finally Cat raises her head and takes a deep breath, clearly summoning her reserves. “You heard your sister,” she says clearly, though one hand closes tightly in what Kara realizes is a fight with the urge to scratch her arm. “I’ll be fine.” She waves a hand in a dismissive gesture. “You can go.”

A sad smile twisting her mouth, Kara shakes her head. “She also said you need constant observation,” she points out.

She’s almost relieved by the mutinous look directed her way. “Horrors,” Cat grumbles. “So do I get private restroom privileges or—”

“Cat,” Kara snaps to forestall a Cat Grant style distraction effort. “Now, is Carter at home or should I take you to the beach house?” She knows Cat will never let Carter see this side of her life if she can help it.

Cat withers ever so slightly. “He’s with his dad.”

“The penthouse then.” Kara’s relieved she can keep her closer to the city and the DEO. She carefully scoops Cat up, every touch gentle. In that position, she can feel the way muscles jump and twitch just under Cat’s skin. “We’ll get through this,” she assures the other woman once she’s safely settled.

The only response is a tiny, nearly repressed whimper.

Then she flies.

At the penthouse, she’s careful, handling Cat almost like she’s made of glass until it’s clearly getting on her nerves.

“I’m fine,” Cat growls and starts to push to her feet. Reality suggests otherwise when she wobbles and sinks back down. She doesn’t argue when Kara gets her a glass of water. A bit later she asks for M&Ms.

It gives Kara some insight into long term patterns when Cat mutters, “Sometimes the sugar helps.” She thinks of the sweets that Cat is careful to keep on hand and the patterns of when they disappear and when they don’t.

They’re a tool as much as the meds.

It drives the point home. She lives with this. It’s a constant in her life and has been for a very long time.

Shame curls in the pit of Kara’s belly as she starts to see all the things she’s carefully overlooked or though nothing of.

“Oh, stop with the Bambi eyes,” Cat mutters and turns a sharp, eye-rolling gaze Kara’s way. “None of this is your fault.

“But I—”

“No,” Cat says flatly. Reaching out, she catches Kara’s hand and tugs her down to put them on level. Her hand floats up to run a finger along Kara’s cheek. “This is about genetics and bad wiring.” Her eyes slip closed and there’s shame in expression. “My brain doesn’t work right.” Slim shoulders rise and dip in a helpless shrug. “It sucks, but I’ll survive and right now I can’t deal with your issues on top of my own.”

Kara wants to argue, not for the reasons most might, but because the notion this brilliant, powerful woman, one of the smartest Kara has met on any world thinks of her mind as not working right horrifies her on a visceral level. “On Krypton,” she says after a long moment of miserable silence, “the way your brain works would be considered a gift from Rao.”

Cat snorts. “Some gift,” she mutters, sounding tired and bitter. “Miss a pill, wind up sobbing in a corner.”

“And speak into a camera and inspire people to save the world,” Kara argues, suddenly understanding what Alex was trying to tell her. “Same brain, different day, and maybe you can’t have one without the other.”

Cat has no reply to that, so she simply sinks back into the couch and pops another M&M into her mouth, her gaze growing distant as she considers Kara’s words.

It’s less than an hour later when Cat’s breathing suddenly grows strained and a hand rises to clutch her chest.

“Cat?” Kara says, but she’s already moving.

“I’m fine.” But she doesn’t sound fine to Kara and her heartbeat seems odd, the motion of the muscle strange when Kara peers at it through her chest.

She calls Alex and picks Cat up at the same time, not giving her time to argue. “I’m bringing her in.” Her voice is raw with terror, though she’s trying not to scare Cat. “Chest pains.”

“I’ll have a team on standby.”

Kara touches down at the midtown location mere minutes later. Alex is there with a team and they’re moving the instant Kara has Cat on the gurney. Kara goes with them and no one tries to stop her as she holds Cat’s hand and tries to reassure her.

The whole time Alex is moving, running tests and using words Kara doesn’t understand until her own chest feels too tight and like she might be the one in danger of cardiac arrest.

She quickly loses track of time, knowing only that it feels like forever until Alex reappears and smiles at Cat encouragingly. “It’s not a heart attack,” she assures Cat and Kara at the same time. “Panic attack.” She nods to a nurse off to one side. “We’re giving you something that should help you relax, but it’s very mild.” Cat’s on oxygen and Alex notes how she tenses when she checks the feed. “You want to stay on the oxygen a bit longer?”

Cat nods. “Helps,” she mutters, her stress levels high enough that it takes effort to drag air into her lungs.

Alex takes the time to talk to Cat, asking questions and offering support as she tracks the monitors. Cat’s still stressed, but her body is stabilizing. She’s half asleep when Alex finally pulls away.

Kara follows close on her heels. “Is she really okay?” she asks her older sister. “Because it seems like a lot more than just...”

“Physically, she’s fine,” Alex fills in when Kara trails off. “Nothing in the tests show any cardiac or pulmonary issues and panic attacks can mimic heart attacks. But to be sure, we’ll keep her a couple of days, monitor her closely.”

Kara’s eyes slide closed and she heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“I told you, she’s one of us now.”

Kara understands that the simple words are an answer to a whole host of issues, though she’s relieved when J’onn stops by later to tell her much the same. It won’t be simple, but they’ll work things out.

It takes three days, enough blood tests that Cat complains about being under the care of vampires, and a lot of hours of sleep, but Cat stabilizes.

Kara sits with her nearly the whole time and on the rare occasion she needs to leave her, Alex takes her watch.

Mostly, she sleeps and by the time she’s getting a last checkup and preparing to leave, they’ve discussed none of the issues the “incident”, as Cat calls it, has raised.

Kara stands nearby while Alex goes over Cat’s test results and medication plan. There are strong reminders that she needs to see her regular psychiatrist, but also words of encouragement. As Alex leaves, she gives Cat and Kara both stern looks, then slips out.

Cat’s standing, sure footed and stable, her back to Kara as she changes. She’s never been terribly modest and several days in a hospital gown with Kara helping with much of her bodily care have erased what little she had where Kara’s concerned.

“You okay?” Kara asks.

Cat shrugs, drawing Kara’s gaze to the slender line of her bare back. She’s lost a bit of weight and she resolves to work on that. Cat has none to spare.

“Fine,” Cat responds without looking back. “I was lucky you got Supergirl to bring me in so quickly.”

Kara twitches, confused by Cat’s response, momentarily wondering if she’s had some kind of relapse. “I...Cat?” She listens for her heartbeat, frowning as she hears the way it’s running too fast. “What are you doing?”

Cat is silent for a moment as she shrugs into a button down burgundy blouse that Kara brought her from her closet at the penthouse. Finally, she picks up something from a rolling hospital table and pivots, careless of the way her blouse hangs open in front.

Kara drags her eyes from the strip of pale skin and the delicate curves on display to the thick stack of papers Cat thrusts at her.

“Following the rules,” Cat says and almost manages to keep her voice flat enough to hide any bitterness.

Almost.

Flipping through the papers, Kara speed reads enough to get the gist. Non-disclosure agreements, waivers, acknowledgments of state secrets and plenty of threats to see her locked away permanently should she release any of the information. She doesn't recognize the signing officer and wonders how they got past Alex and J'onn.

But Cat has no way of knowing any of that. She just knows she's signed on to a prison threat.

“I thought maybe there was finally some trust—some forgiveness,” Cat mutters, her voice thick with hurt. “Obviously I was mistaken.” She turns away again, but Kara can hear the too heavy thud of her heart. “So, as I said, thank Supergirl for—”

“No.” Kara reaches out before she can think better of it. Grabbing Cat’s upper arm, she’s careful not to cause any damage, but she’s insistent as she pulls her back around. “I had nothing to do with this and believe me, I won't let anyone hurt you.” And she holds out the papers with her free hand, a single blast from her eyes enough to incinerate them and send ash fluttering to the floor. “I’ve always trusted you,” she insists, ignoring the way Cat snorts. “I was never scared you’d blow my cover, but that you’d banish me.” She’s silent for a moment, then admits, “And I couldn’t bear that.”

Cat stills, but looks away.

“I’d found a home at CatCo and I didn’t want to risk losing it. When you fired me, I panicked.” She pauses for a long moment. “You know about panic and fear,” she says at last.

Cat pales and swallows hard. “I’d been cycling the night before,” she sighs, raising her free hand to her temple. “That’s when my brain locks on something, keeps bringing it around again, won’t let go...and all I could think was that you should be using your powers to save people, not heating my latté to perfection.” She finally looks at Kara, shame in her eyes. “I was being greedy, keeping you with me—”

“No,” Kara whispers, releasing Cat’s arm to cup her palm along her cheek. “Being Supergirl is wonderful and amazing, but it can’t be everything. You’ve taught me and challenged me and made me better in every way. All of me, not just the hero.”

Cat's eyes tip up and she's visibly fighting tears. “Oh, Kara, every part of you is a hero,” she sighs. “And you’ve done all that and more for me, and what you did for me this time...” She struggles for a moment, then simply whispers, “Thank you.”

Kara doesn’t pause to think, just wraps arm around slim shoulders and pulls Cat into a hug.

Cat turns into her, wrapping her arms around Kara’s torso and clinging tightly.

Leaning her cheek against pale hair, Kara cuddles her close, simply holding her. “It’ll be okay,” she whispers over and over as she feels Cat calm and settle against her.

Wrapping her arms around Kara, Cat rests her cheek against her shoulder. “This will happen again,” she says with quiet fatalism. “No matter how careful or attentive I am, it’s not possible to be perfect.”

Kara doesn’t let go. In fact, her hold tightens ever so slightly as if that would be enough to protect this woman from the vagaries of her own mind. “Then we’ll deal with it,” she promises. “Together.”

End

[lisiicaaa]

It's taken me most of my life to partially grasp my mental disorder.  People who think they can do "extended internet research" and try to tell others how they should deal with their shit simply have no idea, and it’s becoming incredibly frustrating to see over and over. The process of actually going through therapy isn’t simple.  There are so many variables when it comes to doctors and health insurance coverage alone that many just aren’t capable of navigating.  This is under the assumption that you’re even covered at all – many don’t cover mental health.  Which in itself is a message of how wrongly people think of mental health. So, you’re in therapy, okay?  What next?  Oh, it’s just years and years of working through years and years of abuse and trauma, and it comes in all kinds of flavours.  There’s no map to navigate even people diagnosed with the same disorders; they manifest entirely differently despite sharing similar symptoms. There is no common treatment and therapy may not even help. But therapy is the first step, and it’s a step only those prepared for it can take.  I saw three doctors in my youth before I had any idea what was wrong with me. No surprises!  They didn’t help, because I wasn’t there because I wasn ready to deal with it.  I didn’t know how to!  And after my first doctor practically encouraged me to try and take my life, the second telling me I’m an awful person, I wasn’t really in the business of trusting these doctors.  What happened with the third?  She allowed my mom to sit in on our sessions of me refusing to talk and they eventually just had soap opera gossip sessions. Needless to say, I wasn’t going back to a doctor for a long time.  In fact, I didn’t see another until I was around 23.  That’s…almost seven or eight years after the last.  After I turned 19, I didn’t have health insurance until I was 22/23, so even if I’d wanted to I couldn’t.  But this time I elected it of my own accord and it wasn’t as dramatic as those prior.  No, this one was quite boring and didn’t really go anywhere.  The doctor didn’t really seem to know how help me navigate to the point to start dealing with things, and after a month and a half casual banter, he took a sick leave.  I rescheduled for next week, which turned into nexk week again, and eventually a month…I stopped rescheduling. My next doctor was an emergency room one. Without getting deep into why, I found myself for the first time in the emergency room for a severe mental breakdown. I was then transferred to the psychiatric hospital (as I’d gone to the closest one, which had no designated mental health facility) and analyzed by the first doctor I’d ever spoken to I felt really knew what the fuck was happening.  And he was the first one to speak bluntly with me about it.  I wish I could’ve had him as my therapist, but that would’ve required me to do in-patient care.  And with a newly acquired job plus bills, I really couldn’t afford to. Unfortunate, because it took one more emergency room trip to get me in with another place to see two more doctors. One was barely listening to me, I saw him less often.  He was the psychiatrist, I believe, while the woman I spoke to weekly was a psychologist.  She felt very young to me, very inexperienced.  I could be wrong, but that’s how it felt.  It didn’t feel like she had much of a technique for this either. When I walk in, I don’t really know what to say.  I was always under the impression that the doctor knew what to look for and knew how to find it, but most doctors (except the one I saw that I liked) seem to expect me to be the one to just know exactly what to say and when to say it. This is what they mean when they talk about how it may take a long time to find a doctor that suits you.  And trust me when I tell you, the process of it can exacerbate the situation.  That’s not to say that I didn’t take anything from those experiences.  In fact, I take so much that it’s exhausting and painful. I did learn a lot along the way, but that came with a huge price.  At this point in my life, I won’t be seeing any doctors.  I have two friends who have extensive experience with it and both of them have helped far more than them.  They passed along coping mechanisms and they understand the process of trauma enough to handle and understand when I’m experiencing it. Which is exactly why I will tell you that you are full of shit if you think internet searching gives you any authority on the subject.  A majority of sources are written and published by people who don’t experience mental illness and so a majority of it is wrong, or at the very least misguided. If you want to understand mental illness, listen and believe the people who experience it, and look into specific kinds of mental illnesses.  No general search will give you accurate information, ever.  Sure, the symptoms tends to overlap and share much in common, but there are very big reasons why they’re classified separately. This isn’t even the half of the complications that come with being mentally ill.  I haven’t talked about the idea of “high functioning” (which I classify as) and how doctors will put you in lower priority if you are - this means they’re less willing to do certain things, like prescribe medication.  I haven’t talked about how therapy is very often a process that takes people years to make progress in.  There’s no walking in and fixing shit in a month.  Just getting a diagnosis takes a long time, because they need to observe you for a while and there are huge risks in misdiagnosis.  Not to mention that doctors will avoid diagnosing children – as they did with me.  A diagnosis of mental illness will limit your life and opportunities permanently, so unless there is no doubt on it, they will put it off as long as they can. Therapy is painful.  The very concept of “processing” trauma is work – work that no mentally ill person ever asked for.  A majority of cases come from abuse; something done to them by another person or a circumstance.  As a mentally ill person who is constantly beaten down for my symptoms, it’s not fucking fair that I am held responsible for something that isn’t my fault.  I have to do all of this fucking work for something I never wanted. So, please, have some goddamned sympathy for people who are suffering.  It doesn’t matter whether or not they’re actively seeking help, they’re deserving of it all the same.  You don’t know how things are for them, you don’t live their life, you don’t support them, and you won’t be paying their medical bills.  It is not your place to pass such judgment.  If you can’t deal with the way they’re handling it, move on, don’t get involved, and definitely don’t go writing huge rants about how therapy therapy THERAPY OMG GET THERAPY. It’s not that simple, asshole.