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#consider being diagnosed. Sometimes I wonder if I actually was in control. There was no trauma. No serious issues. Nothing.

sinnohelitefourlore · 9 months

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Sinnoh Elite Four Headcanons Pt 2 since you guys liked my Pt 1 post so much:

Aaron:

- is the youngest of the elites, only eighteen, and because he is a Teenage Boy he’ll literally go from “shut the fuck up you have no idea what’ve been through” to “sometimes i still sleep with a night light on.”

- didn’t get diagnosed with ADHD until he was 20. he actually realized this because of flint whom we’ll get to in a minute.

- went to jublife city’s trainer’s school and was mentored by one of the best bug-type specialist’s in sinnoh.

- cries. a lot. he’s actually extremely sensitive (rumors spread that he was whitney’s long lost brother). but he also has moments of impulsiveness because again - Teenage Boy.

- rambles about bug types a lot, and is a typical bug geeky nerd. one day when he was seven his father yelled at him to be quiet, and for the longest time, aaron didn’t speak much until he was accepted into the elite four where they let him talk as much as he wants about bugs.

Bertha:

- has a connection with all of the future elites in some way before they became elites. she’s known lucian when he was a teenager because he challenged the elite four multiple times and constantly lost to bertha. she goes way back with flint’s parents, being apart of an organization with them before she joined the e4 in their 20s. in fact, bertha had held flint three days after he was born around her 30s. after she became an elite, she hardly saw him as much. when visiting the trainer’s school in jublife city, though she didn’t interact with him directly, she took note of the little boy with green hair in a corner playing with his bug pokemon. (in later years, she affectionately refers to all three of them as her boys)

- bertha has never been so happy when cynthia became the first female champion, because when bertha started as a league member she was the only woman. no gym leaders… no elites… none. she was the first female league member in that region. sinnoh has come a long way from her early years. she’s also thankful for cynthia because though she loves her boys sometimes they’re a bit much when they bicker.

- has planted a garden that makes all the other leagues jealous.

- single handedly took down one of the sickest, nastiest criminals in sinnoh in her younger years, which resulted in her being considered for an elite position which she got.

- like yes she is definitely a Mom but DO NOT FUCK WITH HER she can be just as menacing as agatha (no relation) however it's presented entirely different. the kanto elite is known for having an explosive uncontrollable temper with screams that will rival a teapot kettle, but if bertha's voice is low, cool, and even that's a sign for you to run - unlike agatha, bertha's anger is completely collected and controlled, and she doesn't have to raise her voice once.

flint:

- had been diagnosed with ADHD at seven. his family is wonderful about it, because his mother, twin sister, and little brother also have it as it runs in the family. he takes medication for it. later he sees similarities between himself and aaron, and he helps aaron out with coping techniques he uses (which usually involves aaron stealing one of his fidgeting toys, but flint doesn’t mind)

- is superstitious about his hair. if he’s having a bad hair day, he’ll assume that challengers will pass by him easier. he is mostly right.

- flint has made many stupid decisions in his life, but adding lava lamps in his chamber room has got one of the stupidest. when he told his fellow colleagues he wanted this, lucian walked out of the room.

- when he was a teenager, he wasn’t a bad kid, per se (definitely not one of those sunyshore hoodlums) but trying to get a fake ID to purchase alcohol was not one of his fine and dandy moments. especially considering it was the worst fake ID that sunyshore has ever seen. (“chester nutballs? really?”) volkner laughs at him about it to this day.

- is a regular customer of morty’s hemp business that is sold overseas. as long as flint wasn’t high on the clock, cynthia would look the other way.

Lucian:

- has undiagnosed autism. his parents didn’t believe in autism, so they assumed that any issues he had only had to do with him being a psychic. nevermind that he didn’t speak until he was three, was hyperlexic, and often spent time in solitude and genuinely didn’t understand social cues.

- he could finish a six hundred page novel in a single setting. on days off from the league, sometimes he would lock himself on his wing of the castle and would read for hours.

- has the natural gift of stringing up the most eloquent, versatile, majestic sounding insults you’ll ever hear in your life. the fact that he could do this without yelling or using a single swear was borderline criminal.

- he doesn’t mean to be cruel - most of the time. sometimes he genuinely doesn’t know when he’s being insulting until bertha/cynthia flashes him a look. some days he cares, some days he doesn’t - because really, he gets overstimulated easily.

- butts heads with flint frequently and thinks he’s annoying, but if anyone outside of the league insulted him lucian would be one of the first people to jump to his defense. he has a soft spot for aaron, because aaron sometimes does things that reminds him of his younger brother will (yes, that one) and he’s off in johto so he doesn’t see him as much. bertha was more of a mother to him than his own mother was, and cynthia… well 😉

cynthia:

- is autistic and i’ll fucking die on this hill. infodumps about mythology any chance she gets. her first birthday at the league, bertha gave her a weighted blanket.

- she actually came into the league a little bit after lucian did. entering his chamber room, she spotted a book he was reading and marveled it was one of her favorites. they talked for seven fucking minutes until the champion at the time yelled at them to start battling already. as you know, she won.

- really gets into the christmas spirit. loves christmas. will not shut up about christmas. will spend hours decorating the league from head-to-toe in christmas ornaments.

- maybe she can’t read as fast as lucian, but no one in sinnoh can match her in terms of contextualize a book like she could, especially if it’s mythology.

- her grandmother is the only person cynthia can’t say no to.

#sinnoh #elite four lucian #champion cynthia #pokemon #elite four flint #elite four aaron #elite four bertha #cynthia #pokemon brilliant diamond #pkmn bdsp #bdsp #pokemon shining pearl #pokemon diamond and pearl #pkmn

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wake-me-up-inside-imagines · 11 months

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Hello !! Hope you're having a good day whenever you see this ! I was wondering if maybe I could request Whit with a reader (either platonic or romantic I really don't mind) who struggles with intrusive thoughts considered taboo and are scared that those thoughts mean something about who they are when they don't, how would Whit comfort them? If you don't want to write this that's perfectly fine !

Omg I literally feel this request in my soul, I can totally write this!

A little note before I begin: I've been diagnosed with OCD for years (not in a "omg I must have OCD because I'm neat, how quirky of me lol" way, I've been actually medically diagnosed) and I know all too well what it's like to have intrusive thoughts, as well as how horrific and debilitating they can be. So I feel it's important to say to you and anyone else struggling with this that having intrusive thoughts does NOT make you a bad person in any way shape or form. The whole point of intrusive thoughts is that they're uncontrollable thoughts that mess with you and target your morals, that's why they're so anxiety inducing. The fact that it bothers you is proof that you don't like or believe in the things that pop into your brain, so please believe me when I say these thoughts do not represent you as a person. I wish you the best in dealing with these thoughts, and I hope at the very least they become more manageable in the future!

On to the request!

Whit with an S/O who suffers from intrusive thoughts

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts (not specific)

Gn! reader

-Let me start by saying he doesn't believe that your a bad person at all

-Whit doesn't struggle with anxiety and his doesn't know a ton about anxiety disorders, but when you confide in him about your struggles with intrusive thoughts, he begins to do some digging

-The more he learns about intrusive thoughts and what they actually are, the more he sympathizes with you. He can't imagine how hard it is for you to deal with them on a daily basis

-But he also admires how strong you are for being able to deal with intrusive thoughts and persevere despite them

-He's very quick to reassure you that you're not a bad person, and reminds you that you can't control your thoughts

-Sometimes you hesitate to tell him about the contents of your thoughts out of worry that he'll be disgusted, but Whit assures you that he knows you can't control them and he doesn't think your thoughts reflect on you as a person

-Now that he knows that you struggle with intrusive thoughts, he quickly begins noticing when you seem to be having a particularly bad thought or are having a moment where your being bombarded by them

-He knows that there's not a lot he can do to stop the thoughts, so he relies on his ability to distract you to give you a break

-He starts joking with you, shows you funny videos he found, tells you a story, he might even fake a fall if it'll get you to focus on him instead of the thoughts

-Basically his strategy is be louder than the thoughts and they'll go away (he knows it may not work but it's the best he's got)

-If you're ok with him touching you, he'll wrap you in a hug while he talks as a way to physically ground you. If you don't want to be touched in that moment, he completely understands and will give you your space

-He's down to listen talk to you about your experiences with intrusive thoughts, it helps him both understand what you've been through more and how to help you better

-He does suggest you seek professional help at some point, because as much as he tries he's not a professional in mental health

-He's a very understanding guy, and he would never dream of judging you over something you can't control

#x reader #danganronpa #danganronpa despair time #drdt #danganronpa x reader #drdt x reader #whit young #whit young x reader #whit x reader #drdt whit

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eatzmoth · 1 year

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The Normal Album by Will Wood and what it means to me

hey just letting you know that this is a longish post ahead!! I hope you enjoy :D

Precursor-

My autism always manifested in my weirdness. My parent's never quite knew I was autistic, especially due to the lack of research when I was growing up, so me being quirky or weird was just considered my personality. I would non-stop talk about things I was interested in and I often felt very immersive emotions. I talked in weird and eccentric ways- I even had to get speech therapy. Sometimes I was too hyper for them and sometimes I was also too loud (mostly for my dad who probably was also autistic) and I never really understood this. I didn't really get how to control my volume. My resistance to a change in schedule or being overwhelmed in environments were always chalked up to simply miss behaving, tiredness, stubbornness, or even just being easily scared because I was a child. These things never really left me, although as I reached middle school I started to mask as much as I could, including my emotions to the point I can't fully understand what I am feeling. I'm now a junior in highschool and i've been recently diagnosed as autistic.

Even though in all regards my diagnosis is kind of early, I got diagnosed at 16 rather then when im 30 like some people, I still don't get any support. My school work is ok and I get good grades, but that doesn't take into consideration what my actual needs are. This is all my school pays attention to and when I suggest getting some accommodations i'm always the one expected to suggest specifi. ones and "see if it works." This doesn't help me since I don't exactly know what would help me. Additionally, when I talk to my therapist about it she's usually unfamiliar with terms I use and she gives me room to vent rather then give me advice on how to unmask (she sees masking as a really good skill and it is but she never addresses how it can be very harmful to me). Any efforts to unmask, to sit down and allow myself to process what I feel (not only am I learning new concepts like overstimulation and my relationship to them, im also working through possible alexithymia), feel like im rediscovering part of myself and uncover my true self. Sometimes this feels like a blessing, sometimes it makes me feel hopeless, and sometimes it makes me feel- for the lack of a better word- insane. I constantly double guess myself and wonder if im making it up, even though I got professionally diagnosed!

The Normal Album-

Last year I discovered Will Wood and The Tapeworms. Their whole discography is just fantastical and I suggest listening to them and Will Wood's solo career, but I especially felt a connection to The Normal Album by Will Wood. The Normal Album is about deviating from the norm- whether that be regarding gender or being neurodivergent, and how that effects your relationship with others. Both things I relate to considering im genderqueer and autistic. This album helps me not only express my feelings but also helps me feel seen. It encompasses my whole feeling about who I am. I feel like I need to hide and alter certain parts of myself- but I also really don't wan't to and i'm starting to let go of that feeling. I'm trying to accept myself and be who I am but i'm still worried about how this will affect my relations, and I wish people were more accepting. It matches the mood swings I experience since I can't regulate my emotions easily (other then just completely going numb). It also especially matches the feeling that this all being fabricated and maybe im just imaging it all.

Out of all the songs I mostly resonate with 2econd 2night 2eer, I/Me/Myself, ...well, better than the alternative, and Love, Me Normally.

I was originally going to go through the songs that I resonate to the most but that still would have been too much and the whole album is important to me so GO LISTEN TO THE NORMAL ALBUM ITS WORTH IT!!

#autistic #actuallyautistic #actually autistic #lgbtq+#lgbtq #genderqueer #willwood #will wood #willwoodandthetapeworms #will wood and the tapeworms #music #okbutthisisaresultofmanymentalbreakdownsandalittlebitofahyperfixation #iguessit'sjustsomethingpeopledo #neurodivergent #asd

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clownstolemyjokesarchived · 2 years

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Okay so before I begin I should say that with these muses I write, I guess I have a tendency to pour a little bit of myself in each of them subconsciously especially if I happen to find aspects of them that I find within myself or had at one point in time (yeah we’re not touching Blitzo yet because he too falls under this category), so it’s safe to say that the more I’ve written Fizzarolli and the more I explored his dynamics, his thoughts, his personality and such-- The more and more I found pieces of myself in him and the more I began to integrate parts of me into him without meaning to which I suppose is both a bad thing but also good because it means when it comes to writing, he’s fairly easy for me to write for since a lot of his thoughts and emotions will maybe line up with my own (more or less anyways not all of them).

Either way, that being said... As I’ve continued to write him, I began to notice he started to exhibit some certain characteristics that were fairly similar to my own which made me wonder... Given his background, his past, his trauma and all that happened to him-- Does he have what I have too?

Now before anyone jumps at me, I’m only going based of my own observations having growing up, what I’ve been told by numerous doctors and therapists, my own diagnosis and so on and by no means am I saying he might actually have this or am I saying that what he has is a major defining point. I’m just saying it because it’ll explain why he is the way he is, why I write him the way he is and perhaps give a little (and maybe personal) insight to both him and myself.

I have Schizophrenia. This isn’t something I like to talk about a lot considering that in the past I’ve faced horrible stigma for it (people use to tell me very fucked up things and it made me very nervous and actually scared to talk about this since I didn’t want people to view me differently or see me as some sort of freak even though I’m not). There’s a lot of misconceptions when it comes to this disorder and more often than not, people automatically assume that people with this disorder are overly violently and crazy which isn’t always true. I’m the furthest from either of these things, but then again... I have been properly diagnosed and I’m taking proper medications for it as well as therapy. I can’t say for certain is this isn’t the case if left untreated since there have been cases where people have had this and gone off to do heinous acts. Regardless, not everyone is like that. Not everyone exhibits the same symptoms as well. Where one person can experiences delusions and hearing voices, another probably doesn’t.

I believe my Fizzarolli may have it as well considering as I’ve written him, he’s exhibited some traits that I’ve more or less have done both before I’ve been diagnosed and after. As for why I think this well here’s a few reasons:

Hallucinations. These usually involve seeing or hearing things that don't exist. Hallucinations can be in any of the senses, but hearing voices is the most common hallucination. It’s been faint but I have written before my Fizzarolli being plagued by nightmares and seeing shadows out of the corner of his eyes sometimes. He does in fact hear things but doesn’t give it too much attention, usually blaming it on the club + other things. It’s mostly when he’s alone or with Ozzie that if these happen, he grows a little more anxious considering that well... He’s the only one around minus Ozzie.

Extremely disorganized or abnormal motor behavior. This may show in a number of ways, from childlike silliness to unpredictable agitation. Behavior isn't focused on a goal, so it's hard to do tasks. Behavior can include resistance to instructions, inappropriate or bizarre posture, a complete lack of response, or useless and excessive movement. Now this one might be a little more tricky to pick since well he has cybernetic limbs, but even with that he does have trouble controlling them properly if he can’t focus and for these reasons. And also yes, he is very prone is getting aggressive rather easily to the point he takes his frustrations on his surroundings and leaves them a complete mess. Rarely will he take it out on someone else unless he feels they’ve deserved it like it’s someone that’s groping him or someone bothering someone he cares for. Things like that. Then, he’s back to his usual bouncy self like nothing happened. He has exhibited these other signs like resistance to instruction (both because he is a brat and because he just straight up didn’t feel like listening) and a complete lack of response.

Some other factors he exhibits:

Behavioral: social isolation (sometimes but rarely), disorganized behavior, aggression, agitation, compulsive behavior, excitability, hostility, repetitive movements, self-harm, or lack of restraint.

Cognitive: thought disorder, delusion, disorientation, mental confusion, slowness in activity.

Mood: anger, anxiety, apathy, feeling detached from self, loss of interest or pleasure in activities, elevated mood, or inappropriate emotional response.

Psychological: hallucination, paranoia, hearing voices, depression, fear.

Speech: circumstantial speech and rapid and frenzied speaking.

Again I’m just compiling things that makes me believe Fizzarolli has Schizophrenia and as I’ve said, it differs from person to person. I’ve mostly written down what he’s exhibited so far since writing him and what’s lead me to believe he might have it. Regardless of all this, this doesn’t really change anything per say since I’m going to keep writing him as I do but I thought I might give an insight as to how he acts and why he acts like he does? If that makes sense. He’s still himself but this gives an explanation more or less of how he thinks, why he thinks the way he does and perhaps better explain why he acts the way he does in certain circumstances. I probably wouldn’t have like said any of this if I didn’t have it myself and noticed the subtle ways he was thinking and acting and again, I feel a little bad having done that since that wasn’t my intention really but at the same-- It makes sense. This isn’t always passed by genetics you know. It can but not always. It can be caused by environment and altered brain chemistry and structure based on said environment which given all that he’s been through... Again, makes sense (to me).

I’m not saying this is the case or a major defining personality trait of his by any means. Please, just take this as insight in how he (and I in a lesser form) function and think and just... I don’t know, don’t hate it? But come to understand and accept it. I’m done rambling now. I’ve made myself nervous enough thank you.

#﹙ OOC ﹚ Oᴘᴏ sᴘᴇᴀᴋs #﹙ Hᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ ﹚ Hᴇʏ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴏɴ ᴀ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ғᴀᴄᴇ #I'll come back and edit this later ;w;#I lowkey accidently made myself sick with nerves akega sorry

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cruentaquevivere · 2 years

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Hey, you have anxiety, right? I just got diagnosed with anxiety, and I'm wondering if you have any tips for existing because believe it or not, I'm a little anxious about it.

I do have anxiety, yeah! First things first, try to always remember that what works for one person doesn’t always work for another person, so if any skills or tips people suggest don’t work for you, that is totally okay and it doesn’t mean you’re doing anything wrong, it just means, that strategy doesn’t work for you. However, I also find that some strategies that didn’t work for me in the past do at later points, so I’d suggest being open to trying things every once in a while. (Similar note goes for therapists, psychiatrists, and methods of treatment - if you don’t vibe that’s alright and you may wanna consider finding another person or therapy/treatment type if the vibe doesn’t get better after a couple sessions)

Personally, the biggest strategy for me is active and positive self talk. So if I have a thought like “I’m super annoying, why am I even talking/typing” I respond to that thought with “You may be annoying sometimes but you were asked a question so they must want an answer.” Or if I have an overwhelming feeling that something is going to go wrong™️ I would go “hey brain, thanks for trying to keep me safe, but we don’t need to panic right now” or I may go into it logically “what could go wrong?” “how likely is that?” “what is a more likely outcome?” “what could go right?” basically, I treat my mental health as if it’s a child that needs some gentle guidance in how to respond to a situation.

I’m also a HUGE fan of radical acceptance, but this is a skill that takes a ton of practice and you gotta start small, but it’s basically about accepting when something is outside of your control and that it has some affect on you that you gotta deal with (positive or negative). I used to have a lot self blame and anxiety around needing to be doing more in order to prevent things that I can’t actually impact on my own, but by practicing radical acceptance on small things (the slow walkers in front of me; rain during my commute; store out of whatever item I wanted to purchase) I can now step back and radically accept things like “my chest hurts” - I’m still going to doctors and trying to get help and do everything I can, but I’m not constantly upset about the fact that I exist with pain. This is like a level five of five skill though so it takes time and work, but I like to mention it.

For easy or fast things you can try right now: distraction! Not a long term solution, but in the moment a little bit of distraction like reading or watching tv or talking to a friend or a hobby is valid for immediate distress tolerance. Another option: TIPP skills! Temperature (hot shower, hold some ice, changing your temperature forces good chemicals) Intense Exercise (get your heart rate up to encourage endorphins or adrenaline), Paced Breathing (slow and intentional breathing calms the mind and can be done anywhere),and Progressive Relaxation (tense and then relax muscle groups to once again make the brain happy). You can do all four or just one, but these all encourage your parasympathetic nervous system to act in a way that helps with anxiety and distress.

This is becoming waaaay too long, so I guess I’ll stop here, but let me know if you want ideas for any specific circumstances or if you want me to find some good resource links. Hope this helps and my inbox is always open if you wanna chat!!

#this is exceedingly log #sorry #asks #ask me anything #asked and answered #me

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mangodestroyer · 4 months

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Anyone else starting to think that maybe they don't have a "mental illness" or a "mental condition", but that they're actually just having a normal response to their environment?

I used to really identify with depression. As well as autism. They were things that a couple therapists suggested. And I used to find comfort in them because I thought they described my life experience pretty well.

And also, I used to be one of those people who got super into Psychology and started wondering if there was something very wrong with me. I started getting all "do I have this?" and "do I have that?" I also started getting super obsessed with "toxicity" and "working on myself." Thought that I was horrible and toxic for still being miserable at times and that I needed to "put in the work and sort out my problems" to... whatever magical point determines if you've actually "done the work."

It's because the advice is always about "looking inward" because "you're 100% in control of your emotions and responses to things. You can "do the work" to make things better!" Which isn't a bad thing to be aware of and practice, but this can be pretty dismissive and toxic to say about certain situations. But blaming outside factors is considered "toxic."

Um, yeah. I might actually be prone to feeling down at times. Feeling anxious. Having bad thoughts. And, well, autistic tendencies. But tbh, I think my environment has always greatly aggravated those problems. I mean, that's just a natural side effect of living in such a toxic environment where certain people go out of their way to make you miserable/disrespect you and your belongings. While other people shrug or even encourage them. Or being around people who ACTUALLY struggle with emotional regulation (getting super angry all the time, ALL THE TIME, and making it other people's problem; my mother loved to/still does use me as a therapist but doesn't care about my problems in the slightest, so I think that would be a source of misery for someone).

On top of that, isn't it normal for people to sometimes be awkward or overly analytical? Or to get super upset over dumb shit (i.e. misinterpreting a situation as you being left out and feeling under appreciated)? Or to get envious of others when they have something you've always wanted? Or to get super frustrated when dealing with a difficult individual?

I've been talking to irl people more and they don't actually seem to think I'm that abnormal/weird/toxic. Two people told me it's my environment and I need to get out, or at least, find some way to get away from it now and then. And also, people aren't put off by my "autism" either (seriously, I am diagnosed with a similar condition and ig could be on the spectrum, so I'm not trying to dismiss the diagnosis or anything, but I also don't think it's a social death sentence like I used to). I used to think it was scaring people off/causing bullying behaviors in others, but that's actually not true. Working through my trauma, however, has made me more confident and THAT'S making people approach me more. But being terminally online led me to fall down a weird Psychology rabbit hole where I started believing I was too weird, horrible, and neurotic.

It's also been proven that the way therapy is done, at least here in the U.S., just doesn't work. Keeping things surface level and promoting toxic positivity isn't going to help someone with some heavy problems (which is going to be most people in therapy). I think there's also a shaming factor to it (being considered toxic if you aren't always okay). Or just the extreme push with drugs (seriously, I can't even visit a doctors office these days, as someone who is anxious around medical professionals because of bad experiences, without getting anxiety drugs pushed on me!) I've never touch any of those drugs and I'm glad I stayed firm about not taking them. I was almost tempted to because of pressure (literally thought that I was too neurotic at one point and needed anti-psychotics). They just wouldn't have helped me. They would have just been like putting a band aid on a gaping wound. It's disturbing how many medical professionals and therapists will just jump to them within minutes of talking to you.

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dxsertrot · 11 months

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I'm really starting to firmly believe I have adhd. At first I was cool with it being speculative, but it feels like it actually interferes with my life. Maybe I should get a professional diagnosis and consider Adderall. It's just hard for me to know because everyone thinks they have adhd nowadays. Sometimes I even wonder about the legitimacy of adhd being a thing (in terms of it being classified as a neurological problem) but it's becoming harder and harder to live with as my work becomes more specified and focused. It's really hard for me to focus and pay attention. I move so fast I overlook simple things. My brain has never worked the way I would like it to, when it seems so easy for everyone else. I've always been critiqued at work for moving too quickly and overlooking things because of that. And now I'm at a job where I cannot afford to be that way. I have always struggled badly with instructions and now I have a job where all I do is follow very specific instructions. Because if I don't I can literally kill people. I'm only in training and I know this is all so new to me, but this isn't a new problem. It's a problem I've always been aware of but never knew how to fix. It's benefited me tremendously in many ways, to be so quick and always move with purpose and to never quite switch off, but now I NEED to be able to have an off switch to sit down and slow everything to break down what exactly I need to do. I cannot think of an instance where I've successfully done that. I get so frustrated with myself and feel so so stupid. I try eating really good, attempt to get good sleep, and try to engage in more thoughtful activities outside of work like reading and writing. I do all this in hopes it will fix my brain and I will be able to be the way that I want. I can't be organized for shit, never have been. Even when I try to be. Shit gets out of control so fast and I can't ever pinpoint how it got like that. I always thought adhd wasn't something I had because it doesn't seem to reflect as much outside of work and social interactions. I have no problem relaxing when I get home, I'm honestly anything but hyperactive when I'm home. I try to be. Plus there's the factor of phones absolutely destroying attention spans. But it's never just been my attention span. Sometimes I can pay really good attention. But more often than not I have to fuck up to understand something because instructions and verbal teaching isn't enough. And nobody ever noticed it in me as a kid. Sure I fidgeted but I was always glued to me seat, and I never distrusted class. I was horrifically shy and constantly lost in the classroom. But my last two years of school I wasn't! I did super well and paid really good attention in all my classes. Which is why it's so hard for me to grapple with why I'm having this problem again. Maybe because it's been a few years? I don't know. And then I'm scared that I will get an adhd diagnoses and be prescribed Adderall and have the same problems. I just feel like a dummy and everyone expects me to be so much more organized and detailed than I am because I'm a girl or some stupid shit. There's so many memories I have growing up and even of the past few years that make things make so much more sense with the context of having adhd, but what if I don't have it? Am I just stupid? A hopeless cause? I want to do better and be better and I genuinely try so hard and never get it right. And I feel people that I look up to judge me and be disappointed in me because of it. But I have no defense. I've got no diagnosis and I don't know how much it would cost to get one. I think I need to start doing serious research into getting one. I'm just getting so frustrated with myself and maybe it will help me be nicer to myself if I know it's not my fault and that there's ways of living with it and be successful at the things I want to be successful at. Because as it stands I can only be good at mindless work until I figure out how to get my shit organized, follow instructions, and slow down.

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bluesunsdusk · 1 year

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🍏 (for Sieb); 🍇 (for Mamun); 🥝 (for Naj) !!

𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ♡ 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄

--// This is gonna be long.

🍏 : how stable is my muse’s physical health?

Talon keeps it pretty stable, for the most part. Well, as best they can while they get more of a grasp on how his condition works.

do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician?

He does, yes. It is a requirement. If he does not show up, he is checked on to ensure the appointment isn't missed. Though, within Talon, he actually had an assistant that would get him for appointments and research/practice sessions. She's one of the Overwatch muses on here.

do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication?

--// I forgot this was not mental health for a moment. Wrote a whole thing about autism. ))

There is the fact that he is far larger than any average human being. He always was taller than his peers, but it only became very noticeable in his teenage years. Gigantism. Surgery was considered, but he was given medication for most of his life to manage his condition. It put extra strain on his bones and joints, so the low gravity environment was ideal. He also suffers a minor sensitivity for certain types of perfume. Luckily, all it does is make his nose itch. It's primarily citrus that causes it. He is given several types of medication for symptoms of the condition he got from his accident with the black hole. Doctors have still not quite nailed down if all of his symptoms come from the same thing. His memory is unreliable, at times, his identity is hard to pin down, and he loses grasp on reality and time. sometimes, he claims he can see something akin to echos of the moments surrounding the accident, but most of Talon has written that off as his mind simply reliving the past as a result of trauma.

--// 2023 me here. I am adding the thing about autism anyway, because I had saved it in a separate post. __

He is on the autism spectrum, with level 1 autism that required he get extra guidance in how to maneuver social situations and monitor his self care routines (namely, not fixating on tasks so long that he neglects things such as drinking water or having meals) as a child and teen. He never really had issues with taking things literally. He’d simply regard the literal way something could be taken while understanding that it was not intended in a literal sense.

how often do they get sick?

Physically, not often. Not anymore. He did get sick often more closely to his waking up from the coma. Talon keeps a close eye on him. Their mix of medication and personal guidance really works wonders. They even have people who ensure his bone and muscle density doesn't diminish from microgravity. Mentally, is another story. He is prone to episodes and meltdowns that render him either extremely emotional or rather dazed. Sometimes, he forgets his name or fails to recognize himself in reflections. He can become confused in day to day activities and end up struggling with simple things like getting dressed or organizing his work. Were it not for his assistants and handlers, forgetting to eat would have returned in full force.

🍇 : how would my muse describe their childhood?

Mamun would describe it as... Well, part of it was the omnic crisis, so it wasn't all great. It was rather tumultuous and his family lived in a military bunker with other families during that time. Then one of his parents died and he had to help some of his older siblings pick up the slack when he was still a little boy. So far, he feels like his adulthood has been better, but he would still not change it.

how much has it impacted the person they are now, or will become as an adult?

Primarily, it strengthened his will to protect people and keep the peace. The work his parents did inspired him to work in security and the omnics being controlled by Anubis encouraged him to learn more about cyber security as well. He didn't get as far into it as he would like, but it is fulfilling and he gets to perform little fake online attacks or create fake scam websites to test personnel. His father worked behind the scenes to track enemy movements before he passed away from injuries sustained in an attack on the base he was working from. It were his efforts and those of many like him that helped Overwatch realize the Omnic army's movements were being controlled by one central program. That attack was one year before the omnic crisis was declared over and his father didn't live long enough after that to see the end of it. He never got to know him past childhood, but he always continued to look up to him. He was a very kind man.

around what age did they or will they start to mature, and why?

He was three when the Omnic crisis began. The next four years of his life were spent in a military bunker in Egypt. When his father died, he was six years old. He had to help all the other people with younger children in that place. The next years were spent recovering. His mother returned to their homeland to aid in its rebuilding. While she was away, he was looked after by his older siblings and he quickly took to helping them with the younger siblings they had. In a way, he always felt like he had to be mature. Unlike some, he also never had dreams of joining Overwatch and becoming a hero. His dreams were more down to earth, closer to home.

do they wish to go back to their days as a child, or have they embraced adulthood?

Oh, hell no. Go through the omnic crisis and its aftermath again? No way. Too much stress and uncertainty.

🥝 : does my muse have any ‘ unusual ’ habits, interests, and / or talents?

Najma wouldn't say it's very unusual, but their primary interest is evolution. Not human evolution, machine evolution. They want to advance the omnic race the way humans want to advance the human race. They feel like they are a piece in this puzzle, but they need more people to make anything more substantial. A clear end goal has not truly been set, other than the propagation and proliferation of their kind. It seems most omnics didn't have the same level of ambition. Learning this was rather unpleasant.

do they hide it, or are they proud of it?

They tended to keep it between themself and Dunia. Any of their work that was published was done so under Dunia's same and strictly encompassed machine learning or material improvement type matters. Even Dunia didn't know the full extent of their interest and their attempts at quietly carving out an identity; She died before some of the former developed. Even now, Najma likes to keep these things to themself. Talon seems to have some awareness of it and some of them try to encourage it. Whether as a means to control them or out of genuine curiosity is uncertain. Najma feels like they ought to be ashamed of wanting to do things for themself, honestly. It isn't helped by now feeling like a monster.

#amplifying #about sigma #about mamun #about najma #long post #ancient drafts

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thebibliosphere · 3 years

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I had a question.

So, just an hour or two ago, I was going through some sort of “manic high”, sorta like how somebody with bipolar disorder would have (I don’t have BPD). It felt like a bullet train at max speed and completely derailing, and it was incredibly draining. It also got me wondering.

Do people with severe enough ADHD deal with ADHD episodes like this? My search attempts are often futile because all of it is just talking about how to differentiate between BPD and ADHD and BPD manic episodes, but nobody ever mentions ADHD episodes; the only time I’ve seen it mentioned ever was when somebody made a clip of crankgameplays to show what an ADHD episode looked like.

Do they even exist? I’ve got no idea, so I was just wondering if you knew.

Hey! Sorry, I saw your other ask a while ago, but I wanted to talk to my ADHD specialist before I answered because I’d never heard of the term “episode” being used to describe ADHD. I’m also going to splice both questions together here and answer them in segments in the hope it helps :)

So like I said, I’d never heard of the term “episode” with ADHD, and neither has my specialist. Part of ADHD is having a natural ebb and flow between inattention and hyperactivity, sometimes skewed toward one or the other, depending on your ADHD type. (What are the different types of ADHD?)

Your type of ADHD may also fluctuate because of other factors, such as stress, changes in medication, hormonal fluctuations, lack of sleep, overstimulation, or even under-stimulation, to name a few. Another overlooked part of ADHD is emotional dysregulation, which may cause rapid cycling emotions that may look like an “episode” to someone unfamiliar with what that actually qualifies. The way my therapist explained it and using your example of bipolar disorder, “episode” is used in diagnostic criteria to categorize manic or depressive episodes that last X amount of time, are usually severe, potentially requiring hospitalization, and are accompanied by other symptoms not found in ADHD.

Our “bursts” of energy or lack thereof typically don’t last long enough to be considered episodes. This isn’t to say they are not severe or debilitating, especially if you suffer from things like anxiety or depression that ADHD can feed into. Merely that “episode” is not used as part of the language used to discuss ADHD, which is likely why you’re not finding anything.

So, do ADHDers experience intense bursts of energy that are draining afterward? Yeah, we can do, especially if we lean more toward hyperactive than inattentive. (And again, it's normal to fluctuate and also for things to be affected or worsened by secondary factors.)

And I'm going to put the rest under the cut because this is hella long.

I’ve seen some people think that all hyperactivity has to come with fixation, but that’s not how ADHD works. It’s true if something gets us excited or gives us a dopamine boost, we might be more prone to becoming hyperfixated and burn all our energy up on that. But you don’t need something to fixate on to experience hyperactivity. Some of us are just wired to the moon sometimes, and yes, it can be very draining when it ends. Some people find medication helpful in regulating their hyperactivity/preventing it from coming in such big swings and dips.

Speaking personally, when I'm hyper and nothing is grabbing my attention, the world and people around me can feel painfully slow. It's like I'm going a mile a minute doing everything but achieving nothing. The crash that comes after can also be particularly bad, as I also have dysthymia, which can tip over into a major depressive episode depending on other factors in my life at that time. For years I was misdiagnosed as having "probably Bipolar Type II" by a doctor who didn't believe teenage girls could "get" ADHD* and convinced my parents I needed psychoactive drugs. The drugs I was on didn't help, in fact, they made me worse so I was taken off them.

It wasn't until I found an ADHD specialist as an adult a few years ago that I made any real progress. And I'll be honest, I was shocked when she diagnosed me with ADHD, I really didn't think I had it. Right up until we started doing the work and slowly but surely my mental health began to improve and my understanding of myself with it.

Sometimes there are days when I will be wired to the moon and it will derail my entire day because I can't focus on a single thing/I'll focus too much on a single thing. Other times, like when I am closer to my menstrual cycle, I'll crash into inattentiveness and depression because of how my hormones affect my various different conditions, including my ADHD. Medication would likely help with this, but due to medical reasons, that's currently not an option for me so I do the best I can.

That said, if you’re experiencing something more than hyperactivity but it's not mania, you may be experiencing a form of hypomania and you should talk to a doctor about your concerns.

Hypomania typically occurs in Bipolar Type II disorder, which is less severe than the manic episodes in Bipolar I. I’ve experienced both manic and hypomanic episodes in my life due to medication interactions, and they felt very different from ADHD hyperactivity. It's not just derailing mile-a-minute thoughts, it's something usually completely mood-altering and out of control feeling followed by devastating crashes.

If you're on any medications and are worried you are experiencing something like this, you need to talk to your doctor. You might just need a dosage tweak, or you might be better off on a different medication altogether. Also, make a thorough check of any and all medications you are taking to check for any interactions.

I'm on a cocktail of meds for my MCAS, which if I were to combine them with the SSRI one of my doctors wants me to try, would result in serotonin syndrome. The doctor didn't notice this, but the pharmacist sure as shit did!

Some people (ask me how I know) even develop mild hypomania from overusing the sunlamps used to treat SAD (link), which is why brands like Verilux now include warnings in their leaflets about not using the lamps for more than X amount of time a day. Thankfully it goes away once you stop overusing the lamps.

Which actually brings me to something you asked last time about being unable to sleep at night. Insomnia and delayed sleep phase cycles are not uncommon in ADHD. This is likely because our circadian rhythm is thought to be out of whack (link).

You also mentioned having racing thoughts at night too, which is not uncommon either with hyperactivity. I find if I get overstimulated before trying to sleep, I’ll end up lying there awake with what I like to call “radio ADHD” playing in my head. It can range from snippets of songs stuck on repeat, conversations, things I’ve watched on TV, arguments, or if something is happening the next day, fixating on not being late for it. Hence, I end up getting no sleep because you can’t accidentally sleep in if you don’t sleep. *jazz hands of despair.*

Sometimes I find Radio ADHD soothing if it’s fixating on something chill, but it can get annoying fast and even distressing if I’m tired and can’t “change the station.” (I’d say “shut it off,” but as of yet, I’ve never been able to do that. Medication helps some people with this, as can looking into “sleep hygiene” if you haven’t already.) Conversely, if I’m bored or something is too stressful, I will 100% fall asleep because my brain would literally rather just turn off than do something I don’t want to do or is a low dopamine reward task.

Brains are fun.

Anyway, I uh, I am not sure if any of this is useful to you, but I hope it helps. Mostly I'm just repeating back what my specialist said when I asked her about it lol. Good luck, and I hope you figure things out.

----

*NB: It's important to note that ADHD and Bipolar Disorder can be comorbid. It's not a one or the other situation. I’m just throwing it out there in case hearing that helps someone else pursue the proper diagnosis!

#adhd #not a doctor #just a sick person with lots of lived experience

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hellpotter · 3 years

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17 and 31 from the prompts list plz<3

this is not your fault, okay? i promise and i don’t deserve to be loved | percabeth

warnings: might contain triggers (mentions to war, death and ptsd)

Annabeth is still in that post-sex daze when Percy rolls to his side and curls up besides her, throwing one arm over her waist.

The feeling pulls her back to full consciousness and her body stiffens instantly with the realization that he’s probably almost half asleep. She straightens up quickly and notices his eyes widening and his body waking up with the movement.

“Hm, I-,” she mutters while searching for her underwear between the sheets. She realizes she has already used all of her good excuses for leaving him previously. It had been getting harder and harder to come up with a reasonable justification for her to go, and she accepts that today it is going to be ridiculous.

“Looking for this?” His voice is hoarse and low, and he holds her cotton panties between his fingers. When she tries to snatch them, though, he yanks them away from her reach.

Guess he isn’t as sleepy as she’d thought before.

“Percy,” she scowls. “That’s not funny.”

“No?,” he says, as he pulls her panties further when she tries to reach them one more time. “I disagree.”

“Please, stop it. I really should go, I... Uh, I-,” he raises his eyebrows when she mumbles, trying to figure out what to say next. “I have to work early tomorrow, I need to rest,” she makes up.

He sighs and hands her her underwear, but what he says next makes her paralyze.

“No, you don’t.”

“What?“

“Tomorrow’s Sunday, Annabeth. I know you’ve been making excuses not to sleep with me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, for instance, the fact that we never go back to your place after a date, and the one time we did, you basically kicked me out as soon as you could,” he leans on his elbow, lifting his upper body. “Or that you say things like ‘I need to work’ on a Saturday night, or that your mom has ‘come to visit’ at least 5 times in the past 3 weeks.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence and Annabeth tries to think of something decent to say, but she can’t. So Percy goes on, the dim light making it hard for her to read his expression.

“Look, I-,” he sighs and sits up, putting one hand on her thigh. “I know you don’t owe me anything and it’s okay if you don’t want to... stay the night. But we’ve been seeing each other for, what, more than a month now? I was really hoping we could move forward with this, but I can tell there’s something going on, so...” he clears his throat and trails off.

Annabeth takes a deep breath, considering how she’ll handle this. She’s not sure if she’s ready to tell him the truth.

“Percy, this is not your fault, okay? I promise.”

He nods and waits for her to say something else. She realizes that maybe the truth is her best way out of this now.

“Ok. Maybe we should talk,” she whispers, avoiding to look in his eyes.

She can tell he’s surprised when she gets up to put on her panties and then searches for the shirt he’d been wearing before, pulling it over her head.

“Can you make me some tea?” She asks.

“Okay.”

They stay in silence until the moment he hands her a cup of tea and sits in front of her by the kitchen table. He looks at her expectantly and she stares down at her tea, breathing in.

“So. Remember I told you about when I volunteered to serve in Afghanistan?”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“Well, I-,” she finally looks up and finds his concerned eyes. “I have been diagnosed with PTSD. It’s, um, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

He reaches out and takes her hand on the table. “Oh. Yeah, I... I know what it is.”

She nods. “So, I-,” Annabeth’s not sure why, but she suddenly feels like sharing the whole story with him. “I didn’t really want to go. I mean, it wasn’t exactly my idea. I, um, I had this girlfriend. Reyna.”

She stops talking and takes his expression in. She hadn’t told him about her sexuality before, and she wasn’t sure how he would take it. She notices his eyebrows raise slightly for a second, but he doesn’t say anything, and his eyes hold the same concern. So she continues.

“Reyna and I went to college together and we, um, we were good together and she understood me like anyone else. But she was, like, a natural warrior. Really, I know it sounds stupid, but she was. It wasn’t really a surprise when she volunteered right after we graduated, not at all. I’m not the greatest supporter of American military action, so what really surprised me was when I started to consider going with her. I was so terrified of being alone and of losing her that the idea of going started to feel better than staying. And I could use the money, so it sounded like a win-win.”

She pauses and takes a sip from her tea. She hadn’t talked about this with anyone, except for her therapist, and it was a lot for her.

“Do you regret it?” Percy asks softly. “Going, I mean.”

“I-,” she wasn’t expecting that. “I don’t, actually. But I wouldn’t go back or do something like that again.”

He nods and caresses her hand with his thumb, and they enjoy the silence for a while.

“Anyway. So we went, together. And it was fine, most of the time. We had a lot of quiet days and we got to spend a lot of time together and we met some incredible people. But the bad days... They were really bad,” memories start flashing through her head and she notices there are tears coming down her face when Percy reaches out to wipe them away with his thumb. “So there was this one day. We had a huge fight, me and Reyna. Our time there was ending and she wanted to stay for another year. And I didn’t, I just wanted to come back and start building our life together. A normal life, without guns and tanks and bombs and training.”

The tears are rolling down her eyes uncontrollably now, but she can’t control herself.

“She had to leave before we could even end the discussion. And there was- There was a, um... There was a bombing a few hours later,” she stops and stares at the wall, trying to even her breathe. “And she... I couldn’t even say goodbye.”

Percy gets up and knees down besides her, holding her close while she shakes violently.

“Hey... It’s okay,” he whispers carefully. “You don’t have to say anything else. I’m sorry.”

She tries to remember her therapist words not to feel ashamed of crying, but it’s hard when she’s basically spilling her heart out to... Well, the guy she’s sleeping with, ‘cause she can’t even call him her boyfriend. Or can she? That’s probably something for them to talk about later.

“I’m sorry about that,” she whispers when she can breathe normally again.

“Don’t be,” Percy leans back just enough to look at her face and pulls some curls behind her ear. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

She answers him with half a smile and takes a deep breath. “After that I came back and... Well, I guess a part of me never did. I blamed myself for it, I felt like I should’ve done something to protect her, and a part of me still does,” he opens his mouth to say something but she goes on. “So most nights I have nightmares, and I wake up screaming or- Well, I can get aggressive sometimes. Or if it takes too long for someone to wake up in the morning I start wondering if maybe something happened to them and I... I lose my mind,” she looks at him, intensely. “It’s hard to... deal with it. For me and for... whomever is nearby. And when something bad happens I feel like... I feel like I don’t deserve to be loved.”

He holds her face in his hands and sustains her gaze. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. But I won’t let you believe that, okay? It’s not truth, and it’s not fair to yourself. This isn’t your fault, and it doesn’t make you less good or less worthy of love. You do know that, don’t you?”

Annabeth looks down for a moment, his gaze and his words too intense for her to absorb. Rationally, she’s known all of this for a while, and therapy had been helping her cope with all of these feelings well. But the way he looks at her makes her feel actually loved for the first time in years, and that’s a new feeling.

“Hey, listen to me,” he continues, softly. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. And I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable sleeping with me. It’s your choice, and I’m here to support you nonetheless. Trust me, I can handle messed up and complicated and difficult. But I- I really like you, Annabeth Chase. And well, if you’re up to it, I hope I get to spend a lot of nights with you,” he drops a soft kiss of her lips. “And mornings,” another kiss on her cheeks. “And afternoons,” he whispers close to her ear before kissing the crook of her neck, making her giggle.

She pulls away softly to look at him, her eyes filled with appreciation. “Okay,” she mutters. “I guess I am up for it, after all.”

He kisses her slowly, and, in that moment, she knows she’s starting to fall in love with him. And it scares the hell out of her, but it also makes her heart feel so warm, she’s afraid it might burn.

She can’t tell exactly what it is that they’re starting there, but she knows it feels like something good. And she’s pretty sure they’re off to a good start.

#prompts list #pjo fic #percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #mortal au #living with ptsd #post war trauma #mentioned reyna ramirez-arellano #previous reynabeth #this is way out of my comfort zone #like really idek where this came from #angst #i hope you like it #but idk

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

It’s A Wonderful Life

Inspired by the only Christmas movie that I like and last night’s episode of Prodigal Son

A dangerous car wreck puts Hotch in tricky situation-- to stay or to go?

Part One of Three (and don’t worry, I already wrote part two and am editing part three so it’s done I’m just not posting it all in one go-- so you’ll actually get the whole fic)

Feat: autistic Reid and Jack (because I always thought that was what made the doctor’s appointment Hotch missed so important)

Aaron Hotchner wakes to the sound of his bedroom door slowly groaning, the old hinge creaking as it’s opened. If he hadn’t heard the faint, pattering footsteps beforehand, he might be fearful of what kind of intruders were trying to make their way into his home. However, before he can even roll to the edge of the mattress and offer his little burglar a hand up he’s being whacked in the face by a stuffed bear. Only able to grunt a complaint as a little fist grip tightly onto his pajama bottoms and-- “Hey, buddy.”

Jack looks nearly surprised to find his father staring back at him.

“You’re up early.”

Jack smiles, shyly leaning forward until he’s half laid across Hotch’s chest and half-buried down in the comforter. Placing one hand on Jack’s back, he leans up to see his alarm-clock. They’ve still got thirty minutes before the alarm goes off and the day must go on. Regardless, he sinks back into the pillows under him. Even if there’s no way he can go back to sleep, he can enjoy some pre-school-sized cuddles.

Thirty minutes is up too fast.

Carrying a squirming, unhappy five-year-old against his side he yawns and makes his way to the kitchen. “Oatmeal?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. Oatmeal is the only thing that Jack will eat. It’s a… comfort food. The therapist, not the family one they go to but the one that specializes in autism, said that oatmeal was one of Jack’s comfort foods.

There was a bit of a debate about if Hotch should try to introduce additional foods with the oatmeal and now they’re working by trial. Oatmeal doesn’t meet too many dietary needs and having Jack fall underweight and little for his age was just another blow to Hotch. He understands that he can’t take these things personally-- Jack being nonverbal isn’t anyone’s fault. Jack being autistic is not some cosmic payback. It’s just a thing. Something that the two of them are working with.

It was just so much easier with Haley here too.

He’s a little cranky now but today is a good morning and Hotch isn’t going to ruin it by trying to encourage Jack into eating apples. He’ll cut up a few pieces of banana for Jack to either eat or ignore and be content when Jack eats his oatmeal and finishes his orange juice and that’s plenty. That’s good.

“Ugh.” This is the part Hotch struggles with. Speaking. For the language center of Jack’s brain to develop properly, Hotch has to speak more than he does. Silence is far more natural for him and he’d like to think the same for Jack. Speaking all the time, saying everything is tiring and he hates it. The thing is, he and Jack work exceptionally well sans spoken words. Jack’s ability to communicate is exceptional, Hotch has to work for it, but he’s five and Hotch doesn’t know any five-year-olds that are flawless at communication.

“Ah, thank you,” he signs the words too. His sign language isn’t actually that good but, again, they make it work. “Can you go to the chart and--” Hotch smiles, Jack already running over to the poster on his wall. Smiling as he pulls the velcro pieces off and puts the little drawing of a toothbrush and hairbrush over to the done side. “Thank you, Jack. You’re doing so good this morning. How about socks and shoes now?”

Jack gets to pick his socks out.

Reid’s idea.

Hotch had been very hesitant to ask Reid for any help. To acknowledge the one thing that they never talk about. In the face of everything that happened with Foyet and then with Haley he’d been left with no other choices. Strangely enough, Reid is the only person that has never made Hotch feel like an awful father for not knowing what to do.

Jack… kind of hates Reid, though.

“Oh, nice!” Reid says that Hotch should encourage the things that Jack likes. So, every morning he works a little harder to be happy when Jack picks out two completely different socks and turns around to search for his approval. “Do you know what color this one is?” Hotch asks.

Jack sits down on the floor, wiggling contently as he waits for Hotch to slip his socks on.

“Jack,” Hotch encourages, jostling Jack’s thigh to get his attention. “What color is it?” He holds the sock patently in his palm watching Jack get momentarily agitated. He raises his hand, ready to sign the word himself but Jack beats him to it. Clicking his tongue as he smiles and pats his lip with his middle finger.

The sign calls for the signer to form the letter “p” and then to tap or flick their middle finger against their lip but who cares about that?

“Good job!” Hotch praises and it’s so easy to be happy. Jack’s so fucking smart and he’s already so excited to tell someone. Jessica or Dave or whoever he sees first. “Pink! Your sock is pink!” The other has dinosaurs on it, it’s a favorite and Hotch finds himself washing it and its pair at least twice a week. He thinks it might have more to do with the soft yellow coloring of the sock.

Jack’s favorite color is yellow.

“You wanna go play with your rocks?” Hotch asks, slipping his hands under Jack’s arms and righting him on his feet. “I’m going to go get dressed, okay?” He waits, making sure Jack is going to go drag his tubs of rocks out before going off on his way. He can worry about limiting the number of rocks Jack takes with them later.

It’s Wednesday which means that he has to take Jack to the office for two hours until his program opens for the day. Technically, he should be in Kindergarten but Garcia found this program for him. He and Reid had gone to scope the place out. Hotch was way in over his head back then (and still is but then he’d been trying to cope with Haley’s death and getting Jack into school).

Though most of the things that the program had to offer were things he couldn’t understand Reid has taken it in. Explaining every little detail until Hotch understood not only the style of learning they were enforcing but why Jack had loved their foam furniture so much.

Hotch doesn’t know how he would have gotten through the last few years without the team.

With everything that happened with Foyet, he’s surprised that they can stand him at all. Maybe they shouldn’t. Their ability and drive to stay no matter what he did is commendable and he’s lucky to have a group of people that care about him but he has to consider why.

Why did they stay?

Morgan got a promotion, recently. With a short, strongly worded letter Morgan could have control of the whole department and he should have it. No one would think twice about snatching it up out of his hands.

He watched Reid struggle with addiction. Has hidden and protected Reid’s autism diagnoses from being filed on his record. His right hand, the woman he trusts more than any other agent, is a chronic insubordinate mess. For whom he has stepped on many toes. Despite his retirement and the push to fill the position in other ways, Hotch asked Rossi to come out of retirement. No one liked that idea but he did it anyway. There’s his decision to bring Garcia on despite her record, which had caused a lot of trouble.

JJ-- Well, she’s perfect so she’s probably the one they can’t use against him.

But how many times had Haley called JJ? Before the divorce and after. Even if they can’t use JJ against him, she probably hates him.

His life is a good and proper mess.

And now he has to go convince his son not to bring two pockets full of rocks with them.

He has to hike his dress pants up to squat down. If he brings himself down to Jack’s level it’s supposed to be more efficient for communication. That’s understandable. He’s certainly not going to stand over Jack. Jack’s hardly three feet tall, it can be a little overwhelming. Not to mention that’s over three feet of distance between them.

“Buddy,” he holds Jack’s hands in his own. “Buddy, you can take two.”

Two. Jack can count. Two just doesn’t sound like a bargain.

“Four,” Hotch caves. “Two for each pocket.”

Okay, he can live with that.

Jack hates his car seat but holding two rocks in each hand seems to soothe him enough to allow Hotch the chance to strap him into his seat. That and his sketchers hitting the seat’s bottom lights the whole car up in flashing blues and yellows.

Hotch glances back at him a few times. Sometimes Jack tries to put the rocks in his mouth. He’s never swallowed one, he just likes the cold way the rock feels in his mouth but if he does that while Hotch is driving it’s easy to understand how that might not end well.

He gets to an intersection in town, frustrated when he catches the redlight. “There’s no way this stoplight hasn’t ruined someone’s day before,” Hotch mumbles to himself. The thing gets stuck on red for an absurd amount of time. The lights are regulated, a fact Reid reminds him of all the time, but this one will stay on red for longer than two minutes. By the fourth minute, all patience is thrown out the window.

When the light turns green he glances back at Jack through the mirror, smirking. He looks back to the road still smiling. Jack is content, clicking his tongue, and watching the world pass by through his window. It’s like he can breathe-- he can stop for just this moment and know he’s doing something right.

He doesn’t see the other car racing across the intersection, blind with rage. There’s the horrible ripping of metal and the hiss of smoke and then nothing.

Turns out he was right.

That stoplight is going to ruin someone’s day.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #jack hotchner #whump #hurt hotch #tw car accident #spencer reid

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allisondraste · 3 years

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Representation of mental illness in media is super important, and it’s also really easy to move beyond representing mental illness to pathologizing completely standard human behavior. Recently I’ve been seeing a lot of interesting uses of the labels related to addiction and substance use disorders. I’ve seen and participted in several discussions regarding substances (specifically within the context of Fallout 4), and I have some issues with just slapping an addiction/SUD label on just any regular substance use. I’m going to talk about this in more detail below the cut; however, I want to provide a content warning that this will be a detailed discussion about what substance use disorders and addiction are, and what they are not. If these things are triggering for you, please proceed with caution and take care of yourselves! I want to educate, not harm.

For a disclaimer: I am in no way an addictions/SUD expert; however, I am a formally trained therapist and about three months from having a doctorate in clinical psychology, so I do know the diagnostic criteria related to substance use disorders and how we differentiate them from what would be considered normal substance use.

I am going to speak about alcohol specifically because it is legal to use and widely regarded as acceptable to use in moderation; however the same rules apply for other substances!

First, let’s look at the diagnostic critera for Alcohol Use Disorder:

In order for a person to be diagnosed with an Alcohol use disorder they must exhibit a problematic pattern of alcohol use that leads to clinically significant impariment or distress, and at least two of the following within a one-year period.

Drinking alcohol in larger amounts OR over a longer period of time than originally intended

A persistent desire/unsuccessful efforts to reduce or control alcohol use.

Spending an inordinate amount of time in activities necessary to obtain alcohol, use it, or recover from it’s effects

Cravings/overwhelming urge or desire to use alcohol.

Recurrent alcohol use that interferes with the ability to fulfill obligations at work, school or home.

Continuing to use alcohol despite having ongoing social and interpersonal problems that are caused or worsened by the alcohol use.

Giving up/reducing participation in important social, work-related, or leisure activities due to alcohol use

Repeatedly using alcohol in situations where it is physically dangerous.

Continuing to use alcohol despite knowing that it is causing/exacerbating an ongoing physical or psychological condition.

Tolerance as defined by either of the following

Need for markedly increased amounts of alcohol to achieve intoxication/desired effect

Markedly diminished effect with continued use of same amount of alcohol.

Withdrawal

Negative side-effects associated with Withdrawal Syndrom (for alcohol these are serious and life-threatening in severe cases)

Using alcohol or chemically similar substances to avoid withdrawal.

Alcohol use disorder is considered mild when 2-3 symptoms are present, moderate when 4-5 symptoms are present, and sever when 6 or more symptoms are present. We use some more specifiers to indicate whether it is controlled, in remission, or in partial remission; however, those are irrelevant to the current discussion.

In case you were wondering, yes these criteria are vague, and intentionally so because how much alcohol is considered “too much” depends upon the individual’s history and body composition. Drinking as much as 1-2 servings of alcohol every single day is not considered an excessive use. Additionally, going to bars every once in awhile (and even getting compltely plastered) is not uniformly considered problematic.

Unfortunately, in the U.S. especially, our society teaches us a very moralistic view of alcohol use whether we like it or not. People who drink regularly, and especially folks with pre-existing mental illnesses who drink regularly are often viewed as abusing substances, even when they’re using it a typical amount and are experiencing no distress or impairment from their usage at all. Not everyone who drinks regularly is using alcohol to self-medicate. Furthermore, not everyone who self-medicates using alcohol has a “problem.”

Do I recommend that folks use alcohol to manage stress or anxiety? Absolutely not. Do I think that everyone who does so is an alcoholic or has a substance use disorder? Also absolutely not. That unfortunate moralistic view causes this belief that people who partake as having poor judgement, being irresponsible, or having a “problem,” and we sometimes adhere to this way of thinking implicitly. But it’s very VERY important that we not be too hasty to sling those labels about because it can actually further stigmatize a group of folks that are already stigmatized as it is.

Anyway. Thank you for coming to my unsolicited TED Talk.

#tw substances #tw alcohol #writing reference #meta #psychology

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mental-mona · 3 years

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So You've Just Been Diagnosed With a Chronic Illness - an Orientation

So you've just been diagnosed with a chronic illness, huh? Welcome to the club; there are a lot of us here! I wouldn't presume to guess what your exact illness is, but most of us have some kind of fatigue and physical and/or mental pain going on, so that seems like a safe bet. Since you're new here, I thought I'd give you some idea of what to expect and what to do as you battle your illness.

First and foremost, accept it. Life is not going to be the way it was before. You will always either have some kind of symptom or be on the lookout for signs of a flare/episode. I'm not going to tell you to "suck it up, buttercup" because that would be neither useful nor fair, but you do need to grieve your past life in your own way and then look toward your future life with this condition. It really is a process of grief - the whole idea of the 5 stages of grief is nonsense, but whatever grief looks like to you, this will be a form of it. You had this whole, lovely, capable life before, and now…what? You have no idea, and it's scary, and most likely right now life is pain. It's a tangible loss, and that fact shouldn't be denied. You need to mourn for the life you had, but you also need to accept that this is your new reality and not keep trying to do things you can't or shouldn't. It's frustrating as hell, but sometimes you'll find yourself simply unable to do something that you used to do without thinking twice about it. Feel that frustration, then accept it and learn to work with it. Your job depends on computers but your wrists are killing you? This is why wrist braces and ergonomic mouse pads exist. Can't see the screen in its default state, or its default state is so bright that it gives you a headache? This is why it's possible to mess with the brightness and contrast settings on your computer. Whatever your problem is, there's probably a workaround or something that will at least temporarily relieve the symptoms. You've got this.

Ok, so whatever you have isn't curable, it can't be treated well enough that you'll have an overall good quality of life, and/or it's degenerative? When you've reached a point where it becomes clear that basic workarounds aren't going to cut it, it's time for some planning. Do you need someone to help you with your job? Transportation? Basic tasks? Who do you think should help you, and how? Obviously you don't want to think about being debilitated, but I'm afraid you're going to have to swallow your pride here lest you find yourself stuck without a way to get to a doctor appointment, or worse, stuck in bed with no one to feed you and help you get to the bathroom without falling over. Again, the goal is to accept your illness and work with it. I'd give you more concrete suggestions, but I don't know your precise condition nor would I presume to ask.

Ok, now let's discuss how to live within your new, more limited reality until you adjust to whatever its default state ends up being. The first thing you need to do is find a doctor who specializes in whatever system of your body is a problem, preferably one with specific expertise on your condition. There may be paperwork to fill out before your initial visit - pages and pages of it - but hopefully the results will be worth it. You need to develop a working rapport with your doctor; don't forget that unless you live in an area with really crappy healthcare or you have really crappy insurance, you can always "fire" your current doc and find someone you like better. There is no good reason to put up with a doctor who doesn't listen to you and/or has a God complex if you don't absolutely have to.

Once you've found a specialist whom you feel listens to you and whom you can work with, it's time to discuss what you want to tackle first. Which symptom(s) you find most bothersome may determine which medication or therapy the doctor tries with you first. Then it's time for an unpleasantly prolonged game of "Symptom or Side Effect?" as your body keeps doing weird new things and you keep talking to your doctor. That patient information they give out with every drug they dispense at the pharmacy is your friend; at the bare minimum look at the parts about side effects so that you can at least make an educated guess in the game, and if it seems like the med is doing something nasty to you then your doctor can change it. Unfortunately there is no magic pill that will fix all of your issues with no side effects; the question is more the pro/con ratio. The med's doing wonders for one symptom but now you can't pee? Nope, sorry, that's not acceptable. (Yes, side effects can be that weird; let's just say that that example was not pulled from thin air.) The med doesn't seem to be doing anything particularly bad, but doesn't seem to be doing anything particularly good either? Also not acceptable. The med's making your illness better but now you're always tired? Up to you whether that's acceptable; if it is, great, and if not, hopefully your doctor will have something else up their sleeve.

Depending on your illness, until you and your doctor get your symptoms under control and figure out what normal looks like for you, you may unfortunately find yourself spending a lot of time in the ER as well as the doctor's office. There may be no help for it; some diseases cause emergencies when they're out of control, plus it can take time to learn to differentiate between "normal" pain and "something's really wrong" pain. If either of those is the case for you, life is going to be really hard for a while. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but there's simply no sense in sugarcoating it. You may become a bit of a hypochondriac, but your body and/or brain doing all sorts of weird new things is bound to have that effect on you. Eventually you'll learn what "normal" looks and feels like, and until then all of your "but this shouldn't be…what if…?"s are understandable.

Now let's talk about something really evil that happens to the members of this club: the societal expectation that you will either die or permanently get better, and if you claim to be able to do x one day but not another day then you're malingering. This is total malarkey and we both know it, but it apparently seems to be a common attitude toward the disabled and chronically ill. You may have gotten it so much that you've internalized it; if that's the case, mentally take a step back and remind yourself that you are not faking, you are not just looking for attention, and that your energy and ability levels vary day by day and you simply have to work with that or suffer even worse consequences later. Read about spoon theory for more on the whole energy thing, and I've posted a few other compositions (which I will soon be editing and reposting) for you to read and share with your loved ones if you so choose.

Speaking of loved ones, now is the time to refine communication with them regarding your needs. If they're micromanaging you with "Should you really be eating that? Have you taken your meds today? No, you know you can't do that. You know you need to do this symptom-relief thing" type things, that's probably getting really annoying. Remember, their hearts are in the right place, and they may even be right about whatever they're saying. However, tone and expression matter; there's a world of difference between "I seem to recall the doctor saying that you shouldn't eat that" and "Don't eat that;" between "Have you taken your meds?" and "Consider this a reminder to take your meds if you haven't yet;" between "Do this to relieve your symptoms" and an implicit "we know x works for you" along with an explicit "Have you tried x to relieve your symptoms today?" Basically, the difference is command vs. suggestion. Most people respond much better to suggestions and relatively hands-off reminders than they do to commands and reminders that seem to come with the assumption that you're a forgetful idiot. It's a thin line and a hard one to walk, but if you give them some feedback eventually your loved ones should get the hang of it. (Also, if you really are going against doctors' orders, then perhaps you actually do need to listen to the annoying things your loved ones are saying!) As for all the "Hey, I read this article about something resembling your condition; could you have the rare thing I just read about/could this new treatment I just read about help you" nuisances directed at you, they are actually expressions of love and concern. If they're really annoying then tell everyone to just buzz off, but your better bet is to smile, glance at the article or whatever to see if there really is something of value there, and if there isn't then just quietly get rid of the article and dismiss the advice.

Anyway, that pretty much concludes your orientation; if you have any more questions feel free to ask someone in the chronic illness club or consider joining a support group for your specific condition, and good luck!

#chronic condition #chronic illness #chronic illness 101 #orientation #so you've just been diagnosed #new diagnosis #long post #text post

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thetravelingmaster · 3 years

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Roller Coaster that was Lydia Salia Chapter 1 - Initial Seductions

This is going to be a multi-part exposé on what truly happened between myself and Lydia Salia. With everything that has happened, I feel it just CAN’T be kept private.

Parts of our connection and journey will serve as a warning against the dangers of online predators while others will raise important flags concerning possible mental illness. It was... Is... An incredible roller coaster of events and emotions that I can barely believe actually happened. In fact, I’m sure a lot of you out there won’t believe it happened as I described it.

All I can say is that I will be 100% truthful as far as what I got myself into. What follows is not a story... Although, it would make one hell of a movie!

Real or fake... The eternal question that surrounds Lydia Salia.

A recent online friend has poked the proverbial doubt and convinced me that for my own mental Health, I should ask for certain confirmations to truly know if all this WAS true. With her diagnosed illness of OSDD, one can start to wonder about names and characters.

As stated: Doubt is normal and healthy. I urge all who read this to take all the precautions you need to satisfy yourself that you are fully aware of the person you are engaging in hypnosis-play with. Be it an ill intentioned hypnotist or an attention craving sub...

As for Lydia herself... I’ve only ever doubted her twice. Once when she was first admitted and I posted my ‘Beware of Ill Intent’. Readers contacted me to make sure I wasn’t being taken for a loop. I don’t believe I was... But who can really know?

If I WAS hoodwinked... Then this is the most elaborately deep hoax I have ever witnessed. Which with OSDD, COULD be possible...

Regardless, by the time I write the last chapter of this exposé, I’ll have all the confirmation I need and will share it with you. But that comes later... After SO much has happened...

So shall we dive in?

Lydia Salia...

By her own words, she is an enigma wrapped in a conundrum.

A temptress... A Hypnodomme... A Succubus...

She is alluring in a way that captivates the mind and stirs the senses.

She is... Well was... A prolific writer on mcstories.com before she got banned. Why? Because she writes in a POV (point of view) style with an emphasis on authenticity and accurate science. She employs 'suspension of disbelief' and 'breaks the fourth wall' frequently to bring extreme realism into her stories.

This can cause most readers to wonder what is real and what actually happened.

Heck... Even I find myself wondering what is real about her... Some of you have planted doubt in her actions and words to me. Which is perfectly healthy and sane considering that this IS the World Wide Web.

Nothing is as it seems... Even more so in our hypnotic mind controlled community.

The rabbit hole gets even deeper when you take into account that Lydia is a REAL Master hypnotist, she often uses modified versions of her real life explorations into erotic hypnosis. Sometimes personal events like her traumatic teen subjugation, but also some events that were very public in the hypnotist-kink community. She got banned, as far as I know, for playing with that line between fiction and reality. Hinting at non-consensual real life events that were impossible to prove...

So she got banned. By her own admission, it was her fault for flirting with reality and trying to convince her readers that it was all fake when in fact, it wasn’t.

It was well before my time and since then, Lydia had decided to start up again and post her stories on the wonderful ROM (readonlymind.com) platform. Which is where we ‘found’ each other.

Fast forward to today.

Lydia is experiencing her own brand of ‘suspension of belief’ as she re-posts a bunch of stories she had pulled from her ROM account. Some of them include incredible emails we shared as well as other stories she can’t quite decide what really happened...

She reads and has no recollection of what is fact and what is fiction. Her incredible and intelligent mind can plainly see her own words and feel that it isn’t all fantasy... If you go to her ROM account right now and read through ‘The Traveling Master visits my mind and stays for a Spell’, then you will understand what I mean. She had posted that story before going into hypnotherapy. I should add here that she had, in a frenzy, added a LOT of our emails to it... Some of which were very personal to me and a lot of them don’t have the full context to back them up.

Like Lydia, my emotions ran very high so apologies for those who decide to dive into that one. I can have my heart on my sleeve when I care for someone and I definitely came to care deeply about Lydia.

I will add here that she no longer has her kink email. As part of what she agreed to with her therapist, she has deleted all her kink contacts and her actual account. So if any of you decide to try and verify all this information with her… Well… She simply won’t be able to confirm or deny anything.

As some may already know, she was ‘forbidden’ to contact me ever again and in my last farewell to her, before she forgot me, I promised that I would never contact her again. My presence in her life had become dangerous because of her illness and everyone agreed that she should forget me and everything about her submissive arousal towards being hypnotized.

There was a lot going on leading up to that email and this exposé will get to that. But suffice it to say that it all served to convince Lydia to consent to the deal her therapist proposed. I’m not privy to all those details, but I will share what I was told.

We all wanted what was best for Lydia and thankfully...

So did she…

Anyway… Back to the story.

She pulled it because she wasn’t sure what would come of her therapy and if she would be allowed to continue writing her beloved stories. Now that the therapy is working and she has a ‘deal’ with her current therapist, she is allowed, under strict rules, to finish writing and publishing all the stories she wanted the world to read.

The reason? She has a message. A calling. In her path towards being a better version of herself and paying for her past sins, she wants the world to be aware of the horrible things hypnosis and brainwashing can do to susceptible people such as herself.

Her goal is both to scare by making you believe in what is possible, and also, to make a ‘John’ cum with her words instead of him going out to indulge with prostitutes. Or worse...

She wants everyone in the hypnotist kink community to understand that sex trafficking is a very real problem in the world. And that sometimes... Our beloved kink and be used to help control the poor girls that are forced into it.

Before her current ‘Mind wipe’, I had agreed, at her request, to host some of her stories on my website. (mc-diaries.com) Her very LAST farewell email to me, just a few days ago, gave me perpetual license to copy and post her work.

Now she doesn’t remember anything about that... As it should really. So I’m not sure I’ll indulge that request... You’ll come to understand why after I reach the final chapter.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Today, Lydia is finally doing well enough to stay as clear headed as she can while she finishes her grand ‘opus’. In one of her addendums, she finally realizes how dangerous reading and writing erotic kink stories is for her mental Heath and has, apparently, convinced herself to stop for real. I know this was the goal from the first moment she got admitted, but erotica WAS a passion of hers...

How can you truly accept to step away from something that motivates you so much?

Now, it looks like she is finally convinced and I’m incredibly happy for her. But back when I first got into contact with her... She wasn’t so convinced.

It’s hard to think that barely 2 months ago, we didn’t know a thing about each other and that now... I know a LOT more than she remembers herself...

For this first chapter, I’m going to start at the beginning.

I was lazily surfing ROM for something that would either inspire and push me to finish one of my many drafts or get me off. I checked the ‘fresh’ posts and saw one by an author called Lydia Salia that intrigued me. It was ‘Beguiled’.

I was instantly hooked!

I loved the way she wrote about herself and was amazed at the things she hinted could be real. I am no hypnotist... Well... I wasn’t 2 months ago... Not really... Anyway, I was always on the fence about what was possible through real hypnosis and this author looked like she knew all about it!

Plus her writing was simply stellar.

So I opened up my email to send her a few words and possibly to chat, when something incredible happened: Right there in my inbox, there was an email from Lydia herself!

She had read my ‘Did he Hypnotize Me?’ story and decided to contact me too. Was it fate? Was I targeted? Was it God? Who knows... I just found it hilarious that we would ‘click’ on the same day and decide to write to each other.

I commented on her story and sent her an open invitation to chat about real life hypnosis and stories.

Right off the bat, she told me she was very susceptible to being tranced and that I sound like an expert hypnotist. ME! I was shocked. I assured her that I wasn’t and that led to a lot of interesting emails as we got a ‘feel’ for each other.

I will add here something I never told Lydia as we connected and collaborated...

I was SCARED SHITLESS.

Oh yes... Reading all her stories about covert email inductions and her explaining how it could really happen had me anxious and paranoid.

I was casually chatting with Lydia Salia. Self proclaimed hypnodomme and master of all manner of covert hypnosis techniques.

I felt like I was tempting fate... Playing with fire and gasoline while hoping you wouldn’t burn your house down...

But still unable to stop yourself from enjoying the wild flames...

Those first few days, I kept trying to figure out if I was emailing her because of my own desires or if she had somehow implanted that desire and made me forget she had already hypnotized me.

It was her speciality after all...

Would I be doomed to become one of her helpless thralls?

That very anxious worry made it into our story and she did seem to pick up on it.

Here is a small revelation for my readers: I’ve never been hypnotized.

Unlike some of you out there, I don’t desire to lose control. In fact, one could say that my creative mind repents me from ever being able to trust anyone enough to let go like that.

I’ve simply written too many hypnotic take overs to feel safe about willingly letting someone into my mind like that.

Although... As with many things that happened from connecting with Lydia, I’ve come to wonder what it would feel like... How could I not? I write about it all the time.

Anyway...

It wasn’t long before I asked her if she would be interested in writing a collaboration story with me. Be it interactive stories with an avid follower or a collaboration with another sharp erotica writer, I just can’t resist the appeal and intense creativity that blooms from such exchanges.

Lydia was the one, in her very hypnodomme way, to decide that we should write about ourselves and what would happen if we met in real life. I never wrote in the POV style, well... Not as myself anyway... So I found the challenge VERY alluring.

Web of Hypnotic Foreplay is what was born of that intense and erotic collaboration.

I had told her about how I liked to go about writing these types of author collaborations, but of course, being Lydia, she couldn’t hold back and kept fiddling and correcting my parts so we ended up doing it somewhat like I usually do.

Meaning that Lydia wrote the first part from her perspective and then sent it to me so I could follow suit and continue the story from my POV.

In retrospect, that collaboration was when Lydia first got seduced by me. A few times, she would use words like ‘Fucking genius’ and ‘Oh my god that was so hot. You made the story so much better, so much hotter. I am so gd horny right now.’

That and the stories she read... The first story she ‘rewarded’ me for was ‘Stacey’s Insomnia’. She was so aroused that she decided to send me nudes!

I was... Shocked? Delighted? I’m not sure I know the words to describe the feeling I got once I opened up that first email. It was like going from casual erotic collaboration to having a smoke after an intense and unexpected fuck.

Now that I know more about Lydia and her illness, that was the very first time I had triggered her submissive alter.

That wasn’t the only time she got so aroused that she decided to send me VERY explicit pictures of herself. Of course, she never left her face in those shots so really... How could I know if it was her and not some odd pictures she found online?

Although... If I’m being totally frank... Her pussy WAS pretty consistent throughout all those pictures.

Needless to say... I was just as aroused.

As an erotica writer, one of the many things that get me off is knowing and on rare occasions like Lydia, actively seeing how aroused a girl gets when she enters my world and lets her imagination follow my lead...

By that point in time, our collaboration was running smoothly and we were neck deep in erotic writer foreplay. I would send her ideas... Get her horny... She would think up better scenes... Get me horny...

Back and forth...

Until our main collaboration was finally ready.

By the way... We never Zoomed or met each other in real life. We live in different countries, but I never told her that so she assumed I lived somewhere on the eastern seaboard.

Lydia came up with the idea of doing alternate endings since we had so many ideas on how to finish the story. Which turned out incredible and unique by being both a collaboration and an interactive story.

A true testament to the incredible creative juices that flowed from our conversations and arousal...

Some of my followers know this already, but my real job has me on a sort of work schedule where I’m 2 weeks on and 2 weeks off. It affords me time to write, but it also prevents it. Just as we were wrapping up our main part, I had to leave for 3 weeks (added vacation) and didn’t have time to continue until I got back.

During that time... I noticed that Lydia got a bit more submissive towards me... She read my stories and would send me her comments. Sometimes with a fun ‘reward’ when my story really got her going.

Was it the fact she had to wait for me? Was it my words? Was it simply the person I am?

Was it all of the above?

The fact of the matter is that Lydia started to fall for me. We both didn’t understand what that would mean down the line and had I known...

I imagine I would have been strong enough to hold back and steer her clear of what she was getting into.

But I didn’t know about her illness and what it would cause... So I didn’t.

Heck... I was all for it!

Things got progressively hotter after that as we exchanged our alternate endings and our emails slowly slipped from what would be hot for the story to what would be hot for real...

She gradually came to trust me and opened up to me more and more as we collaborated and talked. She felt comfortable sharing past traumas and emails from other hypnotists that tried to get in her head.

Not to mention her pants...

The fact of the matter is that she had already started to let me influence her subconscious by the time we posted our ‘baby’. I didn't realize it until she told me of course. I just thought she liked being submissive to me.

And then... Everything got accelerated on the night a certain David L responded to her email blast. For those of you who read ‘Beware of Ill Intent’, you mostly know what happened as I decided to do an exposé on that singular event.

Mainly so that Lydia could get what she wanted for her own story without her actually getting the induction that creep sent her. If you go to her ROM page, you can read her version of the events in question in her story : Ill Intentioned Hypnotists.

We were in “lust” for each other and everything was going smoothly for us. Part of me still believes that if David L hadn’t tried to ‘claim’ Lydia again, things might have been much healthier. Less intense...

Or maybe not... Maybe we were heading there anyway and that event just catalyzed our connection. I mean... How could one find a better way to gain someone's trust than to save them from something?

On that night, I became her Knight in shining armor and she fell head first into the trust she already had for me.

Making her illness flare and give her a deep desire to explore and submit to me...

*************

Link to chapter 2

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averykedavra · 4 years

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Love Runs Its Course

Is it clear yet that I’m just using this as an excuse to write sappy, indulgent human AUs with queerplatonic relationships? Because if not, I need to try harder. Anyway, commence coffee shop AU.

(Tagging @tsshipmonth2020! Title is from Call My Name by the Unlikely Candidates! You can find this story on Ao3 here.)

Prompt: Everyone has a timer that counts down to when you will meet your soulmate. 

Pairing: Pre-relationship Anxceit.

Words: 9501

Warnings: death and murder mentions but nothing actually occurs, anxiety, minor panic attack, cursing, self-deprecation, scars, mention of a car accident

If there was one thing Virgil hated about people—which there wasn’t, he hated a ton of things about people, from their annoying voices, to their questions about what he was going to do with his life, to the way they always stepped a little too close to him, to the fact that they generally existed and that put a cramp in Virgil’s style, but if he had to pick one thing—it’d be that they always asked about his soulmate.

He kept his timer covered. Countdowns freaked him out, and he’d rather not be staring at his wrist all day. He had a general idea of when he was going to meet his soulmate—probably in the next year or so, or maybe he should have met them by now, or maybe something had gone wrong and he’d never meet them ever and that was why he didn’t look at the goddamn timer. He tried not to think about soulmates in general. It was easy enough. He just focused on panicking over the things he could control, like his college courses and remembering his coffee order and not destroying every friendship in his life.

Soulmates were an enigma, an unknown, and Virgil did not do well with unknowns. They promised a person—or persons—who would understand you, complete you, show you a path you’d never even considered.

That was a terrifying concept. Virgil did not like to be known, for starters. He’d perfected the angry-emo look over the years, complete with shredded jeans and liberally-applied eyeshadow, so he would be the exact opposite. Intimidating. Off-putting. People looked once and looked away, and that was just what Virgil wanted.

He didn’t need a soulmate coming in and prying him open.

He was doing just fine on his own.

Except everyone kept asking. They’d glance down at his wrist, covered by his favorite purple hoodie, and ask if he’d met his soulmate yet. If they were dating. If they planned to get married. Apparently, by the age of twenty-one Virgil was supposed to have met his soulmate, even though he hated going outside and the world had literally billions of people in it. And planning to get married? Virgil wasn’t out of college.

Fuck people.

Sometimes, Virgil would just growl a noncommittal noise and ignore the question. If he was in a talkative mood, he’d say “Haven’t met them.”

Some people took that as a cue to change the subject. But others immediately started reassuring Virgil that he’d find them soon, that the universe would bring them together, and how long did he have left anyway? And Virgil was stuck in the conversation until he could find a polite way to leave, or his friends could bail him out.

They didn’t seem to get that he didn’t want reassurance. That being without his soulmate wasn’t a terrible isolation. He had friends—shocking but true, and something Virgil was still getting used to—and he had a life. He wasn’t going to drop everything to chase some mystical match. He had exams coming up. And soulmates were bullshit, anyway.

Roman would probably take offense to that. But they were. Virgil wasn’t about to trust fucking fate to pick out his missing piece or whatever. God might not play dice with the universe, but it was still a pretty weird matching game—or it was like when the whole class got gift bags and they tossed different gifts randomly into each one. Some people got toy trains or glitter pens. Virgil got a small wooden duck.

Yeah, that was what soulmates were like. Surprise gift bags filled with good toys and bad toys, and some people lucked out and some people didn’t, and some people’s gift bags got lost in the mail, and it was really fucking stupid to have gift bags anyway because who even asked? They’d just been handed them, sparkly and crinkly and leaking confetti, and been told “Here, you get this, take care of it.” No opt-out program. No “thanks, but no thanks” option. Just a heavy gift-bag filled with stuff nobody wanted, being told that they were special for having it.

And of course there were timers.

Because it wasn’t horror-movie enough to have a person specifically assigned to your soul. There were timers, and the numbers counted down, thick and black and rolling through the years, then the months, then the days and minutes. It was like being branded. Virgil had tried to scrub his off in ninth grade, just to see if he could, and the skin around it was left raw but the numbers never disappeared.

Virgil hated numbers. He’d never liked math, and numbers usually came in statistics about death or statistics about poverty or algebra he didn’t understand. And timers. Numbers came in timers and counted down to the moment where Virgil would be stuck with someone for the rest of his miserable existence.

Great.

Fucking fantastic.

Yay, soulmates.

Virgil guessed he should count himself lucky that he hadn’t met his yet. It wasn’t all luck, though—like he said, he barely left the house. But his soulmate wasn’t in his college, either. He’d been worried about that. Or maybe his soulmate was just as antisocial as he was. Maybe that’d be alright. They could avoid each other for the rest of their lives.

He covered up his timer, tried not to think about soulmates, and let the anxiety hum in his chest as a constant low-grade buzz. He’d made it this far. Everything was fine right now, no matter what his wrist said, itching under his hoodie and a black smudge in the mirror.

Everything was fine and Virgil was going to graduate college and become a graphic designer and live with several pet spiders and die at a ripe old age from colon cancer. Soulmate-less and perfectly happy.

Well, as happy as he could ever get, which wasn’t very.

People said that was because he didn’t have his soulmate yet. As if diagnosed anxiety and low self-esteem would be magically fixed by some asshole walking into his life and smiling at him. And they wondered why Virgil hated soulmates.

So yeah. Maybe Virgil wasn’t happy happy. But he was alright, and he was alive, and he had friends and a life and some kind of future. He’d stayed on his feet, which was more than he or his therapist really expected, and he had a job, too—at a coffee shop, but a job. It didn’t pay well and each shift was a nightmare and Remy the manager wasn’t the hugest asshole but was still a little bitch, and Virgil hated it utterly. But it was a job. And fucking student loans weren’t going to magically vanish if he just ignored them. Much as he wished that was possible.

He wished the universe spent less magic on soulmates and more magic on paying off student debt. Now that would be useful.

“Student debt,” he’d recite to himself after the third customer called him a name.

“Student debt,” he’d mutter as he mopped up a spilled caramel machiatto.

“Student debt,” he’d remind himself when Remy popped out to talk with his soulmate, which left Virgil with extra shifts he couldn’t say no to, because student debt and also crippling social anxiety.

“Student debt,” he’d groan into his pillow as he collapsed in his bed, surrounded by textbooks he didn’t know well enough to avoid studying the next morning, wondering whether he should just quit school and become a mime. At least it didn’t involve talking to people. Or studying. Or spilled caramel machiattos.

On nights like that, he wondered if he’d even manage to get up the next morning.

But he always did.

Here, queer, and full of fear. Alone, on his own, and fine with never being known.

And working at a coffee shop at three in the afternoon, trying to memorize his science notes in-between orders, the day cloudy and soupy and making Virgil’s purple hair frizz up under his hoodie. His nametag had broken mid-morning, forcing him to duct-tape it in place. And he’d ran out for some groceries during his lunch break, and the groceries had fallen out and now he had to buy new ones in the time he didn’t have, and he hadn’t actually had lunch and was running on three shots of espresso that made him even more jittery than usual, and in general Virgil was about three seconds from curling into a ball on the counter and waiting for the world to stop existing.

That was when he walked in.

Afterwards, Virgil figured he probably should have had some huge moment of shock. A love-at-first-sight thing. Or at least, he should have noticed the guy before he was at the front of the line.

But he didn’t, and even when the dude was right in front of him, he’d just nodded and asked “What can I get for you?” in his best I’m-a-helpful-employee-and-three-seconds-from-killing-everything voice. Vaguely, he noted that the guy had a black beanie and dyed blond tips and a bored smirk like he was also three seconds from killing everything but in less denial about it.

Guy rattled off his order, Virgil nodded and tossed it over to Remy, told the guy to have a seat, the dude nodded and adjusted his beanie, shaking out his wrists--

And froze.

The next person in line bumped into him. He just stood there, staring at his hands, then back up at Virgil.

“Um, you can sit down,” Virgil said awkwardly. He’d been joking about the killing everything--ugh, if this was gonna be a scene, Remy would kill him. And he really wasn’t in the mood to shepherd some customer out the door.

The guy kept staring at Virgil. Virgil decided to stare right back with his patented don’t-fuck-with-me glare. That didn’t send him packing. Guy just kept on staring, and Virgil looked back at dark brown eyes and an old scar on a tan cheek, and blond curls and a flannel shirt and a mouth dropped open.

“Dude,” Virgil said, trying to crack a joke to deflect from his growing discomfort, “stop staring. I get that I’m awesome, but we do have other customers.”

Other customers who were starting to whisper. Remy was shooting Virgil a glare over the coffee machine. Shit. Some asshole was definitely making a scene on Virgil’s shift, and fucking dammit, of course he was.

“Hello?” Virgil waved a hand. “Dude, hello? Why are you just standing there like a deer in headlights?”

He hated himself the minute he said those words. Now the asshole was gonna snap and kill him or something.

“You--” Asshole pointed at him. He seemed to lose his words as soon as they came, just pointing a few more times. Then he turned his wrist over.

A black zero. It shone in neat ink on the skin.

“Um, good for you?” Virgil said hesitantly. “Sure your soulmate is very lucky. I don’t get what--”

Then it hit him.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Fuck. Fuck, piss, shit, goddammit, why.

Almost automatically, Virgil pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie.

A zero.

Virgil opened his eyes and closed them again, shook his wrist like it was a flashlight with an iffy battery, turned his wrist over and back again, rubbed at the skin. The number refused to change.

He’d met his soulmate.

Virgil looked up slowly. Asshole was still standing there, looking both patient and somewhat terrified all at once, with his stupid beanie and stupid flannel and stupid, stupid timer.

Fuck.

This.

Shit.

“We’re soulmates?” Asshole asked, as if it wasn’t abundently clear.

Virgil opened his mouth to snark “Yeah, apparently, and fuck this” or say “Maybe, who knows?” or ask the dude if he was ever going to sit down and let Virgil do his goddamn job.

He swallowed and closed it again.

His hands started to shake.

“We’re soulmates,” Asshole said, sounding not entirely pleased but not completely disappointed. It was like a package he’d long expected had finally delivered, but the edges were scuffed up and a few pieces were missing. Which was pretty fucking accurate. Poor guy--he might be an asshole, but he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Virgil.

Or maybe he did. Virgil knew literally nothing about him, not even his name.

Just that they were soulmates.

A gift in a gift bag, shoved into his hands in the middle of his shift, dropped on his doorstep with no return policy.

Here. You’re meant to get this. Keep it.

Virgil tried to take a deep breath and found his chest was too tight to allow it.

Shit, fuck, shit.

“Hey,” said Asshole Soulmate, stepping forward. “Are you...you look like you’re definitely taking this well.”

Oh, really? Virgil would have snapped if he wasn’t busy hyperventilating. Can’t imagine why my soulmate showing up out of the blue and ruining my shift wouldn’t be fucking ideal!

“I--” he stammered out instead. He looked wildly for an exit. He couldn’t be here anymore. Asshole was going to start asking questions, and he didn’t have answers or explanations, couldn’t piece together anything that explained how terrified he felt--

Breathing exercises. He used to know them. They’d all gone from his head. Fuck, shit, fuck. The whole place was too small. Too loud. The air was too hot and too still and brown eyes watched him, too concerned, too close--

“I have to go,” Virgil burst out.

And he pushed his way out from behind the counter, grabbed his backpack, and bolted out of the shop.

The door slammed shut behind him.

The last thing he saw was the face of his soulmate, staring after him, looking like he was three seconds from swearing as much as Virgil currently was.

In his head, of course. He didn’t think he could speak if he wanted to.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Virgil ran. He tore down the sidewalk, sprinting around corners and skidding away from the road. People were probably staring. He couldn’t see their faces, though. They blurred around him. Too many colors, the air was thick and heavy and pressing onto him and he couldn’t breathe--

Virgil ducked into the nearest subway entrance. He stumbled his way down the steps, sure he was going to fall. Somehow he managed to get all the way to the bottom. A few people were gathered at the edges. It was blissfully cool.

Virgil’s feet rung out against the tiles. He rushed over to the turnstile and tried to push through. Fuck. His card. Fuck, fuck--Virgil yanked on his zipper, breaking it, and practically tore his way into his backpack. It took him three tries to scan his card. He slammed open the turnstile and sprinted into the station, took the first turn he saw, and ended up next to an empty track with a glowing sign proclaiming that the next subway was in fifteen minutes.

Perfect. He’d just stay here for fourteen, then. Subways themselves freaked him out--too loud, too sudden, and the people on them always sent Virgil shuddering--but the cool underground darkness of the station was a relief. No one was here to stare as he sunk to the ground, pulling his legs to his chest, stuttering his way through his breathing.

Five things he could see.

The dim yellow glow of the lights far above him, the dark tunnel, the dirty stairs covered in gum, the old mosaic walls, his smudged sneakers.

Four things he could feel.

His hoodie, soft and comfortable around him. The strap of his backpack around his arm. The cool floor below him--probably filled with disease and germs, but Virgil was past thinking about that. His bangs falling over his face.

Three things he could hear.

The scuttling of a rat--ew--the whistle of a subway far above him, the distant strains of a street performer strumming their way through Stairway to Heaven.

Two things he could smell.

He could smell a lot of things, all of them very bad and most of them unidentifiable. He took another deep breath. His own sweat, and moldy pizza. Maybe. It could be moldy anything.

One thing he could taste.

Virgil ran his tongue over his lips. The remains of this morning’s espresso.

His heart was hammering just a little bit less.

Virgil took one more deep breath, leaned back, and kicked out his legs. The pavement was cold and rough under his hands but helped pull him back into his body a little more. The rat shimmied into a hole and disappeared.

Ten minutes until that subway came.

So.

He’d met his soulmate.

“Fuck,” Virgil said out loud to the empty tracks and the lurking darkness around him.

Nobody responded.

Okay. Virgil met his soulmate. This was fine. This was fine! He’d just never talk to the guy again. They’d go on their own way and never have to interact again. The dude probably wouldn’t want to see Virgil again, after Virgil had run out of the coffee shop like he’d been lit on fire.

That was another problem.

“Shit,” Virgil said, more quietly. He didn’t think he’d be fired for it. Remy would be pissed, but Remy liked Virgil well enough, and Remy wouldn’t fire him over a panic attack. Still, it was really fucking embarrassing. And he’d have to go back. He had a shift to complete today--

Virgil paused and shook out his hands. His whole body felt like it had been wrung through the wash. Or run over by a subway.

He pulled out his phone.

One text from Remy: girl u ok?

Virgil rolled his eyes and huffed.

It took him three minutes to compose a text back.

taking the day off. u dont have 2 pay me. sry.

Virgil tapped on the ground to the rhythm of Remy’s little dots, trying and failing not to overthink what Remy was typing.

paying u anyway, but u owe me a cappucino tmrw, bitch

And then:

soulmate guy is still here btw. says he’s waiting to see if u want to come back

Virgil’s heartbeat, which had just reached a relatively normal resting rate, skyrocketed again.

The guy was still there? Didn’t he have stuff to do? A life? Why was he waiting around for some dude who’d stared at him then run out of the shop like a fucking weirdo?

Well, they were soulmates, weren’t they? That was the sort of romantic shit soulmates were supposed to do.

God, he hoped the guy wasn’t a fucking romantic. That’d be the worst. Virgil didn’t do romance, period. If Asshole Soulmate was looking for someone to smooch and bring flowers, he was out of luck.

Except it didn’t matter. They would never see each other again.

Virgil didn’t want to see him ever again.

He read Remy’s text again.

The sign above the tracks read three minutes left. If he didn’t hurry, he’d get caught off guard. He needed to go back up and walk home, then spend the rest of the day playing video games and eating snacks and practicing some fucking self-care.

He read Remy’s text a third time.

“Fuck,” Virgil remarked, just because he could, and because he hated everything about this.

He stood up, adjusted his backpack, and walked back up the steps.

The hot air hit him like a wall when he stepped outside. He shook himself and wished for a second that he could be comfortable meeting people without his hoodie. But he hated life without it, and he looked fucking awesome in it, so now he had to suffer.

Virgil pushed through the crowds, head low, and made his way back to the coffee shop.

It was still crowded when he peeked through the glass windows. Remy and the others were bustling around in their aprons--that’s when Virgil realized he hadn’t taken his apron off. Fuck. He untied it and shoved it mercilessly into his bag. Then he straightened.

A small tap sounded on the window.

Virgil looked over and almost spiraled into a second panic attack.

Asshole Soulmate was staring straight at him.

Virgil looked at him, gave him a little salute, and started to back away.

Asshole Soulmate gave him a piercing look. He was sitting at a small table, his laptop in front of him. He looked about Virgil’s age, Virgil figured, and he had a few piercings in one ear. That scar Virgil noticed earlier dipped into the curve of his mouth and made him look perpetually smirking. His beanie was lopsided like he’d been pulling at it. For some reason, Virgil found that kind of endearing. He had a firm nose and those deep brown eyes and long fingers that tapped at his laptop even as he watched Virgil--

And it didn’t matter what he looked like, because Virgil was leaving.

Something twisted in Asshole Soulmate’s expression when Virgil turned to walk away. Virgil pushed down the guilt in his chest. This was better for both of them. His soulmate would see that too, eventually.

Another tap on the window.

Virgil looked back despite himself. Asshole Soulmate was scribbling something on his notebook. He held up one finger as he wrote, clearly telling Virgil to give him a second.

Virgil gave him that second, shifting from foot to foot, hands deep in his pockets. It was a mistake coming here, it just made him look weird, he needed to go--

Asshole Soulmate pressed his notebook against the window.

In neat black cursive were the words I will be here for twenty-four hours. If you’re interested in stopping by, I can make room for you on my schedule. The coffee here is mediocre, and tell your boss to add more sugar to the scones.

-Janus

Virgil stared at him.

Asshole Soulmate winked--actually winked, what planet was this guy from--and gave Virgil a secretive smirk. As if they were in on the joke together.

Virgil had never been more fucking confused in his entire life.

He’d met his soulmate, stared at his soulmate, and ran away. And said soulmate was waiting for him. Said soulmate was a dyed-hair college student with a smirk that screamed hide your wallet and neat cursive handwriting and glittering brown eyes.

His soulmate.

Janus.

J-A-N-U-S. Clear and dark against the window.

Virgil swallowed.

Janus. A weird name, but not bad, and it definitely matched the general weirdness of this guy. He swung the notebook away from the window and returned to typing, somehow completely ignoring Virgil and yet making it perfectly clear he knew Virgil was still standing there. Like a lost duck. Alone on the sidewalk, watching his soulmate tap at his computer at the smallest table in the coffee shop.

Another chair was pulled up on the other side. Room for two.

If Virgil wanted.

Virgil didn’t want.

Virgil turned away. Virgil walked home, backpack swinging from his shoulder, and didn’t go back because he didn’t want a soulmate. Virgil spent the rest of the afternoon watching TV and eating ice cream, and didn’t go back because he didn’t want trouble. Virgil ate reheated chicken and old celery for dinner, and didn’t go back because he didn’t want a relationship. Virgil curled up on the couch and listened to his music, and didn’t go back because he didn’t want someone to complete him, someone to be stuck with him, someone who was a perfect match for Virgil according to the universe, but who knew what that actually meant in practice. He knew nothing about this guy.

And he didn’t want to learn.

Because he knew how this went. Love would run its course, and then there would be heartbreak, because Janus would learn that Virgil was just a screwup with dark clothes and anxiety and trust issues and a life with no trajectory.

Janus would stop waiting. No matter if the guy was a romantic or really nice or just stubborn, eventually he would give up.

Everyone always did.

Including Virgil.

Virgil didn’t want Janus, and he knew Janus wouldn’t want him, and the smartest thing to was just to move on with his life.

The zero on his wrist itched.

Fuck soulmates. Fuck Janus. Fuck the whole entire fucking universe.

It was eleven o’clock, and Virgil couldn’t sleep.

He wondered if Janus liked hugs. He wondered if Janus liked old, weird costumes. He wondered if Janus liked makeup and horror movies and drawing and coffee. He wondered if Janus was his age. Maybe they went to the same college. He wondered if Janus used the same hair dye he did, and if they could help each other with their hair, because Virgil always did it on his own and ended up staining his hands and his face and the whole kitchen sink.

He wondered if he was a fucking idiot for even considering this.

No, he knew that. Virgil was an idiot. Virgil was a complete fucking moron who looked at a dark hole, knew how to avoid it, and thought about falling in anyway just to see what it was like.

Just to see what he was like.

Janus, with his stupid smirk and stupid cursive and stupid hat.

It was a really stupid hat. Only Janus could even pull it off, and he barely did. It was just on the edge of charming and if Virgil was being really uncharitable, it was crossing that edge into straight-up ridiculous.

Virgil wondered how he got his scar. Where he got his shirt. What he was working on in the coffee shop, whether he’d been there before, who told him. He’d ordered a scone. He had complaints. Maybe he liked to cook and bake. That’d be pretty cool, Virgil missed home-cooked food, he usually just microwaved some takeout--

What was he even thinking?

Virgil groaned and turned over on the couch, grabbing one cushion and pulling it over his head. Fuck home-cooked meals. Fucking beanies. Fucking domestic little scenes that he now found playing out in his head, as if that was realistic, as if he hadn’t just met the guy and immediately ruined it and decided he’d never see him again.

Soulmates.

Fucking soulmates.

Fucking soulmates who were probably still at the coffee shop. He’d said twenty-four hours. He’d still be there. It was a twenty four-hour shop and he’d still be sitting there, maybe working on whatever he was working on, smirking with that smirk of his and waiting for Virgil.

Stubborn. Kind of stupid. Maybe a little desperate, too.

Virgil was all three, so he had to respect that.

It was midnight now. Virgil should be sleeping. Sleep deprivation was bad for his anxiety, which was already a thick mass in his chest. If he wasn’t careful, he’d have his second panic attack of the day, and that’d be a fucking nightmare.

Virgil sighed and curled up tighter on the couch. He wasn’t tired. His brain was running at the speed of light and kept circling back to Janus, Janus waiting, Janus his soulmate and bound to be disappointed but what if--what if--

Virgil wasn’t a hopeful person. He liked being either pessimistic or downright cynical--it left less room for disappointment.

He was hoping now, though, and it terrified him.

“Fuck!” he yelled into his empty apartment.

The only response was the dull throb of a party downstairs, a steady beat that made Virgil’s head swim.

He’d never wanted to be stuck in the city. But he hadn’t thought he could handle the college dorms, so he’d grabbed an apartment, and found he could handle that even less.

Virgil was a mess. A failure. A twenty-one-year-old disappointment with a test tomorrow and a brain that wouldn’t shut up and a bunch of pipe dreams he knew would never come true. This was just one of them. Soulmates, lucrative jobs, moving to Venus and becoming a planetary god--they all seemed like crap in the light of day.

It wasn’t day, though. It was late at night and Virgil’s brain was fried and the heat had finally died down. It would be nice outside. Walking around the city at late wasn’t super safe, but he’d take a switchblade and some pepper spray, and the coffee shop was just down the street.

He was actually considering this, wasn’t he?

Fuck.

Janus was waiting for him. Janus wouldn’t leave for twenty-four hours, and at the very least, he should give Janus an excuse to stop waiting. Janus would need some sleep.

Virgil needed some sleep too, and Janus was the thing keeping him from it, the face in his mind when he closed his eyes.

He should at least apologize.

Virgil sighed, rolled off the couch, pulled on his hoodie, and slipped into his shoes. He double-checked the lock on the apartment door, ran his hands over his pepper spray, and took the stairs because the elevator might get stuck or catch on fire. He walked as fast as he could down the sidewalk, avoiding the crowds of people under the neon lights, clouds drifting over the sky and skyscrapers gleaming in the distance.

The coffee shop was lit up when he approached. He told himself Janus was probably gone. He was fucking with Virgil, maybe, or he’d just gotten bored and went home. This was stupid, this whole thing was stupid, and Virgil could just turn around and go home--

Janus was still sitting there. He was nursing a huge cup of coffee and a plate next to him with a half-finished croissant. His chin was in his hand and he kept yawning, but he was still blinking blearily at his laptop screen.

Well, fuck.

Virgil sighed. He’d come too far to turn back now, and any minute Janus would look up and see Virgil standing outside the coffee shop again.

Okay. He was...he was going to order some coffee. And he’d sit down and if Janus motioned him over, he’d sit with Janus. But he wouldn’t make the first move. That meant he’d have plausible deniability if...well, he didn’t know exactly what, but maybe if Janus was trying to argue with him or kill him. How would he know?

Midnight coffee shop. The perfect place for a murder.

Virgil shook himself. It wasn’t empty. Remy was right there. And if shit got real, Virgil had pepper spray and could bolt out of there again.

This was fine.

This was completely fucking fine.

Virgil took a deep breath, buried his hands tight in his hoodie, and opened the door.

Virgil barely ever took late-night shifts at the shop. They weirded him the fuck out--he preferred to stay inside when it was dark. And when it was too sunny, and when it was crowded, and just generally, but especially at night. Night was filled with murderers and vampires and shadow demons. Weirdass people got coffee at midnight and Virgil didn’t want to ever have to deal with them.

And now he’d become one of those weirdass people.

And he was seeing the coffee shop in a whole new light, the floor gleaming with yellow, the windows practically opaque except for pricks of red and white lights from the city around them. It was dead quiet except for the low hum of music, the occasional shifting of one of the only customers, and Remy wiping down the counter.

Virgil let the door swing shut behind him. It thudded way too loud and he jumped. All the customers looked up. Old dude with a salt-and-pepper beard, younger woman with long blue hair and more piercings than skin, and Janus. Janus. Janus looked up at Virgil and raised one eyebrow.

Virgil pointed to the counter, hoping it conveyed “I’m gonna get a coffee and decide whether or not I’m gonna bolt again. Stay there.”

Janus nodded and turned away. The light from his laptop illuminated the planes of his face and the way his eyes kept flickering up to Virgil. Virgil hunched into his hoodie and pointedly ignored him.

Remy gave Virgil a searching look when Virgil reached the counter. “Hey, babes.”

“Hey, Remy.” Virgil looked around at the menu. “Espresso with--”

“Hold on, no way.” Remy tipped his sunglasses down and shook his head. “You had one this morning, girl, and that stuff ain’t good for you.”

“Says you,” Virgil pointed out.

“Shut up, this stuff is my lifeblood. But there’s still hope for you.” Remy took a swig of his own coffee. “Anyway, you won’t sleep for a week if I give you more espresso, so nah, girl, try again.”

“It’s midnight,” Virgil complained. “And Rem, I’m not gonna get through this conversation without it.”

Remy paused and sighed. “I guess the customer is always right. One espresso, double shot--”

“Triple shot.”

“Double shot, bitch, or I’ll throw it at your head.” Remy slid over to the coffee machine and started it up. “So...you’ve got a boyf.”

Virgil almost hissed. “I do not!”

“Fine, you’ve got a pre-boyf.” Remy popped up and began filling a coffee cup. He glanced at Janus, who was studiedly not looking at them, though Virgil was pretty sure he was listening. “He’s alright, kinda fine, the hat is stupid.”

“The hat is stupid,” Virgil agreed.

Janus stopped typing. Virgil watched to see what he would do.

He turned around and flipped them both off.

Well. That was more entertaining than expected. Virgil smirked and returned the gesture, and Janus snorted before returning to his work.

“You’re made for each other,” Remy drawled.

Virgil growled, the smile immediately falling off his face. “Give me the fucking coffee.”

“Yikes, girl, would a ‘please’ kill you?” Remy slid Virgil’s coffee over. “Now pay up.”

“I’m an employee.”

“And I’m fabulous and don’t want to be here. Tough tits, emo.”

Virgil groaned and slapped a five on the counter. “One of these days I’m quitting.”

“Sure, babes.” Remy slipped the bill into the register and gave Virgil a little wave. “Say hi to your pre-boyf. And don’t worry,” he added, smile growing a little softer, “I’ll kick his ass if necessary.”

“You couldn’t fight your way out of a coffee cup,” Virgil said, but he gave Remy a little salute anyway.

And with coffee in hand, he took another deep breath and walked over to Janus.

Janus had already moved his things off the table, which meant there were several stacks of binders and textbooks by his feet. He shuffled a few papers, stuck them under the lid of his laptop, and closed it slowly. Virgil nodded at him and sat in the other chair, kicking at the ground, taking a sip of the coffee. It wasn’t espresso. It was a pumpkin spice latte. Goddammit, Remy.

“Hello,” Janus said slowly, and Virgil looked up.

There was a good three inches of space between them. It wasn’t enough to make Virgil feel less trapped, less gutted under Janus’ gaze.

Virgil fidgeted with his coffee and kicked at the table leg instead. It made the whole table wobble. Janus gave him a look and steadied his notebooks.

“Lot of stuff,” Virgil remarked, trying to keep his voice from cracking. “Do you usually bring the Amazon Rainforest to a coffee shop?”

“Yes, I carry it upon my back as penance for my many crimes.” Janus snorted. “Patton dropped it off later, after I decided I was staying.”

“Patton?”

“My roommate.” Janus waved a hand. “I figured I would get some studying done while I waited.”

“You’re in school?” Virgil asked. He wished he’d brought his fidget toy or something. Instead, he was left sipping a pumpkin spice latte and staring out the window instead of at Janus. Janus didn’t seem to mind, but still, Virgil wished he could curl up in his hoodie and disappear.

“College,” Janus said. “You?”

“College.” Virgil shifted. “I’m--assuming the same one?”

Janus shook his head. “I actually live in Britain. I just teleport here for the coffee.”

Virgil stared at him for a second before his tired brain realized the sarcasm. He snorted in surprise. Janus looked weirdly pleased with himself.

“What do you study?” Janus asked after a few seconds.

“Oh, um--” Virgil shifted. “Graphic design.”

“Graphic design,” Janus repeated, a smile playing around his lips. “So your career aspirations are poverty and well-designed party invitations.”

Usually, that would make Virgil angry. He didn't like when people made fun of his major. But the obvious tease in Janus’ voice, plus the way he laid it all out on the table, made Virgil weirdly relaxed. Janus could bite back. And that was kind of a relief. He wasn’t just a bland nice guy, which meant maybe--just maybe--he was a little bit equipped to handle Virgil.

“What about you?” Virgil asked.

“Double major,” Janus said. “Theater and psychology.”

“Got it.” Virgil smirked and decided to take a risk. “So your career aspiration is being a super villain.”

And Janus laughed, bringing his hand up to his mouth, eyes crinkling.

It was a nice laugh.

Not that Virgil cared, of course.

“Of course, can’t you tell?” Janus asked, still chuckling. “I think I could pull off a cape.”

“Sure,” Virgil said, a little bubble of confidence forming. “Just like you pull off the hat.”

“I don’t understand all the hat hate!” Janus exclaimed, a twitch at the corner of his mouth showing he was teasing again, and Virgil usually hated sarcasm and in-jokes. Too confusing. Too double-edged and shifty. Except with Janus, it was so blatantly obvious every time, and Virgil didn't have to worry about hidden meanings. He just got to...talk. And tease back.

He almost never got to do that.

“Surely you’ve worn a hat once,” Janus continued, folding his arms. “You must understand the art if you’re to judge me. Have you worn a hat?”

“Wow, pretty quick with the personal questions there,” Virgil said. “You don’t even know my name.”

“It’s Samantha.”

“Fuck you.” Virgil paused. “Um, not literally. I’m ace. And--aro.”

And Janus looked ridiculously relieved. “Oh, thank fuck, you’re sensible. I was worried about that.”

A flicker of hope in Virgil’s chest. “You’re--”

“Aro too.” Janus waved a hand. “And sexuality is a quagmire that baffles me. We’re on the same page.”

Virgil almost smiled.

“What is your name?” Janus asked idly, stirring a spoon in his coffee and watching Virgil with that same piercing look. “I've been calling you Emo Soulmate in my head and it’s not at all annoying.”

“Well, you were Asshole Soulmate,” Virgil said, and enjoyed another laugh from Janus. “But no, I’m not telling you my name. You’re a stranger.”

Janus gave an offended little gasp and pressed a hand to his heart. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Nope.”

“That’s fucking rude, Emo Soulmate.” Janus shook his head sorrowfully. “No manners at all.”

“Deal with it.” Virgil gave up on his pumpkin spice latte entirely. He shot Remy a glare. Remy was cleaning the counter again, humming to himself and occasionally giving Virgil finger guns. Virgil flipped him off and Remy cackled.

“So,” Janus said finally, “if names are off-limits, is there anything I do get to know about you?”

“I told you my major.”

“Lots of idiots are graphic designers, you’re not special.” Janus paused. “I...I feel like we got off on a less-than-great foot--”

“Yeah, you think?” Virgil caught himself before he could continue. “It, um--wasn’t your fault though. Um. Go on.”

“Thank you,” Janus said smoothly. It was unfair that he got to be so poised and Virgil was still trembling under the table. One of the customers left, the door thudding shut behind them, a blast of night air whipping Virgil’s bangs and making him shiver in his hoodie. “As I was saying, I’d--I’d like to get to know you.”

“Creepy,” Virgil said. “What do you want, an ice-breaker session? What color matches your soul?”

“Yellow,” Janus said immediately.

“What--” Virgil laughed. “You actually have an answer?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Janus spread his hands. “What about you?”

“I don’t--” Virgil covered his mouth as he laughed harder. “Dude, no. Just--no.”

“You’re probably black,” Janus said, undeterred.

“To match my coffee and my soul?”

“And the emo aesthetic, of course.” Janus paused. “Actually, I think you'd be more purple. Since you like purple.”

“I like purple?”

“I would hope so, since you’re wearing that hoodie and fidgeting with the sleeve like it’s your only lifeboat in a sea of insanity.”

Virgil flushed. “Um. Yeah. I do like purple. I--made this hoodie, actually. Back in high school. It’s a comfort thing, makes it easier to feel like I’m hiding, which makes my brain shut up for a bit.”

Then Virgil decided he was going to die in a hole, because why had he said all that, Janus was gonna be weirded out--wait, since when did he care about that--

“It looks good on you,” Janus said, and Virgil almost choked on thin air. “It’s stitched quite well--edgy yet strangely charming.”

Virgil recovered himself enough to smirk. “That’s what I was going for.”

“Why am I not surprised.” Janus glanced out the window. A car careened past them on the street, headlights swirling in the darkness.

“It’s late,” Virgil said idly, because he might as well just dig himself deeper at this point.

“You were the one who chose to meet at this time,” Janus pointed out.

“What would you do if I didn’t?” Virgil asked. They were entering dangerous territory, but he clenched his fists and soldiered on. “Fall asleep on your mountains of paper, alone and bereft?”

“Oh, darling, no.” Janus swirled his coffee. “You see this? Seven espresso shots. If I want to stay awake, I do.”

“Remy let you have seven?” Virgil blurted out. “Not fair!”

“It’s because I seduced him,” Janus said with a poker face.

Virgil snorted. He didn’t like his laugh much, which wasn’t usually a problem because he didn’t laugh very often. Now, though--maybe it was the late night, but he almost couldn’t stop himself.

“Anyway, it’s not like I’m new to this,” Janus added, taking a sip of coffee. “I am double-majoring, after all.”

“Yeah, and that’s fucking impressive,” Virgil said. “I think I’d die of stress.”

“The jury’s still out on me,” Janus admitted.

Silence again. Virgil tapped his fingers against the glass. It was cold beneath his touch and he shivered.

“I still like the question idea,” Janus finally said.

“Then shoot,” Virgil said, shrugging. “I don’t bite.”

“I doubt that.”

Virgil grinned and bared his teeth. Janus hissed back, his nose wrinkled. It was actually really adorable.

Janus composed himself quickly, though. “What’s your favorite animal?”

“Spiders,” Virgil said without hesitation. “Favorite food?”

“The souls of the innocent.” Janus snickered when Virgil did. “I suppose...caviar?”

“Caviar,” Virgil repeated, shaking his head. “You can’t be real, you pretentious little fuckwad.”

“Charming, do you treat all your acquaintances this way?” Janus didn’t sound mad at all. “And I’m most certainly real. Unless I’m not.”

“Dude, don’t give me an existential crisis, c’mon.” Virgil bit his lip. “Your turn for questions.”

“Favorite book?”

“Black Cauldron. Favorite movie?”

“The Godfather. Favorite musical?”

“Um, Heathers.” Janus gave Virgil an of course look and Virgil swatted at him. “Favorite show?”

“Pride and Prejudice miniseries, 1995.” Janus paused. “I’m simultaneously learning nothing and everything about you.”

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause this is shallow shit,” Virgil said. “If you wanna actually know what I’m like beneath the eyeliner, you have to dig deeper.”

“Am I allowed to?” Janus asked.

Virgil opened his mouth to say no, of course not, vulnerability was his kryptonite and trust was his poison, and in fact he really had to go.

“Yes,” Virgil said.

Janus looked surprised. He couldn’t possibly be more surprised than Virgil felt. Virgil, who figured he’d lost control of his brain or something, because he was talking to a stranger who was his soulmate and it was midnight in a coffee shop and Janus glowed golden against the dark windows.

“Well, then.” Janus tapped on the table. “Where did you grow up?”

“Stalker,” Virgil muttered.

“You did say--”

“I know, I know.” Virgil hunched his shoulders. Honestly, that wasn’t as bad as he expected. “Outside of the city, actually. Few miles out. Suburbs.”

“You in suburbia? Perish the thought.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t a good match.” Virgil chewed on his lip. “Do I? Get to ask you questions too?”

“Yes. My turn.”

“Hey!” Virgil complained. Janus laughed.

“Who’s your best friend?” Virgil blurted out before Janus stole his question.

“Look who’s the stalker now,” Janus drawled. “I...Patton, my roommate, I suppose. I don’t--have many close friends.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, “me neither.”

There was a long moment of silence. Remy had gone in the back and all the customers except for them were gone. The tables and floors gleamed in the light. Somewhere in the distance a siren wailed, muted by the gentle hum of music and the bubbling roar of traffic. It felt surreal. Too polished, too bright, too sharp to be real. Like Virgil would wake up tomorrow and know he’d never met his soulmate, his timer still counting down, Janus just a figment of his imagination.

Virgil looked down at his wrist for confirmation. A zero, in black ink, outlined in yellow by the harsh lights of the shop

“What do you want?”

Virgil looked up at Janus, who had that penetrating expression again, like he was trying to commit every bit of Virgil to memory. Virgil didn’t get what was so interesting. He had purple hair and purple patches on his jacket and messy eyeliner and probably some sort of scowl. But Janus looked at him like Virgil had all the secrets of the universe and Janus was decoding them, one by one.

Again, it should have been scary.

Virgil wasn’t scared.

And that, in itself, scared him.

“Be more specific,” Virgil said. “Like, right now? Right now I want some real coffee, for starters.”

“Not that,” Janus said, waving a hand. “From...life, I suppose. What’s your biggest dream?”

Virgil shifted. “I dunno. I don’t think about it much.”“You don’t?”

“Nah, anxiety makes it pretty freaky to think about the future.” Virgil thought for a second. “Um. I guess...I wanted to be a fashion designer, when I was little.”

Janus tilted his head. “What changed?”

“Didn’t have the time or materials.” Virgil shrugged and looked at the table. “Or...the drive, I guess. High school was rough and I needed a career path that gave me a quick buck.”

Janus snorted. “So you chose graphic design?”

“Shut up!” Virgil complained, swatting at Janus again. Janus dodged out of reach, grinning. “They both have design in them!”

“Whatever you say,” Janus chuckled.

“Anyway, yeah.” Virgil fidgeted with his sleeve. “Making clothes, making stuff--I still like to do it. So I guess that’s my dream, maybe.”

Janus looked thoughtful for a second, and Virgil felt like an idiot. Being a fashion designer was stupid. And here he was, dumping his life and regrets on a stranger. Fucking idiot.

“You’d be a good one,” Janus said, and once again, Virgil was thrown completely and utterly off guard. How did someone so surprising still set him at ease? “Of course I haven’t seen your work, but I like your jacket, and I think you’d be good at it. However, you have to promise to make me any outfit I want when you become famous.”

“Oh really,” Virgil said, feeling completely fucking exhilarated by the compliment. Which was pathetic, but it also gave him another burst of confidence, so worth it. “Let me guess, a cape, a red-and-black tunic with gold trim, a supportive uncle and firebending powers--”

“Scar jokes,” Janus said, his mouth twitching. “Bold.”

Virgil’s confidence immediately left him. “I--yeah, sorry--that was--”

“Funny,” Janus interrupted. “And it’s better than just ignoring it. I have a scar, it looks incredible if I do say so myself, and Avatar is a great show.”

Virgil smiled sheepishly. “You sure?”

“You’re fine.” Janus was silent for a long time, twisting his fingers together. Lights played across his face. The scar was old, Virgil noticed, and ugly, like it had never gotten properly stitched back together. Virgil rubbed at a grease spot on the edge of the table and let the quiet stretch between them.

“It was a car accident,” Janus said, his voice soft. “I was seven."

“Oh,” Virgil said, hating himself for not thinking of anything else. “That sucks.”

“Yes, it did.” Janus folded his hands on the table. “Your turn to ask a question, Emo Soulmate.”

“Oh! Yeah. Right.” Virgil bit his lip. “Um. Greatest fear?”

“Coming for me psychologically, I see. Excellent plan.” Janus shrugged. “Government control, I suppose. Or dying in obscurity.”

“Yeah, for me it’s just dying,” Virgil said, “but good for you.”

“Thank you.” Janus laughed and was silent again for a few more seconds. And Virgil usually hated the quiet, but this quiet was nice and comforting and felt more like a lull than an awkward pause, and why was this guy taking everything that usually made him anxious and somehow making it fine?

“Why did you run?”

Virgil’s fingers spasmed on the table. Well. So much for that.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to respond,” Janus said slowly, “but I’m curious.”

“I--” The words stuck in Virgil’s throat. “I was scared.”

“Of what?” Janus’ voice dipped. “Me?”

“No!” Virgil was surprised by the vehemence in his voice. “You’re--you were fine. A little awkward, but that made sense, and...yeah. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Good,” Janus said, and Virgil was surprised by the relief in his voice. He’d been worried about that, hadn’t he? He’d thought Virgil saw him and didn’t like him, or maybe he was even worried about his scar, and yet he’d still waited just in case Virgil came back and changed his mind.

God, Virgil didn’t deserve this soulmate.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Virgil said. “I’m sorry, I--”

“I’m not asking for an apology.” Janus’ face was achingly soft. “I’d just like to know.”

“Yeah. I--” Virgil curled his fingers. “I was just--scared. I was scared of...soulmates. Having one. Being one. I guess I--I never really wanted one, and you just showed up, and I know you didn’t ask for me as your soulmate but--”

Janus didn’t prod Virgil or push him to continue, which weirdly, made him gain the courage he needed to keep going.

“I’m not--” Virgil waved at himself. “And you’re--ugh, I just, I hate what everyone says about soulmates, that they’re supposed to complete each other, to fix it each other. You--I’m not--you can’t fix me. I’m not--I’m anxious, I’m a mess, I’m not going to be good enough for you and you’ll be stuck with me for the rest of your life! That’s not--” Virgil swallowed. “That’s not fair to you.”

Janus was quiet. Virgil slammed his mouth shut, sat on his hands, and decided he was going to leave the city and become a strawberry farmer. Strawberry farmers didn’t have to talk to their soulmates and brace themselves for inevitable rejection, because Janus got it now, and now he was going to leave--

“I don’t like people,” Janus said.

Okay, yeah, Virgil didn’t expect that. He looked up hesitantly. Janus looked more determined than ever.

“Society is an illusion and the world is corrupt,” Janus continued. “Most people I meet are either mindless, dull, or sickeningly sweet. It’s a very rare person who actually manages to entertain me, and even rarer for them to be kind and funny and intelligent and very clearly a good person.”

Virgil stared at him. He thought he knew where Janus was going, but that couldn’t be right--why was he--

“And I’m a liar.” Janus shrugged. “It’s a defense mechanism. I’ve barely trusted anyone in my life, I lash out when people antagonize me, and I’m such a fan of vulnerability in general.”

“Mood,” Virgil said, his brain still screaming what the fuck is happening.

“So I’m not perfect,” Janus said. “And I must admit...I hoped, for a while, that a soulmate would magically erase those problems. It’s what society tells us. I had higher hopes than were healthy. I projected a lot of things onto that soulmate--trust and honesty and a chance to be--more than myself. To be, to use your word, fixed.” Janus laughed a bit. “But then I actually met you. And...no.”

“Rude,” Virgil muttered.

“No, I don’t mean it like that.” Janus leaned forward. “You’re not--you’re a person. You’re edgy and snarky and a little nervous but it’s incredibly adorable, and you make me laugh, and even though you were clearly terrified you came back and gave me a second chance. It’s hard to project anything onto you when you’re actually here, sitting in front of me, and that’s when I actually realized--” Janus shook his head. “You are not my soulmate because you’re supposed to fix me. And I am not your soulmate because I’m supposed to solve your problems. We’re soulmates because we make each other laugh, and because I think your hoodie is cute, and because you didn’t make any comments about my scar. We’re soulmates because we make each other feel better. Not perfect, not ‘fixed,’ just a little bit better. The rest of the work we have to do on our own.”

Virgil stared at him, mouth open.

“So.” Janus swallowed. “I completely understand your reservations, but...it’s getting late, and I think we both need some sleep. So I’d like to request your number?”

Virgil pressed a hand to his mouth and laughed. “That whole dramatic speech was just a ploy to get my number? Shame on you.”

“You caught me,” Janus said. His face softened. “If you’re not ready, that’s okay. I just...it’s hard to let go of all the expectations. But how about we try? How about we be you and me for a while, and see how that goes?”

“But--” Virgil shook his head. “Soulmates--they’re supposed to be your whole life--”

“Supposed to be. As I said, society is a sham.” Janus reached out a hand and laid it on the table, palm up. “I’m not asking for your whole life, and I never will. I’d--I’d just like to be a part of it.”

Virgil tried to catch his breath. His eyes were stinging. He giggled a little, because he couldn’t help it, and because Janus was staring at him with such open hesitation and fuck, he was cute.

He was cute.

He was Janus.

Janus was his soulmate--and Janus was Janus, and that was more important.

Virgil looked at the zero on his wrist, turned it over, and took Janus’ hand.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “That--that sounds great. Actually.”

“Lovely, darling.” Janus smiled, bright and beautiful, and Virgil was dizzy with affection. “In that case, may I have your number and your name?”

“Whoa, two at once? Easy there.” Virgil chuckled and tightened his grip on Janus’ hand. “Um. My name’s Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Janus repeated.

“Yeah.” Janus smiled wider. “It’s lovely to meet you, Virgil.”

Virgil looked back, at the guy he’d been so afraid of, the soulmate he’d hoped he’d never meet. Who wanted him. Who knew who he was and wanted him anyway.

Virgil’d had it wrong and also right, which pretty much added up. Yeah, he’d been wrong about the whole running thing. Janus wanted him. Janus waited, and Janus smiled, and Janus thought he was funny. Janus wanted his number.

Yeah, Virgil thought he’d been fine on his own. But he was so much better than fine with Janus across from him, holding his hand.

He’d been right, too. Soulmates didn’t matter. Not that much. Janus was his soulmate, and who the fuck knew what that meant? Not Virgil. It was just some gift bag dumped randomly on his doorstep, a timer clicking down to zero.It didn’t matter that Janus was his soulmate.

Because Janus was Janus, and Virgil’s skin was on fire where Janus touched it, and suddenly his wild dreams of a roommate and home-cooked meals and dyed hair didn’t seem too far off at all.

It didn’t matter that Janus was his soulmate, because even if he wasn’t, Virgil would stay.

Meant for each other? Maybe. Destined? Apparently. Supposed to complete each other? Yeah, only in the loosest of terms. Virgil was still Virgil and Janus was still Janus, soulmates or no.

And for some reason--for some incredible reason--that just made things better.

It didn’t matter that Janus was his soulmate.

Virgil liked him no matter what.

“Nice to meet you, Virgil,” Janus said again, as if he was repeating it to himself, rolling Virgil’s name around in his mouth. It sounded beautiful in his voice. Janus had a beautiful voice--thick and smooth and deep, like a river Virgil would gladly drown in.

And he glowed bright in the yellow lights of the coffee shop, the world rushing outside, the darkness kept at bay and the world polished and gleaming and on fire.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, finding that he was smiling wider than he ever had. “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you too.”

General taglist (ask to be included or removed!):

@the17thmeatball

@most-likely-fandom

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Taglist from @the-taglist-repository:

@katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @intruxiety @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @just-your-typical-trans-guy @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun @somehow-i-got-an-account @starlight-era @potatsanderssides @idont-freaking-know @aceawkwardunicorn @demoniccheese83 @thatgaydemigodnerd @arya-skywalker @rainbowbowtie @lookingforaplacetosleep @a-fandom-trashdump @legendsgates @dragonwithproblems @snowdice @locked-prism @nonasficcollection @enby-phoenix @sign-from-god-complex @hitmewiththatfanart33 @cottonwoolsocks @callboxkat @supernovainthenightsky @evoodo123 @hekking-happy-nonsense

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #janus sanders #anxeit #anxceit #averywrites #soulmate september #tw anxiety #tw cursing #qpr anxceit #soulmate au #human au #coffee shop au #look okay every story hits Different at midnight in a coffee shop #idk what to tell you #tw scars

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