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latina4rmbx · 2 years

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Empathy Fatigue

I follow this account on Instagram named "latinxgrief" (if you're on IG maybe check her out). She's an educator/counselor based out in Cali. Her bio states "Grief support & education via storytelling. 🧶Weaving grief+social justice+cultura." I read a quick post she created regarding the differences between Sympathy, Empathy & Compassion. On her caption she simply puts: Empathy Fatigue.

Ok, so me being me, I am like "Boo thanks for the inspo, time for me to write." Ok, I didn't write that to her specifically, but that definitely was the gist of it. Here we are.

I don't know the specific definition of Empathy Fatigue but I'm a "smart girl," I'm sure I can figure it out on my own. I have a clue and examples from my own personal life, but I will do what I always do and break it down and get you the proper info. Lets break up the two words first, "empathy," and "fatigue."

Empathy: (my definition) feeling someone's pain on a more personal level, almost as if you are going through it. (Oxford's definition) the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.

Holy shit, I wasn't that far off. Good on me!

Let me put a quick notation here. I do not choose which Dictionary is used for my definition. I type definition of (enter word here) and whichever dictionary my phone chooses first is the one I use.

Fatigue: (my definition) to be tired and weary. (Oxford's definition) extreme tiredness resulting from mental or physical exertion of illness.

Fatigue has a good deal of definitions, essentially meaning the same thing. I'm proud of myself. I'm 2 for 2.

As some of you may know, familia when you put two or more words together, it sometimes can change the meaning of the separate words it give it more...how do you say....Seasoning or Flavor. It spices it up. So of course I need to understand what Empathy Fatigue is before I give you the examples I have in my mind. Family, please note, if what I have in my head is not the correct thing, I will tell you "That is definitely not what I thought it meant," and then we continue from there. I'm not ashamed to admit I'm wrong and even less ashamed to do the reading (I won't call it research although it can be classified as such) to get a better understanding of what it actually is.

"Empathy fatigue has also been thought of as a secondary traumatic stress disorder. It's the type of stress that comes from helping people day in and day out or witnessing or helping a person go through something awful. The stress and hardship of what you're experiencing, seeing and feeling starts to take a toll on you." https://heallth.clevelandclinic.org

Ok, so it's not EXACTLY what I thought it was, but it was. I don't know if that makes sense to you so, as usual, I will elaborate with my examples that I had in my head and some more real (my) life examples that I hadn't considered.

MY Example(s): I have friends who come to me for advice on a myriad of issues. School, Relationships, Children, Marriage, etc. Sometimes they just come to me for an ear, and I have to distinguish which is which, because I'm just now learning that it isn't rude to ask: Do you need advice or just an ear? This question is important, even if you don't really listen to their response, sometimes you can say I just need you to hear me out and then offer advice anyway. That happens more often than not. I'm working on it, sheesh.

There is a time when friends come to me and share with me the most awful of things.

Side Note: NO I'm not holding secrets on child abuse or maltreatment of children or of murders. I do like that your mind went there though. You're my people.

When I say awful things I mean the things that are happening in their lives that are awful to THEM. It could literally just be about a shitty job. I have a really good friend who comes to me to vent about their relationship.

I don't know if they read this so I'm going to put this out there, if you DO read my work, please note that I want you to continue coming to me. I love you and will never turn my back on you nor your situation.

This friend of mine has called me in the middle of the night crying about the situation. Woken me up out of my sleep. First off, I feel honored that I am the person they turn to when they're feeling their lowest (should I feel honored though? I don't know maybe this is some messed up codependent relationship - uh, something for me to explore I guess) and I don't care how many calls/texts/screenshots they send me, I will always answer. ALWAYS! And they know it.

Please note that a year ago today, I was not a smoker. Maybe I dabbled with weed every now and again, but cigarette's YUCK. Fast forward to today, I now smoke, not too often, maybe 5 cigarette's a day. The cigarette smoking started while on vacation in the Dominican Republic. YES, this information is relevant.

I was on the phone conversing about the issue my friend was having and I informed them, you're stressing me out I need to smoke.

I am not blaming my friend for my smoking habit. I created the habit on vacation, in the Dominican Republic, like I said above.

Their stress was so palpable over the phone that I empathize and had to smoke a cigarette after conversing...Who am I kidding, while we were on the phone I'd smoke. This to me is the definition of Empathy Fatigue. Their stress was beating me down too. I'd cry with them and my heart would ache with them. It got to the point that I felt their losses with them and this was beating me down in my own life.

Mind you, I am not going through the same issues as they are, even if I have been in the same situations in the past. At present, while they're telling me and crying and I'm hurting and crying with them, my life is nothing like theirs. I am not suffering nor feeling their feelings in my actual waking life, but when we'd talk, I felt and it was as if I were living it through them. I mean, I guess that's what empathy and compassion come down to right? I'm feeling a semblance of what you're feeling and letting you know that I am here for you NO MATTER WHAT!

Whew, that was longer winded than I thought. Now, here are the actual, real life situations that actually lead to Empathy Fatigue: My mom and my cousin are both case managers/counselors/social workers. They have a caseload of clients they must attend to. This caseload gets compounded by the fact that we're living through a pandemic (STILL!!!!) and they have to see individuals face to face or do home visits. They are mandated reporters who must report any type of abuse or neglect. They come home and their nerves are shot. They're angry or they just want to sleep and shut out the world. They are LITERALLY suffering from Empathy Fatigue.

My mom called me crying yesterday about one of her clients...and nothing ACTUALLY happened. Something could've happened but it didn't. But she was crying because of what COULD'VE happened. She kept telling me, I'm reporting it. I'm reporting it. I'm sorry but I'm reporting it. I'm usually the voice of reason (hence why people come to me) and I wanted to tell her "but nothing happened." However, I understood that in the moment, it didn't matter than nothing actually happened. If something DOES happen, she'd feel guilty because she was informed of these things and did nothing.

I know it may seem like I'm being cagey family, but I promise I am not. I can't divulge any information on the client, because a) I don't know it and b) even if I did know it, it would be a huge violation of state & federal laws for me to share with you what she shared with me. So you have to do with that what you will.

I can say this, the client is in a facility and the facility needs to step their shit up because they are getting REPORTED!

Listening to other people's issues, as a counselor/social worker, etc leads to empathy fatigue. It is very difficult to leave the office at work. Especially when you deal with people all day.

Another example: My cousins husband is a corrections officer. I don't know what he does exactly right now but that's neither here nor there. He works and is around inmates for his job. On top of the fact that he's with his fellow officers too. That's a lot of personal issues and personalities for any ONE person to deal with. I'm not saying he's in charge or anything, but when you think of life as one (you) to many (people you interact with), this makes sense. He was suffering from Empathy Fatigue. Dealing with the harshness of the job. Dealing with the angry inmates. Dealing with coworkers who are carrying their own baggage, that is tiring. Then when he came home, he shut down. He couldn't or didn't want to share his days with his partner for fear she'd judge him or she just wouldn't understand or she wouldn't care.

Oh boy this one went really long. I hope I didn't lose you somewhere around cigarette smoking.

In summation, I feel, in this day and age, especially during pandemic times, we may all suffer from Empathy Fatigue. In order to counteract that you should discuss how you're feeling with someone. Meditate. Go for walks. Have sex. Sleep. Do whatever you can to clear your brain. Do what you love. Most of all, show up. You show up for your people, make sure you also show up for yourself.

Bueno Familia, sending you lots of love.

XOXO

Thanks for reading

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runningw-thewolves · 3 years

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Why am I sharing this? Well, here’s why.

Loki first started sending signs to me in like, January, I think? Now, I had been working with Fenrir since November of last year, and I was really comfortable with Fenrir. Loki on the other hand. I had done some light reading and it seems that the way things were worded made it seem like Loki had bits in common with my abuser. So, naturally, my anxiety went rocketing past Mars and I was absolutely terrified of the mere idea of working with Loki, worshipping him, just straight up scared of him cause my anxiety decided to hit ‘Red Alert’.

It was in March when he sent more signs that I finally decided the only way to get the right information is to take the plunge and talk with other Loki followers/worshippers/Lokeans and... oh boy. That night when I joined a Loki chat, I had a full blown panic attack. I can confidently say the worst one I’ve ever experienced. My entire body was shaking to the point that my back was sore. My throat was dry and my eyes couldn’t stop streaming with tears as I tried to make sense of the cacophony of noise in my mind and type it with hands barely able to stay still. Thankfully, someone was on and they helped calm me down and gave me reassurance about Loki. Eventually, when I calmed down enough that I was more present in my mental state, I think I heard someone speak. “Wow. He fucked you up, didn’t he?”

I believe that was a Saturday evening, perhaps? So on Monday, I invoked Fenrir and asked him to assist me in communicating with Loki. I had two candles lit - one for Fenrir, one for Loki. I had brought up I believe some chicken for Fenrir as an offering, a sort of pay for helping me communicate with Loki. So, I started talking and admitted I was straight up nervous about what I was doing. I explained my worries and concerns - stemming from child abuse, which lead to me developing depression, anxiety and PTSD alongside having been born Autistic. I attempted to use tarot, which failed miserably and I could sense an audible sigh so I used my ‘last resort’ technique of asking a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ question and giving each direction (left or right) one of those answers and watching the flame. It works as a last resort, and it’s what I use as a last resort. I made a compromise with Loki on one of my concerns, which I might talk about another day, and asked him if he was OK with it - he said yes. I also proposed a grace period with Loki, so I can get to know him more casually. Again, I asked if he was alright with this, and he agreed.

Now, in that time, everything has changed. That tension and anxiety has mostly melted away - it still rears its head every now and then, but what can you do? I went from straight up terrified of Loki to not being able to see my journey without him and his family. I’ve been learned so much, about not just my present but also my past. And it seems that childish wish that young 5 year old me wished did in fact come true, just not how I imagined. I always wanted my abuser’s approval as a child, cause I loved him. Of course, he never loved me though. I wanted to know what it was like to have a loving father you could run to when everything was going wrong. All I had known was being shouted out, belittled, berated and degraded, blackmailed and threatened left, right and centre. So when I realised I had begun to see Loki as what I had always dreamed of as a child - what I saw in the movies and books - my anxiety came back. I felt I was overstepping a boundary, like I was forcing myself into a family. It ate at me for several weeks, but I eventually told Loki. I finally admitted to him - after several minutes of hesitation from rejection and abandonment issues - that I had begun to see him as the father my own should’ve been. I think for a split second he was stunned, surprised even, but that quickly changed into care. I was crying bucket loads, so I can see why. What was the strangest part was after I had admitted to it. He gave me a little nickname; “daughter”. He said it twice, and both times I was sat in silence for a solid minute, processing. It was this evening the little ‘We sang the theme song of Bolt’ incident happened.

Now, just around the beginning of me opening up to him, Stray Kids’ Changbin and Felix released a song. Loki was practically screaming at me to listen to it so I did. I had first thought it was in regards to Sigyn - “I know you love your wife, dude. You don’t need to tell me about it.” Now though, I’ve come to realise he wasn’t talking about Sigyn. He was talking about me. Somehow, he knew that they were releasing the song and it described his thoughts about me and got me to listen to it. “Those sparkling eyes of yours, overwhelming with joy, they become waterfalls if I were to make a wrong move, I’m so terrified that I could end up hurting you, because I really like you.” “I love your genuine, heart-bared, honest eyes, and how you’re fucking shit at telling lies.” “I love how your face says it when you simply won’t, how you can’t hide when you’re feeling like shit.” It’s a not-so-well-hidden secret of mine that my emotions are easily translated on my face. You can tell when I’m hurting pretty damn easily. What hit me weeks later when speaking with some mates I made in the Loki chat was the meaning. “I’m so terrified that I could end up hurting you.” In other words; “I’m terrified that if I do something that reminds you of your father, you won’t trust me anymore.” It puts into perspective why he’s been so patient, why he has been just so careful with me. So, in a way this song is my response.

“Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul that love (family) never lasts, and we’ve got to find other ways to make it alone and keep a straight face. And I’ve always lived like this, keeping a comfortable distance, and up until now I had sworn to myself that I’m content with loneliness. Cause none of it was ever worth the risk, but darling, you are the only exception.” There will always be a place for my grandfather deep in my heart - the father-figure I did have in my youth - and that will never change. But even he couldn’t help heal the deep scar of having a father who was just shitty through and through. Loki, on the other hand? I’m not sure if one can sense this, but I can feel that wound closing up. Loki understands so much about my traumas, my aspirations, fears and dreams. He has seen my hurt, listened to my hurt, and I always get the feeling that he listened properly. Properly tuned in. I’m still getting used to it. The one thing I’ve come to love the most about Loki is how when I’m depressed, he knows just what I am needing in that exact moment; a hug. I can tell when he’s hugging me cause he’s done it so damn much. Even when I had managed to anger him and I was practically eroding myself with guilt, he still gave me a hug. I can always hear his whisper when I’m upset. “It’s OK. You’re OK.” The only downside is I can tell he is hugging me cause my back and shoulders start getting sore for no explicable reason - and trust me, I’ve tested how the pain manifests multiple times and it still doesn’t have any explanation. It’s not that bad though - it’s actually really reassuring.

I said to myself I’d make my decision at the end of April. And well, it pretty much is. And this won’t be the first or last time Loki reads over my shoulder (hi!). At this point, to say ‘No’ would kill me, destroy me from the inside. So, I guess my answer is rather obvious then; of course. I don’t want this journey to end yet. I’m sure Vali will be happy to hear that. LOL But I guess it’s official now, huh? Would ‘Lokean’ be the right term? For now, I don’t know. But of course I’ll work with Loki. The sly rascal he is, getting me this attached. LOL Still, I can’t complain. I wonder if Sigyn was also calling out to me like my mate suggested; I’m sure you probably know, don’t ya, Loki? Well, I guess I better prepare for the entire family swarming the house like this is The Addams Family. So, here’s to the journey and where it goes next.

#loki #loki pagan #loki norse #pagan #i might sound slightly crazy but fuck it

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joaquinfeed · 4 years

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Love Letters (Arthur x Reader)

Prompt: You find Arthur’s journal and start exchanging notes with him. Fluff ensues. Word Count: 2,929

— You push open the door of your Gotham city apartment building, before trudging over to the mailboxes.

“Bills, bills, bills,” you sigh, shoving the unopened letters into your bag. You turn to make your way to the elevator, but something catches your eye. A worn notebook lays on the floor at your feet, words scrawled across every inch of it. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you can’t help but reach down and grab it.

You let your fingers run over the pages, as your eyes land on what looks to be the last thing written. You almost set the journal back down, not wanting to intrude on the stranger’s personal thoughts. But something about the messy handwriting draws you in.

I just want peeple to see me. I think I would be happyer if I had someone who cared.

Your heart felt heavy for the stranger; there was no way you could pretend that you never saw this. Your hand immediately shuffled around inside your bag, pulling out a pen and getting to work on your note back.

I’m sorry you feel that way. Everyone deserves to be seen. I’m sure you have someone who cares about you, and if not, I’ll be that person.

You read over your words, nodding in approval. You drop the notebook next to the mailboxes, hoping that the man or woman who left it behind will come back for it. As you made your way to the elevator, you couldn’t help the light feeling that washed over you. For once, you felt like you actually did something worthwhile in Gotham.

—

The next day, you were practically buzzing with excitement as you rushed home from work. All you could think about was the journal you found. Had the person read your note? Did they write something back? Did they even notice that the journal was gone? So many questions were swirling through your head, but you didn’t have to dwell on them much longer.

Sitting in almost the exact same place as you left it in, the journal was open to a new page, and another messy note was scrawled across the lines.

I only have my mother. You must not have many peeple to. Why else would you be writing back to a man in a jurnal journal.

Despite yourself, you laughed at the bluntness of the stranger, who you now know is male. A few other residents of the building gave you a look as you chuckled to yourself. With your pen already in hand, you moved to draw a small smiley face on the paper.

:) It’s funny of you to say that. Very bold. It’s nice that you still have your mom. Do you see her often? P.S. My name is Y/N, what’s yours? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.

Oddly enough, you were looking forward to getting up the next morning to see if your mystery guy would write back. At first, you were sure he would, but the more you thought about it, the more you started second-guessing.

Was asking about his mother too forward? What about asking for his name? After all, this man didn’t know you whatsoever. He has no obligation to tell you anything about his life; however, he did say he was lonely in some regard. You’re just trying to be friendly, you told yourself. If he didn’t want to answer, he didn’t have to. You wouldn’t be disappointed.

—

You were right to tell yourself that you wouldn’t be disappointed. When you took a detour over the mailboxes that morning, you instantly saw a new reply sitting beneath yours from the previous day.

You think I’m funny? I do stand up comedy sometimes. I actully live with my mother here. I take good care of her. Ps I like your name. My name is Arthur. Arthur Fleck.

Your fingers traced over the man’s name.

“Arthur,” you said out loud to yourself. You liked the way his name sounded, and as strange as it seemed, you felt like his name matched his cute, scribbly handwriting.

I like your name too. Also, you’re a comedian? Now you have to tell me a joke!

You looked over the words, wondering if you should write anything else. He didn’t ask you any questions, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t tell him anything.

I think it’s great that you take care of your mom, not many people would do that.

You considered adding “you seem like a really nice guy” to the end of your note but decided against it. You’ve already been inquisitive; it’s probably best to hold back a little.

A reply was waiting for you the next morning when you checked back in. While reading it, you couldn’t help but laugh at Arthur’s response.

Why dont canibals cannibals eat clowns? Becus they taste funny.

There was a line of space between the joke he scribbled down and the rest of his note. You glanced down, hanging on to every word that was written on the page. You wondered if he felt the same way while reading what you left him.

Most peeple find it strange that I live with my mother. You said it was great. Thank you for being nice to me Y/N.

Your heart picked up at the use of your name. At the risk of sounding cliché, you can’t remember a time when the mere doodle of your name has caused such a surge of warmth to fill your body.

You felt kind of absurd for feeling like this. You haven’t even met the man. He could be any person in the building, and yet, you still felt drawn to Arthur like he was someone you’ve known forever.

You hastily wrote back to him, deciding to take a bit of a chance with your next move.

No need to thank me, Arthur. I truly think it’s admirable. Oh, and that was a hilarious joke. I’d love to hear it in person sometime.

You knew that was a bold thing to say to him. It has only been four days since you found the man’s notebook, and you’ve already given him a reason to meet with you. You’re absolutely positive you have a high chance of being the next star of a late-night murder mystery documentary. Still, at this point, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Pushing the thoughts of Arthur out of your mind, you left for work, hoping to go one day without thinking of your new pen-pal.

—

When you arrived home from work, you were nearly falling over in exhaustion. You just wanted to get back to your apartment and crash in front of the TV. As always, though, you stopped by to read any new messages that Arthur had left. You were surprised to see a rather long entry this time compared to his usual two or three sentences.

I dont understand why you want to talk to me Y/N. You know you are not forced to anser me. I know that you probly dont actully want to meet with me. Thats ok. I enjoy getting your mesages and I want to keep talking. I feel like I have somebody with you around. But I understand if you want to stop. You dont have to lie to me and tell me you want to meet. I will be fine.

For the first time, Arthur’s note didn’t make you smile. Instead, you read through it with a dull ache in your chest. You wished there was some way to prove to him how much you looked forward to this encounter every day. Honestly, it was the only thing you looked forward to these days.

Arthur,

You doodled a little heart next to his name before scratching it out, too nervous about leaving it there.

I have never lied to you, and I never will. I would like to meet sometime, but only when you’re comfortable with that. Until then, we can talk here. I enjoy getting your messages too; they actually make me really happy. I feel like I have a friend in you. P.S. What’s your favorite color?

The notes between you both went on for another two weeks. Even though your communication was often brief and to the point, you still found yourself craving the disordered, misspelled words from Arthur. Nearly three weeks of knowing him, and you were convinced he was the kindest, funniest, and most selfless man in Gotham. With every new letter in the journal, you felt your control slip away, leaving behind a feeling that you haven’t experienced quite like this.

You liked him. It has only been three weeks, and you liked him.

You tried to reason to yourself that it wasn’t totally crazy to have a crush on Arthur. It’s normal to develop a crush on someone in such a short period; that’s how crushes work. You knew, however, that it wasn’t normal to crush on someone you’ve never even really met. Arthur was nothing but some words on a page right now, but you still couldn’t shake the thought that you knew him.

With each day that passed, you learned something new about him. From his favorite foods to his job at HaHa’s, you found yourself holding on to each fact as if your life depended on it. You briefly wondered if you should take a stop by HaHa’s on your way home from work, but ultimately decided against it. You wanted Arthur to be ready to meet you; you didn’t want to force him to.

After a particularly hard day at work, you sat by the mailboxes, writing furiously about your day.

I hate my job. I hate this apartment. I hate Gotham. The only thing I look forward to is writing with you, but I don’t even know you. Isn’t that pathetic?

You carried on for a whole page and a half about the shitty day you’ve had. You considered tearing it out so Arthur wouldn’t feel required to comfort you, but something kept you from doing so. Arthur has been somewhat open with you; it’s about time you do the same for him.

The next day, you halted to a stop by the mailboxes, seeing the journal laying in its usual location. But next to it, a single blue flower. You slowly made your way over, trying not to get your hopes up.

Y/N Im sorry you are feeling like this. Things in Gotham can be awful sometimes. I have felt like that my hole life. Im starting to feel diferently now that I have you. I hope you feel the same way. I got you this blue flower to cheer you up. Blue means comfort.

You felt your ears burn red, as you picked up Arthur’s gift. You knew how much courage it must have took him to leave something like that for you. The man has told you enough about him for you to picture his bouncing leg and racing heart as he sat the flower down next to his new entry.

This means more than you know, Arthur.

This time, you did leave a little doodle heart next to his name. You knew he would only find it endearing now.

I am incredibly lucky to have found you. You make living in Gotham worthwhile.

You took the flower up to your apartment, knowing that you were going to do whatever you could to keep it alive and well.

If you weren’t sure before, you were now. You really, really liked Arthur. And you kind of, sort of, hoped he liked you too.

—

The next night, you were off early from work. So, after grabbing something quick to eat, you walked back to your apartment in hopes of seeing a new message from Arthur.

When you got inside, you stopped in your tracks. A man with curly, brown locks towered over the journal. Your heart started thumping loudly in your chest as you took in, who you presumed to be, your month-long writing buddy.

“Arthur,” you said quietly, trying not to startle him. He still jumped slightly, almost toppling over from lack of balance. He gave you a confused look, seemingly trying to figure out if he knew you. “It’s Y/N.”

Suddenly, his eyes went wide, and he hurriedly concealed the journal behind his back.

“B-but, I only talk to you in my notebook. W-why are you here? You’ve never been here before,” he said, moving his hands from his chest to his waistline, a gesture you guessed was made to ground himself.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just, I got off work early. I didn’t know you would be here, I swear,” you told him. “If you want me to leave, I understand. I’ll just look at what you wrote later.”

“No.”

“No?”

He finally looked at you—all of you. His eyes roamed from your shoes, all the way to your face before his gaze rested on yours.

“You- you can’t read it. You can’t,” he mumbled.

“But… I’ve been reading everything in there,” you paused before quickly continuing. “Everything you’ve written to me. I haven’t read anything before that! I would never.”

He nods, staying silent.

“Were you going to stop talking to me?” you asked, a little hurt at the insinuation.

“No! I- I could never.”

“Then, why can’t I read what you wrote?”

He looks down at the floor, picking at a part of his sweatpants. “It’s embarrassing.”

“You know I’d never judge you, Arthur, but you don’t have to show me if you don’t want. I can leave, and we can continue writing like this never happened.”

“Okay,” he agrees, and you’re glad to see him meet your eyes once again. He drops the notebook onto the floor, and gives you a wave before taking off towards the elevator. You wait until he’s inside before reaching down and grabbing the book.

His writing, as usual, brings a small smile to your face. It makes your heart flutter that you have a face to put with the name and the messy scribbles.

I checked every word twice in order to get this right. I wanted to make sure I spelled and said everything perfictly perfectly. I know we have known each other for a little bit but youre always on my mind. Just like you said… you make living in Gotham worthwhile. I have a queston question for you. I hope you still want to write after this. Will you go on a date with me to Pogos? It’s a comedy club. It’s okay to say no.

You bit your lip, nearly drawing blood. The smile threatening to take over your face grew the more times you read over the note. You couldn’t believe the man you just talked to wanted to go out with you. And poor Arthur, who was too embarrassed to tell you that, looked like he wanted to shrivel up.

You scrawled down a giant “yes” under Arthur’s last writing before aimlessly drawing a few hearts around the word. After running upstairs to grab a few things, you came back down to the mailboxes and threw a blanket down on the floor. You were confident that people were going to think you’re crazy, but you weren’t concerned about their opinions. You parked yourself on the blanket and decided to camp out until the next morning when Arthur would, no doubt, be returning.

When the sun did arise, so did your writing partner. You heard the elevator doors screech open, and before you could look, Arthur was standing in front of you gawking.

“Did- did you get evicted?”

You laughed slightly and shook your head. “I was waiting for you.”

“You were waiting for me,” he repeated, looking puzzled and a little nervous.

“Yes. I wanted to be here when you read my response,” you told him. Your heart raced as he carefully took the journal from your hands and looked at it. His brows furrowed, and he looked back at you in astonishment.

“Are you sure? I think you made a mistake,” he dropped the journal and put his hands firmly back onto his chest. “This is not real.”

Your heart sank a little as you took in the distressed man in front of you. “This is real, Arthur. I didn’t make a mistake. I like you.”

“No- no,” his hands went to his head, so you reached out cautiously and took them into yours.

“I like you,” you repeated. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

That seemed to break him out of his episode, and he looked down at your intertwined hands before he broke out into a smile.

“Really? Okay. I’ll write to you and tell you what time to meet me.”

You giggled, debating whether or not to tell him that you didn’t need to write any more now that you knew each other. However, you let him go with a smile on your face and kept your mouth shut. If he wanted to write to you, you’d gladly let him. You were looking forward to seeing what time your scribbly, disordered, writing partner would come up with in your journal.

Your journal, you thought to yourself. You and Arthur’s journal.

You liked the thought of that. Arthur will just have to get used to it.

Turns out, Arthur didn’t have to get used to it. He already was.

#joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix joker #joker #joker imagine #joker x reader #joker x you #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x you

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aliceslantern · 3 years

Text

Give/Take, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 9

Ienzo has been too busy since the war to be overwhelmed by the past. But with little progress to be made in his work with Kairi, old nightmares start to invade.

Riku is a glorified housesitter. Lonely and faced with no choice but to wait for a way to find his friends, he eagerly accepts when Ienzo asks him to help do repairs around the castle. Before long, the two strike up an unlikely friendship, united by their dark pasts and their attempts to be better people.

But just as they begin to consider something more... Kairi wakes up.

Ienzoku (Ienzo/Riku), post-Melody of Memory, slow burn. Updates Thursdays until it's done.

Chapter summary: On different worlds, Ienzo and Riku write each other letters.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Ienzo,

Sorry for the radio silence over the past few days, but things have literally been so insane I haven’t had a minute to myself to write this note. My mom is barely letting me out of her sight--not that I can blame her. She goes between being outraged to dropping everything and hugging me. She wants to know everything, and I’m trying to tell her as much as I can, but still editing the most… incriminating parts until she’s ready. You understand. Even when I was home before we never got into it.

I haven’t even really had time to enjoy being home. I’ve had to see family, friends, and they all want to know where I’ve disappeared to. People all over town, too, want to know what happened and where I went. A lot of people assumed that I’d gotten myself killed.

Including my parents. That was, and still is, the hardest thing I’ve had to accept. Starting to grieve someone and just beginning to make progress only to learn they’re alive… I feel so guilty. Now I wish I’d gone back home during Kairi’s year of sleep, even for a little while.

I’ll tell you more about what happened, but I just wanted to… start to get a status update. “Any news?” How are you? How have you been? What are you and the guys up to?

Write soon,

Riku

Dear Riku,

Thanks for your text. Of course I understand how overwhelming everything must be, and this was an unusual homecoming. I just hope it’s been more joyful than bittersweet, though I fear it’s the latter. I’m hoping this transition becomes less of a traumatic one for you. And even if it is… well. I am an impartial ear.

Correction--a somewhat impartial ear. I will yell at, and/or make fun of, anyone who gives you grief.

Do tell me about Sora and Kairi. Things must be dazzling for Sora especially--I can only imagine what sort of journey he’s gone through, and I’m probably wrong. Hopefully the three of you get to spend some time together, just relaxing and being friends. It’s the least of what you deserve.

I, on the other hand, don’t have much worth reporting. I’m continuing to work with Aeleus and Dilan on the repairs, helping Even with his various little experiments. I’m trying to figure out where I would be most helpful, but that has been somewhat difficult. I’m sure you can sympathize. It’s finally starting to get warm again here.

If I ever quit faffing about and find something worth writing about I’ll let you know…

Yours,

Ienzo

---

Ienzo,

Ha ha. For some reason I don’t believe you’ve been as lazy as you said you’ve been. Though part of me hopes you have. You deserve a little rest too.

On the topic of rest…

Right after I got your letter the puppet strings that have been keeping me awake since I got home snapped. I fell asleep on the living room couch and didn’t wake up for thirty-six hours. Mom was hysterical; she thought something was really wrong with me and took me to the doctor (which, considering how long it’s been since I’ve been home for any length of time, was my pediatrician. Awkward.). But the doctor just said what I told her, that I just needed to sleep . And sleep, and sleep… maybe it’s my turn to sleep for a year. Ha ha.

Yeah, yeah. Spare me your lectures. I’ve been so wired that even when I tried, I couldn’t sleep.

Sora and Kairi are doing as okay as they can. Of the three of us, I think Kairi’s bounced back the quickest. She’s already talking about re-enrolling in school to catch up. Considering she’s the mayor’s daughter, it made the news when she got back. She’s like a celebrity, though because she’s Kairi and she’s perfect, she’s got it under control. I mean that with no sarcasm whatsoever.

Sora…

As you can probably tell by me skirting around the subject, Sora… isn’t completely okay. Physically, he’s fine. Healthy. But it’s… between the Keyblade War, and what he experienced alone while we were all, very briefly, dead (which, remind me to tell you about that if I haven’t, because it is a trip.). He’s been ALONE for so long. I’ve never seen him so shaken, and he’s so quiet . Talk to him and he tries to be all smiles, of course, but a few of us were at the beach and instead of being all up in the middle of it like he usually is, he was sitting aside… alone. Kairi’s been trying to gently pry, but he keeps saying he’s okay. A tired act I think all of us know well by now. Honestly, I’m not sure what to do. What kind of therapist here would get what he’s gone through, anyway? The most we can do is be there, and keep on top of him, and hope he heals and processes over time. Makes me feel like a shitty best friend, but the emotional stuff was never my forte.

Sleepily yours,

Riku

---

My sleepyhead,

Hopefully by the time you get this you’re actually conscious. You had a long ordeal. Physically, emotionally, of course you’re exhausted. I hope you’re actually listening to it instead of pushing through. Been there. Done that. It is not worth it. You’re probably also still growing, believe it or not. The human male keeps growing and developing until twenty-five, and unless my knowledge of Destiny Island’s time stream is way off, you’re not exactly there yet.

I’m glad Kairi is doing well, and taking all of that in stride. If it were me I would’ve thrown in the towel long ago. I think school would be good. A taste of normalcy. You three deserve to get back to your lives… whatever that means. Or at least rest a while before finding greener pastures elsewhere.

It’s disheartening, but not surprising, that Sora feels the way he does. Like I said, I can only imagine what he might have gone through. Though I don’t like it when you say you’re a shitty friend when I watched you struggle to save your friends for a literal year. You’re too hard on yourself, Riku. Being there, after everything else you did for him, is enough. Make sure to take time for yourself too. Though if Sora’s condition deteriorates, do let me know. I’ll see if I have any sort of psychological resource which might help him more than just a standard therapist with no notion of the greater World outside. Hopefully he’ll start to feel more himself once he settles back down.

This… very brief death occurrence you were referring to intrigues me. What was all that about? Fortunately it seems to not have stuck, but regardless, I felt my heart jump into my throat when I read it.

The others have been asking after you, Ansem especially. He says to “send his regards” and I promise it’s friendlier than it sounds.

I wonder, do you have sea salt ice cream where you are? It’s the height of summer and Scrooge McDuck is out. None of my cohorts here are willing to share. It’s been war.

Craving sea salt,

Ienzo

---

To the insatiable sweet tooth--

No, as a matter of fact, we do not have that particular sea salt ice cream here. If we want it, we have to go off-world. There are other, more native flavors which you might like, like dragon fruit or star fruit. (It’s mostly fruit. Sorry, we’re islanders.)

Sora seems to be doing a little bit better. Roxas, Xion, and them came to visit, which seemed to brighten his spirits, or at least distract him. Sometimes he still stares off into the distance and he’s not quite as chatty. This is going to take a long time.

As for the death thing… well, part of why Sora disappeared was because he went back in time to save us after the dark prophecy was fulfilled and the Demon Tide killed us… apparently. Even I can’t keep it all straight in my head, and it happened to me. He changed the flow of time to save us, and “abusing” the power of waking to save Kairi was the final straw. I… don’t like thinking about it much. It makes me feel sick.

Mundane life feels weird. I do chores around the house, and I mow lawns for some pocket change. Can you imagine it? The magic would make it easy, but it also unsettles people, so I do it with a mower. I had to go to social services to get an ID and we waited in line for two. Hours. I almost went insane. But at least it no longer has the awful picture it did when I started high school.

Speaking of, mom wants me to re-enroll right away, and dad wants me to do night school and speed through a general high school degree. I’m not sure how I feel about it, honestly. Kairi and Sora are excited, and I think it’ll be good for them. Maybe I’ll take a year, or do it online, or something. Though I’m sad to say my computer literacy isn’t nearly as good as yours.

How are you feeling in the castle? It must be summer for you guys there, too, though I imagine there aren’t beaches or anything. I didn’t see any. Do you have any summer activities? Or do you just sit in the library with a moldering old paperback all day?

Gainfully employed,

Riku

---

Dear Riku,

Thank you for satisfying my curiosity about that experience. I knew time travel was a factor in Sora’s disappearance--but I didn’t think it went like that for all of you. Terrifying. Awful.

A fantastic way to start a correspondence.

To answer the question… no, there are no “beaches” in terms of ocean beaches, but when I was a boy Radiant Garden did have springs on the far edges of town, as well as public pools. I was not allowed to go to them much--Even was rather neurotic--but yes, they do exist. Did exist. The restoration committee has it on their very, very long list. The paths down to the springs probably need some maintenance.

That is to say, when not in the lab I am sweating and thinking of cooler days. Though I know this might feel borderline chilly for you. Indifference to temperature is one of the few things on my waning list of what I miss from being a Nobody.

I’m glad you have some way to fill your days… that, and the idea of you working outside appeals to me. I imagine it must bore you.

I don’t spend ALL of my days in the library. Just most of them, lately, as am still trying to get this place even the slightest bit organized. If I had the resources I’d digitize everything. It’d make life so much easier. But I am one person with one computer and there are thousands upon thousands of books here. As a boy I used to have the fantasy of reading all of them before I turned eighteen. But, alas, that has not happened, and some of the texts are too boring, or in another language, or are too fragile to be handled. I clearly had very interesting ideas of leisure.

I still have not been able to get my hands on any decent ice cream.

Unsatisfied,

Ienzo

---

Ienzo,

I wanted to talk about this earlier but I had to get things settled in terms of my room. (Long story. Not a fun story.) Would you ever consider visiting? I could come get you. My parents are okay with it. In fact, they for some reason link you with me coming home, which I guess is true. You did help us get the clue Kairi needed. Either way, you’ve already made a good impression.

(If it’s not clear, I miss you.)

I can take you to a real beach. Show you around, not that there’s a whole lot to see. A change of scenery might be nice. Sora and Kairi want to hang out, too. Sora says hi.

If you’re busy, of course, I can come to you. But I know you’ve been there a long time, and there’s not always good memory there.

No pressure. Let me know.

Riku

---

Riku,

I think you may be on the right track with a change of scenery. I’m afraid what little wit I had left me, and when I was explaining to the others I’d like to visit, it became clear very quickly that our relationship is more than surface level. For that, I’m sorry.

However… the more I think about it, the more appealing it is. Even doing nothing--with you--is better than sitting here doing nothing by myself.

That is to say I miss you too.

I can be ready whenever is most convenient. I’m sorry for making you come all this way, though.

Ienzo

---

Ienzo,

Please, the flight will give me a few hours’ of peace and quiet. It’s been great spending all this time with friends and family, but… I feel kind of suffocated sometimes. Besides, I better keep my piloting skills in tip-top shape. Sora’s mad that I’m better at it than him. What can I say, it’s one of my many natural talents. Along with gardening, apparently.

Bring light clothes; it’s HOT here. And sunscreen. I mean it.

Looking forward to seeing you, and talking to you, in person.

Yours, Riku

#give/take #ienzoku #ienzo/riku #ienzo #riku #ienzo is trans

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sexycontainmentprocedures · 4 years

Text

Apparently there’s a lot going on in the SCP community, so here’s what I suppose some people are waiting for from me. I didn’t want to speak too quickly these last few weeks and say the wrong thing, so I pray this is the right thing. I’m going to log right back out of Tumblr afterward, because I’m starting to notice that I honestly do alright mental health-wise regardless of ongoing events unless I am on Tumblr specifically. Hope y’all are also doing alright and keeping a distance from current events if needed.

My new author page is https://thescpfoundation.com/agent-trauss. I’ll be adding more content in the coming months. In this recording, I talk about why I bought that domain, why I encourage other SCP creators and groups to buy similar domains and do similar things, and I explain the full context of an apology that I felt I owed to the SCP community; the full context includes the grooming I experienced at the hands of authority over the years as I grew from a teen to an adult in the inner circle of the SCP wiki and became an openly sexual public figure, thus contributing to and furthering the wiki’s dangerous subculture which had originally pulled me in. I believe this full context was necessary before I could say what I felt I needed to say and do what I feel is the right thing to do.

Something I mention in the recording -- that I afterward found out was already somewhat known to some people in RPC -- is something the entire community should know. SCP wiki administrator Roget had a pet project with his fiance to fake a relationship with the administrator of RPC, with the explicit purpose of destabilizing his mental health. It worked completely and that administrator left RPC. Roget entrusted me with this information in summer 2018, well before I got thrown out of the clique. In the recording, I do mention the shame I feel for having supported them and for keeping it a secret when I knew it was wrong -- I do not consider myself innocent in the machine that is the SCP wiki inner circle, I want that to be clear. All the relevant proof, including proof that the other administrators knew all along, is in this Google Drive folder. The captain of Disciplinary has repeatedly tried to gaslight me into thinking it was not a big deal: that Roget’s fiance was “trying to help RPC,” that I was not actually forced to keep it a secret -- all asinine, obviously, but I briefly fell for it when the discussions were ongoing.

In case it’s not clear, regardless of who you support or what you think of me or any other Super Controversial People, you need to understand that the administration of the SCP wiki is intelligently manipulative and completely willing to make complex schemes to destroy people they don’t like or who they see as a threat to their control over the community. They have done it before to CFO as you see above, it looks damn well like they did it to me and might still be trying, and they’re going to do it again. They also have absolutely no safe or mature regard for the power they have over their users and how that can be -- and has been on many occasions -- misapplied sexually.

Remember that if the community ever makes one of these giant posts jerking them off for all they “do” again. And remember that they have 150,000 dollars to their names now, with donations apparently never closing. THEY ARE A THREAT.

Sic. Semper. Tyrannis. Seriously. ALL power corrupts; if it takes the money element to make you concerned, then that’s better than nothing, but they’ve always been like this. They’re bureaucrats and they don’t care about you. Now they have corporate-level money in the bank.

The time to stop trusting them is yesterday, it’s a year ago, it’s two years ago, it’s now. The SCP Foundation does not belong to SCP wiki administration. It belongs to the community. That is what Creative Commons licensing is. The SCP Foundation is not the SCP wiki and vice versa. We are free. Do not forget that.

EDIT: Fuck it, even though it’s embarrassing for me I think I should probably link to the letter I sent administration in December so that anyone who feels the need to spend a lot of time understanding how I’m involved can do so. In case it’s not clear, the way I feel about and talk to administration in this letter is FAR FROM the way I feel about (and, hopefully, talk to) the community itself.

Edit 2 made 04 Feb 2020: The above Google Drive link had some issues where I thought it was public but wasn’t, I ended up debating letting it be public again (especially because of how quickly the peanut gallery on Kiwi Farms started trying to access it the same day I posted, and also because I started to worry about the inclusion of non-staff users’ names), and in the end I decided to censor everyone’s names in it but still release it. Ultimately, the issue was with so many admins that it doesn’t really matter if I of all people give specific names, which is why I had tried to keep it anonymous in that voice recording. So here is that version. I know people may think I’m shitty to them in this letter, and I agree that I am shitty to them in it, for reasons that I think are apparent in the text and situation. I am aware that I’m an asshole, just trying to be a necessary whistleblowing asshole, at the least -- they’re a group of people who scheme against and knowingly harm individuals, not one individual.

Edit 3 made 06 Feb 2020: Turns out I’m just super bad with Google Drive I guess?? Removed the link to the first version entirely, because for some reason it was still showing up even though I deleted the file upload (wtf Drive) for having non-staff names in it. Anyway, I bolded the link to the correct version of it in the above paragraph. Sorry for all the confusion on what should’ve been a simple thing, there, oof

#content warnings in description of sound file on soundcloud page #edit made same time as edit 2: I recognize that I'm not Good At This and that's why I'm not on here talking a bunch #there's so much more I could say but I think I need to keep it to audio recordings and maybe put them back on the website #in like a bit bc I can tell I need to step away for a bit and not rush myself to make anything

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didon · 4 years

Text

Station 19 and Maya

So this is such a bad idea but I really feel like I need to vent so feel free to ignore. This has been triggered by a lot of the reactions I saw in the tags regarding the last episode and how Maya reacted (though most of the complaints where about how woe Carina got cheated on).

The way I see it, Maya most likely suffers from BPD aka Bordeline Personality Disorder from her abuse. That’s a fact by the way, that her father was and still is an abusive pos. Mostly BPD makes you act in extremes which Maya has been shown to experience like explosive anger or impulsivity or even shifting self image or giant mood swing. Those are all things that I’ve seen Maya experience. People who suffer from BPD normally fall in two categories when trying to protect themselves from harm from others: the ones that hold on to their bridges even after relationships become toxic and the ones that burn them before they can get hurt. Now, it’s not hard to see in which of the categories Maya falls into especially since she’s been told again and again by her father that relationships make you weak.

Now, we know why Maya did what she did. It doesn’t excuse it at all because it was still a shitty thing to do, but it’s easier to rationalize it as her trying to protect herself from being hurt by Carina and breaking the relationship before she got in too deep. By the way, Jack also checks a lot of the boxes for BPD as it often develop in early childhood and is linked to trauma. Being abused is one and being abandonned/orphaned as often as Jack did definitely counts as a trauma. Again, still shitty of her to do, but at least the reasoning can be more than just bi people are sex fiends or that they wanted to just add drama to the relationship (even though there’s def an element of that here). I also want to add that people with BPD often have various self-harm trends including a strange relationship with sex. So Jack sleeping with women he shouldn’t very much makes sense in that context and does not make him the asshat the writers seemed to try to make him look like.

Here’s where I have a problem with people interpretation of the episode though: most of you see Carina as a saint for trying to help Maya accept her abuse. It was very noble of her, I’ll give you that, but she went at it in such a horrific way that she did not help but actually made things a 1000% worse. Maya was clearly not ready to face the facts about a man who trained her to see him as a god. I know it’s not easy to see someone you love in a negative light especially after years of thinking differently. I glorified my father as a teenager because I felt I had to defend him from my siblings who were abusing me in response to the abuse he put them through. It didn’t matter if he gave little to not time, was rude and agressive toward me most of the time he did and literally put me in danger a bunch of times including leaving me at a cinema in a busy town alone at night as a tween or even bring me with him to buy his drugs. Medias told me that fathers were supposed to love you and protect you and I was so starved for affection that I modified part of how he acted to fit that narrative. It didn’t help that I was told again and again that “it was his way of showing his love” or that “he couldn’t control it” which was a big flashback for me when her mother confronted her at the spaghetti dinner.

Now, the way Carina went at helping Maya really pissed me off because she was a doctor and should have known better. She didn’t try to help lead Maya in accepting a life shattering fact, she didn’t give her the space she needed, she didn’t refer the matter to someone who was actually trained in handling similar situations. No, instead she tried to force Maya into seeing things her way and forced herself in her space. It clearly wasn’t the goal to do that, but Maya asked her for space time and time again and Carina refused to the point where Maya had to leave their place to get some. You cannot force someone to accept something this hard to accept. It took me years to accept that what I went through was abuse despite knowing he actually hit my mother and brother. Psychological and verbal abuse is a lot harder to accept and detect because there are no bruises, no visible scars. Heck, until recently, it still wasn’t really considered abuse, it was just “being though” on your loved one.

So yeah, Carina actually pissed me off and I would have lashed out at her too and that comes with years of therapy. In some cases and for some people, forcing them to see the truth might work when all other options have been tried, but Maya wasn’t there. Maya didn’t have weeks, months or even the years she needed to come to terms with a gigantic trauma she went through. Because she was the one that was hit the hardest with it as the one he literally groomed for that. I’m not going to say it was worse than her brother’s or her mother’s cause abuse is abuse, but she was groomed into it and it does make it harder to see and break from it. Carina didn’t even give her that time, instead we saw her insisting and insisting and trying to shove Maya’s face into it. I understand that she related to the situation and that she was just trying to help her, but not everybody processes similar traumas at the same pace or the same way and Maya clearly was not at the same place mentally as she was. I actually felt pain from her doing that and had to skip that part a bit cause I couldn’t believe someone who went through the same thing could do something like that.

To finish cause this rant has gone long enough, I’m not sad they’re broken up. I never cared for Carina from the moment they introduced her on GA and I never really cared for her on this show and after this, I kinda dislike her a bit so if she stays around, it will take me a while to actually like her. I’d honestly prefer that they brought back Jack and Maya cause I actually shipped them and was pissed at how they separated them. Though I agree with the suggestion from some people that Maya should NOT be in any relationship right now cause she is def experiencing a trauma and needs to come to term with it and deal with it before she can even think about it. She also need to get into therapy but that’s the case with pretty much everybody on this show. Or maybe I’m just reading too much in a show and identifying with characters. Welp, that was all of our time so you guys have a good day/night and let’s keep enjoying the show (I’m also down for talking more about this or BPD if some people need it! My ask is always open and when I don’t get hyper protective of characters I’m pretty chill)

#station 19 #station 19 spoilers #maya bishop #tw: self harm mention #tw: abuse mention #bpd #bpd mention #nobody will replace Andy as the character I hate the most on this show though #sorry this went long #feelings dump

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary - Chapter 28

Warnings: none really

Tagging: @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @valkyrie-of-the-light, @thorsbathroomchicken, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y

The phone call comes in shortly before one pm; the SAT system easily tracing the number back to the Slainte pub. At first she just blankly stares at the digits and the name on the screen, not having the energy or the patience to deal with whatever bullshit would greet her the moment she answers. She's in a 'mood'. Rapidly switching from the lowest of lows to the highest of highs; either dissolving into tears at the drop of a hat or frantically cleaning the room and organizing paper work and files on the lap top. Torn between wanting to curl up in bed and stay there for the entire day, and desperately wanting something...anything...to keep her mind occupied. She's nauseous. Dizzy. A pounding headache that sits at the base of her skull and above her eyes.

Stress. Always the same old, same old when her nerves are shot. The same symptoms she suffers with for days when Tyler walks out of the house for a job. Incessant worry accompanied by crippling fear and the deepest and darkest recesses of depression. But at home she is able to beat it; focusing on the kids, concentrating on their needs, their laughter and their smiles and all of their hugs and their kisses making it all a bit easier to handle.

The SAT phone beeps. Indicating a text message. Groaning loudly in protest, she throws off the comforter as she lays on her stomach in the middle of the bed, propping herself up on one elbow as she reaches out for the offending object.

You missed a call. Nik's message reads. Everything okay?

Part of her wants to tell Nik to fuck off and leave her alone. That it's partly her fault for getting her mixed up into this god awful shitty mess to begin with. Nik could have had her side in the whole thing; adamantly refusing to bring her into the fold, not allowing Yaz and Tyler to call the shots when it came to the Intel and now the tactical sides of things. But Nik had just thrown her under the bus; offering her up like some kind of sacrificial lamb. Acting as if there weren't other people that couldn't do the job. Other mercenaries looking for work. Who were much more experienced. Seasoned. Hardened. Instead of putting all her faith and trust into someone who had become nothing more than a housewife and stay at home mother.

The other part reminds Esme that Nik is her friend. Regardless of her history with Tyler. Nik was the one who'd initially brought her into the fold five and a half years ago; who'd brought her along when she'd gone to the little shack in the Australian outback to recruit Tyler for the Dhaka job. In a way, it was all Nik's doing; had she not brought Esme aboard and had her tag along that day, this part of her life wouldn't even exist. There would be no Tyler. No hobby farm in Colorado. No children. She would more than likely still be living the old existence; living out of suitcases as she travelled place to place. Lying. Conning. Getting people to trust her so she in turn could help destroy them.

Fell asleep, she types back. If it's important, they'll call back.

She waits for the response. And in true Nik fashioned, it makes her want to hurl the phone across the room.

Get your head on straight, E. We don't have time for this.

Sighing heavily, she rolls over onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. One hand on her queasy, cramping stomach, the other holding the SAT down at her side. He's been gone for an hour; McCann had insisted on meeting forty five minutes from Belfast. Worried that there were too many eyes and ears within the city itself and that word would travel fast and the end result would be hell on earth. He had a lot of enemies within the IRA. He knew too much. Deep and dark secrets that could bring down a lot of very powerful people. And his involvement with someone like Tyler would set off a lot of alarms.

She worries that it's more. Something far more devious. Dangerous. He hasn't given them any reason to trust him. Right off the hop he'd fed them complete and utter bullshit regarding his New Zealand extraction; convincing them that his wife just nothing but a lowly, random shopkeeper when she'd actually been the reason he'd been hired in the first place. He hadn't gone after on a rescue mission; he'd been hired by the devil to take her straight back to hell. A man in this thirties wooing and winning a seventeen year old girl that was essentially at his mercy. That alone is extremely troubling. And taking into account his ties to the IRA and possible lingering connections to them, it was easy to assume that his plan to get Tyler nearly an hour away from the safety net of Belfast is also some of ruse. To get him alone and vulnerable.

Or to hit him where it really hurts and get her alone and vulnerable.

The nausea increases. Eyes closing as she rubs her stomach in slow, smooth circles, struggling to keep a grip on the runaway emotions. They normally weren't this bad. Usually she could easily talk herself out of the stress and the panic before they hit head on. But now it feels as if it's going way too quick. Too fast, too soon. So much worry and anxiety that it makes her head spin and her chest ache.

Her SAT rings once more. The pub. Again. Only this time she's able to get a grip, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and moving towards her laptop as it sits open on the table by the window. Once she's within a foot it causes the system to come alive; the recording of the call beginning even before she presses talk.

****

“Hello?”

“Is this Meghan?”

She recognizes his voice. Billy. The barkeep from the pub.

“William,” she warmly greets, with the same flirtatious tone she'd used the night before when she'd dropped his full name for the first time. She'd noticed then how it seemed to get under his skin; in a good way. That little smile that tugged at his lips, the slight blush in her cheeks and the tips of her eyes, the way his eyes seemed to soften and sparkle.

It had been one the easiest marks of her career. Most took a while to warm up to her. Taking weeks to even months to soften up their hardened and weathered exteriors. But he'd been eager; ready to let someone in. And what better someone than an established, attractive, and seemingly available woman? One that would do anything...or perhaps even anyone...to get ahead in the world.

“I hope I didn't catch you in a bad spot. I was wondering if you had a little time to spare.”

“For you?” she leans back in her chair, a barefoot planted against the cool glass of the sliding door. A far cry from the evening before when she'd played the part in her business slacks and curve hugging blouse. Clad now in one of her her husband's tattered and frayed t-shirts and pair of baggy grey track pants with the Emery surfboard company name and logo down one leg; small blotches of bleach dotting the fabric in several places. No make up and her hair messy. “For you I can make the time, William.”

A silent pause. And she smirks as she leans further back in the chair and places her second foot against the window, twirling a piece of hair around her index finger.

“I like that,” he says. “The way you call me that.”

“Well that is you're name, isn't it?” she crosses one her legs over the thigh of the other, bouncing her heel up and down against the glass. “You are William, are you not? That is what Billy is short for, I assume.”

“It is,” he confirms with a chuckle. “It's just that no one has called me that in a long time. Since my wife.”

“You're married?” she reaches over to snag the pen and spiral bound notebook off the table. It's full of random notes and doodles in various different colours of ink; her and Tyler both using it to hurriedly jot down names and numbers and any other bits and pieces of information, vital or not. It's old school and shouldn't be necessary with the computer recording everything off the SAT, but technology isn't always fool proof.

“I was. We're divorced. Bad break up. She was shagging a mate of mine.”

“Well that's unfortunate,” she hurriedly flips to a fresh page of paper and places the book on her thigh. “Hard to believe anyone would cheat on someone like you. If you forgive me for being so bold, but you aren't exactly lacking in the looks department. You're quite the head turner. In my humble opinion.”

“Well thank you,” he chuckles, and she can practically see the blush creeping into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It's not entirely a lie; he is quite easy on the eyes. And a much younger and single Esme would have considered..albeit briefly...crossing that line between business and personal. “You're easy to look at yourself. Very easy to look at actually.”

“I take it this isn't a business call,” she muses.

“Not entirely. It's a little bit of both. Business and pleasure.”

She smirks. “And what kind of pleasure are we talking about? Because I don't usually get into that sort of thing with someone I barely know.”

“I was thinking dinner. And drinks. If you're free.”

“Well that depends.”

“On what?”

“If you tell me a little more about yourself. I can't jump into anything with a stranger. A young woman, alone in a foreign country, far from home. That wouldn't be smart would it? If I just blindly trusted you and took you up on the offer?”

“Well what is you want to know?”

“Well I think dinner and drinks calls for first and last names,” she says. “You know mine. So...”

“It's Flynn. My last name,”

“William Flynn,” she repeats, as she jots it down. “That has a very nice ring to it. How old are you William Flynn?”

'How old are you?” he counters.

“I asked first. And isn't it always ladies first?”

“I suppose,” he chuckles. “Twenty eight. And you.”

“Thirty,” she lies.

“I honestly thought much younger,” he admits, and she can't help but let it inflate her ego. And encourage her to continue with the little game. “You look good. For thirty. Very good, actually. Do you have children?”

“No,” that lie actually hurts to tell it, and she tries to push the intense feeling of guilt to the back of her mind. “I'm too focused on my career right now. You?”

“A son. He's three. Collin. Lives with his mom. In Dublin.”

She continues to scribble things down. “That's sad,” she hopes it sounds sincere. “I hope you get to spend time with him. That's quite the trek down to Dublin.”

“Every second weekend. I'd like it to be more often but...” he sighs. “...it is what it is. So you're not married? But you still wear a ring?”

“I've had a hard time severing that last string. It's a bitter pill to swallow. When the man of your dreams pick his job over you. When your happily ever after doesn't exactly turn out that way. He wasn't happy. As a husband. We were much happier before. Before things got too serious.”

“Well pardon me for saying this, but he's a goddamn fool. He has to be to choose work over the likes of you. So have you thought about it? My offer? Dinner and drinks?”

“I'm intrigued,” she admits. “What's in this for me? Other than the handsome and charming company?”

“I have some information. About what you asked about last night. Michael McMann. About his wife and kids and whose involved and trying to stir up trouble. And I've got some names. Of other people you can contact. That are willing to talk. People that are higher up than I am. With real connections.”

“Higher up in...”

“The IRA.”

She grins victoriously and in big letters at the top of the page, right under the name William Flynn, prints those three initials. “You're involved with them? The IRA?”

“It's the family business. What I can tell you is that we're not involved in this. With the wife and kids. We hate the guy. He screwed us over. But we'd never do that. Especially to kids. Even we draw the line somewhere. But whoever is doing this has pissed off a lot of people. Tempers are running high. We want to find out who it is and do something about it.”

“Like a turf war?” she writes that down, accenting it with a big question mark.

“There's a lot of trouble brewing, that's for sure. We want nothing to do with this. The wife and the kids. And they're using us to draw attention away from themselves.”

“Any idea who it is?”

“No real proof. Just lots of rumours. I shouldn't be talking about all of this right now,” he gives a small chuckle. “What will we talk about dinner?”

“Oh I'm sure we can find things to talk about,” she assures him.

“Or things to do.”

“Now don't go putting all your eggs into one basket. I'm not that type girl.”

“I'm sorry, Meghan. I never meant anything by it. Forgive me for being too forward. I...”

“What time for dinner? Tonight is unfortunately not going to work for me. I have prior arrangements that can't be cancelled. But if you're free tomorrow, I can certainly clear my schedule.”

“Tomorrow would be wonderful. I know this is terribly bold of me, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. You've been on my mind constantly. Since you walked into the bar. You're very...intriguing. I can't quite get a read on you. There's something so different about you. Way different than any of the women from around here. A mystery, almost. There's so much I'd like to find out.”

“Well if you play your cards right, maybe I'll let you find those things out,” she responds.

“Tomorrow? Six thirty?”

“How about seven? It gives me longer to get ready.”

“Done,” he agrees. “Where do I pick you up?”

Shit, she hadn't even considered that this question would come up. It has been smooth sailing; much easier and seamless than so many initial encounters.

“Meghan?”

“You know, I'm not entirely comfortable with a stranger knowing where I'm staying. I'm a little paranoid about that sort of thing. You can never be too careful in this day and age. How about we meet somewhere? In public. I hate to be such a bother and a worry wart, but...”

“How about we meet her at the bar? We could go in the back room. It's private there. We can have dinner. A few drinks. See where the night takes us.”

She groans internally. “Sounds like a plan,” she chirps. “I'm very much looking forward to seeing you again. To chatting more. I'm flattered. That you thought of me.”

“I've been obsessed with you,” he admits.

“Well hopefully you hold onto some of that enthusiasm. I have to go. I have an online meeting with my editor in a few, so...”

“I'm very much looking forward to tomorrow,” he says. “And I'm flattered as well. That you'd agree to have dinner with me.”

“I'll see you tomorrow,” she promises. “Seven.”

“Seven,” he confirms, and then offers a soft, quiet goodbye before hanging up the phone.

****

“Well this isn't how I expected things to go,” Mark says, smirking from the passenger's seat of the rented SUV. “You asking me for help.”

“It's the last thing I want to be doing, believe me. You're the last person I want to be dealing with. Ever.”

“So why am I here? What's got the legendary Tyler Rake swallowing his pride and actually asking someone for help? You're usually a one man show from what I've heard. Must be some serious shit if you're willing to suck it up and give someone a call. Especially me.”

Tyler sighs, eyes briefly closing as he pinches the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger. “You're already making me regret this. Could you maybe shut the fuck up for five seconds? I don't have the time or the tolerance to listen to your bullshit. I don't want to hear any comments about my marriage, no opinions on how I handle things with my wife, no stupid shit about my personal life or my kids or none of that. This is strictly business. So let's keep it that way, yeah?

“Fair enough,” Mark agrees. “So what's up? What's going on?”

“This McMann guy,” Tyler begins. “There's no way of knowing what he's really up to. If he's innocent in all of this or he's actually part of it. If he's the victim in all of this or if this is some really crazy act of revenge and he's just wanting to get me alone.”

“I thought you didn't have history with this guy? With the IRA? Or with the wife?”

“I don't know. Well, not that I can remember anyway,” he confesses. “There's things...a lot of things ...that I don't remember. Dhaka...everything that happened on the bridge...it's fucked with my head. I'm not sure if it's because of blood loss or lack of oxygen or all the meds I've been on. But there's things I don't remember. No matter how hard I try to. So maybe I did have history with them. Maybe I did have a job they were involved in and I pissed them off and I just don't remember it.”

“And when you didn't recognize McMann when he showed up in Telluride, he decided to play it for all it's worth,” Mark concludes.

“Maybe. I don't know. He seemed like he was on the up and up. About what's going on with his wife and his kids. But there's a couple times where he's said some things that didn't quite sit right. I brought up how if...when...things go to shit...he might not be able to get his kids out. Not both of them, anyway. He threw it back in my face. Asking me how I'd decide which of the twins to save.”

Mark scowls. “That's a bitch move.”

Tyler nods. “I told him there'd be no decision. That I'd give up my life for theirs. No hesitation. If it meant saving them and getting them back to their mother, that it was something I was willing to do. It would be easier on Esme. If she lost me instead of one of the kids. She'd get over me. But she'd never get over losing one of them. She's an amazing mum. And I'm lucky. To have her. That she's the mother of my kids.”

“It's what she always wanted. Kids. I just wasn't the man to give her that.”

“McMann wasn't on the same page as I was. The idea seemed ridiculous to him. Having to make that kind of decision. He wasn't...he isn't willing to sacrifice himself for them. I found it weird. That there'd be any hesitation whatsoever. How do you not want to save your kids? Your blood? They're your legacy. Why would you not want to let them go on and live long and happy lives? It didn't sit well with me. I haven't been able to get it out of my head.”

“There's guys without kids that would make the same decision as you. I saw it overseas. In Iraq. You probably did too. Soldiers ready and willing to sacrifice themselves to save random kids...and women...from the Taliban.”

Tyler nods. “I've seen it a few times, actually. I've even known mercenaries that have given themselves up to save someone.”

“You almost did,” Mark points out. “Even after things went to hell and there was no money, you still busted your ass to kid that get out. And Esme.”

“I wasn't going to leave them behind. No matter who wanted me to. And if it meant I died for them...” he shrugs. “...it was what I was willing to do.”

Mark nods slowly, considering his words. The sincerity in his voice. In his eyes.

“Esme doesn't trust him,” Tyler says. “McMann. And she has great instincts. Better than mine sometimes. She didn't want me going into this alone. She's worried sick. That this could all be a trap and McMann's got an army of guys just waiting to ambush me. I need to give her peace of mind. And I promised her I'd come back safe. That I'd come back to her. She trusts you. I don't know why. Considering everything you did to her...” he holds up his hand; a plea for silence when the other man opens his mouth to speak. “....but she trusts you. You're the only one I could call. Yaz was made the same time I was. I can't be seen in public with Esme or she'd be made and that will fuck up her end of things. So I called you.”

“How do you know you can trust me?”

“Because you know I'd fuck you up if you crossed me. You know I won't hesitate killing you. And I don't think you want that, do you. You can act all big and bad, walk around wagging your mouth, try to get under my skin. But you know the stories. All the bloody and gory details. You know what I'm capable of. And you know I won't mind adding you to the body count.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Mark's mouth. Not nearly as confident as the ones he's given before.

“So this is me, asking you for help. Now are you in or you're out, mate? Because I don't have all day.”

Mark hesitates. Then offers a hand. An agreement. “I'm in.”

****

“William Robert Flynn,” Yaz reads the information aloud from where he sits at the table in Esme and Tyler's room, his own laptop and ipad spread across the table. “Born March 15th, 1997, right here in Belfast. Parents are Robert and Elizabeth Flynn. Nee McDonald. Dad is deceased. 2011. Mother is still alive. Lives in England now. Remarried.”

“How did the father die?” Nik inquires, her image on the laptop screen. “Suspicious circumstances?”

“Coroner's report lists self inflicted gun shot wound to the head.”

“There's a police report,” Esme speaks up from across the table, her own computer in her lap, a plate of barely touched room service food in front of her. She'd been hungry and had taken it as a sign that the nausea was finally at bay. Until the first bite and attempted swallow had her running for the bathroom. Her head pounds. Frantically. And she reaches for a bottle of water and the container of Advil in the middle of the table. “Says that William Flynn was the one who discovered his father. In the back garden. Face down in a pool of blood. Gun was lying next to him. A nine millimeter. Glock. Spent shell casing near by.”

“He would have only been fourteen,” Yaz says. “Same age Ovi was in Dhaka. Hell of an age to walk into something like that. Your old man missing half his head.”

“Any evidence that says it may have not been a suicide?” Nik asks.

“The police reports are shit,” Esme replies, as she pops three of the tablets into her mouth and swallows them with a mouthful of water. “I've seen some pretty amateur ones, but this has to be one of the worst. Obviously the cops and the coroner didn't think this case mattered. He was an IRA member. Probably caused a world of trouble when he was around. They were just glad he was gone. Why waste the resources, they probably figured.”

“There was no gunshot residue on his hands,” Yaz says. “Or at least that's what the report says. And he's not wearing gloves in any of the photos, so...”

“It was a hit,” his sister concludes. “Before any of this, was there any connections between the IRA or the Buckmans? Anything that stands out? Anything that could tie Robert Flynn to the Buckmans?”

“Not that we've recovered so far,” Esme says. “But we're still digging. Robert Flynn was pretty high up in the IRA. One of their best and longest serving members. A real enforcer. He didn't mind getting his hands dirty. His son is an active member. They have ties to the IRA going back to the grandfather and great grandfather. Not to mention several cousins and uncles still in the movement. It's the family business, apparently.”

“So William Flynn obviously knows Michael McMann,” Nik concludes. “And vice versa. Anything that shows a feud between them?”

“Nothing on paper,” Esme responds. “But he told me that everyone in the IRA is pissed as hell with McMann. For betraying them. And taking a lot of secrets and dirty shit with him when he left. And now they're even more pissed because McMann's out there saying that it's the IRA that scooped his wife and his kids. And they'd admit to that. The IRA would definitely claim responsibility. They've never denied ties to even some of their broader scale bullshit. So they'd admit to this.”

“We were wondering if maybe this is all a big ploy to make things blow up within the IRA,” Yaz speaks up. “To stir the pot enough that an outsider comes in and starts it all off. That maybe that's what Tyler is being used for. To kick it all off. What better way for McMann to draw attention away from himself? Let Tyler cause the shit and then leave him hung out to dry.”

Esme sighs, briefly closing her eyes and laying a hand over her queasy stomach.

“Are you okay?” Nik inquires. “You look a little...off.”

“Just stress. This is all just so insane. It's so twisted and so fucked up and now Tyler's out there...alone...meeting with this guy. What if he has people with him? What if he's got a whole damn army behind him and Tyler's just walking into a huge trap? He's good. But he's not that good. He wouldn't stand a chance and you both know it.”

Yaz attempts a reassuring smile. “He'll be okay. He's smart. He knows what he's doing. Your man isn't stupid, that's for sure. Look what he handled in Dhaka. When he went into that apartment to extract Ovi.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Yaz. I do. But there's a huge difference between street thugs in Dhaka and the IRA. These people are extremely dangerous. Extremely dangerous. And they show no mercy.”

“And neither does Tyler,” he points out. “If anyone can handle this, it's him.”

“He should never have went there alone,” Esme huffs. “It was dangerous. Foolish. Sending him in by himself.”

“We don't have anyone there to help,” Nik attempts to reason. “Resources are extremely thin. It's the three of you and that's it. And the rest of the team is out on other assignments or they're here helping keep an eye on things. He'll be fine, Esme. He always is.”

“Oh really? Always? Because I seem to vividly remember him bleeding to death on the Sultana Kamal Bridge. Or are we just forgetting that that happened? Oh wait, it's because you two took off to get Ovi to safety and you left Tyler there to die. And you left me there to watch him die.”

“That isn't how it happened and you know it,” Nik seems hurt by the explanation. “We came back for you. For both of you.”

“Half a goddamn hour later! Thirty minutes I spent with my hand pressed to his neck, trying to keep him alive. While he bled out all over the fucking place. You weren't there. You weren't the one holding him there on the bridge. You weren't the one with blood on your hands. His blood. So I'm sorry if I'm not as appreciative for your help as you'd like me to be, Nik.”

“Okay....okay...” Yaz pleads for calm. “....let's not rehash this. It's over five years ago.”

“Five years ago, five weeks ago, five days ago,” Esme snarls. “It still happened. And pretending it never did is bullshit. It's bullshit and it's completely disrespectful. To Tyler. To just push it aside like you've both been doing all these years. Acting like it was no big deal. You got him into that mess, Nik. You brought him into that bullshit and then you left him there. You left both of us there. What would have happened had you not come back? He would have died there. And who the hell knows what would have happened to me once Asif realized he didn't totally finish the job. And let's not forget that you wanted Tyler and I to leave Ovi in the goddamn street. You wanted us to just throw the kid to the wolves.”

“I wanted the two of you out of there,” Nik argues. “I wanted you both safe. The kid held you back. Had you gotten rid of him, both you and Tyler would have made it out of there before everything blew up in our faces.”

“He was a kid! He was a kid and you wanted us to just leave him there! Jesus, Nik. Do you realize how that makes you sound? Like a bloody sociopath.”

Yaz sighs. “This solves nothing. You two going at each other like this. I know it's been a long time coming but...”

“You probably wanted him to leave me there too,” Esme says. “I'm actually surprised you didn't suggest it. You knew what was going on. Between Tyler and I. And you hated it even then. You hated the idea of me in his life. Because it took him away from you.”

“That's not true. I was pissed off that the two of you were so goddamn reckless and foolish and you actually thought it was good idea to start fucking each other while on the job. You couldn't wait until it was all over? The two of you were that desperate and horny that you had to fuck each other on my time?”

“Enough,” Yaz snaps. “Both of you. This is bullshit. We're all in this together. It doesn't matter what happened back then. It was five and a half years ago. So they fucked each other. No one else gave a shit. No one else cared. Only one it bothered was you Nik.”

“Because she wasn't the one fucking him,” Esme pipes up. “Not anymore, anyway. All the more reason she probably wanted him to leave me in the street. Get me out of the way so she could climb back into his bed again.”

“It doesn't matter,” Yaz insists. “It wasn't going to happen. Once Tyler met you, that was it. It was over. And you...” he glares at his sister through the laptop screen. “...they're together. It happened. They're married. They've got kids. Let it go already. Let him go.”

“I've had enough of this,” Nik fumes. “We'll pick this up again later. When certain people can actually stay focused on the job at hand. That seems to be a thing for you, Esme. You couldn't stay focused in Dhaka either.”

“Fuck you, Nik. Seriously. Fuck you. I don't need to be here. I'm not one of your employees. I'm helping you, remember?”

No response. Just a black screen signalling the other woman has already logged off.

Yaz sighs, shaking his head in disbelief. “I know that that's been coming for five and a half years, but shit. Could you not have waited until after we discussed all of this? Was it really that important that you just had to get to it?”

“Don't you start, Yaz. You know everything I said is true. She left us there. On that bridge. While he was dying. While I was trying to keep him alive.”

“What were we supposed to do? We had to get Ovi out of there.”

“Oh I don't know. Maybe it would have been nice to help me get Tyler the fuck out of there. How about that?”

“There was no time. There were going to be more cops. Military even. We had to get Ovi out of there.”

“So to hell with the two people that busted their asses to get Ovi there in one piece right? To hell with the fact that your friend is lying there with a gunshot wound to his throat, bleeding out all over the place. Tyler wasn't useful anymore. He did what you all needed him to do and it no longer matter what happened to him. And if I just so happened to get killed too, oh well. No big loss, right?”

“We came back. I told Nik we had to go back for you guys and...”

“Wait...wait...” she stares at him incredulously. “...you had to tell her to go back and get us?”

“She thought it was too dangerous. That the situation was still too hot. She didn't want to ask anymore lives. But I told her that I couldn't just leave you guys there. That if Asif found out that things weren't finished and he sent more people down there, neither of you would stand a chance. I told her I was going back in to get you guys. Whether she helped me or not.”

“So she was more than willing to leave us there. To leave Tyler there. After what he'd done to make sure he got Ovi there? To get both of us there? She was okay with just leaving him to die?”

“To be honest, we thought he'd be dead when we got back. We didn't expect him to be alive still. We all saw what happened. What were the chances that he'd actually survive that? That you would have actually been able to keep him alive?”

“I wasn't leaving him there. I wasn't letting him die. Do you know what that was like? To go through that? To try and convince someone not to just give up? When dying is much easier than the fight not to? I had my fingers in his goddamn throat, Yaz. I had to stick my fingers in his neck to try and block the artery. I can still feel it. How hot the blood was. I can still feel his pulse against my fingers. And I can still smell it. Like it was yesterday. Do you have any idea what that was like?”

“No,” he shakes his head sadly. “And I'm sorry you have to remember all of that. That you had to go through it.”

“I didn't let him die on that bridge and I'm sure as hell not going to sit back and let him die here either. Maybe your sister was willing to let that happen, but I'm not. His life means more than that. A hell of a lot more. He's not the same Tyler he was back then. The one that had a death wish. He's my husband, Yaz. The father of my children. And there is no way I'm letting anyone send him out there to die.”

“You're doing what you can. The intel. The tactical. There's only so much you can do, Esme. Killing yourself isn't going to save him. Getting yourself killed trying to keep him alive solves nothing. Because if something happens to you, he'll put a gun in his mouth. Or he'll drink himself to death. He would not survive that. You know it, I know it.”

She sighs, a frown on her face as she runs a hand over her unsettled stomach.

“You look like shit,” Yaz observes.

“Well thanks. I'm so glad you pointed that out.”

“You're not...you know...”

She laughs. “You have something against saying the actual word? No. I'm not pregnant. We've been trying. But it hasn't happened yet. This is definitely stress. I know the difference. I've been through three pregnancies. I felt the same way with each of them. I knew right away that it wasn't stress and that I wasn't just sick. This? This is not the like any of those three times. It's definitely stress. Worry. And I miss home. I miss my kids. I just want to go home and see them.”

“Soon,” he promises. “This will all be over soon.”

She gives a shaky, skeptical smile.

She hopes he's right.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #sanctuary #chris hemsworth character

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hrmphfft · 4 years

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controversial opinion time I guess but

hey gang? hey, gang. gang, hey. blaming your fans for them not reblogging your content enough (and saying that they’re Directly Responsible For Tumblr Dying) is an extremely passive aggressive, mean thing to do, and also completely ignores so many other reasons as to why engagement has changed on this site and posts don't circulate like they used to.

for one thing, whenever I see these posts, I rarely see the ops acknowledge the HUGE HIT to tumblr's userbase following the 2018 policy change/implementation of tumblr's terrible content filtering algorithm. tumblr lost roughly 1/3 of its engagement (https://mashable.com/article/tumblr-lost-a-third-of-its-users-after-porn-ban/) and countless content creators with it. some of them migrated to twitter and other sites, some of them seem to have straight-up vanished into thin air, and countless others lost their biggest or main userbase with barely any time to shift gears to something else. that's a huge, website-shaking change! but so often in these 'reblogs vs. likes' posts I don't see anyone acknowledging that and it makes me really upset!

you can't talk about the ways tumblr has undoubtedly changed these last few years and NOT address the nsfw ban! it's completely unfair to your fanbases to shift the blame of the biggest displacement of users the site has ever experienced on...the users who had no say in the policy change and reacted accordingly when the site started softbanning everyone, and filtering all sorts of tags from the search function (including important sfw ones, lest we forget The Entire Furry Fandom on tumblr discovering that basic-ass tags like #furry and #anthro were being blocked when the ban rolled around), and making uploading anything vaguely beige-colored a dice roll. tumblr still hasn't recovered from that, and unfortunately probably never will, not without some hail mary of policy changes and overhauls.

I've seen some pretty ageist shit regarding content engagement as well that tries to paint younger users as just Not Getting how tumblr functions vs. other social media sites like instagram and twitter, and on top of that just showcasing a really uncomfortable disconnect/animosity towards new users whose only crime is being younger than op and also more experienced with other social media platforms, it also is just. it's really unkind? it's super rude? how can you call your followers too clueless to know how reblogging works and then expect them to support your content via reblogging and not feel like you're insulting them until they give you the result you want?

moreover, lots of young/new tumblr users get the gist of tumblr's controls and get it very quickly! technology literacy is becoming more and more a part of everyday life for everyone, and if you really think that a teenager can't understand that reblogging puts a thing on their follower's dashboards, one of the main functionalities of the site (and also very similar to twitter, one of tumblr's main competitors), I really don't know what to say. sometimes people just straight-up don't want to reblog stuff to their blogs, and that's okay.

there's also a tendency to ignore the ways that blogging on tumblr has changed as its userbase has became more well-versed in its functions and, frankly, a portion of the userbase has grown up on this site. when I first started blogging on here, I was 17, I didn't use tags, I commented unrelated (and frankly sometimes really regrettably rude) replies directly onto artist's posts, and I basically just reblogged whatever I vaguely liked, and a lot of things I didn't totally get but thought Looked Cool/Funny so I reblogged anyways.

and that's fine, that's pretty par for the course of being young on the internet and doing whatever you want and having a good time (barring the rudeness, being respectful to people is the ideal), but as time went on my interests changed, my time spent online changed (I went from highschool to college to a full-time job that limits my time on social media), and I began engaging with tumblr's content differently. I made sideblogs for interests and content themes I didn't want on my main blog, I started liking stuff and then going back through my likes to reblog posts later, and generally speaking my number of posts a day dropped and I stopped being able to catch up on my dashboard every single day. and I'm sure my experience isn't unique for some other people on here.

a lot of the tumblr users I've known for a while just don't have the same level of intensity in fandoms like we did years back, not because of any malice or selfish, content-hogging intent, but because our priorities have changed. I definitely miss a lot of things about years past on tumblr when fandoms were booming and new Big Name Creators were cropping up all the time, and to be fair that's still happening on parts of the site if you know where to look! it's just different now. time has passed. people have changed!

that isn't to be defeatist and say that we can't show up for content we enjoy and reblog it, but instead that people can feel differently about stuff they used to adore, and be more particular about one thing or another they reblog, and straight-up miss stuff that they would have really liked but just didn't catch up on for a myriad of reasons. and that's also okay. engagement on tumblr is really, really tied up in personal preferences, and sometimes it feels like it does that more than most other social media sites. this is kind of the wild west of internet presences and everyone operates differently on here as a result.

and probably the most touchy point of all: no one is obligated to give you validation on the internet. no one. not even if they've read all of your fanfics you've worked really fucking hard on for forever and a day, or your comics that you've spent months, years, a lifetime researching and creating, or your beautifully, painstakingly timed and masked fan videos. they can absolutely consume any of these, and more, and they're still not obligated to reblog your work or promote you. it's not fair, yes, and it's completely understandable and super relatable to want recognition for the work you've done and the ways you've brightened other people's lives, but online most of your fans are still total strangers to you, and trying to control the behavior of total strangers because you’re owed their acknowledgement isn’t a healthy mindset to have.

and you can say that any fan of yours stops being a fan after they drop you for you lashing out at them for not unquestioningly giving you space on their blogs like you're owed, but being upset at being accused of bad behavior for what amounts to not wanting to reblog something this time around and changing your opinions based off of that is also a very understandable thing to do.

and that isn't because of any sort of innate cruelty, or pointed attack towards you. it's just because there is always a disconnect between the creator and the creation, and some people will never bridge that gap and engage with you more, or build a parasocial relationship with you, or seek out ways to support you. and plenty of others will do the exact opposite! it's a total dice roll because you're dealing with a lot more people than you realize scrolling past your content, and every person is different, and some of them don't fully understand how reblogs help a creator, and some of them do but just don't want that content on their feed, and none of them are inherently bad people for that.

I'm not saying creators have to be perfectly kind and civil and praise their fans all the time, but when you engage with your followers like it's a battle where you have to keep devising new ways to get them to share your content, it just comes across as super disingenuous, and people cop to that very fast.

it also, frankly, can make longtime fans who reblog your work regularly feel like their interest doesn't matter, and wasn't good enough, and that then it really is their fault that other people (other STRANGERS ON THE INTERNET) don't engage with your content the way you wanted them to. you don't owe them perfection, but that doesn't mean it isn't still an unkind thing to do.

so like. what can we do about this?

asking users to reblog your work is totally fine and can help! calls to action work more than nothing at all. it's possible to be respectful when asking people to reblog your work without also guilt-tripping them with "likes < reblogs" banners and passive aggressive tags/comments. generally speaking guilt is a really shitty motivational tool, and tends to breed more resentment than actual outcomes people want. like this post for example! I wouldn't have sat down and typed this all out if I didn't resent the hell out of being told I'm, personally, the reason tumblr is demonstrably not an ideal website for building a fanbase anymore. if I had that much power over this website I would have given the whole thing to the xkit team years ago and reveled in a functional website instead.

changing the way you post content might help! every site has its ideal posting days, times, and reasons for why some are ideal for one site and not another. doing a little research (https://sproutsocial.com/insights/best-times-to-post-on-social-media/) will yield some potentially helpful tips and tricks that might result in a post reaching more people. utilizing tumblr's search function is also important, and understanding the limits of the tag function (ie. only the first 5 tags of a post are used for tag searches) can help change one's habits to something a little more effective. this is why I tend to leave my tag babbling until after the main fandom/category tags on my posts, so that tumblr's jankass search has a better shot, haha

broadening your online presence can definitely help! this is by far the most terrifying option since it involves branching out onto other social media platforms, some of which really don't lend themselves to whatever fandom/content one produces, so like the other two above it's only a suggestion.

I keep coming back to twitter and instagram, but that's mainly because they're the two other powerhouses of social media right now, though admittedly they only really cater towards visual media (and mainly imagery, not longer video pieces), and they have their own weird quirks to learn and jank to deal with. but given how precarious tumblr's status has become in some ways, trying to build a presence on multiple sites means that you reach more people across the internet, and also means that if tumblr does yet another website-shattering policy change, your eggs aren't all in one basket.

of course these options aren't foolproof, and won't work for everyone in some cases or not at all for others, but my main point in all this is this: tumblr has irrevocably changed, its userbase has changed, and we are limited in the ways we can directly influence it, but there are still options. I'm by far not a social media expert, but then again none of the posts I've seen so far were made by social media experts either, so I honestly don't feel too bad for throwing my hat into the ring while we're all thrashing about in confusion

y'all aren't wrong that things have changed, but I'm begging you to have some compassion and to try not to turn the relationship between creators and consumers of content into a battleground, especially when a lot of the influences on these changes are things entirely outside of any of our's direct control.

also because it makes y'all sound exactly like this:

#long post #site engagement #a big long pissy rant because I am so goddamned tired y'all #especially because I can't escape these Hot Takes because none of them are tagged consistently #and new ones keep cropping up all the time #it's like whack-a-mole #every post I block sprouts another a few months later #tone doesn't carry through the internet very well but rest assured when I see shit like this #paired with people's screenshots of their like/reblog ratios #and it turning into a 'u think those notes are small check this out' party I get #really goddamned fed up with it #this is of course not comprehensive and mainly just me whingeing @ the whingeing but sometimes u just gotta

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the-moon-at-zenith · 4 years

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‘in 5-10 years I will have ...’ or a happiness potion

TL;DR

Being happy is a state which is more or less the same for everyone: feeling you belong and knowing you’re fulfilled. Happiness is not about tricking yourself into believing that shit is the fairytale you’ve always dreamed to live in. Seek help. Get out of that dark place.

Achievements can’t make the state of happiness last as it gradually fades away all the time, so the race never stops. Being happy and being perceived happy & successful from aside are not the same thing.

Happiness is not achieved but nurtured. That means you do things that you BOTH can enjoy right now AND will enjoy to have done in the past when you look at today from the future’s perspective.

Still, having too many things on your hands can take the enjoyment away, so that’s the balance point for you.

(And I’m not saying that’s gonna be easy. I mean, like every science, potion making is both an art and a skill, which boils down to practice.)

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

Now let me blabber.

A student of mine asked me what I thought the sense of being was. Now, as a person who’d experienced 10 years of suffering from depression (and not having a clue about it as it often happens), I’d say that even a year ago this question would have shredded me into pieces. For somebody as lost as I used to be, thinking about it is a special kind of torture.

But now I think I got the answer for myself, which I still needed to dwell upon a bit in order to come to some sort of a point that makes sense without any but’s.

Let’s start with an initial trivial but still pretty sane idea: the sense of being is to be happy.

Now, what does ‘happy’ even mean? It’s not really a goal, is it? There are things that make us happy, and those vary from person to person. But being happy is a state which is more or less the same for everyone. Being happy is feeling you belong to the place, job, friends, partners, family, activities, etc. To yourself even. It’s knowing you’re fulfilled.

The trick here is to ask the right question. The usual question is,

“What makes me happy?”

I sure can say watching cats do silly stuff makes me happy. I’m even sure it’s gonna make me happy in ten year’s time as well. Unless that’s all I ever do.

Now it’s time for a secret ingredient: time. A long-term perspective (which I usually suck at, there, I said it). As dreadful as it might seem, the right question might be,

“If I fast-forward to myself 5-10 years from now, what do present_I want the future_I to have accomplished?”

I don’t like it, either. Is it the achievers’ attitude that sounds so off to me? In the course of therapy, I adopted the ‘little steps’ approach, which really helped me not to feel I was a complete failure at life.

Comparing yourself to others is usually a big deal for a person with a mental illness, especially if the disease struck in your teens. Everyone around you has some aspirations, dreams, ambitions, they seem so put together while in the best case scenario you just don’t want anything and are called lazy, advised to go to the gym or start meditating, or find a partner, or some other nonsense. Understanding and embracing that I was not a failure but an ill individual was relieving.

Next step was to accept that my worth did no longer depend on a list of achievements. I actually had quite an impressive one, my mom was proud. The problem there was that I really just felt nothing about it. I couldn’t care less, tbh. And that’s when I realized that I’d been fed bullshit all. that. time.

I don’t want to think of my happiness as of something perceived happy and successful from aside.

Coming back to the question, I wouldn’t at all be happy with the “I'll have bought a car/a flat” perspective cos it's not about my growth as a person. It’s about working my ass off and having a two-week holiday which I’m not even able to enjoy (depression at the mic here because I’d definitely be depressed af if I had to pull that shit off. again.)

I mean, it would definitely feel great to have my own apartment. No more thinking about rent, at least. But being a millennial in a post-soviet country? Ha-ha-ha! No, thanks, I don’t want to have literally anything to do with that mortgage thing and stuff alike.

Regards to achievements, you might know from your own experience that however happy you are about some event or success in your life, it fades away. Obviously, happiness is never something constant or forever lasting once achieved. It’s not even achieved, it’s nurtured.

And I don’t mean it in a ‘change your attitude’ way. Sometimes (more often than not, actually), shit is shit, however you call it, so trying to make yourself think of it as if it were unicorn’s rainbow glitter poop doesn’t make it any less shitty than it is. The best way to deal with that is going away from the shit source as far as possible. As they say, if you can’t run, walk, can’t walk - then crawl, can’t crawl - lie in the chosen direction.

It’s not only about mental illnesses. Seek help, that’s the best advice I can give, I guess. I’m not a psychotherapist myself, so off to the point. (Almost, sorry. I’m trying to be cohesive and coherent.)

What I really mean by saying that happiness is nurtured is that the perfect mix is having in mind both today and tomorrow. And 5-10 years later (maybe).

Okay, this is a ‘one year and a half in remission’ me talking. 10 years were literally stolen from me. It hasn’t made me stronger or better, I could’ve lived happily without this experience. But it is as it is, and I can’t change it. What I do have in my hands though is today and tomorrow. Something that will have become my new past. I want to feel good about my past for a change, so I’m gonna create one I’ll be happy with.

That first brought me to the point where I’d dived into everything all at once (it’s a trap of initial recovery, especially after having lived years as a walking dead). I’d been so thirsty for life I couldn’t remember to have had that I tried to have my fingers in all pies possible. Which resulted in me feeling like a newbie equilibrist trying to juggle three apples, five lit up torches and a living tiger while on a monocycle balancing on a rope hung 20 meters above a bottomless pit without a safe net. And genuinely expecting to pull it off. No kidding.

That said, the change you might bring into your life doesn't have to be extreme and all-or-nothing because there's a danger of finding yourself being so overanxious about balancing everything out that you actually forget to enjoy it. And it might just mess you up psychologically.

So, it’s time for another secret ingredient!

Let’s face it, the world might end all at once with no final warning. So, while having some plans for the future, enjoy yourself right here and right now in a way that also corresponds to your global values, self-image, aspirations and dreams.

Now, The Ultimate Question to ask yourself:

“If I fast-forward to myself 5-10 years from now, what do present_I want the future_I to have lived like through that time?” What will make me feel good about myself? The beauty of that question is in the fact that it takes now into account.

That question makes me stick to things and habits that actually do me good. Stick to activities that bring me not closer but into the 'happy and fulfilled (almost) every day' version of me rather than the 'I wish I'd spent all that time differently but now it's too late to catch up' version.

Happiness is everyday magick. Might not look astonishing and flashy at first sight but it actually pays off in the ways you sometimes can’t even imagine. I mean, even two years ago I couldn’t. I used to think happiness was a disease. Until I found out it’s a drug but that’s another story.

Take proper care of yourself, you, the hero who made it this far through this horrifyingly long entry.

#the ultimate question of life the universe and everything #potion making #witches of tumblr #witch #witches get depressed too #also there are unicorns #potion #little steps #happiness #success #overachiever #sense of being #depression #mental disorder #mental illness #potions

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ellynneversweet · 4 years

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Ok, so I’ve finished Normal People and I have ... thoughts. Mostly about whether it succeeds or fails as a text, and what the relative metrics are by which success should be judged (it’s succeeded in getting me to think about it, for sure). This got long and a bit ranty, and does discuss the mental illness aspects of the book, so I’ve put it below the cut. Spoilers etc.

I haven’t watched the show or read any of Sally Rooney’s other books (book?) or reviews yet, because I wanted to get down what I took away from the book by itself, rather than what other people thought about it. I did see the headline of like, one review that seemed to think it was all about capitalism, which struck me as a significant stretch as a primary theme, but hey. My take was that it was primarily concerned with (many and various) degrees of mental illness and unwellness experienced by various characters, the causes and effects thereof, etc etc, and it’s really because of that that I don’t know whether or not I actually liked the book.

Ultimately I think my ambivalence comes comes down to how the narration is structured, and the way Rooney doesn’t at any point step in explicitly prompt the audience in one direction or another.

So what took me a hot minute to realise was that the book’s written in a very close third person narration, alternating between Connell and Marianne’s perspectives.The thing is, however, that this close third person isn’t immediately obvious, because Rooney subverts the whole ‘show don’t tell’ advice. There’s a lot of phrasing given as ‘she felt good’ ‘he felt anxious’ ‘then they had sex’ etc. The most personal aspects of the plot are constantly elided with this flat, clinical, definitive language that sounds almost like a witness statement in a criminal case. That’s especially the case with Marianne, who disassociates a lot, and slightly less so with Connell, who’s anxious, but the flat description is pretty present throughout. There are moments when the narrative dips into describing sensation, but that seems to occur only with regards to things that are irrelevant and impersonal, like drinking a glass of (insert carbonated beverage here), or feeling the breeze from an air conditioner. The book is all about this very intimate, arguably co-dependant and unhealthy relationship between these two intermittently sexually involved characters, so the aforementioned flatness struck me as an odd choice initially.

However. There’s two things that this does. The first, and IMO more significant, is that is creates an illusion of the narrative voice as omniscient and impartial, rather than biased and unreliable as it actually is. The seeming authority of the definitive statements in the narrative is emphasised by the stock filler phrases that the each of the dual protagonists uses in direct dialogue, and which inevitably mean the opposite of what’s actually said — in the case of Marianne we get ‘okay’ (I disagree but I want this conversation to end) and ‘I don’t know’ (i believe this to be profoundly true but it makes me unhappy), and in the case of Connell we get ‘obviously’ (I’m not sure at all, what do you think?). So the upshot of this is that especially in the earlier parts of the novel the audience is led into thinking the description of a particular plot point is what objectively happened, rather than the biased viewpoint of one of two people who keep talking past each other (I’m thinking particularly of the part in which Connell moves home because he can’t make rent, and each of them was waiting for the other to propose his moving into her flat instead).

So it is really interesting on that level of language structure. I do feel that the section headings (‘two weeks later,’ ‘six months later,’ ‘five minutes later’) were a bit of a red herring — especially towards the climax of the book, when things became violent, I was frankly expecting it to take a schlocky turn towards one or both of the main characters being maimed or killed in a domestic violence and/or drunk driving accident, à la Jodi Piccoult.

It didn’t, which was a relief, but I didn’t subsequently find the ending satisfying, and I think that’s because the way that it ended — a breakup that’s not really a breakup, just a breather — felt like something that had occurred at least three or four times already in the text. It’s always tricky to write a satisfying ending when all the main characters are alive and young and (presumably) going to continue their lives. Why stop the narrative here, rather than there? I think for that sort of ending to work, a story does need to feel like it’s shifting into a different stage of the characters’ lives, one that can be inferred, however dimly, but is distinct enough from the part described in the text to form a natural break. This didn’t feel like a break from what had gone before. It felt like a groove in an emotional cycle that had already been repeated, that had been shown as being repeated, that gave every sign of being repeated again and again, forever and ever amen.

This leads into the part where I talk about what I didn’t like, fyi, and fair warning, mostly what I didn’t like was the characterisation of Marianne. Sorry if she’s your fave.

So Marianne gets the last word of the narrative, in which she thinks about how ‘they’ve [Marianne and Connell] been so good for each other’. And i would argue two things, which is that 1) unreliable narrator or not, this being the last part of the text gives weight to this being read as a true statement 2) this is, uh, pretty clearly not the case. Marianne’s still fundamentally the same, teetering on the edge of self-destruction, and Connell is still anxious (and being made more so by Marianne’s reaction to his small successes).

Now, neither character is perfect. They’re also not bad people -- but they are struggling people who use maladaptive coping strategies and don’t ever really appear to move past those.

At first glance, on a scale of quantifying unhappiness, Marianne gets the raw end of the stick. She’s a character who’s sympathetic and pitiable, because she starts out as the smart, bullied kid who turns out to have an abusive home life and who is brutally dumped by her first boyfriend. So far, so sad. Connell, by contrast, is much less upfront about the things that cause him trouble (although they’re very much there) and has the initial upper hand. Connell also comes off as much more self-aware than Marianne — the part where he’s lying on the floor in a post-shower depression slump reminds me of that piece that goes around tumblr occasionally, about lying on the floor sobbing about the state of the world, and simultaneously noticing that the last time you painted, you didn’t do a good job with the brushwork in the corner you’re looking at, and thinking about how you should re-do it once you finish crying.

But the thing I can’t get my head around with Marianne is how Rooney feels about her, and it boils down to this: what level of awareness and intentionality is Rooney operating at when writing about Marianne’s mental health arc? Does Rooney agree with Marianne’s self-assessment of herself as ‘better’ and ‘normal’ (ie still acting in more or less the same way as she did throughout the text, but no longer a subject of gossip) at the end of the book, or does she not?

As I mentioned, I haven’t seen the adaptation, but I’ve seen a gif or two, and what struck me as I was reading was that the way that Marianne is described as looking (and styled in the show) is reminiscent of the pop-culture caricature of Sylvia Plath — increasingly thin, indie-fashionista, bangs, statement lipstick, weird but precociously brilliant, magnetic, male muse and male victim, mentally ill in a way that is complex but always sexy and sexualised (of course she developed a cute, posh eating disorder that involved eating half an expensive sugary pastry and a sugarless black coffee every day. Of course she did).

Basically, what I want to know is, is Marianne someone Rooney wrote based on that image of Plath, or is Marianne someone cosplaying as that image of Plath, whom Rooney is consciously deconstructing?

See, I think writing Marianne as someone (possibly unintentionally) cosplaying Plath is interesting. The myth of the hot, damaged girl is pretty pervasive (Harley Quinn, the suicide girls, etc etc) and writing Marianne as a character who has legitimate issues that she has trouble facing, who then instead focuses her self-awareness into this trope of ‘acceptably damaged’ has potential. I feel like there’s an opportunity there to examine the line between struggling with a mental illness vs self-consciously performing that struggle in a way that’s socially acceptable, which is a topic that suits the period when the novel’s set.

Unfortunately though, I think Rooney is probably buying into that myth rather than examining it, because the fact that no-one, in a book that starts in 2011 ever sits Marianne down and goes, ‘yes, I get that people have told you you’re mentally unwell as a tactic to bully you, and that was shitty, but you pretty clearly have a raging case of ptsd which is NOT YOUR FAULT, please accept some help’ — that is frankly hard to believe. Not Connell who seeks out therapy and takes some dubiously successful medication? Not Joanna, who is by all accounts well adjusted and who makes a point of caring in a friendship where she’s doing a lot the heavy lifting? Not Lorraine, parent of the decade? Not some random teacher or professor, looking out for an obviously promising student? Really, no one?

Marianne is supposedly brilliant and a tireless researcher, but she apparently never becomes aware of the possibility that there might be ways to process her past experiences in a way that would allow her some measure of peace. Never wants it, even in the worst of times. Never ceases to wallow in her own unhappiness. And it’s relevant, I think, that in the period of the novel where Marianne is (kind of) happy, when she’s making a success of things at uni, the focus of the book is on how she’s making Connell jealous by dating an abusive man. The closes she comes to self-awareness is recognising her proclivity to seek out unhealthy relationships and decide to lean into that, in what is consistently the least unhealthy romantic relationship she has. That feels like a cop-out.

Like, I’m not suggesting that every story that features mental illness as a theme needs to show recovery. That’s, unfortunately, not always the case. Some people never get better. Some people can’t bring themselves to believe in the possibility of getting better. It’s not even the case that recovery is a straight line, when it happens. I know that. I’ve seen people I care about it struggle with a whole range of problems, I’ve struggled myself. But this felt like 13 Reasons Why for adults, like depression-porn, and I just...am a bit angry, I think, that I can’t tell if that was the intention, it that wasn’t the intention but was the outcome, or if that’s just my take and I’ve misread the thing entirely.

Obviously people can write whatever they want in fiction, but I do think that when you’re dealing with a topic that has impacted a lot of people, that’s been poorly handed in fiction in the past, you do have a responsibility to treat it sensitive and thoughtfully, and not glamorise something that is ultimately destructive under the guise of ‘this is interesting and cool, and a good way to treat yourself and others, actually.’ And I don’t know if that’s the case here.

#textual analysis I guess #ranting about writing #normal people #i'm aware there are five thousand 'i' statements here #but I can't be bothered going back to remove them

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regular-lord-reckoner · 4 years

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so today was...a pretty bad day

my mom had bought some of those test yourself at home drug test kits so that whenever i do this detox stuff i bought i could see if i’d be okay to pass on my own and...

granted, yeah, i should have just stopped smoking the day i found out i’d have to be tested, but the way i saw it was..it wouldn’t have really ultimately mattered that much.

the stuff i bought is supposed to take about an hour and a half to kick in and then it lasts for 6 hours so you can dupe a test basically. it’s not a real purge, it’s just enough of one to get it out of your system (and have you piss a lot beforehand) that when you take the test, you’re set.

i’ve heard people have a lot of success with it, so in spite of everything i thought...okay, cool. i should be fine.

and worst case scenario, let’s say i took a test yourself at home test and i didn’t pass, i would have either tried to take someone else’s urine who i know is clean in or just...called the whole thing off.

it’s not what i would have wanted to do, but here again...either way i didn’t have enough time to just naturally purge my system. i would have needed weeks, not days.

given how...bad my mental health has been and all the shit i went through last week and then immediately having to jump into work and be fine, i did indulge some.

my plan was not to do anything today and tomorrow, drink a lot of water, exercise, and then the morning of i’d wake up early enough to do the detox thing and go from there

i know it wasn’t the smartest decision, i know it would have been the better thing to just...stop then and there, but here again...i am not doing well in the grand scheme of things and i didn’t want to just drink instead because A. i didn’t want to spend the money on it whereas i already had the other here and B. it’s just not the same. alcohol can either end up making me sick (headache, nauseous, sometimes actually throwing up even after not having all that much) and it can put me in a worse mental state. the other doesn’t do that to me. worst it does is sometimes i fall asleep earlier than i would have liked but that’s...also probably just the exhaustion in general and getting older.

but basically my mom had wanted me to go ahead and use one of the kits just to see where i was at and i was like...well, it’s going to be positive right now and i had to admit that i haven’t abstained since i got the news i’d be taking this test and she got...pretty mad at me.

and i get it, like..it was a dumb thing to do, i know that.

but i ended up breaking down and telling her why and that...didn’t help

i told her that i’m not okay and haven’t been okay for a super long time and at what level it’s at which is... a lot of the time they’re the only reason i even bother.

i didn’t say this because by that point i’d done enough damage, but like...honest to god, my plan in life for the longest time has been just sticking around long enough until they both eventually die and if my life still sucks at that point and i still feel this way then like...peace out, i’m finally done.

i know i can never do anything to myself because i wouldn’t want to put them through that again. i can’t tell you how...trapped that’s made me feel.

and i’m gonna get into some real shit talk about suicide here so...feel free to not keep reading, but to me having that in my back pocket used to be the only comfort i felt like i really had.

it’s kind of like making note of where all the exits are when you’re in an unfamiliar place and you’re nervous or you’re on a plane. you don’t necessarily want to have to use those things, but it’s nice knowing that like...if shit goes belly up you’ve got a way out.

ever since my sister did what she did, my way out was taken from me. i know full and goddamn well the ramifications it would have on my parents if not one, but two of their children (and in my mom’s case, her only children) did that.

i may be a shitty and selfish person in a lot of regards, but i know that’s not something i could ever do to them and yet...it’s put me in this position where in my absolute worst possible moments i don’t even have that exit sign in the background. i don’t even have that to even begin to think about because it’s a non-option and again...i know that sounds weird and backwards and to anyone else it’s like, “well good, you shouldn’t!!!” but it’s how i feel. right or wrong, it’s how i feel and i’m sorry if it’s wrong, but i’ve had bad mental health for a very, very long time.

that’s not an exaggeration, that’s not something i’m saying because i want my issues to seem bigger than they are, it’s just the truth of the matter.

and the truth of the matter as well is that i know it could be a lot worse. compared to a lot of friends and family i’ve had, i do fairly well. i’ve been able to hold it together pretty decently.

the only hits i’ve really taken are my own personal life and the limitations i’ve put on myself, but for the most part i’ve managed to do what i’m supposed to do, be who i’m supposed to be, and just....carry on with shit.

but it’s been really fucking hard, especially these past few months or maybe even years at this point, i don’t really know. and i know it’s not great to go run to a substance to help you cope with shit, but i figured of all the shit i could be doing to myself and could be getting into i was really doing the least and ultimately my goal in all of this is still to ultimately get to a place where that isn’t something i do because i feel like i can’t cope with life and myself otherwise but just because i want to or it’s fun (which a lot of the time it is, not every day of my life is absolute misery but this past week has been uh...hahah....rough).

in any case, i...get why dropping that bomb now wasn’t great and i always knew it would be hard for them to hear, but they didn’t really react well at all.

i know i sometimes keep shit to myself to the point where i think it hurts and frustrates people who care about me because they feel like i don’t trust them or i’m just being stubborn and determined to carry all this shit on me until i can’t anymore, but it’s...it’s this.

it’s because i always knew on some level that if i got to a point where i did a fuckup because i’m so mentally ill and in such a bad place that trying to explain why and what’s really going on beneath the surface would just result in more hurt and upset and ultimately it wouldn’t be about like....oh anna, i’m so sorry i didn’t realize it was that bad, i’m sorry for yelling at you even though i still think you did a dumb thing it’s just...now i feel bad for making them have to realize this about me and now i just feel...i dunno.

i know ultimately no matter what the goal of my life should be to want to be alive for myself and really no one else but in my mind it’s just like....oh. the only reasons i’ve even been bothering and have been trying to hold it together for are just...upset at me for this.

like nobody gave me a hug, nobody told me it’s going to be okay, nobody wanted to actually talk about it, it almost just felt like i did something wrong by saying it and granted, i know it was terrible timing and i was at least able to have my mom admit she could understand why i did and i dunno, maybe everyone just needs to sleep on it and take a step back, but it just hurts

i don’t think my parents are bad people, i don’t think they hate me or don’t care about me, but i do know that they both have a lot of their own issues and are not the best at communicating shit and all my life it’s always been easier to like...appease me or appease my sister by giving us stuff than it is to actually talk to us.

if a problem can’t be quickly fixed by doing something or buying something i think it scares them and they don’t want to deal with it. and i brought this specific instance up as well which i’m sure didn’t help, but i felt like i needed to say which is that when i was in high school (freshman year, i think) i had said one day at school that when i got home i was going to kill myself.

i was really upset that day, but it was still pretty early on in the day and i’m sure if i’d just...gone about my business i would have eventually calmed down and would have been fine, but the friends who heard me say this went and reported it and so the counselor had to tell my parents and that...sucked

during that time my mom was ready to take away all the horror movies i watched, the books i read, and even the music i listened to because she thought that must have been what was making me depressed and at one she at least insinuated that i was only like this because my best friend at the time was having so many problems and so...yeah

and in her mind, all she meant by that was sometimes teenagers will get easily influenced by their friends or will be so close to them that they do take on some of their personality traits or shit like that, but like....i dunno, man. as someone who had for the first time had it be known to their family that they were experiencing suicidal thoughts to have it immediately be blamed on outside sources and the only things in my life that brought me any source of joy or comfort was kind of a pretty big blow and regardless of what she meant or thought she said, i took away from that “you’re just copying your friend, this isn’t real” and so...i never spoke about it again.

at most, i’ve talked about my anxiety, about things that trigger what i suspect is ptsd, and a liiiittle about depression, but especially since that happened with my sister i’ve tried my very best to keep that from them because i didn’t want them to worry. i understand why they would and trust me, if i’d wanted to throw this in their faces just to hurt them i would have. a long time ago.

i wish i hadn’t now because it had the very effect i was always afraid of which is that i’d just cause more harm and hurt than i ever would garner understanding for what i’m going through and where i’m at, but what’s done is done, i guess.

i really wasn’t trying to self-sabotage myself with this whole ordeal and i know it was stupid of me, i know that. i wish i’d been stronger and i just could have gone a few days without doing anything or if nothing else i wish i’d just...taken the test today and been like, “oh no, looks like it was just too in my system period for there to be a difference, hope this detox thing works” but i didn’t.

i wish for my own sake i was better and certainly by this point in life that these weren’t the kinds of decisions i was making or where i’d be at in life.

really, if i’d had any kind of handle on my shit at all i would have done everything right from the beginning.

i wouldn’t have left my other job until i 100% had something lined up and secured and could have just moved smoothly from one thing to the next and none of this would even matter.

who knows, if i’d done that i could probably already be in therapy by now slowly but surely working on all this shit and then by the time i was ready to talk about this stuff it would have been past tense and sure, there probably would have been some upset over “why didn’t you tell us?” but it at least wouldn’t be like...this.

this where i’m valid in the fact that i’m clearly going through some shit, clearly have done stupid things because of it and have actively fucked up my life and deserve to have people who care about me be frustrated and upset with me but now it’s like...oh and they also know that you still deal with suicidal thoughts and shit and now THAT’S going to be a thing.

i dunno. none of this probably makes any sense because i’m in such a weird head space and because i’m clearly not doing so good, but despite what anyone thinks i’ve still been steadfast in the fact that i’m not going to do anything to myself.

no matter how upsetting today has been i’m not going to go all 13 reasons why and do something like that and hold everyone in my life accountable for it because i know that’s shitty and unfair. i guess i’m just...hurt because i don’t think anybody realizes how hard it’s been for me to keep it together the way i have for so long and how i’ve been doing it for them and yet...when i dare not be okay for like five seconds it’s the end of the goddamn world and the very people i’m trying to stay alive for are just...upset with me over it. they’re more so hurt that i would even insinuate that it’s hard for me to to open up to them and talk about this stuff (especially my dad like... i know he doesn’t mean to do this because he has such bad communication problems that it doesn’t occur to him why this is shitty but like... if you have a problem he can’t just make it better by pointing out the good things and saying, “hey, even if all of this sucks at least there’s this to hold on to” it’s instead like...”it could be a lot worse and i’ve been through a lot worse so i don’t get why you’re so upset” type of thing and that just....doesn’t fucking help. at all. and i know this about him, so i especially don’t try to talk to him about shit and i do talk to my mom about more stuff, but i guess anything that even seems like it could reflect badly on her and make her feel like she failed as a parent is tough for her to have to hear, hence why the first time around it couldn’t even just be that i had a chemical imbalance or anything like that it was...my friend’s fault or the media i liked’s fault and i very quickly got the impression that hey, this isn’t someone i can talk to about this stuff so i just...haven’t).

and i know it’s not fair to generalize shit like this and just shut down and refuse to talk to anyone about anything, especially when i’ve had validating experiences in talking to other people about my problems and it’s been fine, but....overall this is something i struggle with and it’s not something i do to intentionally hurt or shut anyone out.

it’s because of shit like this specifically. that i’m so afraid if i finally say, “hey, i’m really not okay here” or i do something that reveals as much that the response is going to be so much more about other shit than it is like...holy shit, are you okay, though? what can we do about this?

i know i’m an adult, i know it’s ultimately my responsibility to deal with all of this and it’s ultimately down to me to actually fix this and get a handle on things, i just...had hoped i’d be able to before i ever let it be known just how bad things were because i didn’t feel like i’d be taken seriously and now...well....i dunno.

like i said, maybe everyone just needs some time to settle down and get some sleep and shit because i realize this wasn’t the right time to drop this bomb and it is indeed a bomb (for them at least, and that’s what i have to keep reminding myself is that even though i’ve obviously known i’ve felt this way a long time...they clearly haven’t) but i also don’t really know when the right time would have been, y’know?

if things had been going perfectly well and especially seeing as how for the most part i have held up so well like.......how would that have gone? if i’d just out of the blue sat them down and said, “hey, i know everything seems great right now and you’re not at all worried about me, but guess what? you should be.”

i just can’t imagine that going over so well, so...yeah, i brought it up now because shit’s pretty awful and i was getting yelled at for doing something that, admittedly, was dumb but was the direct result of shit being pretty bad and i felt like that was as good of a time as any to admit what’s really been going on with me. i’m sorry it wasn’t convenient, but it is what it is.

idk. maybe this needed to happen so that, yet again, i get it through my skull that if i’m going to do this, if i’m really going to get better, that it has to be for me first and foremost and that i can’t have the only reason i try at all before for other people, but i wish there had been a like...gentler way to get that through to me? or maybe i’m so stubborn it had to be this bad? i don’t know.

i’d just...really like to have everything stop falling on top of me all the time. even from my own actions like...i just want to get to that place in the future where i’ve finally done the hard work of getting better and all of this is behind me and i’m at least okay. i don’t have to be great, my life doesn’t have to do a complete 180, but just somewhere better than this where i feel like i have a better handle on things.

there’s also that skin-crawly feeling of just...you said too much. you shared too much. you let people in. you let people know something. and yeah, i’m obviously doing that now but it’s easy to tell yourself that if you post something like this that very few people will read it and the people that do are at least in the same boat or have been in the same boat or who aren’t people in my life who would be super emotionally impacted by something like this, y’know?

i know part of getting better will entail opening up more to others, even when there’s a potential for it to backfire and go badly like it has today, but right now i’m not really in the place to handle that kind of reaction so it’s been hard and made even harder by the fact that i’ve obviously not indulged today so like...shit’s gonna be really rough for me

i’m not going to proof read this because i just don’t have the energy so i’m sorry if it doesn’t make any sense or if just in general this is upsetting to read. i feel like all i do is get on here to complain about my problems and cry about how much i hate my life and i hate that, but already i have such a hard time opening up and talk about shit even when i know i have people i can talk to who won’t judge me or make things worse and this certainly hasn’t helped so this one’s going to the void

i’m going to still try to pursue therapy (even tho just sitting down and picturing talking to someone about any of this makes me immediately burst into tears, so that’s a good sign) but for today and probably tomorrow i just need to like...distract myself i guess.

so far i’ve just been watching youtube videos and playing games on my phone which has worked pretty well. i feel like everything’s kind of weighing on how monday goes and if i do one of these at home tests before i leave and it’s still positive i think i’ll just call the whole thing off, even if i have to lie and say i found another job or something like that, i’ll do it and i’ll bust my ass until i’m able to find something else even if it’s something i’m going to hate doing or that doesn’t pay that much, just...anything to be out of this situation at this point. i’m really hoping this stuff i bought really does work like everyone says it does and like i said, all of this stress and worry will have been for nothing in the first place, but...still. gonna be a little rough until then. may try to sleep a lot tomorrow too just so i can get to that day and get it over with, whatever the outcome ends up being.

this is far too long so i’ll wrap this up now, but i’m okay (not generally speaking, but in the here and now). i’m not going to do anything. i don’t really want to talk about it anymore than what i’ve typed out, at least for right now. i’m sorry for complaining so much and i hope one day soon i’ll have good things to share and stuff i can post about that i’m proud of myself for, but today’s definitely not that day.

i don’t say this because i want anyone to dunk on my parents or tell me that they’re bad people because they’re not. i’d obviously hoped for better reactions, but knowing them and knowing what we’ve all been through i always knew on some level this wouldn’t go over well and unfortunately because of my own actions it’s all sort of come to a head today and it wasn’t great. i just need some place to like...get this out and i feel like i have so i’m going to go back to distracting myself. i know just about everyone i know is also going through some shit right now and i hope we all soon can catch a fucking break because jesus christ, man.

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beyondriddance · 4 years

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Part 3: A Broken Clock

A merry hello to the spammers who messaged me after my second post, you all have been reported.

Anyways, I have a lot of information to cover here. I’m sorry I didn’t post anything last week, I’ve already broken my promise. But I won’t give any excuses.

It seems as though I am going through the same motions in life that I had before. Even though they are damaging and I know better, I can’t help but return the familiarity of it. For few things in my life I am familiar with, but emotional pain itself. I hate that I hate myself. No matter the increasing frequency of happy moments in my life; the shadow of depression never seems to leave my side. It covers those happy moments with its suppression and manipulation. Very rarely do I receive the autonomy of no longer feeling the oppression of depression; when I do, I accomplish more than I previously thought possible. A broken clock is right two times a day, after all.

I am determined to fix myself.

My psychiatry appointment got rescheduled for a later date, and I actually saw him this week instead of the week prior. I was happy I got my anti-depressants managed and refilled, I feel a lot better now. Although I am slightly concerned that he doesn’t believe in the distinction between CPTSD and PTSD. I asked him which one I had and he said “All PTSD is complex.” Well, duh. But I’ll just overrule him and say I have CPTSD regardless, since it actually is applicable to my situation.

I found a really great therapist as well. I can’t remember if I mentioned it before but my social worker also made an appointment for me with a therapist. He’s really great so far, I look forward to working with him. This is an intensive program I’m in so I’m going to be seeing him weekly from now on. He mentioned doing CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) and I could choose whether or not we were going to do that. I was actually looking for someone to do that with me so this is turning out great so far. He also talked about another thing they do, I can’t remember if it had a name or not, but it was basically reparenting. Reparenting is when your parents suck (like mine) so someone parents you as an adult to help you become more emotionally mature and stable. It has great results so far. I want to do that as well, I’m dying for a good father/mother figure in my life.

You’re probably seeing a theme here, I also saw my PCP today. But this experience isn’t so great, I’m starting to hate going there now. It makes me so incredibly anxious, I just sit there in the patient room and panic before she comes in. Allow me to explain what led to this moment. She noticed a few months ago that I started to lose a lot of weight. She talked to me about it initially, and by talk I mean she basically accused me of being bulimic (which I am not). My mother was in the room with me and did not help the situation, and only made things worse (which she always does) by freaking out my PCP more than she already was.

I had another appointment with her before this one today; and I tried explaining to her that my weight always fluctuates and there’s nothing to be concerned about. She then brought in her BOSS and they both tag teamed me with telling me about how much damage my body is going through by losing “so much weight.” This situation made me feel really harassed and just downright awful. They know I have depression and struggle with hating myself, so why would they put me in this situation? I only lost twelve pounds in three months, so roughly one pound a week. I don’t think that’s a cause for concern but she seems to think so.

Since then, every time she finds out I’m there (I’m there a lot due to me having a lot of issues) or was going to see a therapist there (which I changed therapists partly because of that) she makes the nurses measure my weight. Literally the only things she communicates to me outside of a general visit is to get my weight measured. Its so embarrassing and terrifying to me, I’m afraid of being weighed now.

I feel like this gave me minor (really minor) trauma because I’m feeling really harassed over this. No one believes me that I don’t have an eating disorder, she makes me tell her literally EVERYTHING I eat daily. She asks me questions that I know are supposed to test for bodily damage from bulimia. She made me get blood work done, testing to see if I’m feeding myself receiving proper nutrients.

She reminds me so much about how my parents acted in my childhood, never believing me/trusting me and always thinking they were right when they really just screwed me over. It gives me flashbacks when I sit the patient room. I have the same feelings waiting for her there as I did as a child waiting for my dad to start yelling. Just pure anxiety and terror. I catastrophize what she will be acting like when she walks in the door, just like what I did with my dad. Thinking she will accuse me bluntly, start an argument, go get her boss and then we all argue. But that never actually happens. It’s just my panicked mind reliving bad experiences with my parents.

I think she has the naive/new doctor syndrome. She latches onto one aspect of a patient she thinks is a cause for concern and never lets it go, ignoring the rest of the patient’s body in the process. She became a helicopter doctor for my weight.

I’m seriously considering switching PCPs to another one in her practice. She’s only a fellow, so I’ll probably just go to one of the actual practicing doctors there. I wanted to talk to her about this today, but face to face confrontation is hard. I might call her if I can find her number or find some way to get into contact with her, to tell her she’s making me feel really bad. I don’t want to resort to switching doctors if we can talk this out, but I will if I have to.

School has been difficult. Not because of the material, but my pathetically small attention span. My depression as well has been taking its toll on me in regards to studying.

I confess I don’t know what to do. My depression always manages to convince me that studying will be so unbearably difficult that I shouldn’t even try it. To add to that, not even the difficultly but also it tells me I would feel immense amounts of emotional pain, something I purposely and subconsciously stay away from. It’s silly I know, I never do feel emotional pain from studying when I manage to do so, but experiencing emotional pain an irrational fear of mine. I wish I could be one of those people who can just sit down and study for hours, I swear I have the attention span of a small bird.

I wish I was normal, mentally and physically. I was dealt a shitty hand and now I have to make do with what I have going for me. I’m lucky with finances, that’s good I guess. I suppose that makes up for everything else then.

This post has been depressing and long but I hope someone who needs to read this does, and realizes they’re not alone. I needed to see content like this when I was younger so I wouldn’t harp on myself so much, going through things literally the vast majority of people go through. I will be that person for others.

Regards,

-BR

#depression #mental illness #bad doctors #life #blog #ptsd #cptsd #cptsdrecovery #recovery #inspiring #good change #progress #wisdom with BR #philosopy

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harryandmolly · 5 years

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i could write it better than you ever felt it - four

summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth – 2007 Warped Tour style.

warnings: Language, Shawn as a Pained Puppy, a challenge

word count: 2.7k

Shawn wakes up hard.

This isn’t, like, new or anything. He’s 19. It doesn’t take much.

But he wakes up hard because he’s pretty sure he was dreaming about her.

He keeps his eyes shut, fighting to revel in it a little longer. He doesn’t remember the dream, just the feeling it gave him. She was so… warm. And smelled so nice. And her cunt felt so fucking good.

It takes him a good few minutes to remember that she was there when he fell asleep. She should be there, lying against his chest, smelling like citrus. But he runs his hands down his chest and realizes all of a sudden he’s a little cold.

He goes to sit up and whacks his head on the roof of the van. He whimpers and scrunches his nose, shaking out his curls. He looks around. A dense, cool blue fog surrounds the bus. It’s early morning. They’ll be leaving for Mountain View soon.

There’s no trace of her.

Shawn ducks his head shyly, though no one’s watching him. He’s in a van with half a dozen other men, but he feels startlingly alone.

He sniffs and tries to run through the facts in his hungover head. They were both really drunk. He’s actually struggling to come up with any details of their encounter. Maybe she’s embarrassed. Bus call is probably soon. Maybe she happened to wake up and left without wanting to wake him. Maybe she’s going to text him.

Shawn pulls his blanket out from under the bench and drapes it over him, trying to reconcile. He also tries to remember as much as he can muster about her. It feels a little cruel to have a memory like this, like her, taken away by cheap liquor. He swallows the dryness in his throat and slams his eyes shut, willing himself to imagine what it must’ve been like to make drunken love to Val Moreno.

What a fucking disaster.

Val wakes up again after 9am with tears of frustration in her eyes. She waves them off as a product of shitty sleep. She rucks her blanket up her chest and scrunches her hands in it, squeezing her eyes shut.

Flashes of the night before stomp through her mind, unwarranted, unwelcome. She heaves a sigh and sits up carefully, maneuvering out of her bunk. She wobbles, groans, and goes in search of coffee.

Greg and Tommy, Streets’ bassist and lead guitar (respectively), men she’s known since she was a teenager, watch her suspiciously as she spills out of the bunk area.

“There she is,” Greg coos, sickly sweet. She sneers.

“Fuck off.”

“You did that last night,” Tommy hums, reaching his hand out to Greg for a fist bump. She flips them both the bird and turns to the coffee maker, sweeping her hair over one shoulder as she prepares a fresh pot.

“Oh, Val,” Greg chuckles. His sincerity startles her. She looks up.

“What?”

“Your neck, dude. He mauled you.”

Val’s eyes go wide. She clamps a hand around her neck while the boys look away. She scrambles to the bathroom and throws the door open to inspect herself in the mirror.

Horror.

She expected her eyeliner would be runny and her hair would be greasy. She thought maybe she had a hickey on her neck from the way the boys looked at her.

It’s not… a hickey. It’s several hickeys. On both sides of her neck. Jesus Christ. He really did maul her.

She plants her hands on either side of the sink and slumps forward, shaking her head at her reflection. The marks portray an experience Val didn’t really have. They make it look like she was fucked well and thoroughly by someone who knew his way around.

She wasn’t.

Val licks her lips and reaches for her toothbrush. As she scrubs, she lets herself reflect.

It doesn’t actually really shock her that Shawn wasn’t any good in bed. Boys like that don’t have to be.

He’s a lead singer. Forefront might not mean much yet but they got onto Warped which means they have a good few fans, which means they have groupies. Plus, he’s tall and wildly good looking. He never had to be good to get girls to keep coming back.

Not that she knows he’s like that. She knows as well as anyone that despite her assumptions, there are plenty of front men on Warped that are secretly not very well experienced. Perhaps Shawn is one of those. That’s more forgivable to Val. That has potential. A man who’s slept around a lot and never bothered to learn… that’s another matter.

Val spits into the sink. The truth is, she doesn’t know which category Shawn falls into and she finds that… it bothers her. A piece of her she hasn’t seen in a while wants there to be a good reason he couldn’t get her off. She’s not well acquainted with this piece anymore. She shoves it off and spits again, willing herself to stop thinking about it.

Mountain View is beautiful but hot, much like the rest of California. Val roasts underneath the merch tent, handing off cheap tees to teenage girls and big burly twenty-something men who she wouldn’t want to meet in a wall of death. She’s hit a lull and is fanning herself with a folded up paper fan made of a Glamour Kills tent flyer when she cues into a conversation happening nearby.

“… and you’re talking about him like he’s some dude at school. He’s a lead singer, Cass. You’re not gonna fuck Shawn Mendes.”

Val perks up. She leans back in her lawn chair, listening to the crowing of the valley girls behind her.

“He might as well be. You know I heard from that girl Tasha on MySpace that he fucked two of her friends when they were on the Greener Pastures Tour last summer. And then Emily from The Hustler Club message board says she sent him nudes. He’s not, like, an angel. Plus, I’ve been laying ground work. This is our third day in a row coming to their set. And we totally locked eyes yesterday when he was singing “Not Your Story.””

Val sits forward as the girls’ voices fade out. She sips at her Diet Coke and nods to herself. Well that answers that.

Shawn has a plan.

He’s not going to go seek her out, cause that’s, like, weird. But Warped isn’t that big a tour. He can put himself in her way without too much trouble.

For one thing, the way the tents are arranged today, the Smartpunk stage is directly across from the Streets merch tent. When they go on at 3pm, he and his band will be playing to approximately 19 people and her.

But to hedge his bets, he’s been… around. Conspicuous, even.

He went and grabbed a water when she did. He was hanging around talking to the Set Your Goals guys when she walked past to get lunch. He even went to go talk to Bea in the hopes of catching her around the NFG merch tent, which he did. And that was when he saw her make a beeline for the NFG bus like it was the save point in a video game he didn’t know they were playing.

That was admittedly disheartening. Not that he was feeling great about the way things went. He had been hoping for a text or a drop in at the van or something to explain. But she really is just… avoiding him.

He kinda hates that.

He thinks about it more at the barbecue that night. He thinks about the way he sang his songs to her earlier that afternoon, staring at her, waiting for her to look up and acknowledge him. She may as well have been wearing noise cancelling headphones for all the attention she paid him. So he drinks beer and sits with his friends on old metal bleachers and thinks about Val Moreno, again wishing he had more pieces of her in his memory from their night together. He doesn’t think he’s going to get any more.

Val is by the coolers, searching on her hands and knees for a Corona buried beneath all the Bud Light. She swears she saw some. She’s padding around in the dirt when a very large pair of all black leather high top Chucks stop by her right hand. She inhales sharply. She looks up.

He looks as much like a kicked puppy as a 6’2” 19-year-old man boy can look. She winces.

“Hi, Shawn.”

“Hi, Val,” he replies. His voice is dry. He’s a little tipsy.

She tips back off her hands and brushes them off on the legs of her jeans. He reaches down, offers her a hand. With a resigned sigh, she takes it and lets him help her stand.

She regards him suspiciously and with wandering, guilty eyes. He just stares at her like he’s waiting for her to say something.

Finally, when she’s silent for a few too many seconds, he huffs. “I didn’t—I didn’t realize you were going to leave.”

Ouch.

Val’s jaw drops open. “I…”

“I mean,” he interrupts, his voice a little too loud, his hand stroking the back of his neck as he looks over her head, “I mean, like, whatever, I guess you don’t owe me shit. I just thought… I dunno… the other night was fun. The night we were kissing. I didn’t… I didn’t realize you were just going to leave.”

Val internally groans and stomps her feet, desperate to get out of this somehow. “Shawn, listen, I just… it was just one night, right?”

“That’s the thing!” he croaks, his eyes bright as he looks into hers, “It wasn’t. It wasn’t just the one night. And you weren’t… I dunno, you weren’t acting like it was the kinda thing you were just gonna leave in the morning. I know we were drunk, was that it? Are you upset because we were wasted?”

“No,” Val sighs.

“No,” Shawn repeats with a nod. He looks thoughtful, “Well, were you trying to get back for bus call then?”

Val opens her mouth, hesitates, and shuts it. Shawn flattens his lips, looking like a disappointed babysitter. She feels a little indignant for a moment. Then she remembers how hurt he’s looked all day when she pretended not to notice him putting himself in her path.

Shawn licks his lips. “Guess you just wanted an orgasm then. That’s fine. You got what you came for.”

He turns and starts to walk away, still rubbing the back of his neck. Val’s lips purse. Without her consent, she hears herself speak.

“I didn’t actually.”

What. The. Fuck.

He turns and lifts his eyebrows. He walks back over to her, hands in his pockets, ready to listen.

“You didn’t what?”

The words hurt coming out. “I didn’t orgasm.”

Shawn’s entire demeanor changes. He hunches a little, looking shorter. His cheeks get pinker, his eyes get lighter. If she thought he looked like a kicked puppy before, he looks like a betrayed cherub now. He blinks quickly, trying to understand.

“What—what do you mean?”

“I faked it,” she whispers, crossing an arm over her stomach and sucking on her top row of teeth, head hung in shame. When she dares to look up at him, he looks like he’d rather melt into the floor.

“Oh… I didn’t… I mean… oh.”

Val knows which category he belongs in now. No asshole loser pleasure-ignoring lead singer type would react this way if faced with the idea that he didn’t make someone come. No. This is inexperience. It’s written all over him.

“I’m… sorry,” Shawn murmurs. Val’s heart aches.

“It’s ok. I mean, it wasn’t… like, we were drunk, it wasn’t a big deal,” she reasons.

He doesn’t seem to see it that way. He shakes his head, like he’s going through his mental rolodex of women he’s slept with and trying to riddle out how many of them have lied to him.

“Shawn, it’s ok,” she tries, stepping forward a little. He looks at her, pained and embarrassed.

“Maybe it is because we were drunk,” she suggests, sounding hopeful. Shawn sniffs and nods at his shoes. After a moment, he looks up again. There’s something different in his eyes.

“Can I try again?”

Val is dumbstruck. “What?”

“If you’re up for it, I’d like to try again. I want to make you come.”

The noise in Val’s throat is totally involuntary and makes his lips twitch into a smile. It gives her away. She also feels a rush of wetness in the crotch of her panties, so her body certainly knows what it wants.

Val swallows. “I… really?”

Shawn looks almost annoyed. She blinks.

“Yes. Please. I want to.”

Val groans from the back of her throat. “I mean… ok. Yeah. I guess.”

Her agreement isn’t exactly filled with enthusiasm. Shawn doesn’t take it personally. He dips his head, chuckles and kicks a shoe at a patch of grass below him. He looks up at her from under his eyelashes and she sighs.

“Are you seducing me, Mendes?”

He shrugs one big, powerful shoulder. “Is it working?” He smirks.

Yep.

Her lips twitch. “It’s inappropriate for me to make a joke now about you needing to work a little harder.”

Shawn’s jaw drops. Val smiles. She takes a step into his imposing form and presses a hand to his lower back, lifting onto her toes so when she speaks, her lips graze his earlobe.

“You ready for round 3?”

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @alone-in-madness @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway @accioalena @randi-eve @shawnitsmutual

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fic #punk!shawn #warped tour shawn

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lolablackwrites · 5 years

Text

Writer’s Retreat, Part 23 - Chris x MC

Summary: MC (Charlotte) and Chris finally have the discussion they should’ve had in the first place.

CW: Brief mention of pregnancy loss

Notes: Sorry, Zig stans! I know some of you were disappointed with how this turned out. Trust me, I adore Zig, but I personally felt like Chris and Charlotte ultimately had a stronger connection. Hopefully this section helps to demonstrate that but, if not, then I still appreciate that you took the time to read my work 💕

Thank you to everyone who has been so encouraging and supportive of this series so far, you are all wonderful and I appreciate you so much ❤️ We’re at the end! Only an epilogue to go and then we say goodbye for now (although there’s a very good chance some of these characters will show up in The Boxer AU . . . stay tuned . . .

If you’re new to this series, you can check out the previous installments here: Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15,Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22.

Tagging: @mfackenthal, @i-dream-so-i-write, @enmchoices, @bruhvs, @maxattack-powell, @kennaxval, @hhiggs, @tmarie82, @regrettingnathan, @littlegreenmoo, @sunglassy, @mimiashton, @syltti78, @moodygrip, @hamulau, @zigthetwig, @zilch3, @greyeyedsmile14, @shirinalshabra, @josieschoices, @mr-sinclaire, @bobasheebaby, @emerald-bijou

Fanfic Master List

Chris led Charlotte into the living room and turned on a lamp, gesturing for her to sit down. She sat on one end of the couch and Chris sat beside her, a respectful amount of space between them.

“Did I wake you?” she asked.

“Kind of, but it’s okay, I’m glad you did,” he reassured her. “Although I was expecting a phone call, not you on my doorstep.”

“Yeah, I . . . didn’t call.”

“I gathered.”

She glanced at him and was relieved to see a small smile twitch at the corners of his lips.

“So . . . you said you wanted to talk,” Charlotte said, feeling both as if she was bursting with things to say and equally unable to say anything.

“Yeah,” Chris said. He stared down at his hands. “I . . . I’m sorry for the way I handled things at the flower shop. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Chris, wait,” Charlotte said, turning to look at him. “You were right. I should’ve stayed so we could talk more. I . . . god, sorry, I’m not very good at explaining myself, I’m much better on paper.”

“Charlotte, you don’t have to explain anything to me if you don’t want to,” Chris said gently.

“No, I want to. You’ve always been really open and honest with me, and I want to do that for you. There’s a lot I wanted to say that day, but I didn’t.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m just going to start over.” She stood up, feeling too keyed up to sit still, and started to pace in front of the coffee table. “About a year ago, I ran into James and we started seeing each other even though he was engaged. I knew he was engaged, but I did it anyway. I cared about James and at first, I figured just a little bit of him was better than none of him. Then I started to hate myself for what I--what we--were doing, but I didn’t stop. I just went along with it, hoping he’d pick me.”

She swallowed hard and glanced over at Chris, who was watching her with a neutral, unreadable expression on his face. “Then the wedding plans started moving forward and my editor started to bug me about my next book, so James came up with the solution of lending me his cabin. He conveniently stashed me up here while he was getting married; I don’t know if he thought I was going to show up and make some kind of scene, but he made sure to put a lot of distance between us. But I still heard from him when I was up here. He called me during his bachelor party and told me he wished he was marrying me instead of his wife, and that he loved me. But then he married her anyway and took off on their honeymoon. He sent me a postcard from Paris, but I ripped it up. I wanted to be done with him.”

“But then he showed up.”

Charlotte nodded. “Then he showed up. I had no idea he was coming. After you left that morning, he and I talked and he wanted our relationship to continue, but I said no and I ended it. He offered to let me stay in his cabin for as long as I wanted--he called it the divorce settlement we’ll never have--but I couldn’t stay there.”

She stopped pacing and looked at Chris. “The whole thing with Nicole . . . when she told my you were engaged, I just felt like I was falling back into the same shitty pattern I’ve been in for the last year. I realize how hypocritical that was of me to get so upset and just take off like that, but I was having such a deja vu feeling and I just had to get out of there.”

“That . . . makes a lot more sense,” Chris said. “I wish you’d told me that before.”

“I wish I had, too,” Charlotte said. “I told you, I’m better on paper than in person.”

“I don’t know, I think you’re pretty okay in person,” he said with a half smile.

“I have more to tell you,” she said quickly, not wanting to lose her nerve.

“Okay.”

“So, remember how we said we weren’t exclusive?” Chris nodded. “Okay, well, I was seeing someone else in town this summer as well.”

Chris shrugged. “Okay.”

Charlotte stared at him. “You’re not upset?”

He shrugged again. “We weren’t exclusive, I don’t feel like I have a right to be upset. Admittedly, I’m a little jealous because I want you all to myself, but that’s my issue, not yours.”

Want. Present tense.

“But you got so upset about James.”

He sighed. “It wasn’t that you were seeing someone else. I guess it was more of a reactionary thing because you got so upset over the Nicole thing while keeping this big secret from me about actually being involved with someone who was engaged. Look, I’m not proud of how I reacted in my office. I guess . . . I don’t know, I’d just told you about everything that happened with the . . . this miscarriage,” he said, slightly tripping over the word, “and I felt kind of . . . embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed how?”

“Embarrassed like I’d opened up so much and told you so much, about my mom and Nicole and everything else, but you were holding me at arm’s length. I just felt kind of stupid, like I was putting it all out there but you didn’t trust me enough to be honest about what you were dealing with.”

“Chris . . .”

“No, it’s my own fault. My pride took a hit and I lashed out. Like I said, I’m really not proud of that day.” He took a deep breath and leaned back on the couch, looking down at his hands. “I was also upset that you didn’t want to stay in Hull so we could talk more, like this,” he said, gesturing between them. “But then once you left, I realized this wasn’t about me. You’ve been dealing with a lot and you needed some breathing room to figure things out. I figured if you wanted to talk to me, you would. I didn’t want to push you. I wasn’t even going to text you, but . . . I don’t know, I guess I couldn’t help myself. Believe me, it took a lot of restraint to not just get in my truck and drive down to Boston the day you left.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Like I said, you seemed like you needed space and I wanted to respect that.” Chris looked up at her. He regarded her for a moment before speaking again, softer than before. “Charlotte, why are you here? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you, but . . . why?”

Charlotte looked down at the floor, unsure of how to begin. “I had an interesting conversation with my sister tonight. About an hour into my drive here, I called her, convinced I was doing something completely stupid. She pointed out to me that I’ve spent a lot of my life letting other people make my decisions for me and she’s right; I tend to let life happen to me rather than actually experiencing what I want.” She hesitated for a moment, but forged onward. “I didn’t really plan to drive up here tonight,” Charlotte said, gesturing to her leggings and Trash Panda shirt, “but I’m glad I did. Even if this blows up in my face, I’m still going after what I want.” She paused, suddenly aware of how dry her mouth felt. “Which is you. Just you.”

Chris stayed very still, his eyes locked on hers. Charlotte felt herself begin to panic, but she forced her voice to stay calm. “I don’t know how that would even work out because I live in Boston and you’re very established here, but Kaitlyn says I talk too much about geography--”

Her words were cut off when Chris suddenly stood up and jumped over his coffee table to reach her, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her. She kissed him back, covering his hands with hers. When he pulled back from her, his eyes were shining with unspilled tears, but his voice was steady.

“I’m in love with you, Charlotte,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. “And your sister is right, you do talk too much about geography.”

“Oh my god, you scared me!” Charlotte exclaimed, swatting at his stomach. “You’ve been so stoic since I got here, I thought you were going to kick me out and make me sleep in my car.”

“When would I ever do something like that?” Chris said, pulling her into a tight hug. “And I wasn’t trying to be stoic, I was listening to you!”

“Oh, sure, just respect me by listening to what I have to say,” she muttered.

Chris laughed. “I know, I’m the worst.”

“The absolute worst,” Charlotte agreed, tilting her face up towards his to kiss him. “And that’s why I love you.”

He smiled and brushed the hair back from her face. “I’m not perfect. I don’t always think before I speak and I can be kind of a jackass. But I’m all in, if you’ll have me.”

“I guess you’ll do.” She dissolved into laughter when Chris tickled her sides. “Okay, okay! I’m all in, too.” Charlotte paused. “And speaking of all in . . . does the offer to go to Germany still stand?”

Chris let go of her and headed into the kitchen, leaving Charlotte standing there, confused.

“Okay, not the response I expected,” she said under her breath. Chris returned a moment later, holding an envelope. He held it out to her and she took it. When she opened it, she found a plane ticket to Berlin with her name on it. “You already bought my ticket?”

He shrugged with a smile. “I was hopeful.”

Epilogue

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