#I am a fly on the wall at their family therapy appointments | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovelyirony · 4 years

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cosmetology anon: this is for you, although I tweaked the idea a bit. i hope you don’t mind!

Acquiring Tony Stark as an Asset had been purely by chance; after all, he wasn’t planned on being in the car. He was still an insolent teenager, angry with the world and angry with his father. They didn’t think he would’ve gone to a business party.

But his mother...well. They hadn’t thought that Tony Stark was a mama’s boy.

Because there Tony is, gasping for air while glass glitters all around him, looking near about like an angel that was torn from heaven with how it surrounded him.

They had thought he was dead.

At least, up until the point when he had looked Winter Soldier dead in the eye, said “hey you fucking asshole” and got a pretty damn good shot in the thigh.

Someone on the brink of death might have tried the gun, but never the insult.

So Hydra gets a brand new toy.

Not easily broken, which is a pain-and-a-half to deal with. At least with the Winter Soldier, he was too delirious with blood loss to notice who was operating on him, what they were attaching.

Tony Stark is on a whole other level.

He bites, he kicks, he scratches. Quite annoying, they just want him to tire himself out.

“Stark Industries doesn’t negotiate,” he hisses, trying to kick one of the nurses in the teeth.

“Who said anything about negotiating?” says the head doctor viciously. His teeth glint in the fluorescent lighting, scalpels reflecting brilliantly onto the walls. “As far as the media knows, you’re dead. No one is going to come looking, and no one even knows who we are.”

They make him sleep on a cot nearby Winter Soldier. Which is terrifying, to say the least. Not that he can kill him. He can’t touch him either.

He’s in a deep freezer. Eyes closed, thank god. But they put him there and they tell him all about how he came to be there.

“Everyone thought Barnes hit a rock and died,” one of the techs says, checking the machine. “He nearly did, but Zola helped us fix him up. Course, that was after a couple of times where he got to someone’s neck, and that was even before programming.”

“Programming?”

The tech leers at him, grinning. He’s standing, Tony’s sitting. It shouldn’t be as intimidating as it is.

“Oh yeah, Stark. They’re gonna fix you all up.”

“I don’t need fixing.”

“Tell that to Winter Soldier.”

“And what if your little machine gets rid of me, hm? Kills me?”

“We add you to the other disappointments, or we dig a shallow grave and hope you’re found decades later.”

Not exactly promising.

But here’s the thing: the tech was wrong. They won’t add him to the pile of disappointments.

The last time he went to a therapy appointment, his therapist said he had a “deep-seated need to be liked and be useful, which could be dangerous later.”

He’s assuming that Doc Chesterfield wasn’t exactly expecting Tony to be in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Murder Machine, but Doc wasn’t really the kind of guy who was “in the know” about a lot of things.

That need to be liked and useful was about to come in handy.

Barely able to legally drink, he goes to the main doctor in charge. “You need me.”

The doctor looks at him incredulously.

“You think we need a kid to do all this shit? You think we haven’t figured it out?”

“You can’t have Barnes-”

“Winter Soldier, boy.”

“Fine, your little toy soldier. You can’t keep him out longer than necessary, otherwise his brain realizes that all of you are shitty and tries to break out. Again. You need someone else to take a look at it, and I’m the best bet you got.”

“And why would that be?”

Tony grins, and they see a shadow of what he has had in his life, exactly just who he used to be. Who he still is, at the moment.

“Whether you want to admit it or not--I’d say go ahead and admit it, I’m fun like that--I’m the smartest one in the room, maybe in the country. Maybe in two countries. I could swing the UK, it’s not like they’ve had anything interesting for the last hundred or so years--”

“Get to the point,” the handler hisses.

“I can help with arm maintenance. I’m not gonna do anything else to this poor guy, but I wanna stay alive and I’m not letting you erase my fucking mind because you want to have another toy soldier to march to your drum.”

“You almost make a compelling case,” the handler says. “We do need a mechanic on the arm, so to speak. But if he only comes out when we need him...well. Maintenance is manageable.”

Tony pushes his chin out.

“I can do better than your best.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t care. You’re too big of a liability.”

It is at this moment that Tony realizes he cannot talk his way out, or fight his way out, but damn he gets a scalpel and tries.

Manages to slice across the face of the handler. Nerve damage, tissue damage, quite potentially a very ugly nose. All very nice.

That gets him moved up by a month.

They send him to a chair that’s probably a lot worse than he’s imagining, give him a mouth guard, and tell him to scream all he likes. Sometimes it’s better to not have a voice later.

They say it like they’re quoting one of those shitty articles from Cosmopolitan that discusses the top forty-five best ways to move in the bedroom or something. He and Rhodey use to read it all the time whenever they visited one of the sororities.

(He misses Rhodey, more than words can say. The tears burn in his throat as the chair powers up, but he doesn’t dare cry. He hasn’t told them about Rhodey, and he doesn’t want him used against him.

He doesn’t want to be used against Rhodey.)

Tony Stark becomes the Mechanic. He stares too long, moves a bit slow at times, and doesn’t like people touching his things.

Hydra thinks it’s a success.

Tony thinks they should’ve done more than three sessions of go-round for their little buzzy-chair.

Just god, have none of them had to act before? Is that what this is?

So long as he doesn’t show any aspect of any real personality, they think he’s a walking-talking robot.

Should’ve just called him Chatty Cathy and attached a pull-string to his back with loadable phrases if they were just gonna call him the Mechanic and think his silence and weird staring habits were fine.

Winter Soldier needs maintenance.

Tony tries very carefully to keep his persona up. He thinks he’s doing a good job until the nurse leaves the room for her smoke-break and Winter Soldier gives him a look that’s so...different.

"They think you’re like me.”

“I am.”

“No.”

“And how can you tell?”

“You’re not hurting my arm.”

“Well I can, if you wanna be a masochist about it.”

He blankly stares.

“Why didn’t it work?”

“Not enough rounds.”

“We need to stop talking or they’ll watch the cameras.”

“Got it.”

Tony is not facing the cameras. They have no suspicion now, and if they can’t see him move his lips, then there’s no worry.

He faces Winter Soldier.

“You wanna get out of here? Tap once on your left, right on my thigh for yes. Twice for no.”

Tap.

There it is.

“Well, it’ll take time. You okay with that?”

Tap tap.

“I can’t make wishes come true,” Tony says sarcastically. Soldier hides a smile. “But. I have someone who might be looking for me. Or he’ll know it’s me.”

“A friend?”

“Something better. Family.”

It takes a little while. Despite Hydra’s incompetence at programming Tony out of his own system, they’re good at watching. They’re good at sniffing out undercover plans, so they set nurses to watch him and give him the worst food in his life.

And he can’t say anything about it.

They’re probably rations leftover from World War II, and here he is, pretending like it doesn’t bother him.

The first mission they’re out on, Tony wants so badly to break free. It looks too easy, probably because it is.

“The first time I escaped, they dragged me back and nearly gave me a matching leg to go with the arm,” Soldier murmurs in Russian.

(Tony’s had to take Russian classes. God, he’s lucky he has an eidetic memory otherwise he’d be up a paddle with a slotted spoon.)

“What, didn’t want to put more value on yourself?”

“Something like that,” Soldier says grimly. “Pay attention. They’re gonna put you in a cafe, have you run surveillance. You report back to me. Call me Winter.”

“Call me Mechanic.”

“That’s the name they chose?”

“Didn’t count my vote.”

Winter snorts.

“Time to get a move on.”

Tony has never been good at hiding his emotions, but by god he’s learning on the fly. At least Winter has a mask, and they’re...well, they’re working on one for him.

It’s not exactly priority, because everyone in the world thinks he’s dead.

Well. Shouldn’t say everyone. There is one guy who has decided that Tony didn’t die.

James Rhodes is a very smart guy, graduated top of his class at MIT and has full honors.

He also knows that Tony has fallen off of beds, out of chairs, down one flight of stairs, and tripped on just about everything.

And he’s lived. He has defied near-death experiences before, and he’s been fine.

Maybe Rhodey is crazy. He most likely is.

But he doesn’t mind being crazy if no one can actually confirm that Tony died. The funeral was closed for the family, not even Rhodey could go.

“Sorry kiddo,” Obie had said, not sorry at all. He’s never liked the kid, thought him too blunt about situations that he didn’t need to be blunt about.

So Rhodey thinks that this is a conspiracy, only he doesn’t want his best friend to end up on a YouTube video five years later talking about the “tragic disappearance” and how “no one could figure it out.”

He’s James fucking Rhodes. Sometimes goes by Rhodey. And he’s got this.

Winter Soldier does not “got this.” He is currently being thrown against a wall, and grunting as he looks at the target.

Tony is currently trying very hard not to have a full-blown emotional show-off, because he is supposed to be fixing up some of the weapons and sending them out.

It is rather stress-inducing, once you start thinking about it.

He tries not to.

God, he’s not even getting pizza after that. He’s probably going to get some bullshit like a vanilla nutritional protein shake.

Out everything he’s been put through, and that’s the thing that makes him retch.

Barnes is looking...rough. He got shoved a lot, the mission didn’t exactly go to plan, which turns out to be quite the large problem.

Because Tony took over. They found out that he can actually assemble weaponry and aim with nearly-one-hundred-percent accuracy.

They think it’s because they fried his brain and injected some sort of back-alley-serum.

It’s not.

He’s not even sure if their serum worked, if he’s being completely honest.

But this? Oh god.

The doctors look at him with an almost giddy joy.

“We’ll have Soldier train you.”

"He is not going back into the cryogenic chambers?”

“No, not...not until you prove yourself.”

“I have proven myself accurate with mechanical fixes.”

“Always best to diversify your skills.”

“Expand.”

(Tony’s been messing with them a lot. They’re not positive he knows advanced vocabulary. He does, he just hates them.)

Barnes is...not exactly excited that he’s not becoming an ice-pop.

“I’m...training you?”

“Yeah, looks like it. You wanna teach me how to choke someone with my thighs?”

“Only when they send the Widows.”

“Who are they?”

“Best damned assassins you’ll ever have the displeasure of experiencing.”

“Aw, you’re learning how to curse!”

“Shut up, they’re onto us.”

Winter Soldier and the Mechanic have a...cordial relationship. At least, out of the ring.

In the ring, they don’t rather like the other that much. Mechanic much prefers to avoid Soldier at all times.

“You can’t just run from every opponent,” Winter hisses.

“You’ve been doing it since 1948,” Tony responds in a robotic tone, nearly missing a kick to the shins. “I don’t see why not.”

He smiles at that one, looking at Tony.

He was...Tony was unique. He would whisper stories in the dead of night, mostly about a man named Jarvis and a boy his age named “Rhodey.”

“His parents...they didn’t actually name him that, did they?”

Tony has to bury his face in his pillow to hide his face from laughing.

Winter got a good look at that smile.

It’s chillingly nice to look at it, and maybe that’s because he hasn’t smiled in years, or maybe it’s because he’s never seen another person smile with joy in it for decades.

For a couple more months, nothing on their side happens.

Rhodey, however, learns how to use Tony’s homemade AI for illegal purposes!

He’s figured out lots of things.

Tony was never confirmed dead. Technically, he’s a missing person.

Which means they don’t know if he’s dead because they never found him.

Secondly, there’s a strange email to someone who goes by Zola.

Well, Rhodey and Tony didn’t stay up until three a.m. to solve impossible codes for nothing.

James Rhodes figures out that the Winter Soldier isn’t some whispered about myth, and so he decides to try and find him.

He’ll need to ask Mama if he can use the sedan, but it should be fine. After all, he has a friend to find.

Hydra is getting too used to having them out. Tony’s been coaching Barnes on not letting his reactions be at the front and center.

He’s remembering a lot more. Starting to become a bit more human-like.

He actually doesn’t like the food now, which is a tasteful improvement.

“When we get out,” Tony whispers in night. “I’m going to make sure that you get the best goddamned pizza the earth has ever seen. And we’ll celebrate your birthday.”

“When is my birthday?”

“I...huh. I don’t know. That’s not the fact I remember from school.”

“So you remembered that my favorite movie star was Hedy Lamarr, but not my own birthday?”

“In my defense, Ms. Lamarr is far more memorable than a simple date on the calendar.”

Barnes smiles.

“I can’t wait to see a picture of her.”

“You will, soon.”

Rhodey is getting close.

The only barrier is convincing his mama to use the sedan.

“What for?”

“A trip.”

“To?”

“Washington DC?”

“Why are you questioning that, young man?”

“Um, because of gas money? Maybe?”

Mrs. Rhodes stands up to her full height of five-foot-two and stares.

“What’s the real reason? I didn’t raise a son who could lie to his mother successfully.”

Rhodey sighs.

“Tony’s alive. I think. I’m, like, ninety-five-percent sure.”

Her face softens.

“Oh baby, you’ve talked about this with your therapist, and-”

Rhodey glares.

“It’s not about the therapist’s opinion, mom. I broke into some records. There was a closed-casket funeral, and technically? They didn’t have a body for Tones. I know he’s out there, and I think I got a lead with the help of Jarvis.”

“I thought Jarvis was dead.”

“Not Edwin, Mama. Tony’s creation, an AI named Jarvis.”

Mama looks at him carefully.

“You sure this is what is going to make you happy?”

“I don’t care about being happy, I want to see if I can bring him home, Mama.”

She dangles the keys.

“If you scratch this car up, I will not hesitate to tell every single aunt at church about this and have common sense walloped into you.”

“I promise I won’t,” Rhodey says. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I’ll pack you a bag. And you need your church clothes.”

“Ma...”

“Don’t Ma me, I’m your mother, I know what’s best,” Mrs. Rhodes says, sweeping into the kitchen. “Don’t tell your daddy what you told me, you’ll give him a heart attack.”

“I thought I was gonna give you a heart attack,” Rhodey says.

She turns, eyes twinkling.

“You got a lot of learning to do, young man. But go on to DC for me.”

First stop: gas station.

Next stop: saving Tony.

If Tony had known that his friend was so dedicated to saving him that he would drive his mama’s sedan five miles above the speed limit, perhaps he would have stayed put and played nice.

But Tony did not know this, so he was currently working on fixing Barnes’ arm to shoot projectile missiles that looked like screws to the security cameras.

“You think they’re counting each screw when none of them even know what your arm can actually do? Not like Zola is physically around anymore,” Tony mutters, holding a screwdriver in his mouth.

“What’s your plan for escape?”

“Element of surprise, my dear Watson.”

“Don’t like that,” Barnes mutters. “What’s your plan once we’re out?”

“New York City.”

“That’s it?”

“You underestimate exactly how much you can hide,” Tony says. “Believe me. We’ll live in an apartment in Queens.”

Rhodey is about ten minutes away.

Tony and Bucky have eventually decided to break out, and are having a lovely time shooting a base and putting people through the walls. Really, they shouldn’t have made it out of drywall. Too easy.

“What fucking vehicle are we taking?!” Barnes yells.

“I...I will work on it!”

“You didn’t think about that?!”

“I was thinking about escaping from a shitty Hydra base!”

Here comes the sedan!

Rhodey thought there was only one person, so now the ex-assassin is sitting on his little sister’s school folder, and getting pink glittery on his military pants.

This was not the plan.

He is also still only going five over the speed limit, because this is Mama’s sedan.

He forgot about the little sticker at the back that says “My Son is on the Honor Roll at MIT!”

“Rhodey love of my life, please go faster than forty miles an hour,” Tony hisses.

“I can’t believe you’re alive, let me do one thing at a time,” Rhodey stresses. “I bought you hot fries, they’re on the floor in the green bag.”

“You thought of road trip snacks?” Bucky asks.

“Yes! And who are you?”

“Bucky Barnes.”

Rhodey whips his head around.

“You lived?”

“I’ve been told. Eyes on the road and turn left.”

One tire barely is on the road as he whips the wheel, slamming onto the curb.

“We are not allowed to fuck my mama’s car up!” Rhodey yells. “Tony, Bucky...do whatever you have to.”

“How amenable are you to me paying for a new back window?” Bucky asks, left arm already raising.

“What do you mean-?”

And...there goes a projectile!

After twenty minutes of driving around, ten of that being avoiding police blockades, they finally are out on the highway, no one in sight.

Tony finally breathes.

“Put on your seatbelt,” Rhodey murmurs. “To New York?”

“To New York.”

By all accounts, the table of three men who look slightly rattled and in danger is not actually the worst table that waitress has ever had.

In fact, the only odd thing that she’s going to say about it is that the young man on the left is wearing a polo shirt, and it is not Sunday, so no church services. A personal outfit choice.

The man in the middle seems to know this.

“Rhodey, seriously?”

“What? It’s laundry day!”

“I know you had other shirts. I know you did.”

“Just because you hate polo shirts doesn’t mean you get to hate on me, especially after the shit I just pulled.”

“He has a point,” says the man on the right.

“You have no opinion on this. I just met you.”

“Are you guys ready to order?” She asks nervously, tapping at her notepad with a chewed-up pen.

They all stare blankly at the menu, and then back at her. She taps her pen one more time.

“I’ll...um...give you some more time.” She shakes her head. She’s not gonna ask, she doesn’t get paid enough.

Rhodey looks at the two of them. He knows that things...well.

Tony probably isn’t going to be playing Jeopardy! with this experience.

Hell, he probably won’t want to see a therapist about this, and Rhodey will have to play Jeopardy! or some obscure dating show simulation with Tony to even help.

And then there’s the matter of a man who’s supposed to be dead.

That and...Rhodey decided to finish up college with a master’s degree.

No one ever said life was easy.

But.

It might be fun.

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addictofsupernatural · 4 years

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OHSHC Rewrite: Episode 3b

Beware of the Physical Exams!

Host Club x reader

Summary: When the hosts convince y/n to get help, she finds trouble instead.

Word Count: 5.4k

Episode Masterlist

"Y/n, we've come here today to talk about a problem regarding you."

You looked around nervously, and began your verbal diarrhea. "Okay, um, first of all, I want to say I'm sorry. I know it's our number one priority to make the clients happy, and I was side tracked, and that's on me. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have been unprofessional with Alarico and that's super my fault. I know I need to get 100 guests and I'm only at 39 but I can do better, and again I'm really sorry for everything about yesterday, and—"

"Y/n," Kyoya cut you off. "This has nothing to do with your quota, or Alarico Gonzalez's behavior."

"Oh." You said dumbly.

"This is about your anxiety attack."

"Oh." You grumbled, though you quickly regained your composure. "I'm sorry you had to see that senpai."

"It was no trouble, and I've read that they can be very sudden and frightening to those who get them." He stated.

"We're really worried." Hikaru said.

"Yeah," Kaoru agreed. "When Kyoya told us, we had no idea how to help."

"You have to take care of yourself y/n-chan." Honey clutched usa-chan.

"Yeah." Mori said.

"That is why," Tamaki said, pointing to you. "We've decided to set up an appointment with the school therapist today!"

"Woah, let's not take it that far. I'm okay guys, really."

"You didn't look okay when you had trouble breathing yesterday." Kyoya stated.

"That was just a little hiccup!" You explained. "Things happen. I'm okay now, which is more important, right?"

Tamaki stepped up to you. "You're going to therapy, and that's final!"

"No." You said forcefully. This struck his feelings, and he sulked in the corner. You sighed. "I'm sorry I worried you all, and I'll be careful next time. I don't want to waste time and cut any classes so a therapist can tell me depressing things. I just want to forget about sad stuff here."

You gave them a smile. "Well, she seems unmotivated." Hikaru stated.

"But how are we going to get her to agree?" Kaoru asked.

Mori then thought of something. "Squishy ice cream."

That struck a nerve. You gasped and carefully looked at them, and Tamaki then got up. "That's right~ You were so busy last episode that you never got to try any, did you~?"

"Did you hear that?" Hikaru whispered mockingly. "She's never even tried squishy ice cream before. Isn't that sad?"

"Talk about a tragedy." Kaoru whispered back.

You nervously laughed. "C'mon guys, you don't really think of me as such glutton because I'm poor and never had it that I'd force myself to go to some therapy for some ice cream would you?" You kept nervously laughing, and everybody else smiled at you. You then quietly asked, "What time is the appointment?"

"We knew it." The twins said.

You scoffed and smiled. "You guys are something else. Why do you even care about this?"

"Don't refer to yourself as this!" Tamaki exclaimed. "If you need anything, know that I'm always here for you."

"You mean all of us are here for her?" Hikaru asked.

"As I said before, you are all the homosexual supporting cast!"

You let out an involuntary laugh. "Really senpai? Supporting cast?" You asked, walking over to them. "That's a little self absorbed of you." You then thought of something. "Can you guys do me a little favor though? Let's keep the therapy sessions to ourselves. My clients get worried easily and I feel weird when they get curious and ask me about my issues."

"Well, your appointment is right after the physical exams," Kyoya explained. "So that might be an issue."

"Alright then," Tamaki announced. "Gentlemen, it's time to enact The Keep Y/n's Secret Safe Plan!"

Later that day you walked with the twins to the physical exam, though the line was going to be too long to not miss your therapy session. When you went in there, your mouth hung open. "What the hell is this?!"

"It's just a regular physical exam." Hikaru said.

"I've seen malls smaller than this." You whisper shouted, speed walking to hold each twin by the arm, timidly looking at all the people and fancy stations. "This is so out of place for me. I feel so awkward."

They paid no mind to you gripping onto them, or at least tried not to. "Seriously y/n, you need to stop being amazed and scared at everything here." Kaoru said.

"I was amazed and scared of the host club when I walked in. Look at us now." You offered. Neither of them said anything but looked down at you. You then saw Mori and Honey dressed up in doctor attire. "Wait, what?" They put their fingers over their mouths shush you. "So obvious." You muttered.

"I have those two for back up in case this plan doesn't execute properly." Kyoya came out and explained.

"Why are they in doctor uniforms?"

"It helps set the mood." He pushed up his glasses. "Disguises make our mission feel like a real espionage."

You watched the doctor encourage a girl as three other nurses clapped for her. "This is weird." You said. "All the staff here are actually nice."

"Of course." Kyoya said. "All staff is chosen by the chairman. It is a school, but it's also a business. He wants the students to be happy, and most students here already have their own doctors for their families. So this, is just a formality."

You quietly scoffed and shrugged, shaking your head. You and the twins kept walking when someone bumped into Kyoya, and Kyoya's gaze lingered on him.

"Huh." The twins then began taking off their shirts to do their exams, and girls started squealing. "See now?" Kyoya asked. "Physical exam day is quite popular with the ladies."

"Hm. My physical exams in y/c had us also do exercise. Everybody was rude and just wanted to get everything over with, and that makes more sense than this." You then shook your head. "But girls here would probably still be squealing for that too because sweat is apparently attractive too."

The twins were being themselves and girls continued squealing. Mori and Honey took this as an opportunity to push you into a corner nobody was in. Tamaki then caught you from behind. "I've been waiting for you princess." He said in your ear.

"Tamaki senpai?" You turned your head.

He giggled in your ear. "You're so cute when you're surprised." He then stepped back. "This is it, the inevitable moment."

"What are you gonna do?"

He shushes you with his finger. "Don't worry, I'll protect you." You felt your cheeks tingle. That was until he put on a wig and stepped into the exams area. "I am ready to take the exams." He announced in his best impression of your voice.

"Hey, is Tamaki trying to dress as a girl?" One girl asked.

Tamaki was shocked, as if he didn't realize people would notice. The twins then bursted out laughing. "He actually did it!" Hikaru laughed out.

"I can't believe he didn't know that wouldn't work!"

Tamaki blushed and angrily grabbed Hikaru. "Why didn't you tell me it wouldn't work?!"

"It's payback for calling us homosexual supporting cast!" He laughed out.

Tamaki looked over at you shyly with big sad eyes. "Um, listen y/n," he timidly said.

"Did you really think that would work?" You asked, and your tone showed that it was a genuine question. He said nothing but pouted, causing you to glare at him. "Big words senpai. Small execution."

"Come this way y/n," Kyoya said. "There's a private room waiting for you."

"Senpai, you look like your enjoying this." You smiled at him. Tamaki dropped to his knees in the background.

Kyoya was smiling as well. "Well, I did need to get my revenge too. I don't appreciate being called supporting cast, homosexual or otherwise."

You both walked away as Tamaki weakly reached for you while fading away. You then went into a room with a female nurse. "Good morning Miss Y/l/n. It's a pleasure to meet you. I've been informed of your circumstances, so we can hurry along this process."

"Thank you ma'am."

"Of course. Step right this way please. You can undress in there." You nodded and stepped inside the dressing area.

The boys were listening to this girl cry about a doctor who supposedly made a pass at her. "I've never been so terrified." She cried.

"How scary!"

"Do you think he was a pervert?" This girls were huddled around her for comfort.

"I had a feeling this might happen." Kyoya thought out loud. "Earlier today I saw a strange man in a white lab coat, though clearly not one of our doctors.

"Shouldn't you have said something sooner?" The twins asked in an annoyed manner.

"I'm sure it's no big deal. I'm sure the security guard will catch him." Kyoya offered.

They still listened to the group in the back. "Tell me," said a doctor. "Did you see where this man went?"

"Yes sir, he was headed towards the private clinic down the hall." The boys were all silent as they realized that he was going to your room.

You had just unbuttoned your shirt, leaving you in your bra. You were about to take off your pants when a man went into your changing room and was peaking outside. It was almost like he didn't see you. "W–um, excuse me, but—"

He rushed over to you and covered your mouth with his hand. "No, it's not what you think. Please just be quiet."

"Y/n!" You both turned to see Tamaki in the air. "Tama-chan~ kick!" He kicked the man in the face and sent him flying into the wall. Tamaki then spun in the air a few times before coming down to the ground.

The twins then appeared. "One. Good looks that attract the public eye."

Kyoya then stepped out of the shadows. "Two. More wealth than you can imagine."

Mori then spoke up. "Three. Chivalry that will never be able to overlook,"

"The hideous wickedness of this world." Honey finished.

As you hugged yourself Tamaki gently placed his own shirt over you. "That's what make up the Ouran Host Club!"

They posed, with an exception of Mori and Kyoya, saying, "We're here, watch out!"

"Please don't hurt me! Spare me my life!" He bowed as you buttoned up Tamaki's shirt. He then got back up. "I run a small medical clinic in the next town over."

You were taken aback by the sudden fact. You looked at Honey, whispering, "Why is he telling us his life story?"

Honey shrugged, and you all listened. "My name is Yabu." You suppressed your laughter, since Yabu is another word for quack doctor. "You see, I came to find my daughter. My wife left me a month ago and took my daughter with her! I know that my daughter goes here."

You sat down to be at the same eye level with him. "Well now that I'm invested into the story, I gotta ask. What happened to make them leave?"

He explained that he kept giving people money and they don't usually pay them back. The latest time was the last straw, and they both left. "I can never say no to anyone. I don't blame them for not wanting to constantly live in debt. But I wanted to see my daughter one last time, so I wandered through the streets and was pounded by rain until I came here. But once I entered I was mistaken for a doctor, here to examine students!"

You smiled. "You mean they mistook the guy wearing a lab coat as a doctor? That's... wow."

"And then it happened," He ignored you. He then explained how he asked a girl for directions and she ran away screaming. "And before I knew it, there were all kinds of people chasing me!" He was bursting with tears.

"So tragic!" Tamaki was also crying.

"Pardon me," Kyoya said. "But I think you may have the wrong highschool. Are you looking for Ouran Public Highschool?"

"Yeah?" He stopped crying and looked up.

"I figured that might be the case. This is Ouran Academy, private institution. Your daughter doesn't go to school here."

He looked shocked, and the twins began to voice their opinions. "Man, you don't even know where your daughter goes to school? That's pretty sad." Hikaru said.

"Yeah, I bet your relationship's messed up because you don't pay attention to them, not because of some stupid debt."

"Wow Kyo-chan, you figured that out pretty quickly." Honey congratulated him.

"Well, the daughter of such a small business man could never afford to go here." You scrunched up your nose I'm response.

"Kyoya," Tamaki said. "Could you make a map of the public schools in this area? I'd like to help this man."

Kyoya looked surprised for a second, but smiled and regained his composure. "Whatever you say."

As the man got up you stepped in front of him. "If you'll allow me to give some advice." He nodded. "If you get there and school is still in session, don't just go in. Wait until she's finished with school, or else you're gonna look like a creep and she'll be too angry and embarrassed to talk." He said nothing and nodded, bowing. He left soon after, and you were all still in the private room. "Well, sorry to do this, but can you guys please leave now?"

Everybody looked surprised. "Y/n, are you still angry with me?" Tamaki said. "You're not going to quit the host club are you?"

You turned to him and smiled, patting his shoulder. "Don't be silly senpai. I need to get to that stupid therapy sesh and you need to put on a shirt. I just gotta take the physical exams and I'll give it back to you." You then turned around and smiled. "Let's get this straight though. I'm not doing it for some food, I'm doing it for my debt."

You giggled, and Tamaki smothered you with a hug. "I can see right through you! I know you're doing it for some squishy ice cream!"

He was smothering too much. "Okay, stop it! The shirt's riding up!"

"Red card!" The twins said in unison. They then dragged Tamaki out and everyone else followed.

You finished your exam fairly quickly and was guided by your nurse to the room of your therapist. "Good morning." She grinned. "Please sit anywhere you'd like."

You had decided right then and there that this was going to suck. There was fancy decor and expensive looking items. There was a nice looking couch and even nicer looking chairs. She had a desk that looked like it costed way too much, and she wore expensive clothing. This was all too much. You didn't belong in this room.

You silently sat on the couch. "I hope you feel your most comfortable self with me, so we can talk about anything you want." Her grin was still on and her tone was still chirpy. You said nothing. "Do you want to begin the conversation?"

You hesitated before speaking up. "May I ask about your background?"

"My background? Well that's an incredibly boring subject, but go ahead! Let's not have any secrets between each other, okay?"

You were silent for a moment again. "How were you brought up? Was it surrounded by things like this?"

You didn't try to smile. You didn't want to be here. There wasn't anything wrong with you, so there wasn't a reason to be here. Besides, this room itself was giving you anxiety. "Things like this? Well, I'm not really the materialistic person, but if you're asking me if I was born into a wealthy family that helped paved the way to my position, then yes. I was born into this."

Her smile never faltered, and you didn't like it. You didn't like the feeling of any of this. Exposed, you felt so exposed. It made you put your head down in shame. "Then don't you think you're a little overqualified to be talking to me right now?"

She was taken aback, but began writing in her notebook. She slightly nodded to it, as if she had decided something. "My, is that what you think?"

What the hell would she even write from that? That you have self esteem issues? That you're self conscious about yourself here? You deserved so much squishy icecream for this. You only shrugged.

"You don't seem very relaxed right now. Maybe we could talk about why that is." You shrugged again. Her smile almost left her face, but she hung onto it. "We can't make any progress if you we don't put in effort dear."

You sucked up your annoyance and smiled, bringing your head up. "If you want me to be happy about this, you could've just said so. And the reason why I'm uncomfortable is because this room is making me uncomfortable."

She then wrote in her notebook again. "I see. Is it the atmosphere? We can go outside to the garden if it makes you feel any better."

"Is this session a one time thing?"

She chuckled. "That's not how progress works."

"Then we can stay in here so I could get used to this feeling."

It was like she cornered you. She knew exactly where to strike. "Do you always feel like you need to comply to things? Like you have to be the one to adjust?"

You frowned. "Where did that come from?"

"Please answer the question dear."

"I don't know, I guess. I have to though. It's not like everybody else has to change their viewpoints to accommodate only me."

"Do those viewpoints make you upset?"

"No."

"I'd appreciate if didn't lie to me."

She seemed to have every one of your moves calculated. She suddenly knew how to outsmart you. "Sometimes, I guess. I don't know. They'll say a comment or two about how different commoners are to normal rich people. It's weird. I never considered myself normal, but I'm different for another reason here than before."

You wanted to slap yourself for saying that. She only wrote in her notebook again. "How were you different before?"

"It just sometimes felt like us against the world. The four of us were unbreakable and we didn't care that it was that way. I felt proud to be looked down on, in this weird way, because my friends were down there with me laughing at everyone else."

"And now?"

"Now I'm down there alone. Everybody looks down on me, but there's no one else to share that with. It just sucks sometimes."

"You have two separate friend groups that you mention. Do you feel differently towards the one back in y/c than here?"

"I never felt ashamed with my y/c friends, I guess. I don't know. They knew everything about me, and they still loved me for it. Maybe I feel like my friends here will just pity me if I open up more?" You brought your knees up and buried your face in between them. "Ugh, no offense doctor, but this sucks butt. I thought this was supposed to help me with my anxiety."

"And you don't feel anxiety when thinking about your new friends finding things out about you?"

You couldn't help but let out a laugh and fall to lay of the couch. "Damn it, you're actually pretty good."

"People can be more complex than you might think. Just as you feel like they won't understand you because of your background, you aren't giving them a chance because of their background." You looked up at her. She was still smiling.

You chuckled. "You really do suck." You then sat up straight. "Hey, how are other people like with your sneaky forwardness?"

She waved off the question. "Oh, I'm usually not like this at all. I normally have to go through this journey with them until they figure it out on their own. I figured you weren't like that and would prefer someone who wouldn't baby you. It's actually quite nice to get straight forward answers back."

You genuinely smiled. "I'm sorry doctor, I think I underestimated you."

She had a different smile on this time. "Hm. Tell me something that your new friends don't know about you."

"That's kinda hard. One of them ran a background check on me."

She chose not to push her luck and not ask about that. "Well, it can be a small fact."

You let out a sigh and looked down again. "I mean, I was at the store the other day and bought them all keychains. Once I brought them to school I realized how worthless this would be to them. So I just kept them.

"Pushing for a better relationship with your friends will maybe let them push with you. They might like the gifts. You don't know until you try it."

"Thanks doctor." You smiled at her.

"One last question, how did you act with your old friends? Were you touchy feely or more to yourself?"

"Um, touchy feely I guess." You then thought about how you and your friends never really had respect for each other's boundaries, though none of you cared. "Really touchy feely actually."

"Try to work on getting to that level with your new friends." She then checked the time. "Oh, it seems we just ended our session. I'm glad we got this far, and there's so much more to talk about. I'll see you next week."

"Yeah, okay." You smiled and got up.

"Oh, dear,"

You stopped. "Yeah?"

"Why don't you give your old friends a call? You seem like you miss them."

"Okay." You said, chirpy. "Bye!"

You walked back to the physical exam area, and everyone was just about finished. All your friends stared at you as you silently walked over to them. You didn't say anything and looked spaced out.

"Y/n," Tamaki quietly asked. "Are you mad at us for sending you to therapy? You're making a face."

"I'm just thinking senpai." You didn't look at him.

"About quitting the club?!" He grabbed you by the shoulders.

You gently poked his face and pushed it away with your finger. "About whether or not I should give you guys something." The bell rang and you looked at the twins. "Oh, let's go guys. Bye everyone."

Nobody said anything. You went to your class silently. "Uh, y/n?" Hikaru asked.

"Hm?" You turned to them.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Kaoru asked.

You smiled and hugged them both. "I'm sure."

After school you decided to use your phone and call the one person you know who also has a phone. The other two were also there, and the three were planning to see you as a surprise on Monday. Luckily, Jasmine can't keep a surprise to save her life.

You entered the host club with a big smile, setting down your bag to turn and see all the boys staring at you. "What?" You asked, still smiling. "Oh! The gifts."

"So you actually did get us something?" Kaoru asked.

"Yup." You brought them out of your backpack and walked over to Mori. You handed him a keychain of a small black belt. "I heard someone say you were in kendo, so I thought this would be nice."

He smiled and patted the top of your head. "Thanks."

You excitedly nodded and bent down to Honey, giving him a bunny keychain. "I thought it would kinda remind you of usa-chan if you two were ever apart."

His eyes shown as he held it in his hands. "Cute! Thanks y/n-chan!"

You walked over to the twins, handing them a tweedle dee and tweedle dum keychains. You didn't know how to explain this one, so all you did was nervously chuckle.

"Get it?" They only stared at it and back at you as you awkwardly walked away and went to Kyoya. You gave him a paintbrush keychain. "One of my clients told me you could paint?"

He smiled and took the gift. "Hm. Thank you y/n."

You grinned and walked over to Tamaki. He was like a puppy who was excited to get a treat. You didn't take any notice in the blush on his face, nervous yourself that he'd say something about the piss poor gift. You put a small bear keychain in his hand.

"I know you have a teddy bear like this, and I've seen your dorky led pencil with the bear on it." An arrow went through him. "So I thought this would be a nice addition."

"No offense," Hikaru said, staring at the gift in his hand. Everybody turned their heads to him. "But you know these are kinda useless to us right?"

You frowned, but quickly replaced it with a smile. "Yeah," you nervously chuckled. "I'm sorry. It's stupid, I don't even know why I got them. Sorry." You then quickly began to walk away. "I'm gonna get my stuff set up."

You made some special tea for your first guest since she mentioned last time it was her favorite. While you were doing this, Tamaki stormed over to Hikaru. "What was that about?"

"What?" He shrugged. "It's true. I don't get why everyone's acting like this is some treasure."

Kyoya began writing in his book. "According to my sources, y/n also gave her friends back home keychains. It's a gift that she can afford, but it seems to only be something that she only gives to those she holds dear." They all looked back at Kyoya, who was still writing. "Don't you think it's peculiar that right after she talked to her therapist, y/n said that she felt comfortable giving us each a gift?"

Kaoru didn't know what to say, and Tamaki grabbed Hikaru's shoulder. "Listen to me." He said quietly. "You have to apologize to y/n. She wanted to do something nice for you, and you showed your gratitude like a slap in the face to her."

He looked over to you in an annoyed manner, walking over and tapping your shoulder. You flinched but still mustered up a smile. Before he could say anything, the host doors opened.

He didn't get the chance to say anything for the next three hours, as you were always busy with a new guest. Over the three hours guilt began to plague him. Why was he feeling bad? It was a harmless fact. His chest felt heavy.

Finally when they were all gone, you began cleaning as quickly as possible. He tried to slyly get closer to you, but you noticed and kept moving to a new area quickly. It was annoying him. "Hey," he called out to you in a demanding tone. "Are you mad at me or something?"

You didn't look in his direction, busying yourself with cleaning. "No. Why do you say that?"

"Tch." He didn't have patience for the feelings inside him. "Why are you avoiding me then?!"

You, as well as the other hosts, were surprised by the sudden outburst. You let out a sigh, turning to face him and giving him a smile. "Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry that you had to raise your voice at me."

"Why are you still being nice?" He said in a quiet manner, embarrassed for yelling at you for no important reason. "I just yelled at you."

"Um, I'm sure you're used to having people's full attention." You offered a shrug, your smile still sticking. "People who're raised by hearing a lot of yes's are usually bound to be more demanding. It's only natural, so it's whatever."

"No it's not!" He raised his voice again. "You should be getting mad at others being rude to you. Don't be such a pushover!"

His words stung, and you dropped your smile. "Don't call me that." You said a little forcefully.

"You know what? Next time you go to therapy, work on that!" You didn't say anything and angrily continued cleaning while everybody stared at Hikaru. Tamaki was being held back by Kaoru, while Hikaru was just staring at you. Damnit. This was supposed to be an apology, but he made things worse. "Y/n—"

"No."

Your simple demand got everyone's eyes to you. Kaoru and Tamaki held each other from how scary you looked, while Hikaru stepped a few paces back. After a few seconds he was ready to retaliate with another comment, but before he could he was pulled back by Kaoru.

"Hikaru, try to calm down." Kaoru offered.

This got him angrier. "I don't even need her to forgive me! It's always been me and you, and we never needed anyone else! Why should that change now?"

They both stopped when they noticed you sadly staring at them. You then looked back at your cart full of dishes and rolled it away. When you came back you only saw one twin bashfully staring at you.

"Look y/n, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things, and—"

You began to giggle. "Wow, I never knew people thought of me as so much of an idiot to really not think I can tell some twins apart. Nice try Kaoru." He looked at you, shocked. You kept walking, before stopping to quickly say "I appreciate you trying though."

You walked over to the other twin, who was tied up and squirming under Tamaki's foot. You motioned for Tamaki to back down, which he did as you sat down next to the tied up twin, pulling down the tie over his mouth. "What was that for boss?!"

"If you cannot respect a woman properly, you will have to handled improperly!" You flashed Tamaki a smile for the comment, and he began rolling on the ground and muttering about how cute you are.

You turned to look at Hikaru, who angrily looked away from you. "So, I get it now." You grinned.

"Get what?" He shyly looked over to you.

"Why you're so nonchalant about everybody. It's because you're used to only relying on one person your whole life." He looked at you in awe. You really understood that. "Honestly, it's pretty amazing to look at. I wish I had a life companion like that."

"But don't—"

"Nope, still not gonna talk about that anytime soon. The point is, I get why you weren't concerned about my feelings, and the important thing is that you're thinking about them now...kinda. As long as you're actually sorry then all is good."

He looked away from you and muttered a sorry. You nodded and untied him, standing up to face the others. You let out a sigh and bowed politely. "I sincerely apologize for the unnecessary drama I brought to the club."

You felt a strong hand pull on your arm to lift you back up. You looked up to see Tamaki gently smiling. "Don't think you have to put your head down for us, and stop thinking of yourself as an outlier. We all enjoy your company."

You smiled back, and remembered what your therapist and you talked about. Try to become touchy feely with them. They're all still your friends.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, quietly saying, "Thank you senpai." You pulled back and saw Tamaki as a blushing mess, causing you to quickly yank back. "Sorry! Ugh, I knew I shouldn't have listened to my therapist about being more touchy feely."

"Actually," the twins said as they came to each of your side, back to their flirty selves. "You can do that with us!"

You let out a breathy chuckle. "You guys are so bipolar and I love it." You then walked over the Kyoya. "Are we all still hanging out tomorrow?"

He wrote in his book. "Oh course. Have you decided where we'll go?"

"Yup!" You grinned. "The swap meet!"

"Swap meet?" The twins asked.

"Well, I think you guys call it a flee market here in Japan." You then looked back at the twins. "Call me tomorrow morning so we can pick everyone up and go."

"Roger!" They saluted.

"Wait, y/n," Tamaki said.

"I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable Tamaki-senpai. I'll be less touchy with you from now on."

"Wait y/n! I did like the hug, I promise!" He sobbed.

You giggled. "You don't have to lie to make me feel better. Well, gotta go. Bye guys!" And with that, you left.

"Mama~"

"Is there a problem Tamaki?" Kyoya slyly smiled.

"What if y/n won't hug me anymore?! Who else would she hug?"

"Hm. Well, she could always come to any of the other host members—"

"Are you saying you would let my little girl hug you and smother you with love?!" He barked.

"Hm, if it helps her, then I suppose." Everybody else left Tamaki crying in the music room.

---

Author's Note: Well, I don't know about you guys but this chapter felt like hot garbage to me.

---

Tag List: @krustykrabbspizza @animefan7420 @strangerthingsholland @the-dead-fucking-sea @blue-eyez-7 @i-bitch-you-bitch @sylumsart

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winterbuckytho · 4 years

Text

When Is It Over

After being missing for 48 hours, Tony Stark comes into the restaurant and is escorted to the table James Rhodey was waiting for him at. Rhodey, always a patient and understanding man wanted to give Tony an absolute earful for disappearing like that. He and Happy had been just about to raise alarms when he got the text "I'm a genius and you know that but I had major breakthrough and can't talk to anyone else. You will never guess who's bed I woke up in."

Rhodey guessed wrong 17 times then finally gave up by texting back. "Uuuugh, I hate it when you’re right! Just tell me!!"

"One Sargent James Buchanan Barnes, the Manchurian Candidate himself. TMI, but we have no boundaries, he's an awesome lay btw. I'll send you info for a meetup and brunch. I need so much coffee."

And so not long after the two sat in a little known upscale place seated at a privately reserved table on a terrace over looking the sea, Rhodey asking how in the flying fuck Tony had ended up at a dick appointment in Wakanda.

"It all started a while ago but what happened last night started the night before last. I kept having this nightmare where Barnes is bearing down on Pepper and my reactor is busted and I'm trapped in my suit, pinned to the floor like a butterfly to a card by one of those creepy bug collectors. Pepper is right there but I can never convince him to not hurt her. Sometimes it's you or Steve and I guess because I watched footage of him before he started remembering stuff... God, the way he gunned after Steve, like a pretty Ultron. And I fought him myself in trigger mode, Christ, his eyes were colder than dry ice and emptier than Bruce's apartment right now... I had it again and sitting up after with a glass of warm milk thought about that exposure therapy thing, what is it called?"

"Systemic Desensitization?"

"Right, anyway, so I called King T'challa and it turned out Barnes was awake. So i asked to see him, explain what I want to try and do because I already have 15 flavors of PTSD, I didn't need a special designer one and reassured nothing like vengeance was even remotely on my mind. I just needed to see him outside the context I had him in before in Siberia so he agreed to have me."

"Whoa, that's a stupid idea. So what happened?"

"Well, he has a convalescent suite in the mines, most secure place on the planet I bet. From himself and from others. I went straight there and was on his doorstep at 2 the next morning. He was still willing to see me and the Princess seems to have figured out how to end his following through with the programming, so he opened the door and..."

"Stark, I understand I never even knew you and I fucked up half your lif-" Bucky Barnes began.

“I don't wanna talk about that Barnes..." Tony replied.

"Then what do you want?" Buck asked shaking his head a little at a loss as to why Stark would need to see him this bad. A cold fright made his belly feel full of squirming eels as he wondered what in God's name he had done now. 'Th-they say I'm alright now but before... I hardly remember being brought to Wakanda, everything after my arm was fried off... is just a smudge of awareness. Did I hurt him bad that day, he looks okay but what did I do..?'

"I... fuck, okay, this is one of those times where I am doing a crazy rich person thing, you know. I keep having these dreams... "I remember them all." you said. That's what you said and ever since I feel like I need to face you in a.... I don't know... unfiltered way? I need to know you're not going to... hurt me or Pepper or Steve or Rh-"

Bucky stood in the doorway his blood chilled to slush in his veins. What did Tony want him to do? Act out some death wish? 'Absolutely fucking not. I will eat a gun before I endanger anyone else. I can't, I literally can't let it happen, even by the most unpredictable accident...' "Tony, what is it you mean for me to do? I'm not gonna fight you, I-i can't, I-"

"Shit, Sarge..."Tony says and aggressively goes in for a kiss. A hard confused long and breathless kiss.

"Oh my God, you did not!" Rhodey exclaimed his incredulity impossible to contain.

"You going keep talking or are you going eat your lunch and let me finish?" Stark says a little miffed even if he wouldn't say that word unironically.

"I thought you were in like, regular killer robots trouble, but this takes the cake, please do go on. I want every sordid detail. I can't tell if I'm more horrified at your taste in guys or frustrated with you for not telling me about what you were going to do."

'Oh god my heart is racing faster than that time it almost got its promised dose of metal shards before I could get the other reactor in. I might throw up. But uh yeah, I'll admit it. I'm definitely getting hard. Is this it? Is this what I need to make myself understand he's not a killing machine anymore? For an engineering genius I'm so fuckin' stupid... O-oh ah, is- is he... holding me?' Tony's mind went from one thought to the next so rapidly it almost made him dizzy. But as Barnes wrapped an arm gently about his waist and pulled him closer over the threshold and into his suite, his initial fright at his own actions became quieter and slowed till he was thinking nothing and only letting the electricity of it flow as neurons and synapses and receptors did their work. He could feel Barnes' lips tremble slightly against his as they kissed, cold metal under his palm as it slid up over the smooth curves up to the other man's shoulder, his need now becoming clearer by the second.

Bucky didn't understand what was happening and in ordinary circumstances would like to know and love someone before getting closer this way. It felt wrong at first and he was so hypervigilant he was half convinced his body was acting on its own to attack Tony until the man moaned deeply in to the kiss, the sound of it long and greatly pleased. Barnes pulled away a moment looking at Stark. "What is this? I... I’m afraid I don't understand..."

"You and me both, pal. Oh no, Steve is rubbing off on me.... But yes... I'm figuring something out. Can we go to your room?"

"I- uhm sure it's... uhm... on the left. End of the hall."

"Come on, I can make it fast."

"I... had no idea you..."

"Again. You and me both, pal. Turned out my heterosexual philandering was me performing gender conformity and trying to hide from anything real about myself. I think I swing both ways. Or multiple ways at once." Tony said leading to the bedroom. He took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair by a small table in the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

Buck sat next to him and said "Ah. Well, you're not alone in that. If I had a nickel for all the girls I had hanging on my arm while hiding the truth..."

"Wow. I mean... The length Steve was going for you... I didn't realize it was a two way street."

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' stupid for that boy. All those years... and then the first one I see his face again, the curse was lifted. Kinda like a fairytale." Barnes laughed.

Tony laughed too. A genuine happy sound he had been too anxious to properly make the last few months. Hearing Bucky say it like that, he knew they both loved the same things in their favorite star spangled dumbass. Another layer of fear melted and he grasped Bucky's metal hand. "Is this going to hurt what you got going for him? I can stop, find some other way to work through how I'm feeling about everything..."

"No, its okay. I...think I understand what you need."

"Oh yeah?"

"We were never properly introduced and until you know who a man is, he will always be a stranger."

'I'll be damned... that's kinda exactly what this is. I need to know him. I need to know him inside out like how I know Steve. It took almost dying together a few times for us to become friends. This is the express route for me and Barnes.' Stark sniffed and nodded then said abruptly, "But first I... I’m sorry. I'm sorry things went down how they did for you, I'm sorry for reacting that way when I found out our... connection. I- well I was going to say I'm sorry I blew your arm off but I'll say it when I'm sure I won't be lying. I had seen you kill a dozen people that day and I'm still scared shitless of you."

The room was quiet a moment as Bucky carefully gathered so he wouldn't burst in to tears before he could say it. "I'm sorry as well. I never got to apologize to any of their families before. So thank you too."

"Hey." Stark said quietly. He was beginning to truly feel something about Bucky other then that fever pitch fear. The time Barnes had come within a second of shooting Tony straight in the god-damned face came back to him but he didn't see that man in this moment. "I want to believe you so, come on. Make love to me and show me who you really are."

"Oo, you was being all smooth with it, okay, alright, Mr Stark, turn the swag on..." Said Rhodey.

"One of these days, Alice, right to the moon." Replied Tony.

"Ha ha, okay, I'll stop. One of these days...”

Barnes nodded and turned further to Tony reaching a hand out. He used the side of his index finger to take Stark's chin and tug lightly guiding him towards himself and beginning to kiss him in soft slow motions. "Do you want me to take charge a bit? Because I don't think I want you to make it fast."

"Hah~ I uh... don't mind, bottom, top as long as you're comfortable."

"How bout we work it both ways. I mean sure I'm big and can probably punch out that whole wall down in less than 3 minutes but I have a... softer side too."

"Being little spoon is nice..." Stark replied with a small smile pulling his tie vest and shirt off. He was endeared further to see Bucky blushing in the low warm light.

Bucky pressed him back on the bed and rolled half on top of him. His was so effortlessly strong his weight could barely be felt as he held himself from simply pinning Tony to the bed under him. Heat began to flush his body as the gentle kisses they traded became more passionate and hungry. A thrum of pleasure pulses outward from his pelvis and Bucky groaned in the ecstasy of it thinking 'Guess it's like riding a bicycle... it's all coming back to me now, huh?...uhn~' while his hips rocked forward pressing down against Tony.

It was a small gesture but so erotically charged, Stark's breath caught in his chest a second then he mirrored it with his hand sliding downwards to explore the stiffening shaft pressed against his thigh. He squeezed and stroked it marveling it a little for it's size and immediately wondering how much of Bucky's size was from the serum. He suspected from the way Barnes handled himself though that it was all Buck. He pulled the waist band of Bucky's pajama bottoms out and down exposing him. Tony's hand wrapped around it and he watched as Bucky's eyelids lowered and he breathed quietly "Oh God hahn..." pecs heaving as he gasped. Stark bit into his lower lip surprised how a sight like that could turn him on and quiet still more of his fear of the man. It humanized Barnes instantly like nothing else he could have made in the Avengers tower r & d labs.

Bucky's erection throbbed, Tony's hand feeling cool on it's hot skin as he took in the sensation just made it even more captivating but he paused a moment before raising himself to stand and pulled his pants off. As he did Tony took off the remainder of his clothes as well and soon they reconvened on the bed together. Tony waited for Buck to lie down then took a position that would serve well for oral. He was surprised to be further guided gently to straddle Barnes' face. They each used oral to the pleasure of the other and it was not long before the room was full of moans and sighs.

Barnes could never explain it but serving someone willingly in this scenario nearly made his mind melt with the extreme arousal building inside him. He moans softly his tongue massaging and circling sensitive skin, probing flicking at the entrance. He can't help how he is drawn in to the movement both soothed and excited by it, all the while feeling heat and soft textures and slick saliva slowly slathered up and down his length paired with a delicious friction he couldn't withstand in stoicism. His hips jerk and thrust up and his arms wrap around Stark's thighs pulling him down against his now wildly thrashing tongue.

"O-ohn hah! Mmm~!" Tony's breathes come fast and eratic as he tries to not be distracted from the task at hand. Which was enjoying Barnes' response to his sucking and licking of the man's cock. He is becoming increasingly intensely aroused to the point of loosing much of his control leaving him trembling and squirming as he struggles to keep his tongue moving. Finally unable to do much else he accepts Bucky's entire length in to his mouth allowing him to thrust himself in and out while Stark groans in deep pleasure at the many sensations.

Bucky came to a point where it wasn't enough and he needed to see his lovers face as well as become the more active party. He slowed his licking and paused one hand grasping Tony's arm and pulling him up to head of the bed French kissing him and enjoying the feel of their tongues sliding about one another. After a few moments they worked into missionary position. Bucky licked his fingers, massaged and stretching Stark making the man whimper and gasp pressing his head back into the pillows. Then he began to penetrate working his tip in slowly, setting urgency aside for a bit to be sure they were both on the same page.

Tony, experiencing great pleasure eagerly thrust his hips up as his calves rested on Barnes' broad strong shoulders. "I-it's okay, I'm experienced, you can go harder, go faster. Oh god~!" Even as he did it he was having a strong sense of sorrow derived from the way Bucky handled his body, with such a care, terrified of himself of hurting anyone. He knew this was because of who he was as a person and not just special treatment. Hydra had commited a deep sin against humanity by making such a man kill against his own will and every minute with the former Sargent made Stark's heart break for him, drowning the animal fear right out with the deep kindness that had stayed true in Barnes’ heart all these years.

Buck nodded now breathing heavily and started to thrust deep and hard at an almost relentless pace, grunting in a low tone his eyes scanning Tony's face drinking the pleasure he caused, this somehow just as pleasing as the direct stimulation of the sex itself. But still he maintained responsibility for both of their well being and carefully examined himself to be sure he could warn if he lost control of himself somehow. His ardor rose and swelled around him and to this he was perfectly happy to lose himself in the moment, his breaths harsh and fast as his powerful thighs and hips worked to thrust and his hands rose to lace his finger with those of both of Tony's hands holding them pressed to the pillow beside Stark's head on either side, Bucky's mouth exploring licking kissing Tony's throat and chest.

"That's it , oh don't stop, don't stop huhn!! Ah aaah hah~!" Tony groaned as he chased his orgasm.

"Yeah? Ohn~ come on, come with me, come on baby..." Bucky told him between gasps and moans speaking softly into his ear.

It was one of the best climaxes he had ever had and he supposed it had something to do with how emotional the sex had been paired with Barnes commanding him to do it. 'I didn't even feel submissive till he took the reigns, and that's kinda how I like it.' Tony thought. Panting he said "You really must have given those girls a run for their money. And Steve?"

Bucky paused and smiled. It was honestly one of the most beautiful smiles Tony had ever seen. "Actually, I'd bet my left arm he's still a virgin. He's always so focused, no one ever wonders. They think a man like that would have been taken such a thing the first time it presented itself but our history together says otherwise. His birthday wasn't always July 4th, you know?"

"Meaning he didn't always appear to be the reserved type, a no kiss and tell sort of guy. Oh my God, that explains so much. Does he think it's too dirty or something?"

"Nah. He just wants the moment to be right. And it never can be with the world at stake every other day. He says to me, 'We can move to the country or the sea shore and no one will bat a lash. The ring can be made of the perfect materials for your hand and we can just settle down, when the fight is over’. He doesn't know... living is always going to be a fight. There's always a fight. It doesn't end until your heart stops. So he'll always be waiting for the right time and I'll always be waiting for him." His gaze was a bit melancholic, a bit proud and a lot yearning. His crystalline cerulean eyes swam with tears a moment before he closed them and leaned in to kiss Tony.

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky and now he felt more real than ever, there was no monster here. Just a man who was having the most rotten luck in history. And he still fought for more each day. 'Men like them really are cut from different cloth. I always thought my dad was just being a righteous asshole when he said that but no...'

"And I'm cured! Turns out the right guy can heal you with magic peen." Strk said sarcastically.

"Pft, really?"

"Well, of that one thing. My mind is still fucked pretty hard from everything else though. But I'm glad it's finally laid to rest. Dad would have wanted it that way. Mom would forgive him, why shouldn't I?”

"Jesus, did you just mature before my very eyes?" Rhodey said with a smile reaching out to put a hand on Tony's shoulder with a squeeze.

"Yep. Let's hope I don't have to fuck everyone who has wronged me to finally put my suit away." Tony sassed back patting the hand of his best friend.

He hoped that day would come though. That Steve and Nat and Bruce and Vision and Wanda and Sam and Clint could set down their suits and anger issues and come home so they could all be worth the wait together.

#winteriron #for no real reason at all #ns.fw #Bucky X Tony

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

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Watch What Happens - Chapter 1

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Angst

Words: 2,004

Long A/N: This story was inspired by a few things: the beautiful character of Arthur Fleck; Todd Phillips asking (on a podcast) how Arthur's life might have changed if someone had put a hand on his shoulder; and reviews in which people asked some variation of the following question: "What would a put together woman like Sophie be doing with Arthur?" (That one really gets me - everyone deserves normalcy and happiness.)

"Watch What Happens" follows the timeline of the movie, with twists on some major events, and added ones.

It's been over 10 years since I've written prose that wasn't something technical or a screenplay, so I'm rusty. I popped out the 120 page draft of this story in four weeks, and am working through the second and third drafts. I'm both terrified and excited to share this with all of you!

Arthur took a long drag off his cigarette as he absorbed his counselor’s last question. The ticking clock on the wall, the fluorescent lights beating down on him, the uncomfortable closeness of the room - none were helping him come up with an answer. What did she want to hear? He seemed to get the same response no matter what he said. “Work is okay. I had a sign-spinning job this week.”

“Did you enjoy it?” Counselor Kane asked.

The memory of the beating he endured made him anxious. Stress built in his torso. His abdominal muscles twitched as he tensed. He already dreaded the fit he knew was coming. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying hard to hold back. Laughter tore its way through his throat, piercing his own ears. Reaching across his chest, he attempted to stifle the guffaws. He’d been told before that changing positions was supposed to help. It didn’t seem to this time.

Eventually, each gale became quieter, transforming into coughing, then a few quiet chokes as he regained a semblance of control. Had he enjoyed being beaten up by a bunch of teenagers and yelled at by passersby? Not really. “It was fine.”

He watched as she made notes, studying the stacks of papers and files on her desk. He knew he wasn’t giving her a lot to work with this week. But he was exhausted. Starting counseling eight months earlier hadn’t been his idea. After being released from Arkham, he’d been mandated to go to therapy once a week. It was hard to be enthusiastic about it. Most of the time he didn’t think it helped. He was still as isolated, as anonymous as before. The negative thoughts continued.

But he kept trying.

After a few moments of silence, he asked a question of his own. “Is it just me, or is it getting crazier out there?” He met her look for the first time this session.

A grim expression came across her face as she gave a nod. “It is certainly tense. People are upset. They’re struggling, looking for work. These are tough times.” She continued writing. “How about you? Have you been keeping up with your journal?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered meekly.

“Great. Did you bring it with you?”

He stiffened, lips puffing at his cigarette. A smile came across his face but didn’t reach his eyes. If he’d thought she wanted to read his journal, he would have left it at home. He’d assumed it would be private.

She didn’t seem impressed. “Arthur, last time I asked you to bring your journal with you for these appointments. Can I see it?”

He squeezed his hands together and ran them over his thighs, trying to convince them to stop bouncing. He was certain she wasn’t going to let this go. Might as well get this over with. A slight chuckle escaped him as he turned to reach into his jacket pocket.

“I’ve been using it as a - as a journal. But also a joke diary?” Reluctantly, he handed the folded, spiral notebook over. “Funny thoughts or observations.” He looked down, then, knowing what she’d find in there. “I think I told you I’m pursuing a career in stand-up comedy.”

She flipped through the tattered pages. “No you didn’t,” she said.

He paused. She didn’t remember that? “I think I did.” He noticed she hadn’t flinched once. Maybe the pornography he had pasted in there wasn’t so bad.

Kane stopped and glanced at him before reading aloud. “’I just hope my death makes more sense than my life.’”

An eyebrow raised as he huffed, a corner of his mouth lifting. She’d wanted him to write how he felt, right? That about summed it up.

She seemed concerned, but merely closed the journal and gave it back to him. “How does it feel to have to come here? Does it help to have someone to talk to?”

Arthur furrowed his brow as he exhaled another cloud of smoke. “I think I felt better when I was locked up in the hospital,” he said.

“And have you thought more about why you were locked up?”

He did his best to recall, though his memory of that time was fragmented. White walls, a straitjacket, no shoelaces. He remembered a window in the door of the observation room and ramming his head into it. “Who knows…” he sighed. He watched as Kane started packing up his file. “I was wondering if you could ask the doctor to increase my medication.”

She took out a list and read it over. “Arthur, you’re on seven different medications.” She raised her shoulders slightly. “Surely they must be doing something.

His eyes softened, letting down his guard for a moment. “I just don’t want to feel so bad anymore.”

~~~~~

Arthur stood in line at the pharmacy, hand playing with the keys in his pocket. He browsed the nearby stand with office supplies. More pens would be good - he tended to go through ink quickly with all the scribbles in his journal - but he doubted he had enough change for both them and his co-pays. They’d have to be picked up later.

Once he was up, he stepped to the laminate counter. “Hi, my name’s Arthur Fleck. I have three prescriptions to pick-up?” He handed his Gothamcare card to the pharmacist, who gave it a glance. The medications were $2.50 each. After paying, he said a quick “Thank you.” The pharmacist turned his attention to the next person.

Arthur exited the pharmacy, starting the fifteen minute trek home. As he walked, he thought about what he would do that evening. His back was still sore from the kicks it’d received after being jumped. A hot shower would help soothe the aches, but he wasn’t sure when he could fit it in.

He was already arriving home later than usual because of work. The oven would have to be preheated, as he could prepare his mother’s nightly TV dinner. Watching “Live with Murray Franklin” was a must. And he wanted to work on his comedy routine. He knew he was getting close to having a really good set. The shower could wait until morning.

He trudged up the concrete stairs near his building. Every step became heavier as he ascended. Why should you be wary of stairs? They’re always up to something! When a new joke came to him like that, he always felt a little better. He’d have to repeat it to himself until he had a chance to write it down.

After entering his apartment complex, he shuffled to the mail room and checked the box labeled “P. Fleck.” It was as empty as the run-down lobby he stood in. He went into the rickety elevator and repeatedly pressed the button for the eighth floor.

As soon as he entered the one-bedroom apartment, his mother called to him. “Happy, did you check the mail before you came up?”

Wincing, he took off his jacket and hung it on the hook. “Yeah, mom. Nothing.” He entered the dimly illuminated galley kitchen and went to the freezer. The meal he grabbed was the first one he saw, and he started the oven. While it pre-heated, he examined his new prescription bottles. He popped one open and took a tablet. Then he finally got a chance to write down the joke he’d come up with.

When the meal was done he took it into his mother’s, Penny’s, softly lit bedroom. He’d made it nice and neat for her, on a tray with cutlery and a napkin. She was sitting up in the double-bed against the headboard, waiting. He set the tray down over her legs and carefully cut the meatloaf for her.

She watched his movements. “He must not be getting my letters,” she said.

This again. She’d been going on and on about the Waynes for years. Annoyingly, her fixation had become more intense over the past few months. “It’s Thomas Wayne, mom. He’s a busy man.”

Penny shook her head dismissively. “Please. I worked for that family for years. The least he could do is write back.”

Arthur pursed his lips and gave a curt nod. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss this tonight. “Here. Don’t get all worked up. Eat.” Before sitting on the chair next to the vanity, he handed her the fork and patted her cheek. “You need to eat,” he said.

He could see his mother pointing at him with her fork out of the corner of his eye. “You need to eat. Look at how skinny you are,” she said. He ignored her concern, smoothing his brown, mid-length hair back and releasing a breath.

When he turned to her, she appeared content. “He’ll make a great mayor,” she said confidently. “Everybody says so.”

He studied her before answering. “Oh yeah?” he said, his voice adopting a playful tone. “Everybody who? Who do you talk to?”

She motioned towards the TV. “Well, everybody on the news.” Her voice became adamant. “He’s the only one who can save this city. He owes it to us.”

Arthur looked at the floor, raising his eyebrows.

At the sound of a certain familiar theme emanating from the television, Penny patted the side of the bed. “Come sit. It’s starting.”

He smiled. “Yay, Murray.” Reaching behind him, he turned off the table lamp. He hurried to his usual spot, the left side of the bed, and took off his shoes. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, quickly becoming lost in the show. He’d been watching “Live! With Murray Franklin” for as long as he could remember. The colors of the curtain, every note the band played, the beats between Murray’s jokes - he knew it all.

The excited energy of the audience surrounded him. His lungs were filled with the studio air conditioning. It took all his strength not to jump with excitement as his idol entered the stage. He tried to settle for a standing ovation - it didn’t work. He couldn’t stop himself from shouting, “I love you, Murray!”

The house lights went up and Murray squinted into the crowd. Arthur looked around before realizing Murray was talking directly to him. He’d picked him out of the crowd. The spotlight was on him in a flash. Arthur introduced himself, stammering when he said he lived with his mother. When the audience laughed at him, Murray came to his defense. Of course he had - he knew what it was like to struggle.

At first, when Murray called him down to join him on stage, Arthur resisted. But as the audience demand grew stronger, he had no choice but to relent. A wide smile crossed his face as he descended the stairs to stand shoulder to shoulder with Murray. Murray’s hand was warm when he took Arthur’s and lifted his arm in a cheer.

“That was great, Arthur! I loved hearing what you had to say. You made my day.” Murray told him.

Arthur’s voice was quiet when he answered in disbelief. “Thanks, Murray.”

Murray gestured with his arm towards the studio. “You see all this? The lights, the show, the audience, all that stuff.” He held Arthur square in his gaze, hand on his shoulder. “I’d give it all up in a heartbeat to have a kid like you.”

A lump formed in Arthur’s throat. He couldn’t speak. Murray understood in an instant and pulled him in for a hug. Relief washed over Arthur as he relaxed into the embrace.

The warmth Arthur felt went away, and he found himself back in his shabby apartment. He looked over his shoulder to his mother, who was spooning mashed potatoes into her mouth. As much as he loved Penny, as much as he enjoyed watching Murray with her, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was all his life was going to be. When he thought of the likely answer, he closed his eyes, feeling emptier than ever.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @clowndaddyfleck

#arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck #joker 2019 #arthur fleck x female reader #watchwhathappens

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fallenfurther · 4 years

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Phantom - Part 4

The final part and I finally fix the Scott I’ve messed up. I hope you’ve enjoyed this whump as much as I enjoyed exploring the topic. It seems fitting that the last part being posted on a tough day, after this whole story coming about after one. Thank you to everyone who has read it. Part 1 , 2. and 3.

Many thanks to @photowizard17 for proofreading this for me.

*****

The next day was spent setting up Isla's lab. Most of the things she needed were either available on the island or easy to ship in. Scott placed an order for what they didn't have. It was a small room, but Dad hadn't allowed one of the larger ones to be used. Isla insisted it was fine, so Scott didn't make too much fuss. There was a rescue that day, and Scott watched as Alan flew Thunderbird One. Isla stood beside him as his Thunderbird flew out the pool. They had gone straight to his room afterwards; Scott needed the time to calm down. It hurt so much, not being able to fly. Even maintenance was out of bounds for him. He was so frustrated, but Isla stood by him and helped him calm down.

The day after that was his first appointment with the psychiatrist. Isla stayed behind, using the time to focus on her project. Grandma flew him out and sat in the waiting room. He told the man about the nightmares. Scott felt better admitting them to the professional. That became the discussion of the hour. Grandma treated him to a coffee and a cake in the local coffee shop before she flew them home. It felt wrong sitting alone in the back, so he sat in the co-pilot's chair, though he had to promise not to touch anything. Just before he got up after landing, Grandma put her hand on his leg and squeezed. She smiled at him.

"I'm proud of you, Scott."

The words sunk into his heart. He wanted to get better, he had to. He couldn't stay grounded. They walked through the hanger together, before he left her to head to Isla's lab. Scott didn't miss the change in his Grandma as he left her.

*****

Scott settled into a routine. He'd have breakfast with Isla, before spending the morning in the office doing the Tracy Industries work Dad had given him, before having lunch with Isla. They'd then spend the rest of the day in her laboratory, Scott cleaned beakers and took notes to help her out. He knew so much about her project now; he could advertise it. He'd continued to donate towards her research, although now he donated his time too. It all went through the official routes and some was spent by the others in the Isla’s research group. They were all working towards the same goal, but from slightly different angles, in the hope one would get it to work. Scott just enjoyed Isla's company. They would then have dinner together before relaxing in the evening.

Twice a week he saw the psychiatrist. Whoever was free would fly him out. Mostly this was Dad or Grandma, with Virgil occasionally volunteering. John was never down, and Scott couldn't remember the last time they had spoken, but it couldn't have been that long ago. Gordon and Alan tended to stay away, apart from the one-time Alan had to take him to his appointment. Alan had changed the topic whenever Isla came up, to the point of asking for silence. Scott had been shocked but could see the way Alan gripped the controls. Scott didn't want to hurt his little brother, so he held his tongue. Those were the tough days, the days his brothers seemed distant. Alan often looked at him like he was a stranger, which hurt. Especially when he and Isla joined in the movie night. Slowly they stopped joining in, preferring to watch films alone in the round house. Scott had to admit, he was spending more and more time up there, away from his family. He would fall asleep with Isla on the couch. He had stocked up the kitchen, so they didn't have to eat with the others. Isla seemed okay with the arrangements. She wasn't bothered that his family never warmed to her. She repeated the same phrases over and over when Scott brought it up.

"It was always going to be this way, Scott."

"They were never going to welcome me."

"They're just worried, Scott. You're not well."

"You knew this would happen."

Yet Scott didn't understand. He knew his psychiatrist was trying to get him to comprehend something, but Scott just couldn’t see it. Isla wouldn't say it out loud and his family tiptoed around him. So Scott just continued with his routine. Occasionally he'd get angry at the situation, other days he'd watch Thunderbird One leave the island without him and just sit on his balcony until Isla came to fetch him. She looked after him, making sure he ate and slept. The nightmares still came. They were starting to take their toll. Months without sleep and his body and mind were tired. There were days when he just couldn't focus on his work. He knew his productivity had dropped, but he was powerless to help it. He told this to his psychiatrist. He liked talking about Isla, though Scott couldn't always take in what he was saying. There had been multiple mentions of residential treatment, but Scott refused. He wanted to stay on the island.

*****

Isla wasn't in her laboratory when he looked in having just returned from his latest therapy session. For the first time in a while his heart didn't race at the thought of not knowing where she was. His mind was still focused on something his psychiatrist had said. Something had been awoken in Scott's head. Something he didn't want to think about, something he knew he had to acknowledge before he could get better. It was the cause of the nightmares. Scott headed up through the villa and took one of the paths up to the cliff. He knew Isla would be there, gazing out over the ocean. He'd shown her this spot. This little sanctuary he often retreated to when he needed to think away from distractions. She gave him a sad smile as he sat down beside her. The wind whipped their hair and their eyes met. His hands shook.

"I can't stay, Scott."

"You don't have to go."

"Yes, I do. Your family needs you."

"But I need you."

"Do you still believe that?"

Scott stared into her sorrowful green eyes.

"Yes."

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You're lying to yourself, Scott. Admit it."

Scott's voice caught in his throat. His hands shook and he could feel the tears forming in his eyes. He didn't want to admit it. He didn't want to face the truth. His eyes turned to the sea, rough and expansive below him. Scott had to admit to the truth. That's what Daniel, his psychiatrist, had said. He had to acknowledge the truth.

"I'm dead, Scott."

Scott shook his head, eyes on the horizon. His heart breaking.

"No, you're not."

"I am. You know I am."

"I need proof."

Scott turned to her. Her black hair was flying wildly but her green eyes held steady.

"Prove to me that you are dead."

"Tomorrow."

Isla got up and left Scott, who continued to stare out to sea. The cold of the wind was seeping through his shirt, but he relished it. It matched the pain he felt. His world was starting to crumble with the tears that slipped down his face.

*****

Scott sat in Tracy One. Grandma and Virgil were in the cockpit flying him out to the meeting. It was a break in his routine. Isla was sitting in the chair next to him. Scott didn't know what to say. The conversation from last night was still fresh in his mind. The plane shuddered as it hit some turbulence.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you want me here. If you don't want me here, I could go."

Isla stood up and a familiar panic filled Scott.

"You don't want me to go."

Scott shook his head. He still wanted her. Isla was real. She was real to him. Was that not enough? Why could no one else see that she was real?

"You know I'm not, Scott."

*****

Daniel met them at the airport, but it was Isla Scott followed to a graveyard. She walked through it confidently, heading straight to one headstone. She stood before it expectantly. Scott came up behind her before kneeling to read the name etched into the black stone.

Isla Howardson

The date of death is exactly a year ago. The dread fills Scott. His lungs craved air which he pulled in with short sharp breaths. Tears filled his eyes. She's been dead a year! How? Scott fell to the grass. He knew how.

He thought back to a year ago. The rescue that had gone so horribly wrong. She'd been trapped but was unharmed. Isla had been fine until he'd turned up. She had been lively, joking about the situation like Gordon often did. She hadn't been scared. He'd decided to take her the shortest way out. Flying Thunderbird One remotely, he'd tried to lower the safety grapple in the hopes to raise them up. Not the best, but he'd done it on other occasions before with great success. That time Thunderbird One had lost air, an unexpected wind swinging her to the side as they were on the end. The cable had swung against the wall and Isla's head slammed into the cold hard rock. Scott had grabbed her, kept her from falling, but the wound bled. Her body went limp in his arms. Scott had gotten them out and he had rushed her to the nearest hospital. It had been touch and go, but the staff had sent him away. They had told him to leave her in their hands. The guilt had stayed with him. They had operated on her to try to ease the swelling on her brain. At debrief, John had told him she hadn't made it. Scott had struggled with the guilt, the events replaying in his mind. He re-lived the various occasions when people had died in front of him, or because of him. He had blocked out the trauma. Hidden it away until his family started to see it months and months later.

Scott looked up. Isla had been replaced with Daniel. More tears fell as the man bent down and placed his hand in Scott's shoulder.

"Do you remember now? Do you understand what happened?"

Scott nodded. He couldn't speak it yet, but he knew they would discuss it eventually.

"She was all in your head, Scott."

Scott nodded and resumed gazing at the name on the stone.

"I'll give you some time."

Scott just sat there. His head started to run over the past year, trying to see Isla as dead. Closing his eyes against the thoughts of what his family had seen. All those looks started to make sense. Footsteps came up behind him. He wasn't ready to go yet.

"Did you know her?" A familiar voice asked.

Scott wanted to ignore her. She wasn't real. He had spent a year relying on someone he had made up. But the question was weird, it didn't make sense. He glanced over his shoulder and there she was. Except instead of jeans and a crop top, she had on a flowery summer's dress. The only time he'd seen Isla in a dress was at the gala. The other strange thing was the glasses. Her green eyes were gazing down at him through thin black frames. There was a sadness in her expression and a warmth in her eyes. In her arms was a bunch of white and purple flowers.

"Briefly." Scott replied.

"She was a wild one, wasn't she?" A small smile came to the woman's lips.

"Yes."

Scott was confused. The woman placed the flowers down, before taking a cloth out of her bag. She started cleaning the grave. He glanced over towards the path where Daniel was standing. He nodded.

"You look like Isla."

The woman stopped. She gave him a curious look.

"You really did only meet her briefly, didn't you? She normally brags about how different we are. I'm her identical twin, Sophie."

Sophie held out her hand and he took it. She felt real. He suddenly realised he'd never touched Isla. So many times he had stopped himself just before contact was made. Suddenly he had so much to ask. He had a deep need to know Isla, the real Isla, to separate her from the person he'd made up. Sophie finished cleaning the grave and placed the flowers in front of it, before sitting beside him. He was gawking at her.

"I miss her. Did you know she was rescued by International Rescue? She would have loved that. Bragged about it. She would have told me, and anyone who would listen, every single small detail. Would have gone on about it for years."

"You still think positively about International Rescue?"

Scott had to ask. Did she even know the circumstances? They sometimes received hate mail from grieving loved ones. Was she one of them? He wouldn't blame her.

"Why would I? They were there when no one else could be. They gave her a chance. I'm glad she wasn't alone. I sent them a thank you letter a few months back, when I finally felt able to. I know it's not enough but it's all I could do."

Scott turned back to the grave. He had made up Isla as a way to cope with the trauma. One trauma too many. He had wanted Isla to live so much that he'd saved her the only way he could. He'd made her alive to him. Yet in doing so he'd forgotten himself and pushed away his family.

"Thank you."

Sophie smiled at him. "If you ever want to talk about her, just message me."

Scott nodded. He said goodbye and headed to Daniel. He took one last look back. He finally knew he was on the road to recovery.

*****

Three months of treatment and Scott had slept two weeks without a nightmare. He had consented to residential treatment after visiting the graveyard. Daniel had supported him through it, and it had helped him break the habits he'd developed over the last year. Slowly, Scott felt better. He saw a grief counsellor, who helped him come to terms not just with Isla's death, but the others he'd seen, and prepared him for the ones he was going to see. There had been so much to unravel but seeing the way his brothers reacted when they visited was worth it. He set up a weekly gaming session with Alan and was back to going to every family film night, no matter how awful Dad's film choices were. Daniel had advised against getting in contact with Sophie again, not wanting to trigger a relapse, but he had visited her research team. Scott continued to fund their work, as a way of keeping her legacy alive.

He was now back on the island and setting up a new routine. It would go out the window the minute he was cleared for duty again, but it kept him busy. He had finally taken Virgil up on the offer of a trip in their small plane. Virgil refused to relinquish the controls when Scott complained about it being a big tease. His hands itched for the control, stirred by the sensation of flying, and the adrenaline it released into his system. Virgil just grinned at him and Scott knew he was beaten. Dad had even let Scott sit in when Alan tested Thunderbird One's newly repaired engine. Scott needed to feel his ship again, and was impressed at how Alan's handling had improved. Three more weeks of waiting. In three weeks they were going to reassess him for missions. Scott was counting the days. He was on the road to recovery. Soon he'd be well enough to be a pilot again.

#thunderbirds are go #Scott Tracy #whump #hurt #phantom #grandma tracy #alan tracy #Virgil Tracy #ilsa #i fixed him #did you see it coming?

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mlovesstories · 6 years

Text

Her Husband′s New Habits HDF Part 13

Summary- Jensen and Jared’s families try to help them work through their struggles post-accident.

AN- Jared has said that people can help you and want what’s best for you, but you have to love and help yourself first. That is the view I am taking here with the boys. Hope you enjoy.

Warnings: Language, anxiety/depression, frustrated families, physical violence (sort of?), all the feels

Addy age 15

JJ age 3

Twins age 5 1/2 months

Fiz ferapy - physical therapy

Early May 2017

“Hey, Mom,” Addy said as she walked down the stairs.

“Hi, baby. You ok? You look upset,” Danneel looked toward her daughter.

“Dad’s being rude, so I was rude back” Addy picked up on the way Jensen had been acting, but she had just experienced his attitude for the first time. “I didn’t even do anything. I just asked if he wanted some water, that’s all.”

“He has been tough lately.” Danneel agreed with Addy. “I’m going to put the babies down for a nap. I don’t have to be at Jared and Gen’s to get JJ until 5. Do you want to get out of the house?” Mother and daughter both smiled.

“Sure, but who will watch the babies? Dad isn’t...” the oldest daughter trailed off.

“I know. I’ll call Grandma and see if she can come over.”

“You’re the best, Mom.”

Addy went to tell her dad that they were going out after her grandma had arrived. She walked to her parents’ room, opened the door slowly, and asked if Jensen wanted anything, but he just stared at the TV.

“Okay. Bye, Dad. “ Addy closed the door softly.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know he isn’t himself right now. Let’s get outta here and have some girl time,” Danneel said as she wrapped her arm around her oldest and descended the stairs.

“Mom, it’s been six weeks. He hasn’t improved. Maybe we could have the Padaleckis over? Jared and Dad haven’t really seen each other.”

“That might be an option. I’ll think about it, sweetheart.” Danneel drove to their favorite store.

“He just... he isn’t himself. He’s been so mean. I mean, I get it. But he is never like that. He gets mad sometimes, but it’s been when I’ve messed up,”

“I understand baby, he just needs some extra grace right now,” her mom faintly smiled at her daughter as they pulled into the shopping center. The girls enjoyed time together, but they had to go pick up JJ and then go home.

“Hey, Dad. I brought you dinner.” Addy had made Jensen’s favorite. She put the tray over his lap as he looked at her.

This is improvement. He is looking at me.

Jensen knocked over the food with the back of his hand, the bowl and its contents flying toward the wall.

“DAD!” Addy watched the bowl smash into small pieces. She looked back at him after she saw the food splattered on her clothes.

“Get out. Now. Just walk away from me.”

“But Dad, You gotta eat. Let me clean this up, and I’ll bring you more. Please.” She was holding back tears as she realized she was scared of him for the first time in her life.

“No.” He rolled over facing away from his daughter.

“I’m gonna clean up the glass. It’s sharp, Dad,” she quickly picked it all up and exited, bagging it up to throw away.

When she entered her room her legs gave out, and Addy landed on the carpet. Danneel heard the noise, so she left the three younger Ackles kids with their grandma before running up the stairs. She was going toward her room when she saw Addy on the floor, rocking herself to calm down. s

“What did he do?” Danneel crouched down to help her daughter sit up. As Addy straightened, she saw the food all over her daughter’s clothes and the bag of broken bowl glass. “He threw the food?” All Addy could do was nod, she was too weak to use her voice. “Oh, Addy. I’m so sorry. I got you.” Danneel enveloped Addy into a hug on the carpet. After she quieted, her mom suggested Addy go take a relaxing bath before dinner.

“Are you sure you won’t need it? I know all the babies’ bath and diaper stuff is in there.”

“No, we won’t. Go get cleaned up. Enjoy the quiet. Don’t worry about the food on the floor, it will get cleaned up later.”

“Thanks, Mommy.”

She only calls me that when she’s hurt.

Tom and Shep were playing on the floor when Jared rolled himself into the living room.

“Daddy!” Tom stood up and reached for his dad.

“Hey, buddy. I can’t hold you right now, dude. My arms are tired.

“Did you go to fiz ferapy?” Shep joined in on the conversation with his toddler voice.

“Why yes, I did. I gotta get strong like you guys!” Jared made them laugh.

“You alwedy ‘trong, Daddy!” Tom giggled.

“Aww, thanks.”

Gen called everyone for dinner with Odette on her shoulder.

“How was therapy?” Gen started to pass the food around the table.

“Fine, I am just really tired.” Jared knew he should have gone earlier. “Are you going to be able to take me to get my cast off next week? I forgot to tell you the doctor cleared me yesterday.”

“Oh wow. That’s amazing. If it’s when the boys are at school, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Daddy, are you getting all better?” Tom asked Jared.

“Yes, I am. Slowly but surely.” Jared was so happy that Tom noticed.

“What ‘bout Unca Jensen?” Shep asked about his uncle.

“I am not sure. We’ve both had to get better by ourselves. Hopefully we can see them soon.”

“YES!” The Padalecki boys cheered.

Addy avoided Jensen. She was scared of him. She did not deliver food to him or check on him like she had previously. She couldn’t bring herself to interact with him, and Danneel wouldn’t let her. While Danneel was at the babies’ doctor’s appointment, JJ was in her playroom coloring. She exited to go show Addy her drawing, but she saw Jensen’s door open.

“Hi, Daddy.” JJ walked in.

Jensen stared off, but turned when JJ said hello.

“Hi.” There was no emotion on his face. JJ climbed up on the bed and tried to cuddle with him, but he immediately pulled away.

“NO! GET OFF ME!”

JJ’s eyes teared up as she recovered from his arm shoving her away. Instantly, she ran out as Addy entered, trying to find her sister.

“HOW DARE YOU HURT HER! You are such a bitch!” Addy couldn’t take it anymore. Jensen expressed shock for the first time in weeks. “You will not touch her, you understand me? Why do you think I have been ignoring you, Sen?” Addy let it all out. She took a breath.

“My name is Dad to you, Addison.”

“Really? That’s funny, cuz I thought you had to be a dad in order to be called that. You’re just like the guy who left me and Mom. When you’re ready to act like a dad, tell us. I’m done.” Addy was about to leave the room when she heard him shift in the bed.

“What?” Jensen didn’t like his daughter’s disrespect.

“I’m done being scared around you. You like my sass, right? Well, I’ll give you some! It’s your choice whether you deal with the accident or not. Not ours. If I have anything to do with it, you will not go near JJ or the twins until you are better. You will not hurt them like you hurt me. You taught me that people don’t treat other people the way you just hurt JJ. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go take care of YOUR daughter because of what YOU did. Excuse me.” With that, she exited the room, found JJ, and calmed her.

Jared was cleared by the doctors to resume normal activities since he had gotten his arm and leg casts off and his other physical injuries had healed. He was in contact consistently with his psychologist and doing breathing exercises when anxious. Jensen had taken his phone call the previous week, but hung up on Jared when Jensen felt threatened.

Danneel begged Jared to come over. Jensen needed someone who had been there. Both families agreed to meet at the Ackles’ home for dinner. The Padaleckis arrived and the kids were off to run around. Gen and Addy helped Danneel set the table while Jared ascended the stairs to the master bedroom.

Jared didn’t knock. He didn’t give Jensen a chance to ignore Jared’s presence.

“Hey, dude.” Jared entered the room with a steady, calm voice.

“Go away, Jared. Did Danneel put you up to this? I’m gonna tell her to stop inviting people over!”

“Hate to break it to you pal, but you haven’t been doing much of anything,” Jared cut him off. “I doubt you’ll make good on that promise.”

“Why are you here? Go live your life. You’ve recovered. Good for you,” Jensen angrily responded.

“I’m here because my kids have missed your kids. And Gen and Danneel wanted to hang out. It was an excuse to get out of the house, “ Jared replied. “Looks like you haven’t left the room. Why don’t you get out, see the munchkins?”

“They don’t need me. I can’t do anything right.”

“Dude, get over yourself.” Jared knew this was a rough approach, but he thought Jensen needed it.

“Huh?” Jensen glared at Jared. “Get over myself? I almost died. I still have breathing issues, my memory hasn’t improved-”

“Those last few sentences were all about you. Did you notice that?”

“Don’t give me the psychology crap, Jared.”

“You have a lot to offer others, even if you are hurting. You don’t think I have never experienced what you are feeling right now? How did I get better?”

“Friends.”

“And?”

“Putting yourself above others until you were better, but I feel like shit, Jared. I don’t want to face the world. No thanks.”

“Yes, exactly. You FEEL like shit. YOU are not shit. You just feel like it. Don’t trust your feelings right now, pal. You can’t. I love you as a brother, but you have to love you too. You have a choice, make it. No more analysis paralysis for you. You choose. Do you want to wither away in a bedroom and watch your kids be scared of you? Or do you want them to see you as their hero? If you want to be alone, go ahead! Just tell Danneel so she and the kids can move on. If you want to live, truly live, you gotta fight. And fight hard. We are here for you, but it’s up to you.

“Get out of here!” Jensen sat up.

“When did you shower last?”

“Don’t, Jared.”

“Just answer the question. No judgement, just an honest question.”

“Five days ago.”

“Let’s go.” Jared walked closer to Jensen, grabbed his arm and yanked him off the bed.

“What? No! Jared! You aren’t the boss of me.” Jensen, acting like a child, was not happy with Jared dragging him toward the bathroom.

“Do you want me out of here?”

“Yes!” Jensen was almost tossed into the bathroom.

“Then shower like an adult. Here,” he grabbed a towel and washcloth and threw them at Jensen. “You have five minutes. Go.”

At the one minute mark, Jared heard a crash. He walked into the bathroom. Jensen was slouching in the tub, fully clothed with the showerhead spraying water on his face. Jensen’s eyes were red and puffy. Jared took a beat to collect himself as he took in the scene before him.

“I feel again. I feel so bad that I put my family through this. Help me?”

“Sure, buddy. Of course. Stand up.” Jared assisted Jensen in getting out of the tub. “Get cleaned up, and then we’ll fix it.”

“Okay,” Jensen huffed a sigh of relief and watched Jared exit.

After Jensen took his shower, he met Jared in the bedroom. Jensen expressed how he hadn’t been himself, and he told Jared about his meanness toward his girls. Jared listened, and he guided Jensen through what steps to take next. He asked that Jared go get Danneel.

“I’m so sorry, babe. I’m so sorry,” Jensen cried as Danneel entered their room.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I haven’t treated you well. I love you. Please know that. Thank you for sticking with me. I promise I’ll try harder.” He stood from the bed and gave her a bear hug. ‘I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“Oh, Jay. Come back to me? Please?” Danneel whimpered into his chest.

“Absolutely. You and me, always.”

Hope you liked it! Tell me what you think! We will be moving on from this time stamp now! I know the last three (I think) chapters have been one storyline, but we shall go forward! Thanks for all the likes and reblogs!

.@luci-in-trenchcoats .@katymacsupernatural .@unicornblood4ever .@ellie-andthemachine .@fangirl-moment-x .@empirialwolf .@winchesters-favorite-girl .@super100012 .@waywardnewcomer .@percywinchester27 .@waywardsuns .@supernatural-jackles .@mcallmestiles .@mandyreese .@sdavid09 .@kingandrear .@bellero @rosie-winchester @iliketowrite02 @seality @blogsnowflakeme

#supernatural #supernatural rpf #jensen x danneel #jensen x daughter #danneel x daughter #padackles #jared x jensen #jared padalecki #gen padalecki #jj ackles

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romanceinthevice · 4 years

Text

Early Refills for the Lonely Girl’s Soul

Chapter One: “Life Skills to Kill”

“The tide is high but I’m holding on.”

And the tide is made up of 75 (edit: 80mg actually, they allowed me an increase today) milligrams of thick Methadone that runs a marathon through my bloodstream. It always wins the race for nothing. It’s all for big nothing.

Welcome to the static years. I’ll be your unreliable narrator with a heart of a darkness. Did anyone else read that in University English-lit? I couldn’t get through that book. Then again, I could barely get through campus mid semester.

Die with the lie? (Insert French for yes)

I’m questionable at best. And a terrible fake crier at worst. I need my Methadone every morning or I think about stabbing the walls of my apartment. I need my coffee for the ride to the clinic or I think about crying in the middle of the parking lot. Middle-class tragedy. Spoiled since day one. I NEED. I NEED. I NEED. I need you to read this.

My death wishes used to be bad-girl-charming at 22. Cute in that worried type of way. “She’s such a mess, isn’t it fabulous? I just love how complicated Cat makes everything.” Fast forward three psychiatrists, two evictions, one overdose and a series of voided lovers. Currently they’re just a broken record of empty. No! Really! I look in the mirror and regret it instantly. These days I see right through my own smoke and static; the attempts to distract my social circle from the rattling pharmacy bottles. There’s not enough black lipstick to mute a friend who cares. But there should be. (MAC, take note.)

Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the shameful of them all.

You are. You really are.

End of Chapter One

But maybe it’s mandatory for an author to have a loud reputation. You know what?A writers persona should be shrouded in rumors anyway. Fuck it. The checkered past. An affair with their professor. Or maybe their student. A secret arrest during the holidays years back. Maybe a forgotten relative with unfinished business. A hit and run inspired by Johnny Walker Red. A blood soaked sweater in the back of their closet to remember.

I have convinced myself that every writer deserves a notoriety to keep the masses at arms length. My, my, my, the mystery!

But the troubled-addict-writer is a cliche. And writers hate cliches. But writers also hate themselves.

Well, the good ones do anyway. What? Too far? And where was I before I launched a tangent of misplaced-poor me-bullshit?

Mmmmm. Methadone. My clinic has the pink kind.

I’m not the only one hurting myself, I tell myself over and over.

I think about how dramatic I’m trying to be, wanting to sound right and profoundly right at that. I feel like a bad actress in a dying career resurrecting a classic play. No need for an encore. Just cut. Besides there’s an after-party that I need to disappear into for eight hours.

I hate introducing myself in the first blog. Anything I write feels like the wrong thing. It’s so forced, I’m convinced no one knows themselves that well. Especially not I. Isn’t it better to keep a distance? Perhaps we can be strangers who make prolonged eye contact across the room.

Hi, I’m Cat. I feel like I just moved here. (Wherever here is.) I don’t know how to describe myself without comparing myself to the status quo. So, shallow generalizations about women, here I come!

Most girls find peace in an afternoon of shopping. Or make-up at Ulta. They get lost in the aisles and yell funny remarks to their friends about fashion sensitive culture. Maybe I’m jealous. And by maybe, I mean, absolutely.

Or perhaps They stalk their ex’s social media for clues about them, as if they were solving a murder. A new Facebook friend? An instagram story that makes no sense? It’s not adding up now, but it will. Oh, it will. By the way, who the fuck is Alicia and why are you tagging her?

I’ve always been sicker than the others.i win! Damnit. As the in crowd of seventh grade used to call it, I am “fuckin’ weird, no offense.”

“None taken” I nodded back taking a knee during gym class.

I do like to shop, although always by myself in the lonelier corners of shopping centers. And duh! I stalk many lucky persons on a semi-regular basis. It’s the American way at this point, I do it for my country. But on top of these typical hobbies of the expected feminine divine, I’m orbiting a different side of town. The side that no one thinks to go to for good reason; it smells weird and has no relevance to most standards of living.

Bare with me.

I’m a curious party. I’m also a drug addict in the harshest way. The combination of these two factors equal my favorite hobby; reading pharmacology research papers. Yes, sir. complete with abstracts and hypothesis that outlines the right balance of factual accuracy. Gets me giddy just thinking about it!

I like knowing what the new, FDA approved antidepressants are categorized as. And why they aren’t as good as Prozac. But better than Paxil. And less harmful to the female orgasm. Ladies, you know what I mean. It’s a cruel game when you finally stop thinking suicidal thoughts but suddenly can’t orgasm. God is really a piece of work. A sexist piece of work, come to think of it.

These new prescriptions hold possibilities, a potential change for an addict in the screaming cycle of addiction. It’s hope, baby. I’ve got that shit, I can’t play the bad ass who doesn’t care about anything anymore. I’ve been there and got the t-shirt. I had to rip it off.

Goodbye apathy. I’m blowing you a kiss. Of death.

I’ve been a pharmacy baby since day one. Hell, I was a pharmacy baby hopeful-groupie-wannabe-poser before ever cashing my first Celexa prescription. Or maybe it was Lexapro. Oh well. Same thing. I was so excited to be an official member of all the statistics I read about.

The few. The proud. The prescribed.

It began with therapy in ninth grade for a knot of emotional problems that caused me to isolate and skip class 80% of the school day. My counselor found this worrying. I thought nothing of it. Who gives a fuck about geometry? I wanted to listen to Celebrity Skin on my disc man and walk around the outdoors. If life was a one off, I was going to sit in this meadow with Malibu blaring my ears into deafening bliss.

Girl power. I understood my selfishness on a promising level, one that spoke volumes about who I was going to be, a stunningly poised sociopath with nothing to offer most of society. Adults felt the aura on me most of the time and soon their would be meetings about my “goals” and “friends.”

No wonder people were worried. I was a walking red-flag of rage and I hadn’t even gotten my first period. I didn’t have many good reasons to be pissed off and I was usually morbid about something if I wasn’t in my bed. This wasn’t looking ideal for a freshman with zero college ambition and no interest in recreational activities that would accompany academia and no doubt introduce me to new social groups. I wasn’t athletic enough to play school sports, and I was too wrapped up in my depression (which had no real cause, according to my family).

And they were rightful in their judgment. I was better off than most of my school friends, sporting the latest lava lamp that glowed my room a deep purple or concert tickets that we would countdown the days too. I got to see Ja Rule and Ashanti up close and personal much to the dismay of my classmates deep in the bleachers bitching constant complaints.

I didn’t have it bad. And I knew it, which made me feel worse. I hadn’t the faintest idea what my problem was. I couldn’t smile anything or even pretend to for the sake of my parents, who just wanted me to have a normal teenage existence that didn’t kill every mood with some invisible, existential threat. I must have been the most annoying fourteen year old with a lava lamp.

This stubborn depression led me to weekly ninety-dollar checks that were flawlessly made out to one Dr. Pat. Pharmacy Baby’s first shrink. Awww!

We all have to start somewhere. My start was Thursday’s at 4pm. This appointment made me vacate the bu on an earlier stop than the routine one. Kids soon began to take notice. And they couldn’t comprehend why I had to see a doctor four times a month. I must have leukemia or some other young person disease they saw on Dawson’s Creek. I must have been really sick, dying really! Afterall, my sole school-bus pal Kendra saw her hair stylist more than her primary care physician and the dentist combined. Highlights are a serious thing, she would state this as seriously as a heart attack. It made me chuckle and she never understood.

Unfortunately, the punchline was that I was dying. At fourteen years old I knew this was the start of a love-hate relationship with “irony.”

At my worst I was existing and not knowing why. I was wanting to sleep life away. Sleep was the answer.

At my best I was killing my old-self, the girl who reeked of unexplained trauma and bad moods and now this annoying trademark “irony.” The metamorphosis came around the third month of counseling. An anniversary with Dr. Pat meant we drank hot cocoa and did worksheets revolving around behavior and choices. Fuck prom, I had Dr. Pat! I was blossoming.

And i was learning about the power that was “change” and how it could empower you like a butterfly. Or whatever insect fit the worksheets. I sometimes felt like a spider, but I never told Dr. Pat this.

It’s never easy to kill the old you. Even more demanding to bury the old body, and just praying it won’t come back from the dead and replace you. Hoping wasn’t enough. I had to ask with my eyes closed.

I wanted to be a butterfly. I needed my wings. (Commence the beginning of secret plans that were thoughtlessly detailed in my diary, ready to be exposed any minute to a league of jealous girls re-enacting Mean Girls). The writer inside me cringed. Privacy truly died before Twitter. No girls thoughts were safe. They would never be safe. I would need to find new ways for my secrets and dreams. Then, I would fly away into the night, into a new city of strangers, outside of a small minded town of familiars. I wouldn’t need numbers in my yearbook. I was going to find what I was looking for.

But what the fuck was I looking for. Sweet sixteen started to taste sour.

I remembered Dr. Pat told me, “Happiness is a butterfly.”

I wrote it down in my diary, much to my own dismay, hoping that it would be both safe and true.

By: Caitlin Alysabeth Thomas, March 10, 2020, “pharmacy baby blogs,” “Romance in the Vice.”

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gutterballgt · 7 years

Note

Have you gotten a FIGHT ME yet? I mean.... it's Chaleigh.... XD. Soooo.... FIGHT ME..... or NURSE ME

Leave a “Fight Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble outone character fighting with/or against another.

Leave a “Nurse Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble aboutone character healing another.

Mwahahahah, excellent! You get BOTH! Because it’s chaleigh, and we heckin LOVE it!

“I’m just saying–”

“And I said shut the fuck up, you fuckinghas-been!”

Raleigh ducked, resigned but still trying. He’d promisedHerc, who had damn near broken down with frustration and fear for his kid’sstate of mind. He’d promised to keep trying, no matter what.

Even punching.

“Will you please just listen for a–”

That punch landed,a right cross that knocked him back a step and left the inside of his cheekfeeling like raw hamburger. Dammit. It wasn’t a full-force hit, likely becausethe big ginger jerk had expected him to dodge, but it was bad enough that hetasted the copper tang of blood.

Gritting his jaw and ignoring the flare of pain in hischeek, he told himself he wouldn’t escalate this to an actual fight. Right now,it was just Chuck blowing off steam and trying to chase him off.

He would not punchback.

Unfortunately, he took a good, hard look at the asshole’sface and the smug, stubborn smirk all over his stupid, freckled face and…yeah. He would probably be punching back.

No. He had more control than this. He wasn’t the stupid,reckless kid he used to be. The stupid, reckless kid Chuck still was.

A stupid, reckless kid who was spinning out with survivorguilt and a loss of purpose and refused to seek help from the people who caredabout him or the professionals provided by the PPDC.

Dammit.

If he gritted his teeth any harder, he might actually breakone. “Chuck. I know you think you can–” Duck. “–handle thisyourself. I know–” Deflect and sidestep. “–you think it’ll go awayon its own. But it–” Dodge and fists in pockets, just in case.“Dammit, Chuck! Fucking stop and listen to me for a–”

Because Chuck had been a brawler in their hallway fight andhad been throwing heavy punches just now, Raleigh didn’t expect the big bruiserto drop down and sweep his legs. He was on his back like a flipped-over turtlebefore he truly knew what had happened, and his instincts kicked in before hisreason could throw up a protest.

The fight was fucking on.

He rolled away from the stomp at his chest and came upswinging. Now that he was fully engaged, he had no intention of losing. Therewas no world-saving mission waiting at the end of this fight to hold him back.This little prick had already punched him and landed him on his ass. Raleighhad no intention of letting him get any more.

Unfortunately, a few exchanged punches and kicks later, boththeir knuckles were split, and Raleigh landed a truly epic jab that could havebroke the brat’s nose. It was sudden and unexpected for both of them, becauseuntil then, they’d been surprisingly evenly matched. But Raleigh expected thekid to dodge and Chuck just… didn’t.

Blood pattered on the floor, loud in the sudden silence. AndChuck just… stood there. Made no move to cover his nose or stop the flow oreven really react to the hit.

Almost as if he’d wantedto be hit.

Well. Shit.

“Chuck?” He didn’t let his guard down, but he didstart to feel like a real asshole. “You okay?”

But the kid still just stood there, head slightly turned andbent down, blood all but fauceting from his nose. It was almost like Raleighhad somehow found his off switch and kicked it right through the wall.

Worried now, he stepped forward, half-expecting the whole pauseto be a ploy of some sort, but Chuck was gone. Not ready-to-pass-out gone butjust… out of it.

And his nose was still going like a low-powered geyser. Shit.

Luckily, he’d caught the brat on the way to the showersafter a stint in the jaeger bay, so it only took a moment to duck into the outerroom and grab a towel. He didn’t tilt the kid’s head back, just bundled thetowel under his nose and pinched the bridge with it to staunch the flow.

“Jesus, kid, I’m sorry.” And he was. Now.“Thought you’d dodge that one. I swear I didn’t track you down just tobreak your nose.” But he was still Raleigh Becket, so he couldn’t preventa hint of a smirk. “Again.”

It didn’t get a response. Chuck stood passive and stillunder his grip. The worry came rushing back, and he briefly debated walking thekid to the medical bay with the hopes of also sitting the kid down with one ofthe staff therapists. Unfortunately, he figured the big idiot would just cometo his senses and walk away with a few choice words. And maybe a few morepunches.

So, he carefully took his problem child by the upper arm,relieved when that big body followed along with a gentle tug. He didn’t daretake him to Chuck’s room, which was right by Herc’s. He doubted Herc wouldblame Raleigh for the fight, but the Hansen family relationship was still rockyand full of mines, so any possibility of salvaging the situation would probablyfly out the window as the kid deflected to a different sort of anger.

If he could just talk to the kid like this, alone, withoutthat hair-trigger attitude preventing even the start of a conversation….

So, keeping a careful eye on the vacant expression on thatusually arrogant face, he slowly led the way to his own bunk. He was prettysure he had ice in his mini fridge, which should at least prevent swelling andmaybe help stop the bleeding. And he could hopefully talk with the kid while heapplied the ice.

Soon enough, he’d settled that big body on the edge of his bedand lifted one of Chuck’s limp hands to hold the towel in place so he couldrummage up an ice pack. It was easy enough to crack a few ice cubes into a handtowel and wrap them up. It was slightly less easy to sit himself next to hisrival and gently urge the bloody towel down enough to press the ice pack to thebridge of his nose, but he did it.

He even reached up to cup the back of the kid’s head andkeep it from tilting back. The muscles in his legs felt as twitchy as a cat’swhiskers with the expectation that the fog would suddenly lift and Chuck wouldgo back to trying to knock his head off, but for now, he managed to play nursewithout incident.

“I really am sorry, you know.”

The big body heaved a sigh. “Yeah. I doh.”

He stifled an urge to snark at the nose-clogged tone. Thiswas definitely not the time.

“I’m just… worried about you. We all are.”

Another sigh, this time accompanied by rolling eyes inrapidly-bruising sockets.

So Raleigh sighed, too. “Chuck, c'mon. You think Idon’t have survivor guilt? You think I don’t have screaming nightmares and panicattacks and suicidal depression and PTSD?”

The kid shifted but didn’t respond. More importantly, hedidn’t jerk away from the ice on his face or the bloody towel under his nose.

“Can’t you just go to one appointment? What would ithurt? No one will think less of you.” He huffed, but held the pressuresteady. “Hell, we’re all goingto therapy. Even–”

Oops. Probably not a good idea to mention Herc right now.

Fidgeting at the near-miss, he shut his potentiallytraitorous mouth and called the conversation as good as it could be. Theyhadn’t exactly talked, but he’d at least been able to convey everyone’s concernand suggest a solution without interruption.

And all it took was a bloody nose. And several bloodyknuckles. And some bruises they’d both be feeling for a week or so.

Jesus, this fucking stubborn-ass kid.

Finally: “I doh, okay?” Another heavy sigh, andthe big jerk leaned a bit into the pressure on his face. “I doh I deed togo. It scares deh shit out of be, yeah?”

“I get that.” And he did. It had taken all ofMako’s persuasive powers to get Raleigh to go to that first appointment. Andall his own will to go to the second one. “And it’s not easy. I’m notgonna lie. It’s the single fucking hardest thing I’ve ever done to make myselfgo and keep going.”

Wounded eyes finally met his. “Does it help?”

He’d better damn well be honest. “Sometimes.” Acareful shrug. “Sometimes not. Sometimes, it almost feels worse.”

Damn if those big grey eyes looked more wounded still. Andscared. “Den why deh fuck do you keep going?”

The corner of his mouth twitched on something that wasn’tquite a grin. “Because Yancy would’ve wanted me to. And because recoveryisn’t linear. It isn’t even an upward arc. It’s a goddamn mountain range ofpeaks and valleys.” This twitch was a little closer to a grin. “Butthe peaks get higher every time, and the valleys aren’t always so low.”

Damn those eyes. Raleigh was fairly certain thatwould-be-trusting, still-scared look would haunt his dreams tonight. It was theexpression of a child seeing their parent open the closet door just before theyturn on the light to prove the monster isn’t really there.

“You swear?”

He was tempted to make a joke. But he wouldn’t.

“I swear.”

Chuck looked away and shifted, still not pulling away.“Could I baybe… sit in on one of yours? See how it goes? What toexpect?”

He hesitated, even knowing he might be undoing any slightprogress he might have made. Just… his therapy sessions were… personal.Painful, sometimes. Frustrating when he didn’t feel any progress. Did he reallywant to give Chuck Hansen, asshole extraordinaire, that kind of ammo to use onhim next time the mood struck?

But those broad shoulders started to slump, and, like hisyounger self, Raleigh did something impulsive and just hoped for the best.

“Okay.”

That got the kid’s attention, and fast. “Yeah?”

He finally managed an actual grin, crooked though it was.“Yeah. I’ll probably have to sign some consent forms, but I think mytherapist will be okay with it if she knows what it’s for.”

The relief all over the top half of the kid’s face wasextraordinary. “Thanks, bate.” The corners of those bright eyescrinkled, suggesting an answering grin. “Sorry ‘bout the cheek. And theribs.”

Surprised, he felt his eyebrows shoot up but managed to keepfrom snorting incredulously. Maybe they were past the point of cutting sarcasmand weaponized snark, but maybe they weren’t.

So: “Water under the bridge?”

The brat even went so far as to elbow him lightly withoutshoving him far enough away to mess up the nose treatment. “Good.”

Raleigh’s next appointment was three days away, so as soonas he was sure the bleeding had stopped and sent the kid on his way with theice pack and a promise to take care of the splits over his knuckles – and areturn promise to take care of his own – he sat down and typed out an emailexplaining the situation to his therapist and asking if Chuck could sit in. Theresponse was almost immediate: her assistant would have the paperwork readywhen they arrived for the session.

It was all but done.

And when Chuck knocked on his door later that evening,sheepish and shuffling his feet and bruised around the eyes, to ask if maybeRaleigh would sit with him at supper, he agreed without really thinking aboutit. They didn’t have to talk, the big dork hurriedly promised. He was justtired of sitting by himself or avoiding Herc.

Which was how he found himself sitting with Chuck at supperthat night and at breakfast and lunch the next day. Mako joined them for supperthe next night. Tendo for a quick chat over bagels and coffee the next morning.

Herc for lunch the next day. Chuck sat tense and quietbeside him… but didn’t get up and stalk away.

It was a start.

Raleigh would gladly take it.

THE END

#chaleigh #pacific rim #ask meme #these fucking clownshoes #I LOVE THEM TOO MUCH

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pinkstarbeam · 7 years

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Walking computer. Chapter one: Shocking discovery

It’s finally done! A huge thanks to @justpidgance @thenerdbeast and @tory-b for helping me finish this after a good month and a half of writers block

Lightning struck the ground miles away from the Holt family home and soon after a boom of thunder sounded, Katie Holt, the youngest of the Holt household was unfazed as she typed away on the keyboard of her desktop computer. Opening her skype after a quick youtube song search she noticed that one of her friends had messaged her, opening up the chat she quickly scanned over the simple message

HunkaHunka: Hey KatieKat: Hey, enjoying the storm? :3c HunkaHunka: Eh, I don’t really mind it, but anyway how is your history report coming? I just finished mine. KatieKat: I’m working on it as we speak, JFK was one scandalous man. HunkaHunka: Oh you’re working on your laptop then, unplugged I hope. <.< KatieKat: No, I’m on the desktop. HunkaHunka: Katie! It’s storming what if lightning hits near us and fries your computer then electrocute you? KatieKat: Hunk pls that’s just a myth, and besides the storm is miles away.

Another rumble of thunder sounded though this time it seemed louder, the storm had been miles away a mere few minutes ago, shaking her head Katie figured it must have been some kind of echo.

HunkaHunka: Did you jinx the storm or something? That thunder was crazy loud!

Katie went to type her response when out of the corner of her eye she noticed a bolt of lightning strike the power box outside, but before she could react the electricity coursed its way through the electrical circuits and into the tips of Katie’s finger, the zap so powerful that she went flying back all the way across the room, the last thing she saw before blacking out was her desktop going up in flames.

A month-long coma and multiple physical therapy appointments later Katie was back to her normal self, the incident that had happened in late November seemed so far away now that it was mid-February. She had felt weird ever since the incident but never brought it up thinking it was probably just her body still getting used to the metal pole in her left arm after she broke it from slamming against the wall that night. “Geez you’d think after almost two months my body would feel better.” she mumbled as she slouched back against the number of pillows she kept on her bed for comfort. Looking to her left arm she poked at the area that she knew was now metal and no longer bone, it made her feel like some kind of cyborg which in her book was pretty fucking cool. Picking up her laptop she felt a strange jolt in her left arm, dropping the computer back onto her bed she quickly grabbed her left arm whilst stringing out a line of mumbled curses as she waited for the pain to dull. “What the hell was that-” she began, but cut herself off as she pulled her right hand away from her left arm to reveal that her whole left inner forearm was glowing, and not just glowing but, looked like a digital keyboard. She had to be dreaming...Right? Poking the T key on the keyboard she heard a subtle tap and nearly jumped out of her skin. Grabbing her laptop she quickly opened it and brought up a blank Google Doc, looking to her left arm again she began to type out her name, once finished she felt a cold chill run down her spine as the google doc read simply ‘Katie Holt’. Shutting her laptop she quickly scrambled away from it feeling as if she had just committed some kind of crime. ‘What the hell is going on?’ she thought and picked up her phone. Once again the same jolt came once her left hand came in contact with the smartphone, hissing loudly she began to dial hunk and put the phone to her ear. “Katie! What’s up?” Hunk answered cheerfully. Katie blinked as she heard an echo “Are you in a tunnel?”. “What? No, I'm in the living room watching my twin sisters why?” her best friend asked confused. Katie’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, moving the phone a little away from her ear she spoke again “Are you sure?”. “Yeah, I mean I can snapchat you them watching lion king right now,” he laughed. The sixteen-year-old questioned how hunk heard her so clearly and why there was an echo. Sitting her phone on her bed she began to speak again. “Can you hear me?” Katie asked. “Uhm yes? Loud and clear why?” Hunk asked sounding as equally confused as she felt. Biting her lip she got up and walked to the other side of her room, she had to be slightly drowned out there right? “What about now?” the sixteen-year-old asked one more time. Her best friend groaned “Yes Katie, crystal”. “Hunk, I am literally walking down the hall to the kitchen and my phone is in my room.” she said walking out her door. “No way, did you invent something?!” he asked excitedly. Katie looked her right hand that she had been holding against her chest and moved it away “No.”. “What was that? You faded out.” Hunk replied. Feeling sick Katie brought her right hand up to her mouth as if to cover it and started speaking “And now?” “Good again.” the older boy declared. Katie started to shake horribly, what was going on? Why could she hear phone calls in her head and type on her computer using her left arm that was now a subtle green glowing keyboard for some reason. Running to her room she quickly locked the door behind her in an absolute panic as she tried to search for some kind of logical reasoning for this, but the only one she could come up with was she was dreaming and after multiple pinches she was fairly certain she was wide awake and living some kind of nightmare or one of Matt’s childish pranks that sometimes went too far. “Hunk I gotta go.” she said and hung up on Hunk before he could object. Opening her computer she began to type using the normal keyboard into Google ‘I can hear phone calls in my head’ which made her sound like some kind of crazy person. A thing called phantom ringing came up, but that wasn’t what she meant and the rest was useless voicemail and speakerphone stuff. This was something out of one of Lance’s comic books and though she enjoyed the stories she knew they were all fictional, science fiction if you will, but what was happening to her right now wasn’t fiction, she had become some kind of computerized human in the few months after the incident. “Relax Katie.” she spoke out loud to herself whilst taking a deep breath “Just go to sleep, everything will be fine after a nap.” she mumbled the last part whilst tucking herself under her green comforter. Beginning to close her eyes she blocked out any thoughts from entering her mind as she focused solely on things that made her feel sleepy, but her focus was quickly changed when there was repetitive loud knocking on her front door. ‘You have to be kidding me.’ Katie thought as she slid out from under the comforter. “Katie it’s me!” she heard Hunk’s familiar voice call to her as she descended the stairs. The brunette blinked in confusion as she opened up the door to see Hunk holding the hands of his little twin sisters “The heck Hunk!?” she said being mindful of little ears. Hunk walked in quickly and gave his sisters a bag of toys he had brought “You can’t just sound all panicked and hang up on me like that!” he declared puffing out his cheeks. Katie couldn’t help but smile a bit at her best friends behavior, he had been protective of her and Lance since they were kids so she should have seen all of this coming. “Alright, Ronda and Rachelle stay here and play with your toys alright?” Hunk said looking to the twin girls that were currently looking through the bag of toys. The brown eyed girls nodded signaling to both Hunk and Katie that it was safe to go talk in the next room, for the time being, walking into the kitchen Katie felt her anxiety rise at the thought of explaining all of this to Hunk, but she rather it be him than some doctor who would probably make her some kind of human lab rat. “Alright, so what is going on?” Hunk asked as he helped himself to a glass of water. Biting her lip the sandy-haired brunette began to search for the right words “Well you see…” she began “Something or well, I think the accident did..something to me.”. The ebony haired teen blinked “I mean you have a metal pole in your arm so.” he said sipping his water. As she began to fidget with her hands she remembered her left inner forearm had turned into a keyboard “Okay I'm going to show you something, but you can’t tell ANYONE about this, and I mean anyone Hunk, that includes Lance and your Moms.”. Sitting down his water as he felt the air get more serious the older boy then gave a nod but was confused as to what could be so serious from the girl who literally sends alien memes to the group chat at four A.M. Taking a deep breath Katie stretched out her left arm and gently poked at her inner forearm, suddenly the digital keyboard came to like and Hunk’s tan features went pale. “Th-That’s one convincing tattoo.” Hunk nervously laughed. Katie shook her head taking Hunk’s hand “Touch it.” her tone serious. Gulping he gently poked at one of the keys and noticed it turned darker like an actual digital keyboard would at touch “What the fu-” he began to yell but, Katie cut him off by slamming her hand over his mouth. “That’s not the only thing, remember the phone situation?” Katie asked not removing her hand from the other mouth. Hunk nodded. “I could hear the whole call in my head and my right wrist was acting as the transmitter.” she said removing her hand from the male’s mouth. Hunk stood silent for a good minute not sure how to exactly reply to the fact that one of his childhood best friends was now some kind of cyborg, yet not, more or so like a walking computer. “What else can you do now?” he finally asked. “I-I’m not sure…” Katie answered as she raked her sandy brown locks through her fingers “All this happened after I touched my laptop and phone.”. “Wait after you touched them?” Hunk asked. She nodded “I picked up both and in doing so I felt this really painful jolt, but after it happened I had a usable keyboard on my skin and could hear phone calls in my head.”. “Have you tried any other electronics?” he asked. Katie blinked “Didn’t know you saw me as some kind of masochist.”. Hunk rolled his eyes “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it, I mean can you like get powers from other people’s electronics.”. The sixteen-year-old shrugged “Give me your phone and we’ll see.”. “What? No!” the male squeaked as he held his phone protectively “Use Matt’s laptop or something!”. “And have his search history seared into my brain?! No way!” she nearly gagged at the thought of what could possibly be on Matt’s computer. “Wait for what?” he asked, “You would get the stuff off his computer if you touched it?”. Shrugging Katie closed her eyes “Let me check something.” she then began to think about files on her computer and suddenly a file of pictures simply title ‘friends’ popped up and began to come into view one by one as if she was looking a computer screen. “Well?” Hunk asked. Opening her eyes to answer she was quickly cut off by Hunk’s scream “What?!” “Your eyes are glowing!” he yelped. Katie looked at him like he was insane, but the noticed on the wall behind them was a projection of the picture she had been viewing when she opened her eyes, it was one of their group of friends at the beach last summer. Seeing her shock Hunk turned to see what Katie was looking at “You’re doing that?!”. She nodded and closed her eyes again thinking of something else other than the photo and when she opened her eyes there was a youtube video of a kitten playing in place of the picture as Hunk watched in astonishment and slight horror. Closing her eyes one last time she cut off any kind of thought that could project and when she opened her eyes again there was no longer any kind of projection on the wall. Hunk brought both of his hands together and held them in front of his mouth as he drew in a deep sigh “Katie this is…”. “Weird, strange, freaky?” Katie suggested. “Awesome!” the older boy declared. The brunette shook her head a bit in shock “Come again?”. She asked seeing as a minute ago Hunk looked like he was gonna faint. “I mean yeah it’s weird, but like, you’re a walking computer!” he cheered happily. “Wouldn’t cyborg fit better?” she asked. He thought for a moment “What is the definition of a cyborg?” Katie felt a strange shiver go up to her spine “Cyborg, noun, a fictional or hypothetical person whose physical abilities are extended beyond normal human limitations by mechanical elements built into the body.”. Hunk blinked “Did you just…” “I just fucking did a web search with my brain!” she squeaked holding her head as panic overtook her. “Alright calm down, it’s new information to this already shocking development, but I'm sure with time we can figure this out.” the male spoke as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Sighing Katie threw herself into one of the bar stools her family had around the breakfast bar, all of this was making her head spin, had she really turned into some kind of superhuman? It would explain why the shock hadn’t killed her, but still how was it scientifically possible? Raking a hand through her hair once more she let out an annoyed groan as she placed her head on the bar as her head continued to spin. Rhonda walked into the room, her dark brown curls bouncing around her face as she tugged at Hunk’s leg “I’m hungry!”. Shortly after Rachelle ran in “Me too!”. Hunk laughed “Well maybe big sister Pidge wants to go out to lunch with us?” he asked using Katie’s nicknamed. Katie raised her head and managed a smile at the two girls who were currently giving her puppy dog eyes “Alright, let me go get my bag.”

Entering the small diner in downtown Altea was always a pleasant experience, the air always smelled of delicious foods and the staff was friendly and polite which made you want to return in the future. Walking over to a booth both teenagers slid into either side accompanied by one of the twins, as they sat there Katie couldn’t help but feel like some kind of freak of nature that didn’t belong around normal humans anymore. Hunk noticed Katie shift uncomfortably “Katie relax, you look normal as long as you don’t, ‘ya know.” he said addressing the glowing eye situation earlier. “Know what?” a familiar voice asked. Looking up Katie seen Shiro, her brother Matt’s and Allura’s boyfriend holding two normal menus and two kid ones “I forgot you worked here!”. The older male laughed “Wow I'm hurt Katie, to think I grew up with you.”. She stuck her tongue out at him as she felt a wave of calmness wash over her, Hunk was right, as long as her powers or whatever you wanted to refer to them as didn’t act up she looked like a normal teenager. “Alright what will we be having to drink today?” Shiro asked as he pressed his pen into the writing pad. “Two fanta oranges for the twins and just a tea for me.” Hunk said as his eyes scanned the menu. “Okay, and for you Katie?” the eighteen-year-old asked. Katie thought for a moment “Just a glass of water.”. “Alright, i’ll be right back with those,” Shiro said with a smile as he walked back towards the kitchen. Relaxing back against the red-padded booth Katie watched as Ronda and Rachelle doodled on the paper menu with the supplied crayons, taking out her phone she went to turn on her camera, however when she did her vision changed to be as if she was looking into a camera. Hunk noticed how pale Katie had grown “You okay?”. Katie quickly exited the camera setting on her phone and closed her eyes, when she opened them again everything was back to normal ‘No. No, I am not.’ she thought laying her head down. Shiro approached the table and sat the drinks down before casting a look of worry at Katie “Are you okay? Should I call Matt to come get you?”. Sighing she shook her head “It’s alright guys, just tired.” she lied faking a smile. Both males gave her a look that basically said we don’t believe you, but we will let it slide for now to which Katie was very thankful for. Shiro took their orders and left for the kitchen once more leaving the twins and the teens alone once more. “Katie are you sure we shouldn’t talk to an actual-” Hunk began, but was cut off. “No!” Katie said covering her face with her hands. Her best friend frowned “Katie how else are we gonna figure this out?”. “I don’t know.” she replied honestly “All I know is that if I tell an actual doctor what is going on I'm either gonna get thrown in the loony bin or become a human lab rat.”. “Isn’t Allura studying bio-med?” he asked sipping his tea. Sighing the sandy-haired brunette glanced out the window “I don’t know Hunk.” she repeated herself. Hunk gave a sigh of his own he crossed his arms over his chest “We can’t just ignore this and you know it.” “Well can we at least just talk about it later?” Katie hissed in annoyance. Rachelle picked up her coloring page that was inside her menu and showed Katie “Look Katie! I gave the cat glasses like yours!”. A smile crossed the older girl’s face “That’s really cool Rach’!”. Ronda held up her coloring page, it was the same picture except this cat had Hunk’s signature working headband on rather than Katie’s glasses “I have mine bubba’s headband!”. Both teenagers smiled feeling the worry of all the techno mumbo jumbo leave their thoughts for a little while thanks to the girls, they even joined in on doodling on napkins with the crayons while they waited for their food. Needless to say, the afternoon was saved thanks to the twins, but Katie and Hunk both knew, in the end, they would have to really talk all of this through in order to reach a conclusion even if Katie wished to just ignore it.

When Monday came Katie felt as if the whole world was watching her and waiting for her to mess up and reveal that she was now some kind of superhuman. Staring into the full-length mirror in her personal bathroom she felt like she should look slightly different, but she didn’t she still had the same mid back length sandy brown hair, hazel eyes hidden behind reading glasses, and pale freckled skin. “I can do this.” she mumbled to herself as she nervously ran her brush through her hair one last time. “Katie!” Matt yelled from outside her bedroom door “Hurry up Shiro is almost here to take us to school!”. “Coming!” she replied and quickly gathered her things. Shiro taking the Holt siblings to school wasn’t anything new, he had been doing it since he got his permit back when Katie was in her last year of middle school so that none of them had to ride the dreaded bus anymore. “Bye Mom! Bye, Dad!” Katie yelled as she ran past the kitchen and towards the front door. “Oh! Bye, sweetie!” her Mother called back. “Have a good day sweet pea!” her Father replied after. Quickly slipping on her shoes that were at the door she then exited the house to see Shiro’s black SUV parked in the driveway, Matt already in the passenger seat as the two talked about who knew what. Opening the passenger side back door Katie climbed in “Talking about me?” she joked. “Oh definitely.” Matt played along with a snort. Shiro shook his head with a smile on his face “We were talking superheroes.”. “Never took you for a superhero fan, Shiro” Katie said buckling. “I mean I really wasn’t until Matt showed me this one, his name is Barry Allen and his super ego is known as The Flash, pretty cool dude.” he replied as he backed out. “How insane would it be if stuff like that could actually happen?” Matt added. Katie gave her best attempt at a laugh trying to hide her nerves “Yeah, it would be pretty insane.”. Keith, Shiro’s adopted younger brother and one of Katie’s best friends took his headphones out “You guys are both nerds.”. “Says the guy who's listening to five years old All Time Low songs.” Shiro snorted. Katie and Matt stifled a laugh while Keith shot a death glare towards the rear view mirror so Shiro could see it. Katie was thankful Keith was with them, he was easily her third best friend next to Hunk and Lance even if he and Lance didn’t really get along all that well, he was her cryptid and alien buddy. Once they were at the school Katie quickly hopped out of the SUV and made a b line for the school’s front doors, Keith easily keeping up with her as they entered Altea High with it’s oh so familiar smell of sub par cafeteria food and teachers lounge coffee. “Hey, Pidge!...Mullet.” Lance called out their nicknames as he approached them. Keith groaned “You’re annoying. See you first period Katie.” he said ruffling his friend hair before walking off to his locker “Man, what’s his issue?” Lance asked as he walked with Katie towards the cafeteria. Katie shrugged “I mean you could call him by his actual name you know.”. He smirked “Mullet isn’t his actual name?” he joked. She elbowed his side as a small smile crossed her face “Come on at least try to be nice McClain.”. “Ouch last name! That hurts Holt.” he said putting an arm around her shoulders as they entered the cafeteria. Removing his arm from around her Katie sat down across from Hunk and Shay at their table while the two lovebirds were sharing a cutesy moment of debating who loved who the most, it was enough to make her lose her appetite. Lance faked a loud cough causing the pair to look up “Hey.”. “Oh hey, Lance.” Hunk waved with a smile then looked to Katie “Hey to you too.”. Katie nodded and looked to the side signaling to Hunk that she needed to talk to him. “Ah, I'll be right back okay?” he said looking to Shay. Shay nodded “I need to go find Allura anyway to give her back her notes.” Hunk nodded and told Lance that he and Katie would be right back which earned a questioning eyebrow raise from the other male. “You two hiding something from me?” Lance asked. Hunk shook his head “It’s just robotics club stuff.” he lied. “Yeah!” Katie added. “And you can’t talk about it around me?” the Cuban asked. “Lance anytime we mention robotics you either fall asleep while we talk or change the topic.” she replied placing her hands on her hips. “True, alright see you guys later!” Lance said heading for the lunch line. Hunk and Katie both gave a sigh of relief and made their way outside of the school and to the back alley way where they could talk in private. “Alright, so any new discoveries?” Hunk asked leaning against the wall. Katie shook her head “No, but that doesn’t mean whatever this isn’t going to act up today.”. He nodded in agreement “Yeah I mean if you do that google search thing again you’re bound to look suspicious.” Groaning the brunette slid down the wall burying her face in her hands “Hunk what am I gonna do?”. “I really think we need to tell Allura.” Hunk answered. “Tell me what?” A familiar feminine voice asked. Katie yelped in surprise as she looked up to see the one and only Allura, her light blond nearly white hair was braided and thrown over her shoulder giving the full view of her curious and suspicious blue eyes. “N-Nothing!” Katie squeaked out waving her hands wildly “It’s nothing!”. Allura frowned “Katie you know you can tell me anything.” ‘Except this’ Katie thought. Hunk couldn’t hold it in anymore “Katie has super powers!” “Hunk!” Katie hissed. “I’m sorry, okay, but this is just weird and Allura is the only person we know who could possibly help!” He said throwing his arms out on either side of him. Allura has a small chuckle “That’s a funny joke guys, now what’s really going on?”. Katie sighed running her hands through her hair “It’s...It’s not a joke.”. The older female’s eyebrows knitted together “Katie it’s physically impossible for super powers to be well real.”. Looking around to make the coast was clear first Katie touched her inner left forearm causing the keyboard to light up “Well they are.”.

#walking computer #WA #voltron fanfic #pidge superhero au #this will be a slow burn pidgance fic so aye

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not-tryin-2-have-a-debate · 7 years

Text

i want to keep my original long draft for an essay abotu my Psych Ward Expirience somewhere so i’m post it here under readmore bc its super long

When most people hear the phrase “Psych Ward,” they think of settings in horror movies. They picture 1800’s sanatoriums, dark and crumbling asylums full of dangerous murderers. I don’t know if hollywood or a general societal ignorance towards mental disorders should be blamed more for that, but living with a serious mental illness is one of those things that “outsiders” never really seem to understand. That misunderstanding extends to treatment as well.

Therapy comes in many shapes and sizes, different types and intensities. There are different amounts of work expected from the patient, different ways the therapist can try to work through their issues, but the biggest range of differences is probably in the environments these sessions can take place in. One-on-One appointments with a therapist, Group therapy that meets once or twice a week, specific support groups, and anger management classes are all things that we in the business would call “outpatient” treatment. Some programs are dubbed as “intensive outpatient” or “semi-inpatient” programs, for when they want to hospitalize someone but aren’t allowed to for whatever reason (usually because they can’t pay for it, or the family in charge of their affairs won’t allow it, or they're actually a good and understanding doctor that sees the problem with taking a mother away from her job and kids from three days to three months depending on the program.)

Group homes, halfway houses, and stays in mental hospitals would all be on the “inpatient” or residential side of things. Some places are specifically “Crisis Hospitals,” a place where suicidal patients go for one or two days until they aren’t considered an active threat to themselves anymore. Depending on the hospital and how much they actually care, the patient may run out the clock of their stay and can sent to a different center or dropped back into society while still in the middle of their crisis. Every psychiatric hospital has protocol for patients on suicide watch and many have specific rooms for it, open cubbies in a big long hall with no doors or front walls, so the staff can be watching you at all times.

When someone’s in treatment for any mental issues extending beyond mild depression or anxiety, being hospitalized is a kind of vague threat always looming on the horizon. If they say something a little too dark, or they fly off the handle a little too often, the question comes up asking if they’re in need of more ‘intense’ care.

Most patients that have been around a while know how to quickly deflect a nervous doctor. We get told our own horror stories; tales of prisons with heavily medicated inmates, friends recounting abuse from their nurses, being locked up in a place that claimed to help them but in actuality just held their lives/times for ransom until they stopped complaining.

I’m asked about my safety every time I see my psychiatrist. I sit in Brian’s office once every three or four weeks and discuss how much of a failure I am at pretending to be a human being. Every time, near the end, he looks me in the eye with an uncomfortable grimace and asks me how safe I feel. We both know it's a strange and impossible question. I could say no for so many different reasons. Realistically I will probably hurt myself before our next appointment. There will definitely be at least a few times I think of dying, go over the details in my head. I could point to my paranoia, or my childhood, and tell him I haven’t felt safe in a long, long time. But he knows all of that, and he knows my honest answer, and we both know that him asking how safe I currently feel is just secret code for whether or not I want to be sent to a hospital. So I shrug and tell him I’ll be just fine.

I guess I was having a pretty rough time at fourteen. I say “I guess” because I can’t remember most of it, but what I do remember wasn’t particularly any worse than two years before or the year after. It was mainly just that when I was fourteen, people were noticing more, and feeling more guilty, and I was saying some wrong things at the wrong times.

I’d already been in regular therapy for years; I’d been through one group until my therapist got transferred and an “intensive outpatient therapy plan” after that. Every two weeks or so one of my parents would dig me out of bed and drive me to the one small therapy office in my town. I would wait for at least forty minutes past my appointment and then be called back to see the nurse, Mellisa. (Her name was spelled with two L’s and one S; I know about that because she would get very upset with the other staff for spelling it wrong.) Every time I went to that office, Mellisa would have me take a pregnancy test, no matter how many things about me made its results obvious, because when you’re a kid medical professionals will never trust a single word out of your mouth: especially if you’re crazy. My mother and I would go and sit in an uncomfortably warm room waiting for my psychiatrist go come online. I would study the boring, mass-produced ocean painting on the wall, finding anything to look towards but my mother. My psychiatrist at the time was an attractive nigerian man that I was only ever introduced to as Dr.O; one time I asked Mellisa what his full name was, because I felt disrespectful not knowing it, but she’d brushed it off as too hard to even try pronouncing. Dr.O lived somewhere else in the state and would see me for our appointments through a computer monitor, setup on a cheap wooden coffee table across from some chairs. My parents always complained about having to drive all the way to the office just to have a skype call; I always just wondered why they bothered setting up the fancy room, since you could hear what everyone was saying through the walls anyway. Dr.O mainly saw older patients and I could tell that he usually thought I was being overdramatic. I would keep my head down, trying my best to speak up so he could hear me through the microphone on the table (and often being chided by him and my mother to move closer to it when he still couldn’t hear me.) I would stay silent as my mother talked the whole time, giving half of the story with none of the context. I would stiffly and awkwardly be made to stand up and show a man on a screen the words carved into my arms, motion to where the cuts went on my legs. I would look at noe one and try not to think of the mostly-screamed “lecture” that was waiting for me once we were done there, where both of my parents sat me on my bed and stood there with crossed arms, telling me they weren’t angry, they were just frustrated, telling me they just didn’t understand why I did these things to myself. They didn’t understand why I couldn’t just come talk to them.

Dr.O decided once, while my mom was in the middle of telling him her version of what I was going through, that I needed to be hospitalized. I snapped back to attention, stopped picking at the scabs on my arm, asked what I did. I barely remember what the real reasoning was: something about how I was already suicidal and they were going to take me off my anti-depressants which were making me more depressed on top of causing me to gain weight, and I would probably feel even more suicidal when I was in the withdrawal from those so I needed to be monitored, or something. That’s a series of events that I’ve gone through about five or six times with five or six different drugs, and that one (paxil, for anyone wondering) wasn’t the first. I’m still not sure why that time it was any different...maybe those reasons were an excuse for some kind of psychic doctor vibe he was getting from me. My mother was, of course, completely furious for all the wrong reasons. I was calmly sent out of the room to wait with Mellisa while she screamed, asking if he was really about to lock up a fourteen year old girl with a bunch of “violent drug addicts” because I was having “some issues adjusting.” When I was younger my mother would often refer to my ‘adjustment issues’--i was never sure what it was I was trying to adjust to.

My mother called my father and I thought to myself that this was a really bad way to make me not want to die. He entered the building crying and confused, probably having only been told a vague three word explanation by my mother, leaning down at me chair, caressing my face like I was dying or like we would never see each other again. For all I knew, we wouldn’t; for all the information I’d been given, I was about to be shipped off somewhere for life. We spent probably another hour in that office, me sitting in my chair, watching everyone else argue and talk and come and go and give me weird looks for split seconds and then continue on talking about me like they’d already sent me to the terrifying gate of hell that a mental hospital apparently was. Mellisa tried to comfort me and pointed out that I was crying. She put a hand on my shoulder and I accidentally, involuntarily, blurted out for her not to touch me. My mouth says a lot of things I don’t want it to. That’s one of the times I’ve most regretted it. I was eventually told I would go home, pack my things, and drive to the hospital that night. That had set my mother off again right when she’d started to calm down-- “Tonight!?” she’d barked at Mellisa. “We can’t even wait til tomorrow?!” Imagine what a dinner that would’ve been. I assume I did as I was told. I remember packing the stuffed animal my internet boyfriend had hot-glued together for me, and a (paperback) Robert Louis Stevenson novel that I was trying to read and pretending I understood more than half of. You aren’t allowed to take a whole list of things with you to the hospital; anything that could possibly be considered dangerous to you or to anyone else is prohibited. No shoes with laces or pants with drawstrings. No mirror, hair brushes, toothbrushes, or soaps either, because the hospital would supply those. At one point I bitterly argued with a nurse that I could shove a sock in my mouth a choke on it if I really wanted to, and she threatened to take all my socks away. I decided to stay quiet on the realization I had that if I got really desperate I could just try to bite off my own tongue. The drive was two hours long and completely silent. My mother spent the first twenty minutes determined to squeeze as much as she could out of the time we had left til arrival, but I was in a confused haze and she was tired from screaming at doctors...or tired from dealing with her defective daughter. She tried to comfort me, assuring me that this would be good for me, that maybe this hospital would straighten some things out and set me on the road to true recovery after all this time spent struggling. I looked at the moonless sky outside and chose not to tell her that she had finally admitted something was wrong with me. It was almost midnight when we actually reached the hospital; we passed it once on accident since we could barely make out the sign. My body was working on its own again at this point. I took mechnical steps, looking straight ahead, hand held in my mother’s because she needed the comfort.

The sterile white walls and fluorescent lights in the front lobby were blinding coming in from the night. I squinted at the woman who came up to meet us, shook my dad’s hand, my mom’s, glanced at me for maybe half of a second. A man named Jesus took and searched my things while we were guided into a more traditional room for this setting, corporate representations of calming moods. Light blue or green walls, wicker and tweed furniture, mass-produced ocean paintings. I focussed on how much I hated paintings of the beach while my parents filled out forms, until the woman finally turned her attention to me. I was comforted and assured, again, that this would be good for me, and then assured that they legally weren’t allowed to use electro-shock therapy. I was told I would do regular groups and that the security wouldn’t use force unless I posed a violent threat. She explained expressive therapy to me, as if I’d never heard of art, while I signed a form saying I consented to being medically sedated if need be. I asked how they would sedate people. She asked if I was afraid of needles.

After signing my name a hundred times, with one of my parents signing after each, it was time for us to say our goodbyes. I’m sure I cried, but I can’t honestly say I remember.

Jesus reappeared without my belongings, telling me before I could ask that they were waiting on my new bed. He led me about three steps out of the conference room to a set of wooden double-doors, like the entrance to a school cafeteria. “This is the Ad Ward…’Ad’ stands for ‘Adolescent.’” he told me, shuffling out an ID card to unlock the doors. He quickly ushered me through and it the first door on the left before I could nothing anything other than a hardwood floor. Jesus handed me a paper hospital gown I never noticed him holding and instructed me to put in on, pointing at the spot on the floor on the small empty room where I should put my clothes. He said a woman would come in shortly to search them and me and then took his swift exit before I could ask any questions. I did as I was told as quickly as possible, nervously trying to make out the muffled voices right outside the door. The second I’d put my clothes in their neatly folded line the head nurse came into the room, making good on Jesus’s word. She went down the line of clothed I had made her, picking up and shaking out every part of my outfit without saying a word. When she was satisfied with them, she turned to me. For those of you that have never been strip searched, please know that it is every bit as strange and mortifying as you would expect, and that no matter how many times you’ve been through it, it’s going to stay just as weird. As my mostly-naked fourteen year old self squatted and coughed before the eyes of a stern older woman with a clipboard, I wondered again how this place was supposed to make life seem worth living. After that, and her metal detector being set off by my braces, I was regifted my clothes (but not my shoes) and handed off to my last stop for the night before bed. I finally got a good look at the Royal Oak Hospital Adolescent Ward: one long hallway with a nurses station near the exit, an elevator, and a long line of almost closed doors. A younger nurse took me into one of them, again completely different from the others I’d been in, and sat me down on an expensive medical equipment looking chair. The girl’s name was Rebecca, she told me sweetly, in the first actual human conversation I’d had in hours. She tried at mostly one-sided small talk with me and she gave me some kind of vaccination or shot. I remember being told it was just a precaution, but I can’t remember what it actually was. The second she was done with the mysterious syringe, though, Rebecca turned on me, bringing out a clipboard and a volley of emotionless questioned that seemed routine to her, but invasive and a little nerve-wracking to me. Asking if I ok with having a roommate or if they had to move my stuff to a different bed was one thing, but at the time I was tired and scared and every question after seemed to strike just the right nerve. She got about halfway down her sheet and asked, casually, what my sexuality was, before I started sobbing. She went back to the good Rebecca and sent me off to bed. We could finish the questions tomorrow. I wouldn’t get to really get a look at my new room and roommate until the morning, as all the other patients on ward were already asleep (or were pretending to be). I slid into the bed, noting the plastic covering on the mattress and the starched, motel room feel of the blanket. Jesus peaked in the doorway to tell me it needed to stay open at night and that he and another man would keep watch on the hall. He said if I couldn’t sleep I was allowed to come sit out there and talk with them; there was usually at least one kid that took advantage of that at some point in the night. I thanked him but chose to stay where I was, holding my handmade stuffed animal so tight it hurt my wrists and staring at the cracked door. I listened to Jesus and the other man talking quietly for hours until I finally passed out. I finally drifted off some time after Jesus lamented about how little time he was getting with his daughter after his divorce. Morning Routine in the hospital was as follows: wake up at 8 a.m. and line up in the hallway for Checks. Roll was taken and an always different nurse that didn’t know our names would check our blood pressure, temperature, and pulse. People who took meds in the morning were given their pills and some water in two small paper cups, and David, the nurse that later became my favorite, would ask everyone who they wanted to call on the phone that day. (Phone time was allowed during a break after lunch; we could only ask to call people on an approved list of phone numbers written during admission.) Then, and only then, were we allowed to cram into the one elevator that led from the ward to the basement, and eat breakfast in the cafeteria. After that our daily routine mainly consisted of therapy, one-on-one conversations with a psychiatrist, and school, if it was a weekday. My first morning I was greeted with a great enthusiasm by the eight other kids on the ward. Most of them were older than me by a year or two and I was quickly taken under their collective wing as a newbie. My roommate introduced herself (I’ll call her L) and wasted no time in getting to the stereotypical “what are you in for” conversation. Since my answer was pretty much a vague shrug she made up the difference, telling me a fabulous story embellished highly in her favor about how she punched her school’s superintendent in the face and was given the option of juvie or the hospital. We agreed that it was stupid of the school to give her that choice.

L loved to see how far she could cross the line before she got in trouble, but in the middle of testing people’s limits she would get angry and fly off the handle. She bragged to me that by the time I got there she had been restrained twice and medically sedated the second time. Eventually I had to change rooms when she started an altercation with Jesus and had to and was put on restrictions. There’s an immediate air of understanding and camaraderie between patients on a ward, even between people that kind of hate each other on a personal level. I think it makes perfect sense given the environment, and the fact that in a short time there everyone is going to learn a lot of deep and personal things about everyone else. I remember most of the kids I met there well: M was a small blond and the youngest on the ward at thirteen. He was extremely proud that he was old enough to belong with the teenagers. He was one of the most adamantly alive people I have ever met. He was very upfront about the fact that he had anger issues. I think I was the only one there who didn’t.

G is a girl that I think about very often, fondly and worriedly. She was such a genuine and lovely person, a heavy and pretty girl with long curly hair that was always smiling and talked with her hands. I worry about her because I was never able to contact her once i was out of the hospital; she didn’t give anyone contact information because she wasn’t sure where exactly she was going to end up after her stay there. Knowing what i did learn from her about her family...I still worry about her. But i also worry that trying to look her up now would be weird, but also only make me sad no matter what i found, even the best answers would feel bittersweet. I think that for now i prefer to just remember G fondly as a very dear friend i only got to spend a precious little amount of time with. R was nice but was also the most actively angry about being there, and none of us could blame him. From what he told us (looking back on it now I’m still not sure which side was truthful) his parents had forced him into his stay after blowing an argument completely out of proportion. R as I gravitated towards each other magically, drawn by our innate ability to Tell. from my experience there were always two or three kids on the ward or in the group who aren’t straight, and we would always find each other and group together as quickly as possible. D was the third or the two or three gay kids. I was told she made advances at me but I don’t remember noticing any of them. She really liked naruto and would tell me dramatic stories that I knew were mostly lies but listened to anyways because we were friends. J was a surprise in a lot of ways. He showed up very suddenly and had the staff scrambling. He was tall and wide and older than most of us, with gauged ears and angry eyes. I feel guilty for the amount of time I spent compulsively strategizing self-defense plans against him before we got to know each other. J had been in juvenile detention before coming to the ward as a way to ease his transition back out into the “real world.” The only person I didn’t really get along with was K, but I wasn’t the only one; she sat on the ‘normal people’ side of the social rift and didn’t particularly want anything to do with the rest of the group. Her choice. The rest I don’t remember by name anymore; the teenage mother who got transferred to a different hospital, a boy who would not talk talk about anything other than weed every time I heard him speak. A quiet boy who’s name started with a D and had a nurse communicate things for him.

The usual length of a stay at Royal Oaks was around a week, so people were usually coming and going every other day, making a rotating list of patients for David complained about because it complicated his job and phone call cataloguing. L left on day four, the weed guy the night before her. We vaguely celebrated when someone was left; we could have done more, but it would have meant celebrating almost every night, and jesus didn’t have enough change for the vending machine. We would say our goodbyes before we went to sleep, and part ways at breakfast. The new kids would be greeted with stories of who they replaced, and would be taken under our collective wing, and the cycle would continue. I never personally got to see them, but there was a ward for Adults somewhere on our floor and one for “Pre-Ads” (children under the age of thirteen) downstairs, with the classroom, cafeteria, and ET room. The full layout of the Ad Ward wasn’t much more complicated than what I had observed the night before; one mysterious room was the “Lounge,” a baby blue nightmare where we spent free time, and another was a shower--yes, the whole room, that was it. A twelve-by-twelve cube of brown tile from floor to ceiling, with a small drain in the middle of the floor and a sad faucet with the water pressure of slow falling tears on one wall. About a foot in from the door there was a haphazardly installed shower curtain, and right below the faucet was a wall-hanging soap dispenser, like same kind you find in most public bathrooms. I’d heard of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner before, but never All-in-1 general showering goo. Every other room in the hall was a bedroom, and most of them looked identical. Blue walls, two beds set in wooden box frames, and a strange storage-shelf-table-sink hybrid on the other wall. Each room also had a small closet with a toilet in it (two of the rooms had actual bathrooms with their own, normal shower, but most of us weren’t as lucky.) Bathroom doors weren’t allowed to be closed unless they were actively being used. We could only close the door to our room if we were changing clothes, or “with permission,” which meant we could only close the door when we were changing clothes. We were each given a plastic basket of toiletries with our name on it, given it us from a locked space in the nurse’s station after break and before we went to sleep. At some point in the afternoon we would each be called away separately to go meet with a psychiatrist for a bit; a rotating door of short indian men that usually didn’t introduce themselves. The psychiatrists were nice but impersonal, concerned but not well-informed about your situation, fitting with the general theme the hospital seemed to have going. Once one of them took me outside to have our talk, in a little fenced in area with a basketball hoop but not enough room to really try playing with it. I don’t remember anything we talked about other than how I was feeling, how I felt about the hospital, same old thing again and again.

Every night after dinner, two patients that behaved well were allowed to order 1 soda and 1 candy bar from a vending machine outside our reach in the ward. I got a twix and a coke on my first full day, and all the other kids were simultaneously very jealous and proud. The art therapy room was, like all walls in my world at that point, blue, but now with past patient’s art hung up and painted onto them all over, which was a welcome change. Art therapy only involved making art about three of the times that I went. Other times We’d have another group therapy session, or try and fail miserably to play ping pong, or be forced to watch the movie “Freedom Writers” and then talk about our feelings on it. My feelings were that it was a bad film with a nice idea.

The hospital had a Classroom right beside the cafeteria that the ad and pre-ad patients had to attend for three hours every school day. We went separately; the wards weren’t allowed to mix, especially after it turned out that a girl on our ward was the cousin of a kid on the pre-ad. Every week a new sweet older lady would be our teacher, a good samaritan volunteering her time to the hospital. Most of us were old enough that we would just work on our own homework from our school; i was lucky enough that my high school didn’t want to work with the hospital at all, and was unwilling to give me any assignments but the one’s I had brought with me. When I finished those halfway through the first day of class I was given general middle school level work packets and left to my own devices. When i finished those i started trying to help the others, usually M with his science worksheets, or I would spend as long as possible with one of the medical student interns going over a graded french test. I told G how to pronounce her name with a french accent, and she excited told every member of staff about her new name for the rest of the day.

The food, unless you were on suicide watch or “Finger Foods.” Finger Foods was the general terms for when someone had their privileges taken away after an outburst or trying to hurt themselves. You could only use crayons to write, couldn’t handle any sharp objects, were out of the running for a night time candy bar, and obviously, good only eat food with your hands in the cafeteria. Suicide watch Included all the rules of being on Finger Foods but with an added element of direct surveillance at all times; there were some people on suicide watch who were still allowed to be rewarded or participate in activities with supervision, because the restrictions were meant more for their protection than as a punishment. For my first two days at every meal a bulimic girl on my ward would be light-heartedly threatened with a feeding tube if she didn't eat. She and the nurses all seemed to think it was funny, so i just accepted it. At one point we were promised a pizza for our good behavior. We never received that pizza. I’m bitter about that to this day.

Group therapy came in two flavors: there was actual group therapy where we would do therapy, but in a group, and then there was what group normally meant, which was “a nurse is going to come talk about some topic no one cares about for a while.” riveting topics covered in our sessions included personal hygiene and the importance of not doing drugs if you don’t already do drugs, which half of us did. Actual group required more emotional effort but at least I wasn’t going to be bored to tears by the end of the hour. The ward’s main therapist was a nice guy that happened to look exactly like sigmund freud. He also happened to not enjoy it very much when i blurted out that he looked like sigmund freud. We were told multiple times a day by various nurses that shoes were a privilege and you would earn back your shows after you showed staff you were deserving of them. I never saw a single person earn their shoes, and not for lack of trying. This was a problem because if a single person on the ward was without their shoes, we weren’t allowed to have time outside. Every time I’ve ever recounted this to someone they’ve seen the Immediate flaw in this system, but it apparently slid past all members of staff on a daily basis, despite continued incredulous whining from a dozen barefoot teenagers.On the fourth or fifth day, I was whisked off with no explanation to get an EEG (a test where they part sticker attached to wired attached to a machine on your head and listen to the electricity in your brain.) i was never told the results on that test or why i was getting it done. The lady washed my hair afterwards, which maybe up for the fact that i had to miss breakfast but didn’t make up for the strip searches before and after i left the building. At the very least it made G jealous i’d gotten to wash myself with anything other than the suspicious shower goo.

At some point i started routinely being woken up about a half-hour before everyone else to a nurse that would take my blood pressure. Then i would lay there, tired and confused, until we all had to wake up and get in taken as a group anyways. I asked about this every time they did it and was never given an answer as to why this was necessary. Honestly I think they might have just been messing with me.

We were supposed to refrain from asking for personal information about each other, and told that if we wrote down another patient's email or phone number whatever it was written on would be thrown away if found. Obviously we all worked around this; one girl secretly wrote names on her stomach an hour before she was processed for release, another kid wrote phone numbers in code. For me it was as simple as just remembering people’s last names so I could find them on facebook.

The hospital existed in a kind of twilight zone half in and half out of reality, where a crisis would occur every other hour but in the between times we were all bored to tears. Surrounded by such an intense atmosphere, staff trying to force an understanding of our lives being in our own hands, and we would just sit there, nodding our hands and coloring with our crayons. In a way the hospital was a sanctuary; no family to get into screaming matches with, no classmates to end up in a fist fight with. An environment meant to be scrubbed clean of all the stressors of day to day life. Visiting hours happened twice a week; kids with visitors would go down into the cafeteria while everyone else hung around in the lounge. Usually it was just me and M waiting down there for our families; the visits were always entirely uncomfortable. My parents wanted to be sure I was being treated right, and held my hand with a guilty sadness that I didn’t really want to acknowledge. Free time didn’t offer very many options. We would play cards and coloring mandalas printed out on copy paper. I finished coloring about six of the things before a decided it would no longer be a helpful part of my mental healing journey. Our card game of choice was called “BS,” initially because it was the only game everyone who wanted to play cards seemed to know. BS became a highlight of our day, because of M. The hospital had a lot of rules about how to conduct yourself. We weren’t supposed to yell, run around, or touch each other unnecessarily. We also weren’t supposed to curse. The name of the card game “BS” is short for “Bullshit.” the rules of the game are very simple--cards are passed out and someone decides to go first. In turns, everyone goes around, putting some cards face down on the pile and announcing what value those cards supposed were (someone put down two cards and says they had two jacks, etc.). Multiple cards have to be on the same value, if you think someone is lying, putting down more cards than they had to win faster, you point to them and call out that you think they’re lying. The challenged player turns over their cards, and depending on if they were telling the truth or not one of the players in penalized. Usually the thing you yell out when you challenge someone is “Bullshit,” but we weren’t allowed to say that and were told to call it something else. M thought that this was a personal affront to him and everything that he stood for as a person. Every single free time, two or three times a day, we got into the routine of playing this card game solely to see this scene play out. We would start out normally and do as we were told, politely pointing out lies. M wouldn’t say anything. We’d go on for as long as we could, before someone would make an obvious play, putting down three jacks after someone else put two or saying they had five aces. Then, ecstatic, M would heave air into his lungs, jumping up and pointing at the other player and yelling as loudly as he could: “BULLSHIT!!”

He stopped being scolded for it around the fifth time because most of the staff thought it was hilarious. We’d stop playing the game immediately after that, our point achieved, all of us having got what we came there for. We sat in the hall and shared stories about when each of us had lost our virginity, or the first time we’d been punched in the face. He giggled at Jared as he mimicked grasping at his bleeding nose. The nurses didn’t seem to find it as funny. There was a general, noticeable disconnect between us and them, even the nurses we all likes the most. Not really because of age, or because they were on the job. It was a feeling of disconnecting, not quite meshing with normal people, that all of us already went through life with separately-- and here, where we had community, that only intensified. For many of us this was the first time that our abnormalities had really been accepted and even admired by others. Being with the other kids in my ward was a time i felt freest, even in our restricted and controlled environment. None of them cares if i’d twitch and fidget, none of them minded my shiness or were caught off guard by the things I’d say. While the nurses would squint at me suspiciously if i repeated that they said or spiralled into babbling from our conversations, my new friends had all accepted these things by the third time they came around. I was allowed to express myself and allowed to not be able to, and it felt effortless to return the favor, because who was i to judge. Little outbursts, conversations that trailed off into blank stares, people needing to go walk around or cry or smack their seat five times before they sat on it, these things were all easy to look past. It was hard, however, not to notice the trouble staff still saw with them, and not to turn on them a bit for that. My friends accepted that i spoke weird, while the nurses would roll their eyes if i stammered. G would nod understandingly when I confided in her about the past while staff would react uncomfortably, their only help in offering to make police reports i didn’t want made. If I told the others i felt like hurting myself, they would show sympathy and talk with me about it; the one time I told a nurse i was “having urges,” like we were supposed to, I was put on finger foods. This tension culminated in one particular group session. A thin older woman replaced our usual freud impersonator, loitering outside to chat with the nurses as long as possible before having to deal with us. We whispered to each other; no one had met or before, or seen her around the building. That was probably a bad sign. She told us to call her Olivia, I think. Olivia was the worst therapist I have ever seen in action, and that should be frightening. She commanded direct eye contact between her and the patient speaking, and that no one else speak until directly spoken to (interruptions are one thing, but discussion is just about the entire point of doing therapy in a group.) She gave us all a question she assumed would be simple enough for our tiny broken minds. “What do you think is keeping you here?” I started echoing the hard way she said “What” and clamped my mouth shut as soon as possible. Usually I could keep the parrot in my head around doctors, with some effort; being open with my impulses around the others made it hard to start shutting up again. She took my weird reflex as volunteering to go first, and looked to me expectantly. Its honestly the most stupid and annoying question you will ever be asked in a therapy setting. I never heard it asked in a tone other than condescending, and it's never failed to be ignorant; ‘Why do you think you’re here?’ is therapist code for ‘why are you messing up your life, and can you convince me it isn’t on purpose?’ I had a routine for this question that seemed to be shared with the others; attempt to answer honestly, listing all the things in and out of your control, your life and environment and symptoms, the fact that you are a complex human being with feelings and a past. Then, try not to sigh at your doctor and list some rehearsed line about how you guess you’re just a disrespectful child acting out for attention. I ran through it as quickly as possible, feeling restless and trying not to avert my eyes from hers or change my position too much as she would impatiently observe every movement. Usually I’d have something in my hands to funnel my stress into, but this had to be the one time I forgot to take one of my hoarded stress toys from the pile in my room. Three more kids went after me, in the same routine, with varying degrees of sass. Then Olivia set her eyes on G. The rest of us shared a silent realization and looked to each other with worry, straightening up, thinking up ways to deflect Olivia onto something else. It was too late when G shrunk, laughing nervously and not meeting the womans eyes. G’s home situation was truly heartbreaking to hear retold. I love and respect her too much to retell the details of it here, but Olivia spent what seemed like unending years of punishment pulling this story out of the girl, giving us a demeaning hush if we objected. It was surreal and we didn’t know what to do, stuck in a room with one authority figure under threat and tranquilizers, watching the friend we all openly adored the most be forced to recount such a cruel thing in such complete detail. Obviously she was crying, most of us were too. J sat alone on a couch beside Olivia’s, hands in fists, and I focussed on my fear for him instead of my fear of him. I was sitting beside G, being shushed at every concerned whine that forced its way out, unable to think of an escape plan because I couldn’t turn off my ears. It was when she reached a specific point of the story, G cut herself off and let out a sob and my hand automatically went to her shoulder. Olivia barked out, in the coldest tone I think I have ever heard, “No Touching.” The room exploded, every one of us reacting at the same time with a vicious intensity. The others jumped to their feet, protectively leaning towards G. M pointed and yelled a few choice words hand selected for our doctor, R went for the door to get other staff, someone else just cried out at her hysterically. J lunged at the woman as G slid into my arms, looking away from what was happening and sobbing into my shirt. I put my hand on her hair half to comfort her and half to make sure she didn’t look back. A dozen staff members crowded around the doorway of the room but only three actually entered; I don’t remember how it felt watching my friend try to choke out an old woman and be pulled away by security, but the picture of it in my head is crystal clear. A nurse, Cecily, had her arms out low but wide, making a barrier between us and the gasping doctor. Everyone was yelling, us at staff and staff at us. The intern that helped me with french came to guide Olivia out of the room and M screeched that he was a traitor, throwing a stack on coloring sheets in their general direction. Olivia said something under her breath as she left-- something about how we were terrible demon children, or how ‘never in all her years in the field’ something like this had happened, I think I forgot because her words aren’t worth remembering. We locked eyes for a split second before the slid out of the room, and I muffled “Occupational Hazard” into G’s hair.

For an hour after we were forced to sit and have alcohol poisoning explained to us until Freud Jr. Appeared. We were happy to see him but still furious, all on the same side against Olivia once we were finally asked what had happened. Everyone recounted the same story, agreeing loudly with each other, stopping to comfort and apologize to G and ask if she was okay. We stayed in that room for another hour, giving our testimony and demanding J shouldn’t be punished, or more begging they didn’t send him back to juvenile. Freud nodded solemnly as he listened to us the way only he and Jesus and two of the nurses did, meaning at all. He told us he’d see what he could do. We didn’t see J for the rest of the day and come morning, Jesus was his new shadow. He was on some kind of reverse suicide watch, with all the restrictions, but the league of nameless psychiatrists and hospital directors had agreed or been swayed to agree that J’s only real crime was being physically violent with staff. After dinner that night, I asked if he could have my candy bar, and threw it in the trash when I was refused.

I was discharged after nine days on the ward, feeling no more or less suicidal, no more or less recovered, not more normal but not more different. I remember Rebecca calling me into the hallway to ask if i was afraid to go home. Of course I was, I told her! I was leaving friends I had connected to more in a week than I had with anyone in years. I was returning to a town of people like the staff, strangers that didn’t understand and only pretended to want to. I would be returning to my second month of high school, gone for the last week of September, though I’d barely showed up at all before then. I asked her what I had not to be worried about, but then dropped it, because I knew we were only having this conversation in case my answer alluded that my parents weren’t safe to go home to.

The goodbyes I was given before 8 o’clock lights out were short and sweet and always, turning our attention back and forth between them and “Oh Brother, Where Art Thou!” playing on the television. I only slept an hour through that night, feeling about everything I could think to. In the morning, I was given my shoes while the others were lined up, in the middle of Checks. I waved silently at them and heard M call out “Bring a better book next time!” Before Jesus closed the double-doors behind us.

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ecotone99 · 4 years

Text

[HM] Another Man’s Jeans

‘Fuckin’ bastard!’ screamed Anto. Today just wasn’t his day, and the last 730 hadn’t been either.

‘Wassa matter with ye?’ hollered Anto’s Da, Fergal, ‘Quit that fuckin’ bellowin’ or I’ll come up there an’ give ye somethin’ te yell about!’

‘Fuckin’ aul bastard, fuckin’ sittin’ there in his fuckin’ chair thinkin’ he’s got it all fuckin’ figured out, the big fat ballix.’

Anto’d been filling in his CV, and was just done tweaking his meagre GCSE results into more promising grades when the laptop crashed, along with a whole morning’s worth of effort.

Ever since his arrest for drunk driving things had gone steadily from bad to worse. He’d been nicked one night picking his girlfriend up from the local bar where she was having a girl’s night out. It’d been him and Big Crick, and he’d only sat down to three beer when the phone had gone. Caoimhe’d fallen out with her mates, they’d gotten into it over Niamh’s new boyfriend and Caoimhe had called him a drug dealer, which the fucker was, but that’d not stopped Niamh from trying to empty a bottle of Gallo’s white all over her head.

Anto’d long harboured the suspicion it was those two having at it what alerted the PSNI as they’d pulled him over barely a mile down the road.

That’d led to rows, Caoimhe had accused him of putting her in danger, and Anto had argued that she was responsible, as she was meant to get a taxi, but after the fight insisted he come instead.

‘Sure wasn’t ‘at not me night off? Can’t a man sit down an’ have a wee swall wey his mate and be left in peace?!’

He’d lost that row, and worse rows followed after he lost his job, being unable to drive to work. He got banned for a year and ordered to go to a therapist to discuss his relationship with alcohol, plus do 200 hours community service.

The community service was rough, he’d be sent over to East Belfast to scrub the racist graffiti off the walls of a house of a black family which had been targeted by the local paramilitaries.

Anto avoided the East at all costs. Apart from seeing his mate Marty in Short Strand the place was a no go for a fella called ‘Anthony Patrick Joseph O’Hara’.

He’d taken to drinking more, especially before the community work where he brought a half bottle of vodka and kept it in his back pocket. Sure, he reckoned, if yer gonna get death threats for having to scrub off other racist death threats, you may as well do it absolutely rotten.

The therapy appointments were worse yet. He’d have to sit there and get grilled on his drinking, which he knew had increased, but had only done so in response to the situation in which he now found himself.

‘Have ye ever told someone yer not an alky?’ He’d screamed at Caoimhe one night after they’d argued over his loss of income, ‘Well, the more ye fuckin’ try te tell ‘em yer not one, the more ye fuckin’ sound like one!’

Soon after they lost the flat, Anto’d been unable to pay his half of the rent, and the social wouldn’t cover it. Caoimhe’d moved back in with her Ma and they’d stopped speaking. They broke up soon after. Anto found he couldn’t look at her anymore, and the drink was turning him nastier than a dose of watery shite.

He was forced to move back into his old room with his Ma, Da, brother and two sisters. There was no room in the house, and the room he shared with his 19 year old brother Michael was barely fit for a child, let alone two grown men.

His drinking continued unabated, and the drugs too. He’d not touched them for years, but there was no reason now not to bang in a load of coke and gobble up a few tabs. Plus, Feeney Rubberlips from down the street had some good gear on offer, and he’d sort ye out on tick too.

Anto had existed in this state for last year and a half, he’d continued trying to seek work, but each rejection justified another trip to the offie, and put him in the mind for a fat line.

However, on the jobsite he’d noticed a job he was definitely qualified for, it was even better than the one he’d lost. More pay, more benefits and what’s more, it was in walking distance from his house. The sort of thing that could get him back on his feet, maybe get Caoimhe back, and definitely lead him to getting out his Ma’s house and away from getting his head melted to fuck every single night.

‘Awh fuck Da, am on applyin’ for this here job an’ the laptop’s shat itself. Fucker wiped me applications n’all.’

‘Well why the good fuck are ye fuckin’ yelpin’ ta me ‘bout it, ye born in a barn?Jesus Christ wee lad shut yer fuckin’ hole! An’ here, yer Ma wants ye down the laundrette to pick up the washin’. It’s down Lonergan’s, all paid for, the washer’s onna fritz again.’

‘Fuck sake’ muttered Anto, getting his coat and heading out the door. ‘Ma better have stuck my fuckin’ jeans in there. Paid good money for them n’all afore Michael went an’ spilt his whole fuckin’ dinner on me, fuck sake.’

He arrived, got the clothes and headed straight back home to finish the CV, he looked and his jeans and shirts were there too. ‘Thank fuck for somethin’ today’ he thought, as sat back down again and flicked open the laptop.

Halfway through the CV and application form he got bored, and noticed his jeans were still warm from the press. He swiftly got changed into them, his legs embracing the heat. The fit felt a little off, but he thought sure they always do, always a wee bit tighter after a good wash.

Anto breezed through the form, and re-wrote his CV, remembering courses he’d been on that were applicable and training certificates he had but had forgotten he’d earned.

All in all, the application seemed to look good he thought, he even felt bothered enough to write a cover letter telling them just how he was the man for the job.

A ‘Digital Marketing Executive’, he could see it now. The past two years would be a memory. Hell, he’d even tell them about the conviction if it came up and point out how his therapy had cured him. He’d be able to spin it around, they’d maybe even think it was funny. Anto the full-time mad bastard. Anto the Pintman, nicked for only three beer. After all he thought, why let the truth get in the way of a good story!

Crick rang him up that evening, he said he’d found a hundred notes in a baggy on the ground down Cupar street. ‘Mon me n’ you’ll getta wee swall on, out for a rake of pints and we’ll hit up Rubberlips for summa ‘at good stuff. None of that cut shite.’ ‘Fuckin’ right!’ answered Anto, he’d have a good one tonight. After all, how often is it ye find notes lying about round the West? And no doubt no fucker’s gonna be raising a stink either as it was likely dodgy in the first place.

After changing shirts, and brushing his nuggets, Anto met Crick at 8pm down McEnaney’s opposite the cemetery, and the lads swiftly proceeded to commence wineing and bineing as the culchies are so aft of saying.

Soon they were joined by Marty, Wee Steeker and Bonzo who’d sourced the gear and brought a bag of workerman’s glue for desert amongst the tombstones.

When Anto awoke the next morning, fully clothed, he found he still had a full memory of the previous night, plus £20 unspent. He’d gotten a girl’s number last night, and he could remember getting with her before she left. What made it even better was that he still felt pissed, so he didn’t even have a hangover to deal with yet.

On checking his phone to see if the number had all the digits he saw he’d been called five times that morning by a number he didn’t recognise. It wasn’t the girl’s either as he’d saved hers under ‘Fuckin’ Ride’.

He phoned the number and a woman answered. ‘Hello, this is Anthony O’Hara, I’ve got a number of missed calls from you and I was just ringing up to see why.’

‘Oh! Mr. O’Hara, so glad you rang us back! We’ve be trying all morning! My name’s Sarah Waters, we’re ringing you back about your application yesterday. We think you’d be a great candidate and we’re actually having online interviews this morning if you’re still keen on the position?’

‘Umm oh, aye, woah, I wasn’t expecting that, I’ve slept in a wee bit this morning, it was a friend’s birthday last night, em, what time are the interviews at?’

‘We can fit you in in about an hour if that suits, we’re sorry about the short notice, but we really are very eager to get this position filled as soon as we can!’

‘Aye, sure, no bother that’s grand. I’ll send you my Skype now, and we can speak in an hour! Thanks again, I wasn’t expecting this, it’s really appreciated!’

‘No problem at all, we’ll contact you in an hour Anthony, and good luck!’

Hanging up the phone Anto felt strangely calm. In the past he’d be shitin’ bricks and peeling the scalp off himself with anxiety, but for some reason, today he just felt as confident as ever, and he knew what he needed to do.

The old laptop took 20 minutes to load up, but everything else got up and running without a hitch. Anto went to the bathroom, pissed, brushed his teeth, threw some water on his face and decided against a shower. He opted instead to reapply some wax to his hair, and put in some eyedrops, as his eyes were as red as strawberries.

With ten minutes to go he put on a new shirt, but left the jeans, after all, he’d be sitting down. He could even talk to them with his knob hanging out the fly, but he decided against that.

Then the call came, he answered every question, made good natured jokes, and asked more questions back. He explained the gap in his employment, he’d been caring for his Granny (dead 10 years) and he’d been helping his mate out in his landscape gardening business on the side (selling some of Crick’s homegrown weed to teenagers).

When the call ended he felt great, positive for the first time in years. Everything he’d gone through could now be put right. All his education (first one in the family at University for Digital Media) would finally be put to use, and his bad luck would finally come to an end.

Anto decided on a long, hot shower before he went downstairs to tell his Ma n’ Da. They’d be glad to hear it, and it’d get them off his back for the day too.

Fighting for the bathroom was always a constant in the O’Hara house, but as he walked onto the landing it was free, and even better, it didn’t stink of his Da’s arse!

‘I left the immersion on so there’s plenty of hot water there son’ shouted Anto’s Ma. ‘Fuckin’ A’ thought Anto, ‘This day’s goin’ grand!’

However, upon getting undressed and emptying the pockets of his jeans Anto found something he didn’t recognise. A faded and wrinkled receipt for a hammer and some nails from Brannigan’s Hardware. ‘The fuck?’ said Anto, as he looked at the label of the jeans and found they said ‘C. N. Toner’. ‘Huh? What the fuck, these here aren’t my fuckin’ jeans!’ ‘FUCKIN’ BASTARDS!! The cunts have gone an’ fuckin’ gimme some o’r cunt’s jeans. Who the fuck’s Toner, n’ why’s the cunt still labelling his fuckin’ jeans like a fuckin’ child?’

Anto’d spent good money on his jeans, they were his favourite pair and now he began to realise why they felt a bit tighter. He had no idea how he hadn’t clocked it until now, they were even a different shade of denim.

This sort of thing always pissed Anto off no end, as a child he’d lost it when his Ma had lost his favourite Celtic top and then tried to replace it with the newer version. It had lost everything he’d loved about it, the old 1993-94 away design, the fit, the smell, the feel.

He felt his hangover coming on with a vengeance. ‘What da fuck’ve I been playin’ at? What’d I say to thoseuns for the job?’ He couldn’t remember, it was all a blur. He’d probably been rambling, off his nut, he’d fucked it now, he’d made a fool of himself.

Anto began to feel very strange, his skin felt clammy, even as he was under the hot water, he didn’t feel clean, everytime he closed his eyes he kept imagining he’d lost his hands and instead they just ended in conical points. He’d overdone it this time, he was going to die. He tried switching to cold but images just flooded his head of when he was in Donegal as a child and his Da had scared him shitless with tales of the Kelpie, and then afterwards pushed him into a pool of water in the bog. He could see the mad water horse now and he stumbled and fell out’ve the shower gasping for air.

He dressed quickly, in his own clothes now, and headed downstairs. His sister’s were watching Love Island and the inane Essex accents were making him nauseous. ‘How could any cunt sound like ‘at?’ He screamed at them, as he went back to his room to lie down.

His brother was in the room, playing his music, shite homemade techno that he thought sounded sweet, but Anto just didn’t have it in him to say was shite.

He lay down, got under the covers, put his head under the pillow and lay there until he fell into a sweaty and fitful sleep.

He dreamed off everything the previous day, dreamed of Caoimhe, and the other girl he’d got with, dreamed of Big Crick and the feed of pints. Dreamed of that cunt Toner and how he’d had such a good day and night in another fella’s jeans. He woke up to his phone ringing and felt sick.

‘Hello, is this Anthony?’

‘Yeah it is, who’s speaking?’

‘Hi Anthony, this is Sarah again, Sarah Waters, I just wanted to let you know that we were absolutely delighted with your interview and we’d like to offer you the position. When would you like to start?’

‘Awh, I’m sorry, I cant...’

‘Anthony?’

‘Look, I cant, I’m not interested. Alright? It was all a fuckin’ lie, now fuck off.’

‘Excuse me, is this you Anthony? I’m very confused!’

‘Well this here won’t be confusin’ ye, get te fuck, and shut yer fat fuckin’ hole or I’ll come round there and bate the ballix out the lotta yiz, YIZ FUCKIN’ CUNTS!’

He hung up, turned his phone off and rolled over to go back to sleep.

There was no way he’d’ve been able to accept that job. Not after the circumstances. It was all fake, it was all wrong.

Another man’s dreams, in another man’s jeans

submitted by /u/ConnollyWasAPintMan [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/39s2VL2

#Blogger #Story

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testosteroneandhgh-blog · 6 years

Text

Improving My World with EHormones MD: An Honest Review

I have always been the picture of health. Wise choices in the food I eat and my exercise habits have paid off. I was an athlete in high school, and I still consider myself athletic today. Everything has been on track and I've passed all of my annual physicals with flying colors. There hasn't been a reason to change anything I have been doing because I've been in top form. I am a firm believer of the expression, "If it isn't broken, don't fix it." That all changed when I hit forty. Suddenly, it was as if I hit a wall that I couldn't climb.

Something is Unbalanced

Unsettling symptoms have set in. At first, I thought it was a bug. I took extra vitamins, stocked up on orange juice, and made sure I caught some extra hours of sleep each night. It didn't get better. I went to the local clinic and left with a clean bill of health. I didn't care what the test results said. Something wasn't right. These symptoms wouldn't go away:

Low energy

Lack of stamina

Weakness

Trouble sleeping

Fatigue that won't go away

The inability to focus

Extreme mood changes

Unexplained weight gain

Loss of sexual libido

I talked to friends, family members, and colleagues about what is going on because I was starting to get worried. I knew my symptoms weren't in my head. They weren't going away. Something was off inside my body and I was really miserable, think about it constantly. I felt like everything was out of control and I started to sink into depression. My best friend was going through a similar struggle. He said I could be experiencing low T levels. Initially, I let my ego get the best of me and I was in denial thinking, “not me! I’ve got plenty of testosterone!” It was time to suck it up and figure out what was really going on.

What's Going on Inside My Body?

I decided to do a little research. I heard all testosterone and how it could affect men's health, but I never thought it would be a problem for me. I thought I could head troubles off at the pass by making healthy choices when it came to my lifestyle. Unfortunately, a hormonal imbalance is beyond a man's control. Experiencing a drop is a normal part of getting older. The severity of that drop in reproductive hormones varies for every man. Some men will feel like it is smooth sailing as they age. They won't notice anything out of the norm as they carry on with their daily lives. Others will feel like they are on a roller coaster that is going off the track. When low T is extreme, a man is going to feel symptoms that can't be ignored. This was me.

What's the Big Deal About Testosterone?

When it comes to a man's reproductive hormone levels, I always thought they're only responsible for a strong sex drive and muscular development. While this is a vital part of any man's well-being, hormones responsible for regulating the reproductive system are responsible for so much more. They bind to androgen receptors, important proteins that are found throughout the entire body and the brain. These proteins are responsible for many aspects of a man's well-being, including:

High energy levels

Strong, healthy bones

Increased muscle mass

Mental clarity

Improved cardiovascular health

Balanced emotions and a feeling of happiness

Male reproductive hormone levels are at their peak when a man is in his 20's. As men age, their hormone levels, specifically testosterone levels, will decline. This decline in testosterone usually becomes more extreme in the 40's and 50's, and many men will experience drops in testosterone in their 30’s. For the fortunate few, symptoms may be minor or non-existent. If a man experiences a major drop, it can really throw him for a loop. Hormone replacement therapy can turn the situation around.

Is Testosterone Therapy Right For Me?

As I sank into a deeper depression, lost interest in all of my favorite pastimes, and lacked the energy to even get out of bed in the morning, I knew I had to do something. I wasn't going to the gym. I wasn't eating as well as I did in the past. My weight was creeping up higher on the scale. I felt uncomfortable in my own body. When I looked in the mirror, a stranger stared back at me. Friends and family members told me I had changed and it was time to find answers. My relationship with my partner was suffering. My best friend recommended a hormone replacement program that he was trying called EHormones MD. It appeared to be making a difference for him. I decided I had nothing to lose.

Testosterone Therapy and Hormone Therapy Research

Before committing to EHormones MD, I needed to do a bit of research and look into previous patient reviews and testimonials. I spent a few weeks reading reviews on testosterone therapy programs, outlining the expected costs associated with each provider, and even met with a few local services in my area. I needed to fully understand what I was committing to, as this was something that was going to affect my body and potentially change it for the better. If you’re like me, you’ll start by Googling EHormones MD, or any other testosterone therapy provider in your local area, to find out how legit they are, where their locations are, are there positive patient reviews, and other due diligence. Once you take this initial step, put together a short list of testosterone therapy providers that you feel are the best in your local area. Next, call each one to get a feel for how they operate. To be honest, some felt like I was dealing with used car salesmen. It seemed like they would say anything to keep me on the phone, asking more and more questions, and pushing me to commit to scheduling a consultation. In the end, EHormones MD felt right. No pushy salespeople, no gimmicks, just straight facts about what I was getting myself into and what MAY result. Notice I said “MAY”? If any service provider guarantees results run for the hills. Because everyone’s body is unique, it’s impossible to tell HOW you will react and WHAT the results will be. Keep this in mind when reading about testosterone therapy reviews and what each company has to offer.

The Reviews Checked Out, Now Let’s Get Started

I was given a website to see an overview of the program and what it offered. I could fill out an online form to make my first appointment or call. I decided to take charge and get on the phone. I was connected with a Patient Services Director who treated me with respect and compassion, while listening to me rattle through each of my symptoms. With this initial call behind me, the next step was to meet with my EHormones MD physician.

Testosterone Therapy Evaluation Here I Come

When I came in to find out if a hormone replacement regimen was for me, I had my initial consultation with an experienced doctor who knew exactly what to look for concerning my hormonal imbalance. I answered a series of questions about my symptoms, my lifestyle, and any recent changes noticed in my body or lifestyle. I shared my health history. The doctor performed a physical evaluation. I also needed to go through lab work in which blood was drawn in order to test it for a variety of issues, including low hormone levels. The doctor explained to me that other health issues can cause the same symptoms as a hormonal imbalance, including a heart condition or high blood pressure. It's important for every man experiencing similar symptoms to ask questions and keep asking until they get answers. Trying to identify low T levels should not be self-diagnosed.

My Doctor Recommended Testosterone Injections

Three days later, the test results were in. My reproductive hormone levels were the culprit for my recent symptoms. I had experienced a drop that was extreme enough to support a prescription of hormone injections. The doctor prescribed a dosage that would suit my needs and I paid form my hormone replacement program. Tracking information for my prescription was sent to my email and all of my supplies were sent overnight by the pharmacy in discreet packaging. Based on the instructions from my doctor, I began my injections. Now, when you think of injections, if you’re like me, you imagine a giant needle. With testosterone therapy injections this couldn’t be further from reality. Testosterone needles used for injections are actually really, really tiny. They are actually the same needles used for insulin injections for diabetic patients. A very small pin prick and it’s done. Initially I was a little apprehensive about the thought of injecting myself with testosterone. But after the initial injection, there was this weight that came off my shoulders and all I could think about was what was possible with my health in the future. Over the following weeks, I was strict about following the instructions outlined by my EHormones MD physician and waited for my treatment to take effect.

EHormones MD Changes My Life

I didn't notice a change overnight, but my health gradually improved. I started to feel like myself again. My energy levels were on the rise again. I picked up more hours at the gym, started building muscle, and the fat seemed to fall off overnight. My weight started to go down a little at a time. I felt better about myself. My moods improved. My libido experienced a comeback. I could breathe easier again. My body felt like it was under control. Why did I wait so long to take control over my own body?

EHormones MD Program Follow-Up

Six weeks into my program, I was emailed a Quest Diagnostics lab order form. I scheduled my lab work at the Quest location nearest to me for no additional fee. Soon after, the results were in. My doctor called to inform me that my testosterone levels were back on track. I was given the opportunity to ask questions and voice any concerns. I explained that I was highly satisfied with the program and felt much better than I had six weeks before. I was informed I would have lab work at no additional charge every six months to track my progress. I couldn't be happier with my experience with EHormones MD.

EHormones MD Changed My Life for the Better

I have been on my EHormones MD testosterone therapy program for a year and I wouldn't change a thing. In fact, I ask myself every day why I waiting so long? But, I’m moving beyond that, staying positive, and enjoying the benefit of EHormones MD.

EHormones MD is the Easy Way to Improved Hormone Levels

My supplies are sent to me as needed so that I don't have to worry about running out. If I have any problems, my doctor or EHormones support team is a phone call away and adjustments can be made in my injection levels. Since hormone replacement has become a part of my regular routine, my weight is back where it was when I was in the best physical condition of my life. I have the energy and stamina I need to keep up with my work schedule, home, and a daily exercise regimen. I'm eating well and getting the sleep I need to feel well-rested. My emotional well-being is much improved and I am enjoying sexual intimacy with my partner. Hormone replacement has restored more than balance inside my body. It's helped me to experience balanced at all levels of my life. I would highly recommend the program to any man who is experiencing symptoms that could indicate a drop in hormone levels. If you think you are going through the same thing I did, help is only a click of a button on your computer or a phone call away.

#EHormones #EHormones MD #EHormones reviews #EHormones MD reviews #ehormones.com #low t #low-t #low testosterone #testosterone therapy #testosterone #testosterone injections #hgh #hgh therapy #hormones #hormone therapy #hr #TRT

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survivinglifescurveballs · 7 years

Photo

So many of you have asked how this all happened, so here is the timeline of discovery with many of the photos and links I have uncovered. If you have any additional information I would be happy to include it here or turn it over to the detectives working this case.

What to do if you were scammed:

Report the theft to Fairfield County Sheriff’s office 614-322-5250 option 2. Add to my report #2189 filed 6/15/17 with Deputy Bennington.

Email Liz Lane from 6 On Your Side [email protected]

File a complaint with the Attorney General

Report Lion’s Martial Arts to BBB

Share this information with everyone

Please note: Not all taekwondo schools are frauds. In fact, I have received help and support by many in the taekwondo community.

March 13, 2017

Check into Lion’s Martial Arts

7861 Refugee Rd, Pickerington, OH 43147

480 822 0568

http://www.lionsmartialartsusa.com/

[email protected]

Sword Demo of the Grand Opening event posted on their website

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCLJ5oos2LBqV7KDhyEHlKUg

Enroll into Lion’s Martial Arts $400 Price includes 3 months of classes, registration, and uniforms for 2 children.

April 20, 2017

Grand Master Chong announces summer camp. 7am-5pm, includes a formal class each day at 4pm. He will provide drinks and snacks, children to bring their own packed lunch. $400/child/month. Our boys excitedly ask if they can come to the camp.

Perform a background check. Neither Laurin nor Master Chong have any criminal backgrounds, however I did find civil actions filed against Master Chong.

Civil cases in CA

https://portal.sb-court.org/Portal/Home/WorkspaceMode?p=0#CaseInformation

Civil Cases in AZ http://www.superiorcourt.maricopa.gov/docket/CivilCourtCases/caseSearchResults.asp?lastName=chong&FirstName=choon&bName=

The docket information reveals that LC’s World taekwondo is named in the suit. Through previous conversation with Master Chong I know that he had schools in Arizona. LC’s World Taekwondo has a mix of reviews on Yelp, some not very flattering.

Cassandra B. 1 star April, 2017

Master Chong took money for me and promised me Kukkiwon certification. Over a year later, nothing was delivered and he kept telling me it was coming. After several months, he stopped answering my calls. We went to talk to him in person and found out his school had moved. I went to a different location and his wife said he no longer represents the business and has nothing to do with it even though she was present when we gave him the money. To this day, 1.5 years later, he still has my money, Dan card and essay and I have nothing to show for it. He refuses to refund the money or provide certification.

Ted H. 1 star April, 2017

My son started going to LCs when he was 5 years old, he loved it. Master Ly and Chong were good instructors. After 3 years of attending, things started to change. Chong became elusive when you asked him questions and then the instruction started going down. He was at the school less and less and when he was there he was belittling to the students. At that point my son was close to a black belt test so we stayed so he could test, at a cost of over $500…which he passed. It took us almost 3 years after that to finally get his certificate. Chong told me over and over again that he was waiting for Kukkiwon to send it…then he disappeared. The school closed down and he was gone.

I tracked down his partner, Ly, and bugged her for months until she finally sent in the certification and got my son his certificate. All in all a sad experience.

Now I understand Chong has opened a new studio in Pickerington, Ohio called Lion’s Martial Arts…I hope he doesn’t screw these people as well, but I know I don’t trust him.

I decide that he must have run into financial straits, shutting down the school and these people lost their money as a result. Basically, I gave Master Chong the benefit of the doubt because he has been such a wonderful teacher with the boys.

April 21, 2017

Paid $1600 for summer camp with a credit card.

Realize the Lion’s Martial Arts facebook page is gone.

May 1, 2017

Notice all mention of Master Chong on the Lion’s Martial Arts website is gone.

June 5, 2017

Summer camp day 1

Laruin and Master Chong gave the kids a fun day of games. Sebastian and Clayton, black belts students assisting with summer camp, are also present.

June 6, 2017

Summer camp day 2

Laurin and Master Chong are not present.

June 7, 2017

Summer camp day 3

Laurin and Master Chong are not present. We are told they will be out all week for doctor appointments.

June 8, 2017

Summer camp day 4

Laurin and Master Chong are not present. I begin to get an uneasy feeling and remember the yelp reviews. “In the beginning he was great with the kids, but then he became more elusive before running off with our money.” I decide to do more research on LC’s world Taekwondo and find a very damning youtube video created by his former students.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bT9oLzX1E8

In addition to the accusations of the video is the lie Laurin tells below. Master Chong was still instructing at Lion’s Martial Arts. In fact, he was the only instructor at Lion’s Martial Arts the entire time it was open.

Laurin Carmichael1 month ago

LION'S MARTIAL ARTS IS NOT OWNED BY MASTER CHONG. THIS IS A LIE. HE WAS HIRED AS A PART TIME INSTRUCTOR AND HAS SINCE BEEN FIRED. DO NOT RUIN ANOTHER FAMILIES BUSINESS WHEN YOU DON'T KNOW THE FACTS.

It is my suspicion that Laurin took down the Lion’s Martial Arts facebook page and removed all mention of Master Chong when she found the youtube video. The timelines match up (about a month ago).

June 9, 2017

Summer camp day 4

Laurin and Master Chong are not present.

Master Chong’s certificate is missing from the wall and so is the exterior sign. I share my research findings with the two black belt students, one of which is training for the Olympics. They tell me that the computer and printer are also missing.

Later that night Clayton speaks to Master Chong. Master Chong and Laurin claim the school will need to close due to Master Chong’s health issues, but they will send an email out to all the students and “make things right.”

June 10, 2017

I drive by the school and notice the floors have been rolled up so I send a message to Laurin.

Me to Laurin: The sign is gone and the floors are rolled up at the school. Are you guys closing?

Laurin’s response: Master Chong had to fly to Korea for emergency heart surgery. That is all I know for now but after speaking with the other instructors, it is likely that the school will have to close.

Laurin mentions other instructors, but there were no other instructors. I believe she is pointing toward Clayton and Sebastian who were PAYING students.

I begin investigating the other Masters that came to our belt testing, Chuck Chirdon and Craig Clinton.

Grand Master Chuck Chirdon

Newark, Ohio

Master Chong claimed that Master Chirdon was the reason he gave taekwondo another try. Master Chong had returned home to Korea after Arizona and decided that he was ready to retire. While in the US visiting friends, Master Chirdon helped Master Chong find a place to rent and remodel the interior for the school.

Inducted into USA Martial Arts Hall of Fame April 2, 2016

Owner of Koroshi School of Defense in Newark, Ohio

http://www.koroshischoolofdefense.com

https://www.linkedin.com/in/chuck-chirdon-19617712/

http://stjohnsnewark.org/2015%20Web%20June%20Chimes.pdf

Grand Master Craig Clinton

Painesville, Ohio

Inducted into USA Martial Arts Hall of Fame April 2, 2016

https://www.facebook.com/craig.clinton.14

June 11, 2017

Again, I stop by the school and this is posted. Sadly I know many students arrived with no advanced notice.

To all Lion’s Martial Arts students and parents:

Recently Grand Master Chong was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. Additional testing this week has revealed that this condition is even more critical than was thought at the time of diagnosis.

Grand Master Chong’s health and wellbeing is now in grave danger and he must now take immediate action to prevent greater damage to his heart and the possibility of premature death.

This immediate action and the subsequent therapy requires that he remain in professional care for an extended period of time.

Due to the nature of the treatment and recuperation, it is regretful that the Lion’s Martial Arts studio must immediately terminate all classes and activity. We are sad that we must take this action at this time when many of the students were progressing so well under the teaching of Master Chong. We are hopeful that all involved with the studio will understand this action and the need to act immediately in order to prevent the worst possible outcome.

Master Chong wishes the very best to all of his students and expresses his gratitude to the parents for allowing him to influence their children in a positive manner to help them grow. Hopefully their Taekwondo training will help them in all that they do.

Regretfully,

Grand Master Chong and Laurin

June 12, 2017

I post the school closing notice to facebook. A facebook friend suggests that I contact the Arizona Taekwondo Association as Master Chong was dismissed from Arizona Taekwondo Association for accusations of theft.

Arizona taekwondo Association’s response

Wow I am so disappointed to hear your situation. Wanted to reach back out to you to let you know that this message has been received and I will be sure to relay this back to the other state association members.

Master Chong was for a brief time President of AZTA but we voted him out when there were accusations of him receiving black belt testing fees without issuing kukkiwon certificates. Last thing I heard was that he went back to Korea. This is the first time hearing he opened a studio let alone in Ohio. I can refer you to one of his assistant instructors who pursued legal action against him here in AZ.

Once again this is a terrible experience no family should experience with a martial arts school. I will speak with the other state association member and help get to the bottom of this.

Sincere regards,

Anthony Nguyen

AZTA Treasurer

I contact 6 On Your Side

June 13, 2017

Liz Lane from 6 On Your Side interviews me. She planned on doing some additional research and asking channel 6 how far they wanted to go with this story.

I contact the Ohio Attorney, BBB, and the Ohio Taekwondo Association.

Additionally, I contact Grand Master Chirdon to ask if he is aware of what is going on.

Hello,

I wondered if you knew that Master Chong shutdown Lion's Martial Arts with no notice to his students after collecting thousands of dollars for summer camp?

Are you further aware that Master Chong was dismissed from the Arizona Taekwondo Association for taking black belt testing money from his students, but never producing the kukiwon certificate?

Master Chong spoke of your help getting him into the Pickerington studio regularly. After much investigation, I do believe you too were swindled by him. Do you know if he is still living in Ohio?

Is there any information you could provide that might help in getting the money back to the families who paid Master Chong?

June 15, 2017

Police report # 2189 filed with Fairfield County Sheriff’s office.

Posted scam artist alert to facebook to look for other families.

Chong and Laurin received $6,400 for summer camp. They were also recently paid by several students for a year of instruction in advance.

June 16, 2017

Ly Ngo messages me at the request of AZTA requesting I write a letter to send to Kukkiwon outlining what happened. I happily agree.

Discover Laurin and Master Chong may be living at 4195 North Bank Road NE, Millersport, Ohio 43046.

Suspect Laurin and Master Chong may move to Hawaii or Puerto Rico, specifically Manati, Puerto Rico. Laurin’s father lives in Puerto Rico.

Two families reach out to me about also being ripped off.

Laurin posts to the youtube thread.

Jennifer Piper 6/15/17

Hi Jay, Thank you for putting this together and sharing this video. I fear this is happening in Ohio all over again with his students at Lion's Martial Arts with a different woman, Laurin Carmichael. What was the final verdict in court in AZ? After promoting a summer camp and charging $800 for 2 months he seems to have disappeared with his certificate. I wish I would have found all of this information sooner. How is it possible to keep doing this? Does TKD WTF have any kind of reprimand to uphold the integrity of their martial art?

Bill Sch 6/17/17

I'm sorry that he ripped you off also. I tried to let people know. This Laurin girl claimed to have fire him. She claimed she barely knew him. He ripped of me and many people. I wouldn't trust that criminal for one second. What she claims might be true or it might be made up, like it sounds....But what is true is that he has a background of doing this and I wouldn't be surprised if he did it again, and that she is a lair.

Jennifer Piper 6/17/17

Wow, Laurin seems to tell a lot of tall tales. She never fired Master Chong, in fact she told all of us last week 6/11/17 via a posted note to the studio door that the school would be closing due to Master Chong having congestive heart failure. Up until that point, Master Chong was the sole instructor teaching every class. Her comment here claims she fired him over a month ago, LIE! Here is every piece of information I have collected and have turned over to the police http://survivinglifescurveballs.com/timeline-of-the-lions-martial-arts-scam/

Laurin Carmichael 6/17/17

I am not a liar and you do not know me

Jennifer Piper 6/17/17

You are more than welcome to call the Fairfield County Sheriff and explain things to them.

Jennifer Piper 6/15/17

Jennifer Piper 1 week ago (from 6/17/17)

Hi Jay,

My sons currently go to Lion's Martial Arts in Ohio and I would be interested in speaking with you via PM on facebook https://www.facebook.com/jennifer.spiker.7 or whatever social media you use.

Laurin Carmichael 1 month ago (from 6/17/17) Laurin has deleted this, but I have the screenshot

Lion’s Martial Arts is not owned by Master Chong. This is a lie. He was hired as a part time instructor and has since been fired. Do not ruin another families business when you don’t know the facts.

Chuck Chirdon replied to my email

Hi Jennifer,

Sorry not to get back to you sooner, but I’m an engineer for a plastics company and have one of those jobs that keep me at work for very long hours during the week. I’m just now catching up on Email and such.

I do know now that Master Chong is no longer holding classes. Master Chong spoke to me about 6 weeks ago to let me know that he had a very bad heart condition and would have to do something about it sooner than later. From what he described to me, a condition had developed and worsened that was associated with a heart valve issue he has lived with most of his life. I understood that he learned of this condition through a service offered at one of local churches he was visiting and that through some testing that he should not ignore this problem. I somewhat understood this because my father has a similar condition.

I do not know anything about his business side of the studio. I have known him personally for a number of years and reconnected with him when I heard that he might be moving back to Ohio. Over the past year many of the martial artist in Ohio that have known him were helping him to get things started in the new studio. I offered my time to help do some building in the studio because I have a building background and I’m sure that it was a challenge to get the studio up and running. I didn’t have much of a chance to visit the studio, other than to help with testing, due to my job. Like most other martial artist I associate with, we all have full time jobs and do what we can to work out and instruct on the side. I think that is why a number of us enjoyed helping Master Chong with his start up studio. Most of us wish we could do it full time.

I don’t believe that I was swindled by him. I offered my time free of charge with the knowledge that he and Laurin had to make it work to be successful. I have always been impressed with Master Chong’s skills and especially when it came to teaching young children. He always seemed to have a very healthy way of making them successful and feel like they were progressing. I was especially impressed with Master Chong’s practice of having his students thank their parents after the class and tell them they loved them for letting them attend. I only saw this while there a couple of times, but I have not seen another instructor do this and felt it was a wonderful practice. I have instructed children for many years and wish that I had done the same practice.

I’m sadden to hear that you invested money and could not have the summer camp services provided. I’m sure that must have been a burden and I hope you were able to find other services. I’m a dad and know what it is like to raise kids. I can only offer my opinion of Master Chong personally. I have never chosen to partner with anyone in the martial arts in the business sense. I prefer to enter into business with only one person, my wife. We have kept it this way both in our work and martial arts endevours for over 35 years. I would tell you that I do respect Master Chong as a person and that it is my opinion that he would not cheat or swindle anyone in a planned purposeful way. I don’t know what really took place in Arizona so I cannot even comment on that. I can only assume that he made a choice to do something right away about his health and perhaps he felt that there was no time to provide other consideration to his studio. I simple do not know how or why he made recent decision. It’s also none of my business. I make it a practice to respect others privacy on personal matters and only listen to what they might offer.

I’m afraid that I cannot offer any meaningful suggestions for ways for you to recover your money. I have not talked to him for some time now and would simply assume that he has returned to Korea to seek help with the health problem. If he is the man that I think he is, I have to believe that he will find a way to make this up to those who feel that they have lost money attending the studio. I suppose that he will need to survive whatever treatment he may be seeking in order to do this. At his age, that might be a challenge in itself.

Respectfully,

Chuck Chirdon

June 17, 2017

Contacted all the families I could reach, 11 total. There are 6 others I know of that I do not have contact information for. All those contacted were encouraged to:

Report the theft to Fairfield County Sheriff’s office 614-322-5250 option 2. Add to my report #2189 filed 6/15/17 with Deputy Bennington.

Email Liz Lane from 6 On Your Side [email protected]

File a complaint with the Attorney General

Report Lion’s Martial Arts to BBB

Share this information with everyone

Lion’s Martial Arts was advertised on craigslist for sale about a month ago for $40,000. The ad was removed after a parent asked about it.

Additional Theories

Laurin spends time in Painesville, Ohioas her Yelp reviews location is Painesville. This is also where Craig Clinton lives.

I suspect Laurin and Master Chong are romantically involved because he was also involved with the last woman he ran a school with. Laurin left AZ and traveled to Ohio with Master Chong.

There is suspicion that Laurin has been stripped of her rank.

Laurin Carmichael social media

google+

https://plus.google.com/113013848799003232521

facebook (2 accounts)

https://www.facebook.com/laurin.carmichael/about?lst=100000086260181%3A100000184876476%3A1497122758&section=relationship&pnref=about

2nd facebook page used to post LMA related items after taking down the LMA page

twitter

@LMChapkido

Linked In

News Articles

International TKD black belt test

http://www.nogalesinternational.com/sports/students-earn-black-belts/article_328e0af6-8fa4-11e5-b74d-e738af4453a3.html

Contest

http://www.nogalesinternational.com/sports/local-kids-qualify-for-taekwondo-nationals/article_244defbc-d23d-11e4-aa7a-ef51d1ff269b.html

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