#i can regulate myself to some degree when i have time alone where i feel safe but i just dont have that option here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xlehukax · 3 years

Text

Thank You For The Music

Foreword: This is for the Sanders Sides Gift Exchange! Analogical Soulmate Au, as requested by @romantichopelessly! Happy holidays. And there’s also a playlist! @sanderssidesgiftxchange!

Ships: Logan x Virgil, (Background) Patton x Janus

Word Count: 8374

Warnings: SelectiveMute!Virgil, like one fight scene, Cursing, Logan’s ignoring feelings, it’s mainly the Logan and Virgil show... I don’t think there’s really anything!

Summary: Logan’s been asked to assist a local student on campus. Having nothing else to do, he agrees: and so starts a connection that he would’ve never expected, and one that flowers more beautifully than he could ever imagine. (Soulmates can hear each other sing in their heads: Italics are either singing or sign language)

~~~~~

Somehow, Logan thought his fourth year in College would feel different. Like he’s gone on some sort of journey: like he’s learned in the education manner but also in the lifestyle sort of way.

It doesn’t appear that way. It seems like Logan’s the same.

No friends.

No challenges.

Nothing to be excited about whatsoever. He’s going to college for the degree at this point, and the title alone. It’s why when the professor for his Microbiology class asks him to stay after, it shocks him. Especially so close to the end of the semester.

Is he not doing enough? A quick inventory of his mind ensures that he hasn’t forgotten anything. The professor must need something: she’s taken a shine to him anyway, it probably isn’t bad. Logan gathers his things and then places them carefully in their individual places in his bag: once everything is where it belongs, in pockets and folders and sections, Logan presents himself to the professor. She smiles at him over the top of her laptop, eyes sparkling with mirth before shutting the lid of the machine.

“Thank you for seeing me, Logan,” she grins.

“I’m going to be blunt here: why have you asked me to stay? I assume that there is nothing out of order.”

“No, no… your grades are impeccable, participation is great, and you’ve been fantastic. It’s simply that you’re so outstanding that I want to ask a favor,” his professor asks shrewdly. Logan hums for a moment, debating, before wincing in pain and clutching his temple.

“Logan! Are you alright, dear?”

“Ah, yes. It’s merely my soulmate,” he says by way of explanation. The professor smiles broadly.

“How fantastic! Anything good?”

Logan quickly takes stock of the song: his mystery mate sang Overkill yesterday during Office Hours, and Sally’s Song the day before that while he was at his college apartment. He only knew because a) these were repeating songs, and b) he’d looked them up right away. Listened to them after the music fades to hold them close.

It’s funny that he never once thinks that the original is better in any sense than the sweet song of his soulmate. His (Logan’s assumed it’s a he, based on his own sexuality and interests) music is so sweet: his voice is lilting and beautiful and it makes Logan feel so guilty. So guilty, because he must be the most beautiful man in the world and Logan hasn’t given him anything. Logan does not… sing.

And in a world where you hear your soulmate’s singing in your own head, it’s a betrayal.

“So? What is it?” the professor’s voice snaps him back to reality.

“Oh, I’m not sure. It seems to go… oh, oh, oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting. Oh, oh, oh, I got a love that keeps me waiting. I’m a lonely boy, I’m a lonely boy,” he repeats the song in a monotone. The professor snaps her fingers.

“Ah, The Black Keys. Lonely Boy, a classic!! It’s a good song, your soulmate has some bloody good taste. And, what are you doing, letting them be lonely like that?” she winks at him, “It’s quite the song.”

“I do not see how this is relative to our conversation,” Logan deadpans, tired of this discourse already. If it has nothing to do with academics, he doesn’t want to hear it.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I got off-topic. Anyway, you know ASL right?”

“Indeed.”

“Perfect,” she smiles gently, getting up from the desk and dusting herself off, “There’s a student at the school, it’s his second year: he’s mute and uses primarily ASL to communicate. So far, he’s been surviving by being with his brother. But the brother is changing schools after this semester to go to a better nursing school and… well, we need someone to look after Virgil. Virgil Williams is the name of the student and Patton Williams’s the brother. There’s not a lot of students who know ASL here, and from what I’ve heard you don’t really participate in extracurricular activities. This would be not only a great way to flesh out your resumé but also simply a great thing to do, you know, humanitarian wise. Would you be up for it?”

Logan considers for a moment. It’s true, he doesn’t do a whole lot outside of schoolwork: he does tend to have too much free time spent re-reading books. It doesn’t have to be anything special: it’s only helping this kid when he needs it. No problem whatsoever: he’s tutored people before, it’ll be similar.

“I don’t see why not. Do I have an opportunity to meet with them before I agree completely?”

“Oh, of course! They should be at their dorm now… here’s the dorm number,” she passes him a slip of paper and what this job will entail and waves him off. The dorm’s only a short walk away: it’ll be less than a ten-minute walk from the lecture hall if he crosses the Courtyard.

Logan walks briskly: he doesn’t require the extra exercise due to his rigorous workout schedule but it’s always nice to stretch his limbs. He breaks into a light jog, his bag bouncing slightly on his back as he moves, and makes it there in exactly 8.7 minutes instead of 10. Logan wipes the sweat from his brow with a cloth before entering the dormitories and heading to the shared Williams dorm. It’s on the third floor, right outside the elevators.

Logan takes the stairs.

He combats a sudden influx of nerves at the door: swallows it deep and regulates his features. Professional, he thinks to himself. Be professional.

His knock is answered immediately as if they were standing at the door. Logan’s presented with a man who breaks out into a broad smile immediately: his hair is pulled up into a small bundle at the top of his head, sparse brown curls sticking out haphazardly. He’s quite large and strong-looking: he’d be intimidating if his eyes didn’t have that same sort of sparkle that the professor did, his large circle-rimmed glasses hiding absolutely nothing.

“Oh!! You must be the guy the Prof knew!! Hello! I’m Patton!! It’s so great to meet you!! Agh, I’m so excited! Well, Virgil too,” he grins. Logan blinks. He is… a lot.

“Greetings. I am Logan,” Logan signs the words alongside the verbal words to demonstrate his fluency. Patton squeals and Logan winces.

“Haha, sorry about that. Again, eee! So excited! I’ll introduce you to Virgil,” Patton holds the door ajar for Logan to enter, gesturing to the small pile of shoes to remove his. Logan gently unties his trainers and places them beside a pair of Doc Martens and Toms. They’re about as different as they could be: one is black and bulky with thick purple laces, the others a sky blue with little paw prints. Polar opposites. Logan diverts his attention to Patton, who’s been jabbering on about something or other.

“-and there he is! Virgil, come on out kiddo- meet Logan!” Patton coos at what at first glance seems to be a shadow but in reality is a man who practically hides by the door of the conjoined bedroom. He’s encompassed by an oversized hoodie.

“Hello, it is nice to meet you, Virgil,” he signs out silently. Patton bites his lip to stop himself from speaking, but his noises of excitement escape anyway. Virgil signs back a meek hello: his hood falls off in the process, and Logan scrutinizes the face that he’s apparently going to be assisting for a while.

Virgil has long dark hair: unkempt and uncut, old dye lingering stubbornly on the tips of it. His eyelashes are long, drooping over his cheeks, as he avoids Logan’s gaze. He possesses dark circles under each eye- so dark it seems intentional. Virgil tugs his hood over his head the moment the silence stretches a bit too long, and he’s gone: a rabbit ducking into a hole. Logan wishes he’d put the hood back down.

In all regards, Logan means to say that Virgil holds palpable beauty.

The idea within itself isn’t strange: Logan understands the various societal norms and standards that society adheres to beauty and usually makes deductions off of that, but there is… something about Virgil. Virgil’s not muscular looking, or overly lean, or anything of the sort. He’s simply… enchanting.

“Well, say something!” Patton shouts, breaking the silence. “Or, I mean, sign something, Virge. It’s too stifled in here: do either of you want something to drink?”

“Water?” Virgil signs. His hands are shaking.

“I’ll have one of those too,” Logan adds on. Patton smiles at the two of them and finger guns. “You can hear, correct?” Logan asks, keeping his tone easy. He makes sure to enunciate each of his words, just in case. Virgil blinks up at him moonishly.

“Yes,” Virgil says, worrying at his lip.

“You don’t need to be afraid. I’m only here to help you,” Logan attempts to smile at him comfortingly: judging by Virgil’s expression, it seems more like a grimace. “Let’s sit down and talk about this, alright?” Logan sighs. He pulls out a chair at their small table and lets Virgil sit in it, pushing him in. Immediately after, Virgil pulls his legs to his chest and wraps his arms around them. He’s vanished completely into his hoodie.

Logan sits next to him, rather than across: he doesn’t want to make him feel like he’s being interrogated.

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says.

“You have nothing to be sorry for?” Logan replies, more of a question than an assurance. “My apologies Virgil, but you’re not trying to impress me. I am simply here to introduce myself so that I can begin to help you. I am here for you. You can take as long as you want.”

Virgil peeks out from under the hoodie like a prairie dog emerges from a hole. Hair first, then curious eyes, then his hands.

Logan smiles.

“Now, let’s draw up a contract here, to outline what we’ll be doing this year. I do believe,” he retrieves the papers the professor had given him, “that you already have a solution for classes, so you will not require my assistance there. It’s more after school hours and personal activities, no?”

Virgil nods meekly.

So… Virgil just needs a… friend? A friend who knows ASL? Logan’s heart swells in his chest: Virgil just needs a friend.

Logan doesn’t let his excitement show: because deep down, deep enough that he’ll never admit it fully- let alone say it aloud- he’d truly like a friend too.

And as Virgil glances over the contract and bites his nails and spares him the smallest glance before Patton returns with two glasses of water and a plate of supermarket cookies… Logan can’t help but feel like this will become more.

The contract is solidified: Logan will go to Virgil after his classes end, assist him with homework or anything else he needs at the time. Logan will be on speed dial for him if talking to people if needed. Logan will be paid a small sum per day, as well as the equating service hours.

Patton can’t stop thanking him with tears in his eyes. Virgil doesn’t look at him once, spares him no glances. Rather, his eyes are downcast for the next hour that Logan’s there. He has a little fidgeting toy and presses it in his lap. Logan exchanges cordially with Patton, Patton cheers animatedly, and Virgil is silent.

“If I may ask… why now? Is this not your second year of college? Why would you leave now?” Logan asks. Patton’s expression saddens.

“Oh… well, I’m transferring to a better medical school after this semester and- I couldn’t leave Virgil here without any help- he waited for me so we could go here together and… I can’t leave with no safety net for him,” Patton says tearily. He wipes at his eyes and goes to squeeze Virgil’s shoulder.

Virgil sinks deeper into his hoodie. Logan feels deeply uncomfortable.

“So thank you, Logan: you seem so nice, and so smart, I’m sure that I’ll be leaving him in capable hands,” Patton assures him, and then looks at the time mounted on the wall, “Oh! You must be going now, huh? I’ll walk you out,”

“Goodbye, Virgil. I look forward to seeing you soon,” he says curtly, before letting Patton lead him back to the door. As he ties up his shoes, Logan opens his mouth hesitantly.

“You are… you are a good brother, taking care of your younger sibling like that,” he does his best at comforting. Patton laughs at him.

“No, no! Virgil’s my older brother by two years. Technically, he should be at your level: but he waited for me to go. We’re really close and we help each other out so… Goodness, that’s the reason why I’m doing all this, reaching out to the teachers and organizing things for him. I want to -no, I need to- help him out. Like he’s helped me,” Patton explains. Logan blinks. This means two things.

Patton feels guilty. He feels oh so guilty, and Virgil probably feels betrayed. Betrayed and alone.

Virgil and Logan are the same age.

~~~~~~

The end of the first semester comes quickly. It was only a few weeks away, and Logan spends minimal time with Virgil: giving the brothers space to make amends before he comes between them.

On the last day of the quarter, Logan makes his way to their dorm room. Music had been stuck in his head all day: his soulmate singing the same song over and over again. It’s beautiful, of course, but nagging as he tries to focus. Logan debated singing a little “shut up please” but even that little snippet of musicality makes him nervous.

And what would his soulmate think? What would he think, after years of silence, that the first thing he gets in return is a demand for silence? Logan shivers at the thought of it. The song goes: Time is an illusion that helps things make sense, so we’re always living in the present tense- it seems unforgiving when a good thing ends, but you and I will always be back then.

Logan likes the scientific simplicity of it, and finds himself humming along as he swiftly walks across the courtyard to the dorms. His soulmate’s voice rises with the music: piano, he thinks. His soulmate is playing the piano and singing over and over and over again. In his mind's eye, Logan wishes he could comfort him: do the soulmate things that soulmates do. Embrace him and calm him and quell his fears. The music fades in time for him to get to the dorms: Patton’s already outside, bags packed.

Logan is giving, or rather attacked, with a hug from Patton.

“You are leaving now, yes?” he says, trying to make it seem like he’s not worming out of the embrace despite his discomfort. Patton releases him after a moment, worrying at his lip.

“Yeah! I’ll visit as often as I can, call me if ANYTHING happens, and-”

“Patton,” Logan grips his shoulders, “I can handle this. Go on now,” Patton nods tearily.

“You promise you’ll take good care of my brother? You have to- to pinky promise, because if anything happens to him it’s going to be my fault,” Patton wipes his eyes, and there’s that intimidating that he always knew Patton had the potential for: “You have to promise. I love Virgil more than anything or anyone in the world. He is the kindest, most thoughtful person. You may not see it right now, but he is. Virgil is the best person I know. You have to help him when he needs it, even if he doesn’t want it,”

“I promise, I’ll perform to the very best of my ability Patton,” Logan says steely, “I promise. You go and pursue your dreams.” Logan and Patton both glance up to the window of the dorm that Virgil’s in: the curtains are closed, and Patton sighs. Gives Logan a meaningful look.

Patton juts his pinky in his face, and Logan exasperatedly links his. Patton’s face brightens, and leaves to the nearby road where a taxi awaits. In Logan’s head, a new song begins. It starts with a guitar and then continues with his soulmate’s angelic voice: “Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe-”

Logan watches him go for a moment: and then he starts walking into the dorms to check in on Virgil. Logically, he’s probably feeling due amounts of stress and uncertainty in the new situation.

“Nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world…. images of broken light, which dance before me like a million eyes, they call me on and on across the universe,”

Logan’s heart feels full, an odd feeling: there’s something about the music and the situation that blends and rushes into his chest so wonderfully. Perhaps this is what it’s like to be with your soulmate: life and soul singing together in perfect harmony.

“Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box, they tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe,”

Logan takes the stairs step by step, enjoying the music as long as he can.

“Nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world, nothings gonna change my world…” the music stops all at once, guitar too: Logan misses it for only a moment, before he remembers that it’s no passing street musician but rather his soulmate. His soulmate who sings so perfectly. The soulmate he’ll never meet.

He arrives at the Williams’ dorm- err, now just Virgil’s, and raps on the door. He waits for a “coming!” but then realizes his mistake. He waits patiently for Virgil to open it: and when he does, it’s only a crack. Logan stares back at the scrap of Virgil’s face he can see.

His lips purse.

“Would you like to let me in?” Logan asks gently. Virgil’s face tightens nervously, and he signs something quickly.

“I’m not okay right now,” he says. Logan swallows.

“Can I help with anything? Or should I leave?” he keeps his voice as soft as he can. Virgil’s head shakes a vehement ‘no’.

“Virgil… I-” he tries to come up with a reason, a real reason for him to stay. There is none. If Virgil says he doesn’t need any help then there’s no reason to stay. Logan swallows. “If you have no need for me… then I… I should leave,” he sighs. The door closes shut behind him with a click.

Logan’s moving to leave when he has a new idea. He raps on the door once more. Virgil’s face peers through the crack in the door again. He rolls his eyes at Logan.

“What is it?” he signs.

“Fancy a game of chess?”

~~~~~

Unsurprisingly, Virgil is a silent but deadly good chess player. He’s forward thinking and takes no risks that he can’t counter the backlash of. Logan is thrilled to play with someone so astute.

“Checkmate,” Logan announces, after a long and difficult game. Virgil huffs in mock indignation, and knocks down his own king. “You’re quite proficient at this, Virgil. We should play more often.”

Virgil blushes, signing a quick “Thank you” and then zipping his hoodie up further. Logan finds himself smiling at him.

“Would you like to go again? Or do you have work to do that I can help you with?”

“Again,” Virgil signs, hands quivering slightly. Logan chuckles and resets the board for another go. Virgil bites at his nails and waits. It’s too quiet without Patton’s incessant yammering. Logan decides to ask the first question that comes to mind.

“Do you have a soulmate?”

Virgil makes sweater paws and ducks into his hoodie more.

“Oh- I’m sorry, is that a bad topic-”

“No. I do not have one.”

There’s been cases of people ‘missing’ soulmates: only to find that they were dead, or that they didn’t want a soulmate and merely ignored them. Or like Logan, who don’t sing whatsoever.

“Ah… well, that’s a shame, Virgil. You’d be amazing to have as a soulmate, I’m sure,”

Virgil flushes deeper, if it’s possible, and hugs himself. Logan finds himself smiling again: Virgil’s cute.

Perhaps he said it out loud, because then Virgil’s growling at him and signing a “Fuck you, I am not!”

“Maybe just a little bit?” Logan teases, he teases, such an odd and different thing for him to do. But teasing Virgil is different. It’s like another game and Logan doesn’t feel out of place or silly: it’s still serious.

“No! No!”

“I think you are,”

“No! What? No!”

“Hmm,” Logan merely says, finishing the chess board.

~~~~~

His soulmate has a crush. A sort of crush that’s teetering constantly between deep pining and attempting to squash it.

It’s apparent, between the lines of “Fly Me To The Moon” and “despair”. In other words, I love you. Cause it’s not romantic, I swear. Fill my heart with song and let me sing forevermore. I want you to be here, but please don’t come near. You are all I long for, all I worship and adore. It’s not love, I swear.

Today’s song is “Raincoat” (according to the internet) and if that’s not appropriate, Logan doesn’t know what is. Once more, Logan wishes he has the confidence to thank him for the soundtrack that’s been accompanying his life as it rises in joy each day.

These songs… they’re a quick change from the dreary songs that had been going on a few weeks ago. Logan, ironically, doesn’t mind the sappiness, actually. Usually he would, but it fits his recent joy.

Virgil’s exactly what he wanted, what he could’ve never hoped for. He’s smart, he’s clever, he’s shrewd, he’s not touchy, he respects boundaries…

It’s perfect. Logan goes and sticks with him each and every weekday after classes end. They work together, they read together, they watch True Crime shows, they eat dinner together, they play chess and cards and backgammon and Clue and everything possible. They talk: and miracles upon miracles, Virgil seems to like him.

Today is different. Today is a weekend: there’s no real reason that Virgil should need him, he’s never before, but he was invited to have lunch with him anyway. Even though it’s going to be snowing! Even though it’s freezing! Even though in any other instance Logan would be curled up at home with a good book and Star Trek. And rather… rather they’re going to get Hot Pot at the small university town in Logan’s ramshackle car. It gives Logan the strange feeling of hope rising in his chest that Virgil wants him around as much as he does. That Virgil enjoys it as much as he does.

Enjoys the company, the quiet, the whole thing.

He doesn’t even have to go up to the dorm: Virgil’s waiting for him outside the building. Logan waves after he gets out of his secondhand car: Virgil offers a small one in return and walks up to him. He’s all bundled up in several mismatched layers: though he still wears aggressively ripped jeans with skinny knees peeking through, he’s wrapped in several warm coats.

Logan gets a sudden urge to press a kiss to his shaggy hair and hug him tightly, the slouching man at the ideal height. He squashes it quickly, blushing anyway at the mere thought of such romances, and lets Virgil into the passenger seat without looking at him. Virgil taps his hands on the front of the car, a rare grin donning his features. Logan swallows.

Virgil has never looked more beautiful than he does right now. With a smile and all of those layers and his hood just barely adorning his head. Logan notices now that his makeup is different today: a sparkling purple rather than the usual dark tones.

“Where to, Virgil?”

“I do not care!” he signs excitedly. Logan chuckles.

“How about sushi, then?”

Virgil smiles and nods. Logan sets the car into reverse, and then drives out of the parking lot. Virgil fiddles with his fingers. I should say something…

“Would… would you like to listen to any music, Virgil?” Virgil’s head bobs an exuberant yes, and Logan gestures to the old car radio: Virgil fiddles with it, and finally ends up with a channel that’s not staticy.

‘You’d be like heaven to touch… I want to hold you so much,’ At the beginning of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ Virgil sinks into his hoodie: Logan casts his eyes off the road for a second, glancing at Virgil- the scrap of his face that he can see is ruby red. At least the car isn’t silent anymore, he thinks to himself. Virgil’s quiet (well, not signing), and the song plays to completion and fades into “This Guy’s In Love With You”. Virgil, if it’s possible, seems to hide even more.

“We’re almost there, do you want me to turn it off, Virgil?” Logan suggests.

“It’s fine.”

“If you say so… seems like you’re hiding but…”

“Fuck you.”

‘Say you’re in love, in love with this guy… if not, I will just die’

Logan turns off the radio as they turn into the parking lot of the local sushi joint. He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to Virgil.

“Eat in or take out?”

“To go,” he signs. Logan hums: maybe one day, they’ll be able to go out together for a meal. Virgil doesn’t like public places due to his anxiety, and Logan doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable and he’d never push him but… it is a classic ‘friend’ activity to go out for dinner together. It would be nice, but having a friend generally is nice and he’s not about to lose him over some stereotype.

Virgil’s not ordinary, so why would their friendship be?

“Come now, Virgil, let’s order,” Logan gets out of the car, helps Virgil out, locks the car. It all feels very normal, very quaint. He has to admit that he enjoys it, despite what one would think if they met him.

Walking into the restaurant is normal. Ordering food (ordering for both of them)? Also normal. They wait for their sushi in the front, Virgil warming his hands by blowing on them.

“Do you enjoy spending time with me?”

The question bursts out of Logan with little warning: he doesn’t even register that he said it until after it’s out of his mouth. He’s about to rescind the words when Virgil responds.

“Yes. Yes. I love spending time with you,” He blushes slightly, looking away, “And you make me feel safe.”

Logan blushes: he grabs the newly presented food and goes back to the car- but Virgil grabs his sleeve.

“Do you want to sit in the park?” Virgil asks, nervous after the flurry of hands.

“It’s freezing outside,”

“I know,” he signs, his expression saddening slightly.

“There’s no one out here.”

“I know, I can see. I’m mute not blind,” Virgil rolls his eyes, heading for the car already. Logan chuckles and clasps his shoulder: Virgil stiffens under his touch.

“I don’t think I said I didn’t want to,” he teases. Virgil’s eyes widen, and then a smile creeps up his lips.

“Okay!” Logan and Virgil walk right next to each other into the park: Virgil signs quite fast that he rather likes the cold, and that the skeletal trees remind him of his favourite movie, and does Logan like Nightmare Before Christmas, and what about stop animation? And halloween movies?

Logan chuckles and answers all of his questions, slowly fielding them back to him. Virgil never talks this much when they’re in public. It’s nice to see him opening up, Logan thinks to himself pridefully, Is this my doing?

He doesn’t mean to preen, but it happens anyway.

“Why are you doing that with your chest?”

“Oh, apologies, Virgil. It was accidental.” Logan reels himself back in: it’s so strange to have to do that. He’s never done anything like that, something that breaks his front stage appearance. It’s odd: like there’s another, smaller, smiling, animated Logan inside of him. A little Logan that’s been ignored and malnourished for a while now. Virgil giggles though, and Logan stops amidst his musings to stare at him.

That was… cute. Why was that cute? Genuinely cute, not teasingly.

Virgil catches him staring and glares at him, though his cheeks flush.

“What are you looking at, nerd?”

“Ah- it’s nothing. Would you like to sit down here and eat?” Logan points to a random bench: Virgil shrugs and sits, holding his arms open for his food. Giving him his food and sitting down next to him is a battle of wills: if it was another other person, in any other situation, he’d excuse himself and leave. But it’s Virgil, and the man looks so thrilled to just sit with him: it’s his friend. He’s not abandoning him. Even if his emotions are crawling up his throat.

The silence is amicable as they eat. The first flakes of snow start to fall, and Virgil’s attention is drawn to them immediately. He watches the snowflakes float down slowly, enraptured.

“You’d think you’ve never seen snow before,” Logan chuckles.

“Fuck off,” Virgil signs fluidly. He doesn’t even look at Logan, simply eats his sushi and quickly stands to spin in the snow. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” Logan agrees, as he watches Virgil laugh quietly and kick the powder around, as Virgil’s eyelashes are decorated with snowflakes, as he holds his tongue out like a child, as Virgil looks so free and unafraid in his lonesome company… “It’s quite beautiful indeed.”

~~~~

Patton’s coming back in two weeks. The second semester is almost over, spring finally showing her colours after a frigid winter, and Logan’s almost nervous. The music in his head doesn’t help whatsoever to calm him. What if something changes? It’s not like Patton’s staying, he’s allegedly very happy at his new school, but… Logan can’t help but worry at the idea that something in their dynamic will change irreparably if Patton reenters.

There’s nothing you can do about it, he assures himself once again, Just keep doing your job. Logan’s class lets out early, and he takes a brisk jog to meet Virgil outside his class. By now, Logan knows his schedule by heart and knows where to meet him.

He waits outside the lecture hall, student after student exiting… he waits until it’s fifteen minutes after his class has ended. Frowning, Logan peeks inside: it’s devoid of people, even the professor.

“Virgil?” he calls out into the empty room fruitlessly. Panic starts to rise inside of his chest as he calls for the anxious man. “Virgil? Virgil, where are you?”

He searches each aisle of the lecture hall, calling Virgil’s cell phone. Virgil hates it when he calls him, but if he’d just pick up, it means he’s okay. Logan feels incredibly antsy as he runs out of the room, sprinting at full force (he’s a strong man) around campus calling for Virgil. He wipes at his face: he can’t have the budding tears block his vision. He needs to find Virgil.

“Virgil, where are you? Virgil, I need to find you. Virgil, please please be okay,” he dashes around a corner and drives his heels in to stop.

Virgil.

His beloved hoodie in a secluded alleyway.

Logan reaches down and grasps it: he’d never leave it alone, let alone in a public place. Logan shakily picks it up into his hands, feeling the fabric: it’s dirtied. He gently folds it and puts it under his arm.

He’s starting to walk away when he hears the muffled shout and the sound of a punch’s impact.

“Oh, so you want to talk now, huh?” Another punch. “Fucker.”

Logan walks purposefully in the direction of the noise: two large women and one large man are whaling on Virgil, kicks and punches and spit, who’s curled up on the paved ground in the fetal position. Logan takes out the first buff woman with a strong punch to the side of her face, the second with a well placed kick and shove. The man runs away, pulling his fellows along with him.

“Virgil, they’re gone now. Are you alright?”

Virgil makes a broken sob, holding his midsection with his eyes downcast, and spits out some blood. Logan sighs and bends down to Virgil’s level, and wipes his mouth with a handkerchief from his book bag. He gives Virgil his hoodie (which he takes to immediately) and rubs his back.

I should’ve gone after them, made them pay-

“OH MY STARS, are the two of you alright?” a fanciful voice calls out from the entrance of the alley way.

“We just saw a trio of assholes running away with some wicked bruises-”

“Remus, that’s not the point!” The two boys walk into the alley, one worrying with a red letterman’s jacket and coiffed hair, the other (Remus) morbidly interested with a large denim jacket and wild hair sticking up every which way. They have the same face, unnervingly, though the wilder one sports a partially-grown mustache and the other has a scar though his eyebrow.

“Alright, alright, I’ll bite. Are you okay?” Remus asks, extending a hand to Virgil. Virgil looks away and tucks into Logan more. Remus retracts his hand with a shrug. Logan gives the both of them steely looks.

“If you’re here to promote any more harm or mockery, I advise you to leave concurrently.”

“Ooh, put those big words away, Daddy,” Remus mocks. His brother elbows him roughly.

“Remus, be nice. They’ve clearly been through quite the ordeal! Greetings, I’m Roman, this is Remus. We’re in Virgil’s class, and we saw him being… escorted, one could call it-”

“Forcibly swept away!”

“-Thank you Remus, out of class so we followed along after reporting it to the professor. He seems to be in quite a state: is there anything we can do?” Roman finishes, rolling his eyes at his twin. Logan sighs and adjusts his glasses. He doesn’t want to accept their help. He can take care of Virgil by himself. But…

He takes a closer look at the poor beaten man, at his bloodied mouth and shirt and his bruises and scrapes and thinks beyond him.

“I thank you for reporting it to the teacher. This is a heinous act, and I loathe to think of what would’ve happened if I arrived later or not at all,” he attempts to look thankful, but judging by their expressions, it doesn’t work. Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Could you alert the on campus clinic that we’ll be coming? One of you? The other can make sure they don’t come back as I take Virgil there,” with that, Logan takes a deep breath and gets to his feet, holding Virgil tightly in his embrace. Virgil turns into him, making a pained sound.

It breaks Logan’s poor heart. My friend, my friend, my friend- he’s hurt.

“It’s alright, Virgil. I’ve got you, you’re safe now,” he whispers to him.

“Cute!” “Ick.”

“Oh come on now, Remus, they’re precious!”

“I came over here for the bloody beat down! Not touchy feely lovey-dovey!”

“I will never understand you. You’re absolutely vile,”

“Ah, look in the mirror lately?”

“Excuse me,” Logan growls, diverting their attention from their bickering, “Are you going to help or not?”

“Ugh,” Remus rolls his eyes, “I guess I’ll go to the clinic.”

“Goodbye, Remus- you see, he’s a bit of a pain, always been that way,” Roman sticks his tongue out childishly at Remus, who returns the gesture in a more lewd fashion. “Alright, let’s help the emo up,” Roman extends his hands to help: Logan turns away, holding Virgil alone.

“He is not emo. Virgil is a selective mute,” Logan frowns at Roman.

“Aha, it’s just a mere quip!”

“Oh,” Logan swallows. They walk in near silence to the infirmary: How weird it is that the silence with Virgil seems familial and warm but with this Roman it feels charged and uncomfortable.

“You aren’t a very funny guy, are you?”

“Excuse me?” Logan glares at him through his glasses, holding Virgil tighter.

“Take no offense, but I mean… you’re very uptight! Serious. Grumpy. Straight to the point. I’ll stop prattling on synonyms, but I think you get the point now,” Roman explains.

“I- I’ve never thought about it that way. I presume you’re right,” he frowns. Logan’s never felt like any of those: he just likes working. And now he feels foolish: perhaps that’s the reason that he’s never gotten anywhere socially. Is it his inability to “quip”?

Would Virgil be happier with him if he could?

As if he heard his thoughts, Virgil winces in pain in his arms.

“Oh! Virgil. Should I hold you differently? Are you uncomfortable?” Virgil looks up at Logan blearily: his eyes open in recognition and a full-face blush breaks out all over his face. Virgil takes a bruised hand to hide his face.

“Awe look at ‘im! Debbie Downer is shy!” Logan whirls over to glare at Roman’s almond eyes angrily. Virgil turns away.

“Don’t talk to him that way,” he growls. Roman flushes and stammers.

“It was only teasing!”

“It was hurtful, and the last thing he needs right now is that. So do me a favor and leave those quips to yourself,” he reprimands.

“Yes, sir,” Roman salutes. Logan looks away from him and back to Virgil.

“Hey. Why did those thugs hurt you anyway?” he questions. Virgil frowns. “You don’t have to tell me-”

“No- I will. I was- I was singing in the bathroom,” he signs shyly.

“Wait- how could you-”

“Sometimes I talk when I’m alone. Or sing. I’m nervous around people, when I’m by myself it’s okay,”

“Oh,” Logan shouldn’t feel so betrayed, he knows he shouldn’t: this is the way Virgil is, after all. He’s a selective mute. He can speak when he wants. And if he doesn’t want to speak around Logan well- it’s fine. It’s his choice.

It shouldn’t bother Logan.

“So those jerks beat you up purely for the angelic music of your soul? Their cruelty knows no bounds, if they were to hurt you for communicating with your soulmate! How dare they, those vile, disgusting, cotton headed ninny muggin ruffians!” Roman supplies, filling Logan’s silence with declarations of war. Virgil laughs slightly at Roman, rolling his eyes. Logan swallows his questions, his pleas for “what about me?”.

Virgil can like whoever he wants. It doesn’t have to be just Logan.

~~~~

Virgil had asked Logan to drive him to the airport to pick up Patton. Logan wanted to say no, to say that he didn’t want to, hell, just leave him at the airport but… Virgil’s face betrayed his excitement, and Logan couldn’t put him down.

So now he’s waiting in the pick up zone with his car, waiting for Virgil to come back and completely ignore him again. Logan blinks.

Is that what this is about?

Does some part of Logan, some illogical part that manipulates his feelings, worry that Patton would mean Logan’s out of the picture? Logan grips the steering wheel. It’s Virgil’s choice! If he wants to hang out with Patton, sure. Sure. It’s fine.

Logan makes a low growl.

It’s not fine.

~~~~

And… there was nothing he could do. He stopped coming to visit Virgil during the mid-semester break: why should he? Virgil was with Patton. He’s happy. He doesn’t need Logan around…

Logan hates it. He hates not going over each day, each class ending with Virgil’s tiny smile.

He hates his soulmate, whoever he is, for singing so sadly whenever he wakes up.

“What's the name of the game? Does it mean anything to you? What's the name of the game? Can you feel it the way I do? Tell me please, 'cause I have to know… I'm a bashful child, beginning to grow…”

“Shut up,” Logan tells him quietly each time he goes at it again, “Shut up. I don’t want your questions, I can’t answer them.”

Logan, for the first time in his life, isn’t happy doing his work. There’s no gratification from finishing something: there’s no hunched over man beside him gesturing wildly as he finishes so quickly. There’s no giggle as he presses his glasses higher on his nose: there’s no smack on the shoulder when he corrects his work. It’s so… so bland. Was it always like this?

Before Virgil, was it always like this?

Logan finishes his test and hands it in at the front: his professor gives him a confused look. Logan twitches as his soulmate starts to sing: “It's you I like… not the things you wear…”

“Is everything okay, Mr. Adleman? You seem… listless, lately. Distracted. And you took all of the allotted time to finish your work- quite out of the ordinary, I’d say,”

“I assure you, sir, everything is normal,” he merely says, before adjusting his bag and exiting the classroom.

“Not the way you do your hair… but it's you I like,”

“Shut up,” Logan murmurs under his breath, walking stiffly with his head down down the hall. His soulmate’s voice is beautiful, as beautiful as always… but Logan can’t bear it. He’s already dealing with so much! To hear his soulmate’s longing notes doesn’t help. If anything, it exasperates his issues. Logan is grumbling under his breath when he hears it: and suddenly, all his issues get worse.

Patton’s in a classroom, with his teacher and a few students, singing to them:

“The way you are right now… way down deep inside you…”

“The way you are right now… way down deep inside you…” and his soulmate croons at the same time.

“Not the things that hurt you, not your toys; they're just beside… you,”

They both stop at the same note, and Logan swallows.

Patton.

Patton, smiley, hazel-eyed, exuberant, talkative, Patton, is his soulmate? Patton, the Patton he’s been mildly despising for the past few days.

I can’t believe it. But I presume… he has a right to know. And maybe we can make this work?

“Ah… Patton,” Patton’s face whirls to Logan’s in the door, and his face lights up. Logan can’t help but set his face: aren’t soulmates supposed to elicit some kind of joy in their partners? When they finally figure it out, isn’t it supposed to be some revelation?

“Logan!! How nice!! I haven’t seen you this whole trip, what a delight! Virgil’s been all out of sorts without you around, it seems,” Patton grins, sliding off the desk he was sitting on and walking over to Logan.

“I- I think- I think you’re my soulmate,” he stammers.

“What?”

“I- I heard your singing, in my head, as you were singing in here-”

“Oh my god. No, no, Logan,” Patton smiles at Logan tearfully, his hands landing on his shoulders, “That was Virgil. I started singing that song because Virgil was singing it again when I left.”

“That’s- that’s impossible how-”

“If you need any more proof, then just look at my soulmate: I met him at school, he flew in after me,” Patton smiles dreamily and waves at a man sitting in the corner, typing on his phone: he has two black forearm crutches and deep burn scars across the left side of his face.

“Hullo,” he greets from the other side of the room, “I’m Janus. Pleasure, fellow Patton soulmate,” Logan’s mouth dries as Patton giggles.

“It’s really Virgil. That- that makes a lot of sense but- I can’t believe it-”

“Okay, how about this, Lo?” Logan’s nose scrunches at the nickname, “I’m going to send a message to Virgil: and you go sneak back to the apartment. He’ll sing. It’ll match up. Then you have to confess. He’s thought he’s been alone… for so long. He’ll be so happy: so thrilled to have a soulmate… even more so if it’s you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Patton shakes his head, chuckling. Logan looks away: his teary eyes are too much for him. Logan clears his throat.

“Let our third go, Pat!” Janus calls, his voice smooth. Logan casts him a glare, though he blushes, and walks off. Thousands of thoughts swirl through his head, clouding his vision. He almost loses his way to the dorms. His mind is so full, so so so full, and then a voice breaks through it all.

“If I could ride a bike, I’d zoom around the world, with you sitting there behind me…”

Logan’s breath hitches. If that’s Virgil, he hates not seeing it before. Meeting him and not loving him right away. Not beating around the bush. But embracing him with everything he is, using all he knows to help all he needs.

“I’ll take you to places, past several faces… just livin life so carefree. If I could sail a boat, I'd cruise across the seas, a sweet adventure for us two,”

His pace increases as he gets to the dorms: he runs up the stairs maybe a little too fast. The music increases in volume but perhaps it’s in his head. The door to Virgil’s room is cracked open.

“I'll be Jack and you Rose, just please don’t let me go, cause I'll be nothing without you. Oh when you call me… I'm drifting on clouds, like I'm dreaming,”

Logan’s footsteps falter as he peers through the door. Virgil, with a guitar, singing those notes so sweetly. It matches up in his head, it matches perfectly, and despite himself, Logan starts to er up. It’s perfect harmony, it makes his heart swell and the whole world brightens.

This is what it’s supposed to be like. This is my soulmate. Virgil’s voice rises and falls, and it becomes so mind numbingly soft.

“But in the morning, I'll wake up and see that you're stuck… here with me,” Virgil sings, his voice sad, “If only you knew, what I would do for you. I'd jump up and hold you… so tightly…” Virgil sobs, “Logan. Logan. I’m sorry. Whatever I did. I’m sorry. I miss you.”

Logan’s chest pulls. His voice is like an angel. Virgil, his soulmate, wants him back. Everything he thought… was wrong. He needs to tell him, he needs to-

No. No, it would embarrass both of them, and Virgil’s anxious. He needs to do it in a way that would make no room for error, no room for suspicion of any foul intent.

Logan… needs to sing.

~~~~

It’s all planned out, only a few days later. The sun is out, the weather is warm. Patton has Virgil entertained, introducing him to Janus in the front lawn. Roman and Remus are keeping people away in their respective fashions so that they have privacy. Logan adjusts his tie, getting ready in their apartment. He wants to have the song at it’s apex before meeting him as his soulmate.

Logan clutches the ring in his pocket: a customary soulmate ring, black and fitted to Virgil’s finger. They haven’t been together, and he doesn’t have to accept it of course but… he wants to do this right.

This has to be perfect.

He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to sing.

“I'm nothing special, in fact I'm a bit of a bore… If I tell a joke, you've probably heard it before,” Logan sings softly. He chuckles- something so foriegn to him, so averse to what he wanted to do just a week ago- and he doesn’t sound bad. As he sings the next few lines, he runs out to the window by the elevators and can just barely make out Virgil on a picnic blanket rising to his feet and looking around confusedly. Logan carefully walks down the stairs, taking his time as he goes:

“So I say- thank you for the music, the songs I’m singing. Thank you for all the joy they’re bringing: who can live without it? I asked in all honesty, what would life be- without a song or a dance, what are we? So I say thank you for the music, for giving it… to me,” he sings, breaking out into the fresh air. Logan sings the next few stanzas under his breath, making his way to Virgil’s picnic spot. Virgil’s standing up, shaking Patton’s shoulder and signing wildly.

“I've been so lucky, I am the girl with golden hair: I wanna sing it out to everybody…. What a joy, what a life, what a chance!” his voice rises as he nears the grass, heart beating wildly.

Virgil’s fallen to his knees, his crying sounding even from where Logan stands, dozens of feet away.

“Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing. Thanks for all the joy they're bringing. Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty… What would life be? Without a song or a dance what are we? So I say thank you for the music,” he’s suddenly close, standing at Virgil. Virgil looks up, tears running down his face. He gasps: he smiles: he laughs. “For giving it to me.”

Virgil stumbles to his feet, and wraps his arms around Logan’s middle. He chuckles, and hugs him back, squeezing him tightly. Virgil cries into his chest, hiccuping and laughing all the same.

“So I say,” he rubs his back, and presses a light kiss into his hair, “Thank you for the music, for giving it… to me.”

There’s no fanfare, no wild confetti or cheering. It’s quiet, as Patton and Janus laugh and Virgil tearily accepts his ring before digging back into his chest. It would be perfect like this but then…

“Logan,” Virgil whispers, hiding in his chest, “Logan.” It’s so quiet, but it makes his heart burst in joy. Virgil didn’t have to say anything, he would love him anyway, but it shows. It shows the trust.

“Surprise,” he whispers back, pulling him in closer. “Thank you. For everything, Virgil.”

~~~~~

The End! Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed!

Taglists:

Anything & Everything: @myraiswack, @blindtaleteller, @head-over-heart, @karushinekomiya

Sides of the Sanders: @a-goldengirl-in-a-condominium246

If you enjoyed, please reblog- it truly means the world.

Want to be tagged on other works in this genre or just generally? Asks, DMs, or comments are all wonderful.

Liked it a whole coffee’s worth? Here’s my Ko-fi.

#analogical #mociet #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fandom #soulmate au #sanders sides soulmate au #logan #virgil #patton #logan sanders #virgil sanders #thank you for the music #logan x virgil

309 notes · View notes

night-filled-mountain · 3 years

Text

Going to work day after day with mental disorders bubbling beneath the surface is...it’s like wearing a costume or mask, or some kind of fake skin covering up the jagged broken bones underneath. You feel like a fool walking around in it, interacting with “normal” people, pretending you can complete tasks just like they can, with the same easy step-by-step thought processes and smoothly regulated emotions and consistent energy reserves you imagine they have. You keep expecting people to see through it, or for it to fall off any second and leave you exposed. Impostor syndrome doesn’t seem like quite the right term to me, because the struggles and limits are real; I am genuinely doing the bare minimum, barely holding it together, constantly risking the kinds of small embarrassments or minor to moderate disasters I’ve faced/caused in the past. And then doing my spin-doctor thing and finding some way to get through it and patch things up, through frantic last-minute efforts or half-assing or half-truths or straight-up lies.

The anxiety and self-loathing aren’t constant, per se, but they recur so persistently that I don’t know how to convey the experience to anyone else, or how they could help if I did. I don’t know how to express my disgust with the fact that I have a career that is highly romanticized, that is considered to be Fun and Admirable and Useful to Society, and I don’t want it; I don’t put a fraction of the thought and effort into it that I should; I’m in constant survival mode, scrambling to fulfill the basic requirements, never going above and beyond, always longing to be sitting in some quiet grove where no one can find me, alone and anonymous, with books and music and zero responsibilities, in a state of perfect, unattainable peace.

I’ve met other people who dealt with this, and the commiseration was amazing, but in the end, our combined negativity was so toxic that we were definitively Bad for each other and had to part ways. I look at my parents and my sister, who all have some level of the same or similar issues, and all of them have dealt with it by detaching from society to some degree, carving out that quiet space for themselves. Meanwhile, here I am with my marriage and my circle of close friends and my full-time customer-service job, going into my third (!!!) round of interviews for a different full-time customer-service job, sharing an apartment with three other people, constantly striving to satisfy everyone around me professionally and domestically and socially, constantly falling short.

And I know exactly why I crafted this life for myself--the years of loneliness and isolation that built up to it, the years of deep dark internalized shame over having Never Had a Job, the daily chaos of trying to fend for yourself when you can’t drive and can’t cook and forget to eat or do chores. This is better. This is, perhaps, as good as it gets (unless I finally finish a novel??). And I just...don’t know how long I can do it. Even though it all looks fine on the surface. Even though I look fine(ish) (mostly) (sort of) (in public, anyway). Just. Why do I have this life? What on earth made me think I could handle it? What was I thinking!?

#personal #mental illness #add #adhd #anxiety #depression #negativity #she's just about to close up the library!#this all sounds hella dramatic and i feel a bit silly about it; i already feel better just having written it #but the darkness will come creeping back again and again and so i might as well vent #in other news i'm still behind on exu and likely always will be and that's not helping because exu is a surefire mood-booster 😛

40 notes · View notes

katapunberbicara · 3 years

Text

on the half journey

I've come here to think that I wanted to change the world, but seemed that it's me who've been slowly changing. Having lived for years in my own world and seen things on my own, I first thought that I've seen many things in life until I've come outside my comfort place. The new world I have stepped into eventually has bigger worldview that's opened my eyes and changed the way I think about life. That in this life there are not only consisted of black and white colors. That many more of it has consisted of grey color where people could define it as they please, which only God knows what is their true colors. And that life has wide spectrums ranging from red to violet and has different shade of colors from pale to bold which shows the degree of each colors.

The world that’s offered so many colors to discover.

Thinking back profoundly the route I’ve taken previously for couple of times.

Despite many times I've doubted myself for taking the route I wasn't really sure enough, but I have no regrets left to eventually come here. Even if I were able travelling back to the past, I might take the same route over again eventhough during that time I would always have doubts in me. That is fine, as self-doubt is only one issue I should cope up with forever, but the chance to gather and stuck with these inspiring and different people would never come twice in life. Being the part of them has enhanced my chance to be exposured with great people with great idea.

Here, I learn to connect the dots and see things from different angle since we don't come from the same line hence we should compromise each other and accept the imperfect things. Including, the acceptance of criticism and feedback in a way to be better. Such environment to grow just suits me. I was before the perfectionist's type who always wished for the perfect things, perfect life, and perfect world only to happen. As I've been always hard on me and my surroundings, so it's harder when sometimes certain thing doesn't turn out the way I want it. I would easily judge myself or the things around for the blame of the things didn’t fall into places despite that only wasted my time. Whereas now I would be more aware and cautious when perceiving the things only seen from surface.

Before coming to judge something or someone, I'll genuinely ask myself like this, if I were in the same position, wouldn't I decide the same thing and turn into that same person? Quoting from Haris Azhar, we're only dancing following our role. The word 'dance' he was prefer to use probably has the closest meaning to draw how dynamic our moves. There is no guarantee that we wouldn’t dance to another moves once the role’s changing. Here, I learn to fit myself to the other's shoes and see things from their window square to be more concern about what they see and feel. Meanwhile, my past of me would see only from my perspective as if everything was centered on me. But my lecturers always remind me that, whatever role you choose, always be responsible.

Seeing through only by your lens would narrow what the thing actually seems.

What first led me to come here is that, since when, my mind’s always been busy because it has more questions than I could answer. I've never stopped thinking how things, people, even the world could turn into irregularity despite being regulated. During silence, I can hear the voice inside me that demands answer. I'm used to with silence since I've talked to my mind alot. But at some point, I just somehow could 't stand it anymore because I no longer found the answers in me nor by myself. Hence I let this unspeakable sound poured and flown from inside me through the discussions or talks with every person I've met in the search for the answer. And the best feeling I have once I become open up is that I feel heard and understood. This environment has supported me alot in growing my mindset, moreover my peer-groups who've welcomed me with such warm answer instead of leaving me alone in curiosity.

Despite it’s lonely here, but crowded in my mind.

And it's relieving that one by one of those question has found its answer. It's just how the world's worked that couldn't be controlled by my hands. And for that, let it to Allah’s hand to work. And that irregularity is solely something defined through my lens. And for the rest of those questions, I would let the time answer. I have more peace in me right now to face the world. And the peace in dealing with the irregularity. Through my journey of learning, who knows all the knowledge and experience I've gained here would help me travel into know more myself and the imaginary person I want to be. And rather than trying to change the world, I would firstly try to adapt with this changing world. To survive and to be healed.

Watch me standing still in this changing world no matter what.

If I try to make clear my decision here, it’s to make sure that I shall not forget my aim from the beginning. To forget your aim is very sad. If I forget that, I’m afraid that I might become someone who’s not interested in anything and solely follow wherever the flowing water goes. So here’s me, standing and pulling myself again to welcome the uncertainty.

Pekanbaru, 27th July 2021 | ©Hairatunnisa

... and at the last, I've eventually come to my half journey. Hope that what I've already started would be nicely done so that I could step into another new more exciting journey. Cheers on me and all of you!

Notes*) Those photos were taken at Braga street when I accompanied my sister for the sake of her photography’s class assignment. She was assigned to take the moment which had point of interest and also couldn’t be repeated. It was hard to translate the command into the form of picture that she should change the object and place for couple of times. There were so much dramas, and tears, and efforts. But it is worth the result that she has good point for her assignment. Good job my dear. Please remember that there is no such an easy work. But, if you put your heart on it and do as hard as you can, there would be something great to happen in life.

#thoughts

2 notes · View notes

demonicintegrity · 3 years

Text

I was thinking about people, especially kids, forming parasocial relationships, and kinda wondered to myself how easy it was to do so. Because I know to keep some sort of degree of separation between me and my fellow creators. Because the idea that these people have their own lives and are more than their internet presence is as obvious to me as the different in the sun and moon.

But if you’re forming an unhealthy relationship like that, chances are you’re overlooking that. Deliberately or not, you’re not taking to account that you shouldn’t be so dependent on someone, especially someone who has a deliberately crafted presence to show to others. You’re overlooking red flags. And you’ll overlook red flags for two reasons

1) you’re just unaware it’s a red flag. Young kids think it’s normal to be 110% into creators and they’re surrounded by their peers who are also 110%. YouTube has a whole new era of vlogging and family vlogging where creators just let seemingly any detail be on camera. Let everyone know things about you. It’s what they grew up with. It’s what they’re use too.

2) they’re desperate. Desperate for smth to be happy about, to be apart of smth, someone like them, whatever it is. Desperate for a connection and will do what seems okay to get it. Especially over quarantine, you got a bunch of very lonely and stressed out people with neglected social needs. Pair em with an internet connection and some Trending Person and boom, you got smth to fill that void.

(And I suppose there’s a 3rd one: shit just happens. Tho I guess that falls under the other two in some way. It’s easy to get caught up in things when you’re having fun, or your peers are also into it, or whatever else. No one is immune to vices and unhealthy coping mechanisms or just having a blind spot.)

And I realize how easy it is for neurodivergent folk to easily fall prey to parasocial ways. Because we got a double whammy of either hyperfixating on things/people, having a favorite person, having a special interest of or around a creator, or what have you. And then most of us were likely bullied and alone at some point and fandom is very easy to fit into. Fandom and the internet was the first time I felt like I had friends and social life. The internet is still how I get a majority of my social interaction.

Idk. All this to say I feel more pity towards those with parasocial relationships now that I’ve realized these things. Before I was a touch more apathetic and unamused? by it. Looked at it with a very “ugh how childish” lens. But that’s not the right way to look at it I think. Because more often than not these people aren’t trying to be unhealthy or a bother to the creator/others around them, they’re just trying to interact with someone/thing. It’s not like there’s a easy how to guide to interact with others online, it’s not like in person where you can see discomfort in real time or have a parent/teacher/friend over your shoulder to guide the social interaction. And it likely wasn’t always so unhealthy for them.

Not to say these people, even if kids, aren’t responsible for how they interact with others and fandom; you are always responsible for your actions and have a duty to regulate your actions even if emotion-fueled. But it’s so easy to be unhealthy and codependent these days. And I’m certainly not innocent either, I’m sure I’ve used the internet and fandom as unhealthy escapism a number of times.

Idk idk.

#rambles #relationships #fandom #parasocial relationships

1 note · View note

scaredandbored · 4 years

Text

the one with the sonic showers

for @julie-yard , (sorry it’s so ooc but it’s got DaForge in!)

word count (excluding the compulsory grouching i do in the brackets next because i ran out of space in the tags whoops) : 2233

(also this is my first ever piece of writing using solely other people’s characters so i apologise in advance lol)

(constructive criticism welcome just please be nice i cry really easily)

(hey so data is literally an android and geordie is CHEIF FRICKIN ENGINEER and i am Bad At Physics. so there are large gaps in dialogue which i would LOVE to do some more research on (not sarcasm i really would but i would get sucked into it and never actually write lol) but i’m more of a chemistry/biology Basic Bitch™️ so even though i’m supposed to know enough about sound waves to write that dialogue i don’t trust myself enough to do it)

(also, i’m a First Aid Responder, not a doctor, damnit! so all medical talk in this is me reading three (3) articles on chronic tension headaches and then seeming myself fit to write about it)

(sorry in advance, here you go!)

The alarm he had set for twenty minutes before the beginning of his shift made Geordie feel as though he was being hit repeatedly by a phaser. Wincing, he groped for his VISOR, slamming his other hand on the button that would stop the infernal shrieking. Logically, Geordie knew the noise was just barely above a soft trill, but as he rummaged around his drawer for his acetaminophen hypo, he was considering having a word with the senior medical staff about limiting the volume of the ships alarms in the interest of the crew’s wellbeing.

As usual, the hypo did very little for the inescapable pressure on his skull, and the activation of his visor did nothing but restore him to the state he was before the hypo. Grimacing, he dragged himself over to the replicator in the far corner of his room, toeing off the black regulation bottoms he’d slept in and tossing them into the laundry shoot as he walked by. “Coffee, black, sixty degrees Celsius.”. Hoping against hope the caffeine would keep the dull pain from spiking until he could administer her perscription later in the day. He rolled his head between sips of the slightly too bitter beverage, with the intention of loosening up in order to stave off neck and shoulder tension later in the day. “Computer, set a reminder to schedule a meeting with Dr.Crusher for me, will you?” The computer’s answering trill was, again, much too loud for his liking, so he gave a second order for all automated auditory responses to decrease intensity by 50%.

Sliding off his VISOR, Geordie decided to pick out his uniform and dress using muscle memory, the idea of putting his VISOR back on before absolutely necessary was enough to make his stomach turn, violently. “OK, so don’t put it back on, Geordie, it’s not rocket science.” he sighed to himself as he tugged the zip up, catching his thumb in his collar. Adequately annoyed at himself and already aching to take another shot of his hypo, Geordie lamented the fact he hadn’t decided to shower, the warm water would’ve done some good towards the inevitable spasms his upper back and neck would undoubtedly engage in later that evening. Sitting down, he pressed the heels of his almost-cool hands against his temples, rubbing around the terminals for his VISOR, where the ache was the worst. As he considered requesting sick leave and how to tell Riker he’d be missing poker tonight without raising suspicion, his communicator went off, the obnoxious trill sending a jolt of nausea through him as Barclay’s voice rang around his room.

“Barclay to Commander LaForge.”

Geordie winced and sighed before tapping his badge. “LaForge here.”

While Reg was relaying his message, Geordie reluctantly picked up his VISOR and clicked it into place. “There’s been several complaints shipwide about sonic shower malfunctions, the captain has asked us to assemble a team and look into it as soon as possible, sir.”

“Acknowledged. I’ll be in Engineering as soon as I can. Until then, Reg, you get a few ensigns and run a few tests on the basic functions in the malfunctioning units on the lower half of the affected decks. I want the results updated in real time so I can check them against the ones I’ll run. LaForge out.” Geordie considered popping into Sickbay on his way to see if he could get a muscle relaxer to avoid any serious cramping of his neck muscles, but the acetaminophen seemed to be kicking in, and he’d hoped this meant the worst was over.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

After numerous hours of running several different sonic showers at increasingly higher frequencies, Geordie felt as though his head was going to burst. He’d missed the hour he was supposed to re-administer his painkiller by a good thirty minutes, and the ensign he had taken with him to the upper decks had noticed his smile was less a smile and more a pained grimace. When she’d suggested he let her run a few tests while he updated the logs, Geordie had politely declined with a small laugh and an even smaller smile. When she repeated the question ten minutes later, he complied without a word.

Lunchtime arrived what felt like years later, when Geordie finally caved and turned himself into sickbay.

“Hey, Alyssa, can I talk to you for a second?” Geordie held out his hand in a sort of rushed, half-thought out greeting that immediately told Alyssa what it was Geordie wanted to talk to her about.

“Geordie, maybe you should sit the rest of your shift out.” Was all she said in the way of sympathy as she administered several of his usual hypos. This was why Geordie came to her before any other nurse on the Enterprise. Her sympathy was just enough to get her job done and she kept her pity to herself for the most part.

“Well, you know what they say!” Geordie jumped to his feet, rubbing his hands together briefly before giving one sharp clap to test the rapidly receding pressure in his head. “No peace for the wicked. I’ll see you around, Alyssa, thanks for the help.”

As Geordie moved out from behind the thin curtain Alyssa had pulled for privacy, he found himself looking straight up at his best friend, and his heart skipped a beat. “Data!” He grinned.

“Geordie.” Data’s head nodded in acknowledgement. Geordie admired the halo his VISOR caused around Data’s head. “I fail to see the relevance between your chosen turn of phrase and Nurse Ogawa’s reccomendation. I also object to the comparison you have drawn between yourself and the afformentioned ‘wicked’.”

“Data, it was a joke.” Geordie smiled again, the combination of the slightly stronger meds and his closest friend reducing the pain to a tolerable level. The fact his crush on Data was all-consuming only meant he had something to distract himself from what pain remained. “And Alyssa was just being nice, you know how I’d love to take an evening off to fool around on the holodeck.” Geordie immediately regretted his choice of words, but Data remained oblivious, his concerned head tilt still in place.

“Nurse Ogawa is not known for the benevolent prescription of unnecessary sick leave, Geordie.” He opened his mouth as if to suggest something, before closing it again and taking a step forward, placing his hand on Geordie’s shoulder. Now, it was Geordie’s chest that was under considerable pressure. “Do not hesitate to contact me if necessary. I must return to duty.”

Geordie chuckled in order to hide his disappointment at the loss of Data’s hand on his shoulder, shaking his head fondly. “No problem, Data. I’ll do that.”

Geordie was nearly out the door of Sickbay when Data called after him. “I shall see you at poker tonight, Geordie.”

It didn’t sound like a question, but Geordie knew Data well enough to know he was hoping to prompt a response. “I dunno, buddy. I’m kinda tired, if I’m being honest. I’ll let you know later, ok?”

Data blinked once, then twice, then nodded, his head adjusting itself into a neuteral position. “That is satisfactory.”

This time, Geordie laughed, the pain in his shoulders creeping up on him slowly once again, despite Data’s adorable half-attempt at a wave as the doors slid shut behind him. “Computer, what time is it?”

The shrill chime that preceded the response didn’t particularly hurt his head, but Geordie could feel his shoulders tensing even further, and he knew beyond doubt there was no way he would make it to cards that evening.

That evening found Geordie still in one of those awful, shrieking showers. He’d been technically off-duty for an hour now, and desperately needed to take off his VISOR for ten minutes, but Barclay had taken one look at Gerodie’s drawn face and refused to leave him alone in the bathroom they were checking out. “Hey Reg, do me a favour?” Geordie needed to get him out of the room so he could slip off his VISOR and massage his temples. That, or he needed to stop working with the shower on; the high frequencies were really not helping his situation.

“Sir?” Barclay’s hands had stuttered to a sudden stop the minute his commanding officer had spoken.

“Could you run and grab a coffee? The Gamma Shift doesn’t start for another five minutes, we can take a break from this instantaneous reporting.” Geordie didn’t take his head out from the panelling they had removed half an hour ago, afraid Reg would see the pained twist he could feel in his lips and call Dr.Crusher. He knew he could handle it, it wasn’t the worst pain he’d ever had from his VISOR, and he’d managed to subtly administer another hypo when he’d gone to grab them both a water around twenty minutes ago.

“Yessir.” Was Barclay’s anxious reply, and there was a prolonged silence between his response and the sound of the doors opening and shutting. They’d had to shut down all replicator and environmental control activity while they worked, which meant Geordie had five minutes to give his head a well-deserved break. Clicking the VISOR out of its terminals and heaving a sigh of relief, Geordie felt his head swim. Taking a few steadying breaths, he fumbled blindly at the sonic shower’s controls, silently cursing himself for not having shut it off before removing the VISOR. Only succeeding in shifting the tuning to an impossibly more painful frequency, Geordie sat down on the floor of the shower, back pressed against the back wall, head falling back against the cool slate. He rubbed at his eyes. “Goddamn.” His sigh made his head swim once more, and his subsequent calming breaths only served to worsen the sensation. The constant drone pressed down on his head so much the pain from that morning seemed as intimidating as... Geordie couldnt think properly; he could only conjure up an image of Data as he worked at his desk in his quarters, resolutely ignoring Spot on his stack of PADDs, aside from his gentle, regular strokes. The image made him smile, which caused his tensed muscles in his neck and shoulders to spasm, violently. Again, the deep breathing Deanna had helped him with when he’d first arrived on the ship did nothing but worsen the sensation.

Geordie dragged his shaking hand down his face, which came away damp with what Geordie briefly considered to be sweat, before everything went black.

There was a hand on either side of his face, a comforting pressure being applied by what felt like a pair of thumbs around the terminals on his temples. “Do not be alarmed, Geordie.”

Data was whispering, Geordie noted, and his tender head thanked the android for it. “Data? What happened?”

The thumbs stopped rubbing briefly, but resumed without hesitation when Geordie accidentally, slightly whimpered at the loss. “You passed out while completing your tests on the malfunctioning sonic showers. Dr.Crusher administered a variety of medications which she noted in your medical log, if you would like for me to read them to you?”

Despite his hushed tones, Geordie’s head really wasn’t going to put up with any noise for very much longer. “No, no talking, please, Data.” he managed to get out, curling up a little, before starting, which caused his shoulders to spasm lightly. “Wait, my VISOR-” Data’s hands shifted to the problematic muscles immediately, massaging firmly.

“I have your VISOR on the arm of your couch to my left. However, given the negative effect it has had on your condition throughout the day, Dr.Crusher has requested you refrain from replacing it this evening.” There was a pause as a mildly confused but very tired and complacent Geordie allowed himself to be gently manoeuvred into a reclined position, his head in Data’s lap while the second officer returned his hands to Geordie’s head. “I am here to assist you in every way possible, and I have downloaded various massage techniques frequently used on those who suffer from long-term, extreme tension headaches.”

“Why?” Geordie mumbled, slowly drifting off despite the pressure slowly returning with a vengeance behind his eyes.

Another pause, the hands stilled. Geordie frowned and they started to move again, but the silence continued. Just as Geordie was about to fall asleep, Data spoke. “You are my friend.”

“Huh?”

“I am helping you because you are my friend, Geordie.”

Geordie smiled softly, shaking his head. “I know that Data.”

Another pause, much more brief, and the hands did not stop their gentle rubbing on his delicate head. “What was the purpose of your inquiry, Geordie?”

And Geordie, as much as he wanted Data to know, he couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t say he wanted Data to be there because he liked the domesticity of this situation, to be there not only to massage his knotted muscles and play nurse, but to hold his hand, to kiss his forehead, to... “No purpose, Data.” He sighed softly, settling further into his best friend. “None at all.”

His breathing had lengthened, he was almost fully asleep but not quite there yet, when he felt cool lips press against one of the terminals, then the skin right beside it.

“Hmmm, Data?”

A pause. “Yes, Geordie?”

A mumble, the beginnings of a snore.

Slightly more urgently, “Geordie?”

“Said, I l’ve ya,,,”

Several minutes of soft snores and gentle massages later, an almost unintelligible: “I believe... I am in love with you also.”

fin

i was going to put in a bit about Data finding Geordie because he hadn’t gotten back to him about the poker but then i felt like it took from the kind of,,, geordie pov vibe i had going idk

hope you enjoyed!

sorry for all the inevitable typos i did this on my ipad and i didnt proof read because i’m kinda using this one shot prompt thing as a warm up to writing as opposed to actually writing fic? idk if that makes sense but i enjoyed writing it and i hope you enjoy reading it!

#the number of ‘research’ TANGENTS i went off on #im here to formally apologise to anyone with actual medical training #a bitch is only a FAR #the only medicinal treatment i know is aspirin for heart attacks whoops #i also have zero personal experience with chronic pain #and only mild migranes and shit #the only issues i have with my eyes all involve the vision going shitty #which obviously is no help here #so im apologising to people with chronic pain and who actually suffer from chronic tension headaches and stuff for my inaccuracies as well #i had fun though!#thanks for the request!#geordie la forge #fanfic #daforge #star trek #star trek tng #data soong #ok so confession #as much as i ADORE geordie and data and daforge #ive actually never read a fanfic for tng #because im afraid of spoilers #also im a whimp who wont read fanfic until ive consumed all the content lol #so as out of character as this COULD be #it doesnt even have the fandom’s characterisation/influences #im really sorry if this isnt what you were looking for #also i focused more on chronic pain than his blindness #i hope thats ok #wow this is a lot of tags #and none of them are relevant #bored writing

12 notes · View notes

alternativewinxcontinuity · 4 years

Note

what do you think the winx's biggest character flaws are? like, not in their writing, just like how someone can come off as cold or standoffish accidentally or don't have a brain-to-mouth filter or any insecurities really (not for the au, i'm geniunely interested on your take on their characters)

I think once you disregard all of the stuff that's a side effect of the writing you do lose quite a few flaws which are primarily just writers making characters dumb and obtuse for The Drama, but the flaws left are still pretty connected to the writing.

It's been a while since I've re-watched the show, (I'll have to make time for that at some point this year (happy 2020 btw)) so I'm kind of at the point where I'm forgetting how the canon characterisation is, so some of this might be the fanon slipping in. Apologies.

But primary flaws from my POV?:

Stella is pretty self-absorbed, she's very focused on her image to the point where she can say some hurtful stuff because she's forgotten how to empathise with the people around her in her pursuit of 'the perfect 'it' girl'. I feel like that comes from a childhood we only get hints about, she's spent so long trying to become what people want, she's failed to become someone people like.

She's not unlikable, she's just given up substance for style, and it can make her act childish and spoiled at times, and she can't (or won't bother to) read the room before speaking.

It's something she was getting over in the earlier seasons, being around the Winx she was learning to tone down her need to be The Popular Girl and empathise more, but unfortunately, the writing is intrinsically linked, and this trait became Flanderised to the point of parody by season 7.

Bloom is incredibly self-righteous, she believes she's always in the right, even when she's not. Despite some early self-doubt, she believes she knows better than everyone else to a dangerous degree. Within minutes of passing Diaspro in the hall at Red Fountain, she'd decided with no evidence but her hunch that Diaspro was Icy in disguise. Rather than ask around about the young woman sitting with royals who didn't seem to find her presence odd or suspicious, Bloom tricked Diaspro into a private place and attacked her with no further questioning. Despite the fact that Bloom had asked 'Icy' under false pretences that 'Icy' would have absolutely every reason to doubt, Bloom decided she was right and went full steam ahead.

The problem isn't that she's self assured and confident, it's that The Drama, Bloom never considers the possibility that she could be wrong about something, and most of the time she's right about things, which makes the whole thing worse because it lets the confidence become arrogance with no one the wiser until things go Wrong.

But the writing likes to sweep that under the rug. It also feeds into part of her Drama with Sky, she's convinced that X is happening to affect their relationship and they're doomed and blah blah blah, and rather than consider the possibilities and even try to wait until she talks to Sky she stews and works herself into a (self justified) anger which makes it harder for the duo to communicate. (The relationship Drama is not all on her, but it's not entirely on Sky either. Just mostly, because he's a jealous cheater type.)

Aisha is kind of a mix of Stella and Bloom, she's selfish. No, that's the wrong word, she's very 'my way or the highway, you're with me or against me' in her world view, she's convinced a lot of the time that her way is the 'best' way. But again I think that was a product of her youth that was being tempered until the writing got in the way.

She spent so much of her life having to 'go it alone' I don't think she ever entirely got out of that mind set, a small part of her always had that instinct of 'how do I do this by myself, what's best for me,' rather than 'how do I help this get done, what's best for us'.

Not to say she was uncooperative, she integrated to the team really well, (and this is where the 'I haven't watched the show in ages' really starts being a problem because) but I feel like by the time she was finally letting go of this completely, she was being forced face first into “my boyfriend is dead now, time to rage for a few hours and then spend a season or two being angry and hating all male life”.

Musa had a similar problem, she was also so quick to anger. And yes that came from a place of deep hurt and trauma, but she never really got over that. Someone does something that might be considered a slight against her (or her friends) and boom: rage time.

Again the writing brushed it off or justified it, but Musa has anger issues that sit pretty tight with trust issues. She and Riven have been dating for a few years, she sees him talking with another girl and 'he's cheating there's no other explanation, he is about to be sorry!'

It doesn't help that the writing is always pulling that shit, but the fact that it always turns out to be nothing, or nothing more than foot-in-mouth disease, this shouldn't be her first assumption.

Tecna and Flora are a little harder to talk about because they feel like they're edged out a little for the louder personalities, and even up front, they feel like they're not as in the spotlight as the other girls.

Flora has self-confidence issues, but she's also a big sister, it has this weird clashing effect of Flora being almost a doormat at times, giving way to whatever everyone else is doing, and at others she's very much a caregiver. When Flora does put her foot down on an issue the, the writing almost seems to go out of its way to make her irrational about it.

I feel like the writers wanted a mediator type personality – how do I de-escalate this situation, how can I make sure this works out for the most number of people, how do we find a compromise – but they just gave her a 'yes man' personality instead of a 'I will go this far but you have to meet me half way' type.

Tecna's flaw, until the writing decided to disregard personality for boys, was that she was a very logical person, her entire world was run on strict rules and regulations, it was a safe environment. She comes to Alfea and bam, all the chaos and she couldn't quite get the hang of it. It runs parallel to Aisha's flaw, in that Tecna's upbringing has embedded this sense of restrain and regulation in her, and when this runs counter to how she's certain they should be, she digs her heels in and doesn't let up.

Basically she's very stubborn, and if she's convinced she's right she'll need in-arguable proof to change her mind.

For the most part, their flaws are positive traits that were done wrong, or taken too far in the wrong direction. (from my perspective at least.)

#winx #winx club #winx alt con #kind of?#busy-saving-the-universe #I got an Ask!#Asking Alternix #personality flaws #headcanon #meta #I guess?

50 notes · View notes

hunnybadgerv · 4 years

Note

Writer Ask Meme 3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing? 10. Pick an author (or writing friend) to co-write a book with 12. Which story (or: stories) of yours do you like best? why? 17. What things (scenes/topics/character types) are you most comfortable writing? 29. Is writing more of a hobby or do you write with the intention of getting published? 36. Post a snippet 49. Favorite fictional world?

Behind the Scenes of Fic Writing: 30 Questions for Authors

3. What is your favorite/least favorite part about writing? Getting started. Once I’m writing, I can usually find the zone. But it’s getting started that is always the hardest for me. Like this morning, I didn’t know where to even start. So, I opted to edit, since it is something I wanted to accomplish this week. And I know that in the revision process I also tend to refine my prose, i.e., write, so my editing and writing work today coincided.

I have, however, written every day this month and I’m hoping to continue that trend. But regardless of the time of day, getting started tends to be my biggest obstacle overall.

10. Pick an author (or writing friend) to co-write a book with. Must it only be one? Gosh.

There are so many great writers I know, more than I could ever even try to consider for this.

I’ve always admired @theoriginalladya for the uniqueness of her ideas and character development are second to none; I equally love and hate when she and I talk about her characters because I get super excited about them because of how amazing they are. Then I quickly become obsessed, which may or may not be the only “bad” thing. @painterofhorizons has angst super powers; even in a snippet of text she can rip your soul clean from your body. Her writing is so evocative and emotionally striking. Then there is @chyrstis, whose ability to seamlessly weave humor into her fics sparks more than envy. She manages to put characters into such believable, yet laughable situations that it only serves to endear them to readers.

I’m not sure I could ever co-write a piece, but I would count myself lucky to write with any of the writers I regularly associate with, especially one of these three. Apologies to all the amazing writers I know who I did not mention by name, but I already didn’t follow the question in the first place by mentioning three rather than a single one.

12. Which story (or: stories) of yours do you like best? why? Oh gosh. This is so cruel. One story! Really? That’s all. Honestly, First Watch of the Night (Guardians in the Darkness Series) is one of my favorite. I think that might be in part because of nostalgia--it is Nyx Shepard’s WIP. I actually have it planned all the way through ME3, though I’ve currently stalled in the revision process in the ME1 timeline. I’m not sure why either.

I find myself wondering if the reason I have not finished it is because once I know what happens, maybe I won’t have the drive to finish writing it. Maybe I can’t get past the block because I’m worried that finishing their story will vacate those muses from my mind, which I kind of don’t want. I really have grown quite attached to Nyx, Kaidan, and her crew.

Honestly, I think that might be the struggle I end up in with all my longer fics. Short fics in collection are so much easier because the story never has to end. A long fic follows a certain line and has a definite conclusion, which I think worries me.

17. What things (scenes/topics/character types) are you most comfortable writing? Umm, If you were to look at characters like Tayen Quick, Nyx and Feign Shepard, Furia, Remy McGinnis, Mari Ryder, Cyna Mahariel, and Laerke, you’d see a common thread connecting them. I tend enjoy writing strong female characters, especially those that are flawed or broken in some way. Honestly, Nyx and Furia, also to some extent Leah Rook, all share imposter syndrome to one degree or another--so does Mari. I always tend to have one or two characters that share a flaw. I have Mari, Laerke, and Furia who have all lost their entire families. Characters that come from big families. But I tend to write female protagonists more so than males.

29. Is writing more of a hobby or do you write with the intention of getting published? I published a short story in college. And I really would like to be published some day. Right now, I am mostly writing for me. I’ve got original fiction ideas, but I don’t work on them currently. I focus on my fandom work in order to practice and hone the skills and plans I have for future pieces.

I want to write something in the mix of fantasy/sci-fi. But I also have a strong sense of realism. I still hold tight to Mark Twain’s statement that the difference between real life and fiction is that fiction has to make sense. Things have to stem logically from one another in a story, and I always try to ground my writing in experience--sights, smells, sounds, textures that my readers can be familiar with--in order to add some sense of connection. I try to make my characters flawed in ways that feel accurate to them.

A part of me screams in the back of my head that I am a writer. I can be an author, but a part of me worries that perhaps it may not happen. I keep writing. And I keep trying new things. I’ll always be a storyteller. I will keep writing and falling in love with fictional beings and places that I cannot resist exploring.

36. Post a snippet This is from First Watch of the Night. I really love the characters and depth I managed to capture in this piece. Honestly, it’s one of the pieces of my own writing that intimidates me ... a lot. I don’t write the same way anymore. I feel like my writing lacks the same emotional depth right now. And I’m not sure why. It might have to do with how disconnected from other humans I have been in the last decade.

The scene here is Nyx Shepard and her father from Chapter 18:

The two Shepards watched one another for a long moment, before Taranis returned his attention to one of the soft cherries. The commander sighed, sipping her tea quietly while the captain waited. It was his usual tactic. He knew there was more and he could always wait her out. Nyx would talk to him in her own time, even if it had to be in carefully crafted abstractions. His daughter knew the drill. Taranis' methods were nothing new to her. He would take long pauses, allowing her to consider all the things she was not telling him. Then he would ask careful questions in case it was actually related to her current or a classified assignment--since need to know could interfere with her desire to disclose and his fatherly curiosity.

Whatever it was, Nyx held onto it much longer than usual, which told him she really did not want to bring it up. Despite this, Taranis knew she would relent because she kept glancing over at him with a look that suggested she was merely trying to find the way to bring it up. Nyx always came first for him; he redirected his career to give her the life she had, a life where there was always one parent there to hold her tight when things weren't just so. He knew it was not perfect, but he did everything he could to be there for her.

Nyx sighed as she set the tea cup on the table between them. "Fine," she breathed heavily.

It took another few moments for her to look up at him. Then she scooted a little closer, lowering her voice in discretion. Watching her carefully Taranis could not quite be sure what she was going to say, but she bit her lip and winced a little when she finally asked a question he never expected to hear.

"What did you do when you met Mom?"

Everything froze for a second or two as he stared at her. The little blush on her cheeks threw her father for a loop, but made him smile. "Well, damn."

The commander shook her head at him, trying to discourage him from thinking too hard about what she had just asked.

"Answer the question, please."

Captain Taranis Shepard rubbed his hand through the short stubble on the back of his head as he stared at his daughter in stunned silence. "I avoided her. Tried to just keep my distance. I even put in for a transfer," he admitted with a wry smile. "It got denied because I did not put in what command thought was a valid reason. Then, on leave, I talked to your Grandpa Shepard about it."

Nyx smiled and laughed. "And what did the old devil dog have to say about that?"

Her voice held a note of disbelief that her father was not surprised to hear. Taranis' father was a stickler for rules, regulations, expectations. He was strict and set high expectations. The captain could tell by the way his daughter eyed the dregs in her tea cup that she was as completely unprepared for what her father was about to say as Taranis had been when he heard it.

"He told me it was not a weakness to want someone to be part of your life."

Nyx's eyes darted to his. She was easily as shocked as he had been. Moving the tea cup, Taranis laid her hand out in his and covered it with the other.

"I told him all the things, I'm pretty sure you're telling yourself right now. All the excuses about regs, concerns, and bad experiences and stories you've heard," Taranis said quietly as he stroked the back of her hand lightly.

She leaned toward him. Her voice was tight with emotion. "And?"

Holding her hand tightly, her father smiled at her softly. "He told me that there are some things that outweigh the regs."

They were both quiet for a moment as Nyx let herself fall back in the chair. Her mind was clearly racing. Kirk Shepard had always stern, at best; he still was totally by the book in everything except when he met his wife. That was the only rule Taranis could think of his father ever even bending, let alone breaking out right. Nyx had been very close with both her grandfathers; she respected them as men and as marines. For her they were role models, people she that influenced her greatly.

"I'm going to tell you something you probably don't know. My parents met in the service, too. We Shepards seem to fall for our brethren," he said playfully. Nyx did not look relieved in the slightest. "He almost lost her on a mission. Even in love, your grandfather was still the same man. He couldn't justify risking the primary objective. The mission at all costs, you know?"

Taranis knew she understood it. Hell, he knew she lived that decree just as solidly as his father.

"She made it out alive, barely. Your grandfather, sentimental bastard, proposed to her when she woke up from surgery. Grandma Amelie was just as stoic as he was. Told him she would consider it, but only if he promised to do always put the mission first, even if she was in his command. She believed him when he said he would. Even lived up to it. Had to put her at risk once more in the field before they got married."

"And he told you this when you asked him about Mom?"

"Yep," Taranis said, nodding as he studied his daughter's reaction. "I was rather hoping I wouldn't have to tell it to you, but I guess it was too much to hope you'd break the trend of falling for servicemen."

She shrugged and looked at their hands for a long moment. "Seemed to be going well for a while," Nyx said quietly.

"Just tell me it's not the Zingel kid."

Her laugh made him smile, and brightened her eyes. "No, it's not Caz."

Taranis leaned back in his chair, fidgeting with his uniform for a moment. "So, tell me something about this fella."

The way she tilted her head at him suggested that the question might have been her maximum.

"At least tell me his name so I can start checking up and get a little peace."

"Da."

"Fine." Taranis let his hands fall on the arms of his chair. "Don't relieve your old father of the undue stress he is now placed under worrying about what kind of man his plucking his daughter's heart strings."

"Seriously?" she replied with a doubtful look.

They both knew she did not see herself as the type of woman who was plucked, but Taranis had a long and vivid memory and he could still recall the girl with the romantic sensibilities.

"What? I remember the shelves of Austen, Gaskell, and the Brontes. Then there were the sonnets your grandmother always sent you. And if I recall you were planning on marrying Captain Wentworth." He tilted his head at her slightly. "Perhaps I should have seen this coming after all."

They both laughed. Then Nyx sprang forward and hugged her father around the neck. "I've missed you, Da."

"I love you, Nyxy-girl."

Her lips were warm on his cheek. "Love you, too," she repeated before she stood. "I should probably go."

"We should do this again," her father offered, as he stood and proffered his arm. "Soon."

His daughter smiled and looked away for a moment. "Sure. As soon as I can."

Once they exited the little shop, they stopped and he touched her cheek before he bent and kissed her forehead again. He did not like her chosen phrase. Taranis knew she meant it, but he also knew the schedule she had kept for the past several years and there was little hope of relief given the most recent change.

"I'd prefer sooner," he noted.

It always killed him to say what he said next, the phrase was tradition, but always made his heart ache because he knew there was always a chance that he could lose his girl in the line of duty. He had been in her boots and hung them up for her. She had taken them up with fervor and so much more skill and determination than Taranis ever possessed.

"Good hunting, Commander," he said, a waver in his voice, as he saluted her sharply.

Nyx returned it as smartly as she would to an admiral. "Thank you Captain."

Taranis watched the girl with her mother's hair and his eyes weave through the crowds in the wards. He remembered meeting a boy once, at her basic graduation. Keith or Kyle or something that started with a K. He managed to stick around until a few months after her graduation from Exeter. Somehow the kid had stuck it out through three mission deployments before the relationship ended without so much as a whimper. The captain could not remember his name or much else about him. Even after a few years together, his daughter never hinted at the question she just asked. It elated and scared the hell out of him.

49. Favorite fictional world? I really enjoy writing ME and in SWTOR. They are amazing worlds full of science, magic, adventure, and drama. Though I’m also drawn to fantasy for the same reasons. But I think futuristic worlds and space are some of my favorites.

#Behind the Scenes of Fic Writing #30 Questions for Authors #Writer Questions #long post #painterofhorizons

6 notes · View notes

cilliansaccent · 4 years

Text

The Peaky Designer - Cillian Fanfic, Chapter 4

Hello, welcome back. Below is the next instalment of my fanfiction!

Leave a like or a comment if you liked it, or if I can do anything better! Please, it would mean the world and to understand if anyone is enjoying my writing. Also, sharing/reblogging would be even better.

PLEASE READ:

I will not be including Cillian’s family as it’s kinda weird since he has children lmao. Just a mention of his parents and a previous lover.

I will indicate in a chapter if there is smut in the beginning and before the actual scene!!

I will add trigger warnings if there is any!!

There is a variety of levels of swearing during a chapter, I will not hold back, everyone swears.

The timestamp for the Fic is now 2016 and onwards!!

——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——-

Background: Gabrijela Babic is a Croatian girl from Sydney, Australia. She is born in the year 1991 on the 24th of December. She studies a Fashion degree in a University with a major in Game Design as well. Her teacher in the fashion designer class managed to nail an Internship on the set of Peaky Blinders with the shows very own Costume Designer, Allison McCosh. There, she travels to London for under a year to learn how to be one, working alongside the actors as well the man she admires, Cillian Murphy. But, her platonic feelings for the man begins to grow into something more, and she wonders whether she should pursue them or let him go for fear of her strict parents and her three older brothers…

Characters:

Swantje Paulina as Gabrijela Babic (swalina on Instagram)

Cillian Murphy

Word Count: 5,000

!!Warnings!!: It's getting hot here! Some decent smut at the end, starts after they are in bed together. Enjoy *winks*.

Date: March 2016

Chapter Name: The Shelby Clan

Brief Chapter Outline: First day being the apprentice as a Peaky Designer, Gabrijela meets the cast and the crew in a jam-packed day, while also making some friends. She ends up staying in Cillian's trailer on set with some red wine that will question their actions later...

——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——- ——-

The drive towards Manchester was quite pleasant, the roads were empty in the morning so the run was smooth.

Gabrijela had packed her laptop and documents last night as she knew she wouldn't have much time to pack in the morning. And it was true.

Five minutes past five, Allison was at the door, ringing the bell. Gabrijela had rushed down after she had changed into high-waist blue jeans, a black turtle neck tucked in and a light brown coat on top and her favourite Doc Martins. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun with a cream coloured scrunchie.

She wore a gold chain with a small gold cross, her mother gave it to her for good luck and protection despite Gabrijela not really that of a holy person.

They didn't stop, only for a toilet break and to grab a snack bar but it was right through to the cit up north.

They arrived at the destination just before eleven. It was pretty full-on once they came, "Today is the only exception where I will drive you here. You'll have to catch the train here, and I may or may not be able to drive you back." Allison had explained as they headed in where they would dress the actors up.

But first stop, Gabrijela was to be introduced to the team, the producers and all that. While she was taken away, Allison headed off to ready the actors and actresses.

Gabrijela was informed in the meeting of her secrecy of the plot and the ideas of Season three. But they made sure to not spook her too much. She was given the lay down of the rules and regulations, but overall, she was kind of free to roam long as she told someone where she was going.

The crew was quite nice, and once of the assistance people took her on a trip around.

Logan, a tall, handsome man with such deep ocean blue eyes and thick black curly hair. He was dressed in a casual suit, round gold glasses sat on his straight nose and he had a boyish smile. He was turning twenty-seven in a week.

"Got anything planned for the birthday?" She asked as they came outside to where men and women moved stuff around or put things together.

"Uh, not really. Probably go to a pub around here for some drinks and cake with my mates." He said with a shrug and a shy smile.

"Will your parents come?" She asked. He had told her he was from Scotland, as per his accent told her already before he could tell her.

"Oh no, no. They can't afford it, but I will make it up for Pa's fifty-eighth birthday next month." He said, his smile bright, making the corners of his eyes to crinkle.

"Oh, that's good. How long have you been working here?" She asked, curious about his line of work.

"Since season one. I worked in various jobs before and throughout, gaining as much knowledge and experience possible. You need a lot of experience as a Set Designer, and I pushed myself to be the very best and somehow caught the eyes of the Director." He explained as they headed back inside.

"So cool." She whispered, "Is the job stressful?"

"Can be. You need to be thorough, and to know what needs to go where, when and how. Today we will be setting up the opening scene, could be changed entirely tomorrow if it doesn't flow. I gotta be on my feet at all times, but I love it. The creativity that brings about in me as if some flood gate exploded open." He said with such passion.

She giggled softly and they continued to walk around before he was called back to start on the set.

They bid farewell and she headed to where Allison said she was and directed.

She entered the large trailer and she had stopped in her tracks at what she saw.

The actors were all crammed in, well, most of them, mostly the men where. The director was there to listen in on what Allison was talking about.

Gabrijela couldn't move. She felt like a deer in headlights, her nerves rattling through her.

She wasn't sure if she was suddenly up for this. This whole thing seemed like a dream and here she was, among the cast and the crew.

Cillian spotted Gabrijela enter and smiled, "Sorry to interrupt but Gabrijela is here." He said, moving through the boys and came to her.

"Hey. You alright?" He asked softly, taking her arm gently.

"Y-Yeah, I think so." She said nodding her head.

She was swept into introductions and everyone seemed thrilled for her to be here. Cillian stuck to her side since he could tell she was apprehensive.

And then it was time to get into the business.

Gabrijela worked with Allison closely, following her orders. She was to help the boys dress into the right outfits and have the next ones on hand when it came to a new scene.

It was none stop, and hectic. She had spotted Logan every now and then and got peaks of him setting up props and all that.

But she was brought back to her own area and watched and listened to the other creative artists such as the make up artists and the hairstylists.

When it was break time in the mid-afternoon, she realised she hadn't made food for herself. And she was to shy to even ask for the on-site food if it was available for her too.

But she didn't need to fret too much when Cillian, all decked out in his Tommy outfit came over to her.

"Thought I'd bring you this." He said and handed her a fairly large box.

"What is it?" The smell that came from it was so good.

"One of the guys ordered this from some local restaurant near here. Got it for all of us." He said.

She opened it. It was stirfry noodles, rice, dumplings and spring rolls.

"Oh, it smells so good!" She said.

"Yeah. Come on, let's go join the others." He said and she followed him to a different trailer where she could hear voices from within.

"Cillian. I-I don't know." She paused outside her heart racing.

"Hey. It's alright, don't be scared." He faced her, "I'm here okay?"

She sighed and nodded and walked in with him.

Introductions went around again, and the general questions of herself began via the boys. She ate in between questions and answered them happily.

She was still shy but she began to open up and feel more at ease. Cillian and Paul got lost in their own conversation and she chatted with Harry for a bit.

But it wasn't long when lunch was over and it was back to work.

Evening...

It was time to call it a night. Gabrijela was exhausted after a long, busy day.

She was in Allison's trailer, finishing up her report of today.

The door opened and Cillian popped his head in, "Thought I'd find you here." He came in, closing the door behind him.

"Oh hey." She turned and smiled, "How are you?"

"Ah, fucking tuckered." He said and sat across from her. He had changed back to his usual outfit of a blue shirt, jacket and jeans.

"I could imagine. I saw you working hard." She closed her laptop when she saved her document.

"Yeah. So you staying here or are you heading home?" He asked.

"Heading back to London." She said, tucking her laptop into her backpack.

"What? It's almost eight. It'll be too late for you." He frowned, "I've got plenty of room in my trailer-"

"No, it's okay. It'd be to much trouble." She shakes her head, "Besides, I have no other clothing with me. Would look bad if I rocked up again tomorrow in the same shit."

"Fuck." He cursed softly, "I don't want you to go home alone."

"Cilly," She murmured his nickname again, she took his hand, "It'll be okay. I'll call you when I get on, we can keep talking right through the trip."

He held her hand with both his hands, "No. Stay." He insisted.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she sat back. "It would look so weird if I came out of your trailer, Cillian. I don't want to give you a bad representation." She said softly. "Look, thank you for the offer, but I can't be late for the train." She stood, pulling on her backpack.

"I will be safe," She said and headed to the door.

"Gabrijela." He went to her and grabbed her, turning her back around. "Please." He shook her arm a little. He was persistent, and he wasn't going to give up.

She shook her head and sighed. She stepped into his arms and hugged him tightly, "Cillian, don't you stress. I'm a big girl."

His arms moved around her waist and he hugged her close, "I know. But I worry, and it's late."

Allison had opened the door and stepped into the trailer, "Gabrijela- Oh!" She gasped.

The pair hastily pulled back and Gabrijela's cheeks heated.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to walk in on..." She trailed off.

"Just having a heart to heart, Al. Nothing to worry." Cillian wrapped an arm around Gabrijela's shoulder and hugged her a little.

"Okay, well. I need to drop her off at the station." She said.

"She can't stay here?" Cillian asked.

"I mean, she can if she wanted to. Gabrijela?" Allison looked at her.

"It's only two hours to London, I'll be okay." Gabrijela shook her head.

"She can stay with me. I can make the dining table into a bed and she can have the main one." Cillian spoke before Gabrijela could.

"Well, it is up to her, Cillian." Allison said, "Are you worried about something?" Allison added.

Gabrijela looked between the two and let out a sigh through her nose, "I didn't pack properly. I don't have clean clothing is my main concern." She looked down at her feet.

God, she was a mess, her mind was going a million miles an hour.

"That's okay. I got a shirt you could fit for tomorrow, I'll let you off early so you can go back to London to prepare better for the next day." Allison offered, coming over and placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you sure?" She asked, looking up with worrisome eyes.

"I'm sure. Here." Allison went through her small wardrobe she had in the trailer and handed her a shirt. "This should do. Cillian will take you to his sleeping quarters." She gave Gabrijela an encouraging and caring smile.

"Thank you, I appreciate it," Gab said and left with Cillian, heading to his trailer.

"Anytime. I didn't feel comfortable you heading home so late." He held open the door for her to go in.

She walked in, the trailer was clean and smelled like him. "Such a worrisome boy." She poked him when he walked by.

"Can't help it. I've heard things and you're..." He trailed off, his brows furrowed a little.

"I'm... what?" She set her bag on the table.

"Ah," he huffed, "I'd be kicking myself if you got hurt." He said, eyes darting away from her.

She saw he wanted to say something but she wasn't going to pressure him in it. "Thank you, Cillian." She stepped to him, touching his cheek and turning his gaze back to her. "Next time, I'll bring an extra set of clothes just in case." She nodded and stepped back from him.

"Good idea. Now, I have some two-minute noodles and good red wine. Want some?" He asked.

"Sure. I love me some noodles and red wine." She nodded and removed her back from the table and to the bed at the end of the trailer. It was huge, it could easily fit them both.

She could offer him to stay in the bed with her, it wouldn't be the first. "Cillian." She called out.

"Yeah?" He replied, fixing up the noodles and boiling the water.

"Um... Look... Uh... The bed, it's uh, big. We could um... you know..." She blushed and stuttered a little.

"What? Is there something wrong?" He came into the room with her, looking at the bed then back to her.

"No, nothing is wrong with it." She ran a hand through her hair which she had let out. "Oh, god actually- Forget about it. Don't worry." She shook her head quickly.

"No, tell me. It's fine, darling." The word came out without a second thought and it made things more awkward than anything.

"U-Uhm, we could share the uh, the bed. You know. We could put a pillow wall between us or something if you like or we could just stick to our sides but that's up to you." She rushed in a single breath.

"Share a bed? I mean, we can. No issue there." He laughed nervously, "But wouldn't you prefer it all to yourself?"

"I guess so, but I don't think sleeping on the table thing over there would be too comfortable. Besides, you gotta wake up early so you need a good night's sleep." She said, gulping.

"That is true." He returned back to the noodles, pouring the hot water in each bowl, "Alright. I'll take up on your offer. But we don't need a pillow wall. It's not the first time." He said with a deep chuckle.

She blushed madly and sat down in the little booth, "Shut up." She muttered.

It wasn't long when the noodles were ready and they had popped open a bottle of red.

"Welcome to the Shelby Clan." Cillian grinned and held up a glass and she did the same and they clinked.

"Thank you." She said and dug in.

"So how are you feeling after today?" He asked once they finished eating.

"Tired. And stressed." She said, "It was so full-on."

"Yeah. But you did a good job, Gab. Dressed me well and the others." He took a sip of his glass.

"You think so?" She asked.

"Of course! But don't be so nervous around us eh? We are regular people." He said, "Give it a few day's, you'll be relaxed."

"Okay. Yeah, it's only the first day." She accepted with a drink of her wine.

He noticed she was already almost done with her wine, and he was the same. "Here." He refilled their glasses.

"Oh damn. We drinking tonight, hm?" Gabrijela gave him a playful smirk.

"We might." He said, "But I might take a shower, or would you like to go first?" He asked.

"I'll go first." She said, "I'll be quick." She took a sip of her wine and stood up. She could feel a buzz.

Cillian showed her the shower and she quickly washed up. She had one fresh set of underwear always tucked in her bag, and like the idiot she was, she forgot to bring them in.

She wrapped the towel around her body and peaked her head out, Cillian wasn't in and she took that chance to get out. She went for her bag and yanked out the high waisted silk garment and began to pull them up.

Cillian had walked back in after his call and let out a gasp when he saw Gabrijela. The poor girl yelped in fright when he returned and she dropped her towel as she stumbled back from her loss of balance.

She hit her back on the wall and groaned and let out a soft laugh.

"Shit. Gab you alright?" He came through the threshold and let out a cry, "Jesus! Sorry!" He covered his eyes and backed up when he saw her naked body.

"Yeah, I'm okay." She got up and pulled on her underwear. Her jumper and her jeans were back on and she came back out, "Sorry." She was red as ever as she returned to her spot.

"No, no. Don't be. I didn't mean to spook you." He rubbed his nose, his mind whirling. She didn't just have freckles on her face, but along those lovely full breasts, and the plane of her stomach-

He let out a choke and rubbed the back of his neck, "Anyway, uh, you'll be sleeping in that?" He looked at her, his body reacting in a way he hadn't felt for a long time.

"Uh, yeah. I guess so. Why?" She asked she saw that heated look in his eyes. That desire. And her body warmed, she remembered her dreams.

"I could give you one of my shirts? Would be comfortable than jeans." He said.

His shirt? Oh, Lord, save her. But she found herself nodding, "I'll give it back." She said.

He nodded and fetched her a shirt, "Here" He handed her a dark navy blue shirt.

"Thanks. Did you want a refill?" She nodded to his glass.

"Uhm... Yeah, why not." He said before he turned and took a quick shower as she refilled his glass, topped hers and got into bed with his shirt on.

He came out with a white t-shirt and black boxer shorts that had little pineapples.

"Nice shorts." She laughed softly as she set her phone down and picked up her glass.

"Thanks. My brother got it for me last Christmas." He laughed as he shut up the trailer and turned off the lights before he returned to the small bedroom, pulling the shutter close.

"Lovely." She sipped her glass as she watched him get into bed.

Both of them sat upright, her bedside light was only on.

"To another day." She said once he got himself comfortable and clinked glasses with him.

"To another day indeed." He took a good drink of his glass.

She could feel the buzz started, and she began to talk about a moment in her life which was quite hilarious.

They chatted about anything, about life, about her school, her friends, family. And she learned of his first lover, and how she broke his heart.

"So you've been single for five years now?" She asked in shock. She was a little tipsy, as well as Cillian. They did finish a second bottle.

"Yeah. Haven't found someone yet or have anyone in mind as of now. Dated some but their intentions weren't true. I'm after someone who is... real. Who cares more about personality rather than how much money is in my pocket." He said.

Cillian was on his side and Gabrijela on her back.

"Damn. I'm sorry. But you'll find that person, everyone does." She said, looking up at him. The low light brought out the harsh angles of his face, making him look scarily handsome.

"I hope so. What about you?" He asked.

"Me? Ah, it's been a year since I broke up with my ex. I was with him for three years." She murmured.

"Huh. Three? What made it break?" He asked, "Oh, only if you want to answer it."

"It's okay. He uh... cheated on me, and did the blaming game on me. Convinced me I wasn't giving him any satisfaction when it came to sex. He was fucking this slut for a year without my knowledge. My bestie told me. She saw it happen." She looked away. Since then, she hadn't had sex with anyone or got anywhere close. She had freaked out every time, too ashamed of herself.

Cillian saw the dread that began to fill her beautiful eyes, the hurt expression shutting her down.

"Hey." He cupped her cheek, bringing her face closer to his. She could feel his breath on her face, "You deserve the best. You are... such a sweet girl and so genuine. I don't think you should beat yourself over what he said. He's a bastard, a big, fucking bastard to say that to a girl. You would definitely rock the bed." The words fell out before he could stop himself. "Ah, Gabrijela-"

But she let out a laugh, and couldn't stop. He found her serene laughter to be contagious and was laughing with her too.

They laughed for a good while and he had his forehead on her shoulder, somehow he was sort of above her, his other arm beside her waist to hold himself up.

She felt the tickle of his hair brush her neck, "God Cillian, you really don't hold back huh?" She giggled, reaching up to stroke the back his head and neck.

"It just came out. I mean no offence." He said as he lifted himself up, his hair fell down and brushed her forehead.

"No offence was taken. But I believe I could rock more than just the bed." She purred, her fingers moving down to his jaw. She traced it slowly.

"Oh, really?" He asked, his voice dropped a pitch.

Her skin pricked as her fingers moved to his lips, "Yeah, really." She whispered, their noses touched.

The moment was burning up slowly, she could feel it. His leg brushed up against hers.

"Maybe..." He murmured, his eyes shutting a little as his attention was now to her own lips.

Red, wet and full, so perfect, he thought. Was this the alcohol talking?

"Maybe what?" She let her fingers move down his chest then across his shoulder.

"I..." He leaned in more, rubbing his nose against hers. A soft sigh escaped him when her gentle fingers found its way back into his hair.

"Kiss me." She said, one arm hooked around his neck and drew him into her body.

He obliged and pressed his lips to hers, the kiss was gentle, tentative. Exploring, find out how they worked together.

He had moved entirely on top of her, his body almost crushing but she liked it. He had one arm under her head, his soft fingers clasped the back of her neck, his other arm provided support for himself but was under her and under her shirt. She could feel the pads of his hand on the middle of her back.

Her legs widened to make room for his shifting hips. She could tell he was trying to keep them up but she did feel his arousal. Defined and eager.

He wanted her, clearly. The kiss became more passionate, more wanting as she opened her mouth for his tongue that swept in with such dominance she let out a moan.

The arm under her back moved and he was touching her sides, fingers gliding down her thigh then back up.

She felt a wild confidence sweep through her and she lifted up her hips to meet with his.

He let out a grunt before he pushed her down roughly. It made her whine with lust.

"Gabrijela." He groaned as he broke the kiss. His hand moved up, pausing under her breast.

The air was like a wildfire.

"Cillian." Her core was throbbing and slick, she wanted him. Needed the reprive after so long.

She arched her back as if telling him to go higher with that devilish hand she had dreamt of roaming over her body.

He accepted the offering and his hand engulfed her breast.

They both let out a moan as if the contact was a blessing to them both, especially to her.

He played with her breast, rolling the nipple against his palm. His lips returned to hers, swallowing up the blissful moan that came from her.

She clung to him as if he was her life source, her legs wrapped around his waist as another moan came through her when he pinched her nipple, rolling and tugging it between his fingertips.

"Cillian," she gasped, breaking the kiss as he kissed to her neck, "Cillian- I- Oh god."

He let out a muffled groan, his hips driving forward a little.

"I-I need more- Fuck- Please- Just- Just this once. Touch me. Touch me please." She begged softly.

He knew what her desperate pleas meant, and he pulled back to look at her. "Gabrijela we shouldn't-"

"Please." She cupped his face, the light illuminated her eyes, bringing forth the lust and need to be satisfied.

The shirt was rolled up to expose that lovely soft stomach she had, his eyes going lower. He could just see the wet pool that began between her legs.

A sound erupted from him and she let out a moan as he removed his hand from her breast. He would not see what treasure was between her legs, it was far too much for him. If he saw her, he wouldn't be just touching her.

He brought his hand down and slipped it beneath the silk garment. She wasn't shaved but she had recently trimmed.

He paused, gazing back up her body to her eyes, she was staring at him.

"Touch me." She whispered in that lovely, delicate voice shaky with such appetite for his hand.

He brought his fingers to her wet slit and parted her. Her head lolled back, eyes shut.

"Look at me." His voice was rough, demanding.

She did, and let out a pathetic whine when he began to feel her, stroke her folds and brush along that bundle of nerves.

He leaned in and kissed her once, twice, three times with a claiming kind of way.

She was so wet, drenching his two fingers that tracked her up and down, bringing her clit between them and massaged it.

"Shit, Cilly." She moaned, a soft cry when he pinched her clit making her hips buck.

She was a mess, and he could see how she clenched and unclenched the sheets as she stared with intensity at his hand and back at his face.

He continued to pleasure her by playing with her clit, so enamoured of her sweet sounds. Oh, how she became at mercy of him. His cock throbbed, wanting the attention.

He gave in and pushed a finger into her, his brows furrowed as he moaned at how unbelievably tight she was.

Her body arched as he inserted a second, and then they were moving in and out of her at a steady pace.

Her body was warm and she felt sweat starting to form across her bare, exposed skin. He was so skilled, he knew exactly what he was doing with those two fingers that curled, causing a louder cry to come from her.

Gabrijela could feel her climax rising, and she moaned with pleasure as he picked up the pace, as if he also knew she was going to fall off the edge.

Cillian watched how her body began to undulate, hips rocking in sync of his thrusting, all perfect.

"Cillian I-I'm gonna cum, oh god don't stop. Don't stop!" She hooked an arm around his neck, and he laid close to her, his lips brushing his temple.

"Cum whenever you want, darling. Cum for me." He whispered hotly against her skin.

His thumb rubbed her clit, edging her even closer. He could feel her slick walls tightened, her body reaching that high that was about to crash around her.

And with some rougher fingering her of her sweet, wet hole, which she could hear the slick sounds, her body bucked violently off the bed as she let out a loud cry of ecstasy as her climax tore down her spine.

Her walls clenched and she came over his fingers, his name a prayer on her lips. The ecstasy of her climax was a reprive, it quenched her thirst for some sort of satisfaction she was deprived of the past few months.

Especially from another man.

Cillian fingered her till she was still and panting on the bed, a thin sheen of sweat coated her forehead.

The air was hot, and not just the temperature. Whatever had now unlocked between them.

This... dangerous thing that sat between them. What just happened, he knew it wasn't just the alcohol aiding him. Or her.

She had her eyes shut, she felt his hand retreat from between her legs and his moved off the bed, a soft grunt coming from him.

She waited until he left to go to the bathroom, and she knew why he did that.

She pulled down her shirt, sniffling a little as she rolled to her side. She was in shock of what happened, what he just did to her body. But she didn't feel violated, she wanted this. And for a long time, she needed someone to give her a good finger fuck.

But fear pooled in her stomach, she didn't think it would be Cillian. A man who was twice her fucking age.

What the fucking hell was she doing? A question that repeated itself the last three days now.

Cillian stroked himself, with the hand that was coated in her juices. He couldn't help it, his mind brought up images of her body. Of how she gasped and melted under his touch.

This was indeed dangerous. He was older than her, this whole this was bad. So bad. She was young and needed someone her age. He couldn't believe it, a moron he was to be doing such a thing to such a lovely girl.

But he couldn't help it and the thought of her with someone else...

He grunted softly as finished and cleaned up quickly. Now he had to share the bed with her, the vague scent of her would cling to him.

No, he had to be a better man. Man up, he thought as he got out and eased back into bed silently.

The light went out.

He was on his back, as far as he could be on his side of the bed. His mind was still doing its million rounds around. But he forced himself to fall asleep and was able to when his body relaxed.

Gabrijela had managed to fall asleep too. A deep, dreamless sleep.

Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day. Very, very interesting indeed, was her last thought.

#cillian murphy #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #smut #fanfiction

21 notes · View notes

dahliahsp · 5 years

Text

10 Tips For Coping With Emotional Overwhelm as a Highly Sensitive Person

April 2, 2019

For the past five months (after the sudden loss of my partner), I have experienced an intense state of grief. Due to a variety of factors, I have actually been experiencing what is considered to be complicated grief as an already highly sensitive person (HSP).

This profound grief has been the most difficult and painful challenge of my life. Since my sensitivity is at an all time high, this experience has felt beyond the usual state of overwhelm I have been accustomed to.

At first, the grief and emotional overwhelm was debilitating. I was barely getting out of bed and basically losing my will to live even though I was not planning to die. I would go days without sleeping and was in shock. This may be a normal reaction to grief. However, experiencing this as an HSP can feel like the worst form of torture, especially being a highly romantic /sensitive soul. I knew I was desperate to seek peace and willing to do what it took to get out of my emotional rut. I knew that i couldn't keep living like that and I needed to heal and find coping strategies to gradually start living my life again.

Over the years, I have learned about a variety of healing methods and coping strategies. I have noticed incredible results from implimenting new coping tools, but my lack of consistency has often blocked my capacity to thrive.

The healing process has been gradual and I am still in the process of navigating my grief. However, I have found that implementing certain coping tools consistently has been an important factor in managing my emotions.

The following tips include some of the coping strategies I have used to aid in my healing process and manage my emotions more effectively...

1. Calming Activities

I know it is common knowledge to engage in calming activities when feeling overwhelmed, but I have noticed the difference when not practiced regularly. During my recovery, I have found it beneficial to regularly do activities such as deep breathing exercises, prayer, meditation, receiving massage work (can help release energy blocks and can promote relaxation).

2. Mindfulness/ Awareness

Because a vast amount of stimuli (both external and internal) can overstimulate an HSPs highly sensitive nervous system, HSPs can easily feel stuck in the mind/feelings and not present in the body and moment. I have noticed that consistent mindfulness practices and body awareness exercises have been a crucial aspect of my own personal healing and growth.

3. Reminders

Because practicing new behaviors may require a degree of focus and practice, it can be difficult for some people to follow through and form a new habit. I find it helpful to have reminders such as Sticky notes or an accountability partner to practice new habits. Being aware and reminded about healthier thinking patterns can also be helpful.

4. Self Care/Acceptance

I find that self care practices and acceptance of myself and the reality of a situation can be a key factor regarding emotional stability and life itself. Whether it's taking care of basic health or buying yourself a small gift, it can really make a difference! I am learning self acceptance and relinquishing self shame can take some work and time, but I lean toward the belief that it is worth it!

5. Support System

I don't know where I would be without a solid support system. Having a support network, whether it be a support group or getting professional help, it can help with healing, self isolation and help realize you are not alone. Many support groups or therapists may also suggest helpful coping strategies to help regulate ones emotions more effevtively.

6. Removing/Reducing Triggers

For the longest time, I subjected myself to various people, places, and things that triggered emotional overwhelm. Removing emotional or otherwise overwhelming triggers doesn't always mean completely avoiding all your triggers. It can sometimes be more about knowing ones triggers/feelings, self awareness, and responding in healthier or more tolerable ways (i.e. Limiting how much time you spend around a triggering person, place, or thing). Sometimes avoiding some situations all together is best though.

7. Boundaries

Reducing triggers and setting boundaries go hand in hand. I have learned that setting and enforcing boundaries for yourself is actually a very important and a way to love yourself! I think having internal as well as external boundaries is important to note. I plan on discussing more about boundaries in a future post.

8. Processing Feelings

I know processing emotions is not always fun and can be exhausting, but I have learned that feeling and expressing my emotions is an important element in healing emotions. While I don't believe one should torture themselves into an emotional rut, I have learned that sometimes, in order to release what is going on within a person's mind and body, it can be a relieving to release whatever built up emotions and tension one might be experiencing. Their are a variety of ways to express or relieve emotions. For some people that may include physical activities such as exercise. For others this may include expressing oneself through artistic endeavors such as painting, drawing, writing, or singing etc... Sometimes it can be a relief to talk it out with someone you trust or to have a good cry. I'm not suggesting getting stuck in feelings. It is more about acknowledging, feeling, validating, and releasing the feelings without getting attached to the the thoughts and feelings.

9. Retreating Alone

Because many HSPs can easily get overwhelmed by the massive amount stimuli in the world and in the mind, many HSPs tend to retreat alone to relax, energize, and sometimes even function in the world. While I believe HSPs need more alone time than most of the population, I have learned the importance of not isolating myself as well. Self isolation can lead to lonliness, more feelings of not belonging, and more emotional overwhelm.

10. Change Your Focus

Certain coping strategies such as meditating, changing perspectives, and replacing negative thinking with positive thinking can be beneficial for HSPs. I don't believe it changes the way you think over night but with a certain amount of practice and belief can make it easier. I also find it helpful to focus on some thing that can create joy or laughter. Seeking out inspiration has been helpful for me because I find that not only does it help me feel inspired but it has helped improve my mood, focus, and motivation.

This post is only a brief description about my struggle with emotional overwhelm and 10 tips that have helped me go from debilitating emotions to my current status. Although it hasn't been easy, I can honestly say that I am currently working full time, back in school taking more advanced classes, and persistently working on my revovery. The key has been faith, willingness, and consistency in my growth.

Hopefully these tips will be helpful in some way to others as well! Feel free to let me know in the comments what has helped you with emotional overwhelm or about your experiences. As always, thank you for taking the time to read my post!

With Love,

Dahlia

Picture Source: via Pinterest.com

423 notes · View notes

gemini--witch · 5 years

Text

Children are not toys. Children are not pets. Children are not potential “mini-me’s.” Children are not solutions to mental/emotional/relationship problems.

This is something that’s been bugging me lately because of some stuff I’ve seen/witnessed/read, and I need to get some shit off my chest about it.

THIS IS AN (admittedly coming from a place of frustration and concern for the well-being of future human beings) OPEN LETTER FROM ME, A MOTHER, TO ANYONE THINKING OF BECOMING A PARENT.

I understand that you want to have a baby. Really, I do. They’re so cute and warm and cuddly and your 20-something hormones are screaming for one in the same way they scream for the puppies at the pet store or the kittens the person is giving away for free in a cardboard box outside Safeway (does that still happen? I feel like it does in my hometown).

But here’s the thing.

Children are human beings. Little, tiny human beings with not only zero self control, but zero capability to regulate their emotions and zero capability to care for themselves.

And for some of us, the innate helplessness of babies touches us deeply. We want to give all our hearts and souls and bodies to that little pooping, screaming, giggling thing.

But here’s the thing.

If your mental and emotional health is already hanging tenuously by a thread....HAVING A BABY WILL MAKE THAT WORSE. If your physical health is already hanging tenuously by a thread....HAVING A BABY WILL MAKE THAT WORSE.

Why? Because after the happy pregnancy high, you then have to deal with (if you’ve got a vagina) the utter devastation that labor will make of your body, and the MONTHS of recovery afterwards (yes --- months. Not days, not weeks... months). There’s also the complete destruction of your sleep cycles, which creates a couple-years-long struggle for sanity in and of itself. Oh, and let’s not forget the realization, once the first blush and bloom of joy fades, that you now have /zero power over your life and your time/.

Yes, that’s right. That baby owns you, not the other way around, and everything - your career, your friendships, your partnership, your hobbies - will all fall to the wayside, and some of them will never recover. Why? Because you are not prepared for the complete shift in consciousness you will undergo. “Oh, I’ll just make sure I schedule time to devote to my friendships and my career and my hobbies.” HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA yeah I thought that, too. But, seriously. You are not prepared for the, again, hormone-driven /need/ to be there for your child 100% of the time, even when your emotional and physical well is at 0%.

Oh, and by the way, this is all assuming the labor and the baby are fairly easy and not, say, traumatic and riddled with health issues and colicky and/or everything else that could go wrong, like trying to do it as a single parent instead of a two-parent unit.

And the sudden, drastic reduction in alone time, in true physical health and rest, and in social interaction, as well as the (I promise) unexpected emotional and physical transformations that are often not widely talked about because our Western society does not provide adequate emotional support for new parents beyond the first couple of weeks...

You guessed it. Postpartum depression. If you’re like me, a neurotypical person with no particular physical health issues, postpartum is awful and heart-wrenching and throws you into a deep dark pit of despair that is really, really difficult to climb out of.

So maybe you can guess what it might be like if you...say.... are neurodivergent and struggle with clinical depression. Or an anxiety disorder. Or BPD. Or OCD. Or any other mental or emotional illness. And/or a physical disability.

Oooo! Or if you’re... Let’s see... Not emotionally mature yet at all. You haven’t reparented yourself and recovered from trauma and healed your childhood attachment wounds.

HAVING A BABY. WILL NOT. MAGICALLY TURN YOU INTO THE CAPABLE, MATURE, RESPONSIBLE, SELFLESS, GROUNDED PARENT OF YOUR DREAMS.

In fact, it will EXPOSE and AMPLIFY those wounds. It will EXPOSE and AMPLIFY those neurodivergences (is that a word?) and physical disabilities/illnesses. It will EXPOSE and AMPLIFY aaaaaalllll of your character flaws. And if you’re in a struggling relationship, it will EXPOSE and AMPLIFY all of the problems in it.

HAVING A BABY IS NOT THE ANSWER.

Oh, and another thing.

If you already rely on others to meet your financial and housing needs...HAVING A BABY WILL MAKE THAT WORSE.

Because guess what?

Many workplaces won’t hire you if you’re pregnant, or will fire you if you are obviously pregnant. Many workplaces won’t hire you if you have children. (ESPECIALLY if you’re a woman/woman-presenting. Sorry, people with penises, but society tends to view fathers as incredible and mothers as irresponsible if they work) Oh, of course, they won’t say that’s why. They’ll find another reason. “You’re not the right fit.” “We need someone to work hours you’re not available for.” “We’ve decided other candidates have qualifications better matched.” You know, even if it was a job you were qualified before you had a child.

If you don’t have job security, and have to rely on others to meet your financial and housing needs, HAVING A BABY WILL NOT SOLVE THAT.

Maybe you’re secretly, in the darkest part of your heart, hoping that having a baby will prove to the world/your parents/your frenemies/your partner once and for all that you’re a Mature Adult(tm).

(alarm sounds) IT WILL NOT. It will actually highlight your utter lack of maturity and intelligence and common sense.

LET ME REPEAT THIS.

CHILDREN ARE NOT TOYS.

CHILDREN ARE NOT PETS.

CHILDREN ARE NOT SOLUTIONS.

CHILDREN ARE HUMAN BEINGS.

They are human beings that, if you stop to think about it, are having to grow up in a dystopian world.

If you have a child right now, there is a very good chance that, if climate change and government leadership continues on its current course, your child will not get to live past 30 (if they’re lucky).

This realization is a source of deep and intense guilt for me as a mother, and I know one day my daughter will look at me with rage and fear and pain and wonder how I could have allowed this to happen. How my generation and my parent’s generation could have allowed this to happen. And I won’t have much of an answer for her beyond “I did what I could.”

If you already struggle with your mental health to a near-debilitating degree, this deep and intense guilt will make it infinitely worse.

LET ME REPEAT.

CHILDREN ARE NOT TOYS/PETS/SOLUTIONS/MINI-ME’S.

Children are human beings that require:

-the majority of your time and attention and energy and finances

-the majority of your heart and soul and body

and that is not an exaggeration.

Truly, none of us are ever truly prepared. But if preparedness is a scale, not a specific point, there is such thing as someone who is woefully underprepared on all levels,

and there is no more awful reason to have a baby than “because I want to.”

Get your narcissistic head out of your ass and work on yourself before you even consider having a child,

or you are doing a grave disservice to the generation you want to help create.

.....

And I realize I’m not the prime example of someone who waited until they were a totally put-together person to have a child.

When I conceived, I was homeless, in a relationship with someone I’d only known for 6 months, and dealing with some trauma of my own.

But then again, perhaps I’m exactly who should be telling you this.

I crawled myself up from the muck of an awful circumstance. I’m still not financially stable, necessarily, but I do a damn good job considering the circumstances, and I’m proud of that. Her father and I are no longer together romantically, but we are damn good co-parents who put our daughter’s wellbeing above everything else. We both have safe and healthy and caring home environments and our daughter is surrounded by love and positive discipline all the time.

We’re not perfect. And it took a lot of trial and error to get to where we are now. And we’re extremely lucky, societally speaking, on the front of being neurotypical, abled, white people.

But if it’s been hard for us...

just stop for a moment and imagine how hard it may be for you.

Imagine that perhaps that unconditional love and acceptance you crave and are seeking in having a baby could be found elsewhere (like, from within, maybe? self love, bitch).

Then decide if having a child just because you “want to” is really such a good idea.

Because honestly?

If I had to do it all over again,

I would have waited 10 more years (at least) and a hell of a lot more personal growth work before having my daughter. Instead, I’ve had to do all that personal growth work while parenting her, and I know that because of that, I’ve made some mistakes with her -- and it’s still to be seen how that will affect her in the future. All I can do now is better than I did before (which is process in and of itself, as I discover new, better ways to handle things), and hope that all the love I shower on her is enough to outweigh the mistakes.

And one day, I hope she forgives me, not only for my personal mistakes, but for the mistakes of my generation, and the generations before me.

#parenting #parenthood #mothering #motherhood #single mother #open letter #personal

7 notes · View notes

cyanpeacock · 5 years

Text

that comic is big hueg mood and i value it a lot.

mental illness really isn’t about “oh just be thankful for what you CAN do!”

it’s sometimes (always?) about “i know i’m capable of doing Even Better, if i just had some help! i’m not well! i’m thankful every day that i’m not worse, but it fucking burns me to know how much better i COULD be doing with more support!!”

and if you appear to be high-functioning, even if that level is like, abysmal compared to what you know your mind and body would actually be capable of in better circumstances, you sort of get... abandoned? like, “oh, that one is doing well enough.” and seeking out the necessary support to improve your functioning level requires SO much time and energy that it is literally killing people.

like i have so many suicide attempts i can’t count them under my belt. i’ve got self harm scars on every limb and they number, like... well, it’s in the hundreds, for sure. i’ve got no IRL social network. a lot of my daily energy goes on regulating emotions and processing trauma. i can’t drive, i can assemble some food sometimes but can’t reliably cook, etc etc.

and because i’m in university - still there by sheer force of will, because this is the ONLY thing that might land me in reasonable comfort in the future - and not in trouble with the school, i’ve been written off again and again by mental health services. it’s always, “come back in six months,” or “here’s a referral for a 12-week group, in two years’ time,” and “oh, has it been two months? i’m sorry, we haven’t got around to allocating you a community psychiatric nurse yet”

i’m here like, what... the fuck? i feel like, it’s been assumed i’m a person of average ability, with minor problems, and i can just Get On With It. when actually, i’m well aware i’m a person of exceptional academic ability, with really quite significant social, emotional, and mental health problems, particularly like... in terms of trust. and it makes me fucking furious, and at times ashamed, that i’m coming up to 22 years old, my secondary school peers are graduating, and i’m only just going into second year. i was ahead of my peers for So Long. i should still be there. but because nobody believes i need fucking help, i’m getting delayed more and fucking more!!! it burns me!!!!!

like, of course i can fucking Get On With It. that’s all i CAN do, it’s my Priority, My Degree Is My Life This Secures A Future I Could Accept. i can learn semantic information without ever fucking touching my trust/interpersonal issues. and i don’t think anybody just skimming my case notes can grasp how much this fucking course means to me, how much sheer fucking aggression i’ve had to channel to get here, to stay here.

like they don’t see how i haul myself out of my apartment when i’m fucking suicidal to show to the lectures. how I take notes from the lecture recordings for every. single. lecture. i miss because i’m too exhausted or overwhelmed to make it to the hall. how i never chat in the lab because i’m scared as hell and have to get into a mindset that goes I’m Here To Fucking Learn Not To Make Friends, although i’d really like to make friends. how exam revision takes priority to the exclusion of eating and sleeping, how I have to set myself timers and force myself to eat and sleep, how my walls get covered in webs and webs of colourful revision post-it notes and i spend hours and hours arranging them Perfectly so i can remember the whole thing as a 3D spatial map inside my brain. how i give myself eyestrain and migraines from staring at books and screens for so long, how i don’t fucking wash myself, or clean my apartment, or say a word to anyone but myself for days or weeks. how i’m so fucking hurt that it took me two years to do first year, how i’m having to go part time for second year. like, this is not healthy learning. this is, I’m Going To Die If I Don’t Cling The FUCK On To This Opportunity, This Lucky Fucking Break That Is Going To Save My Life. and i’m NOT fucking giving it up.

they don’t seem to see that AT THE SAME TIME i’ve been off on my fucking own learning and practicing DBT skills, how i taught myself to meditate when my mind is still screaming Kill Yourself Kill Yourself Kill Yourself, how i’ve been seeing a private counsellor who i can’t afford from the wallet but who i have to afford so i don’t try to kill myself even more fucking often. how i’ve been looking around to try and find like, a faith that might give me more reason to keep fighting, how i do all that shit like taking walks in nature and working out and maintaining a good sleep schedule, and yet, i’m Still Not Well.

like here i am with the SAME trauma spinning around my head and the SAME terror of social situations and the SAME goddamn increasing fear every time i push myself to “just join a group!! just talk to people!! it gets easier the more you do it!!!”

that’s the FUCKING PROBLEM! i’m DOING all the easy shit, all the “just make lifestyle changes! :) x”!!!!!!! there is still shit that gets HARDER the more i do it!!!!!!! i get MORE anxious and MORE scared and MORE defensive and MORE avoidant the more i push myself to Just Talk To People and the better somebody knows me, because the more they know, the more they have to use as a fucking weapon! this is why I shut down and say “Oh you know I’m okay :)” in my fucking appointments!!!! because they send me to SO MANY different people, who BARELY skim my case notes, and i have no opportunity to develop enough trust with them to tell them the whole truth! which is, “dude, i feel like shit. i’m behind where i Should be given my age and ability. i have no friends, i’m terrified of people who start to get to know me. i’m constantly trying to process trauma, but it’s always the same pain, and then i remember something else painful, and it’s all more fucked up the older i get, and there’s a limit to what i can do about this alone, and i’m overwhelmed. i’m used to it, because i’ve been living this way for so fucking long, but i’m furious, because you people should have KEPT me from getting used to living like this. and i Don’t. Want. To Live. This. Way. Forever.”

they haven’t even given me the fucking opportunity to build ANY significant, long-term therapeutic relationship with ANY NHS mental health practitioner. i haven’t seen anybody for more than like, three appointments, except my goddamn private counsellor, who is a blessing and lets me pay him in artwork when the cash runs out. and he always looks so angry and disappointed that the NHS are doing so fucking little for me, but never that way in me, which i have seen from so-called mental health “professionals,” including crisis team workers, on the NHS.

like, the last time i saw a psychiatrist, he had a face on him like NBC’s Hannibal fucking Lecter and he said word-for-word “I don’t think there’s anything I can do for you.” what kind of fucking health professional comes out with shit like THAT? and shortly after that appt I got increasingly unstable, went psychotic, trashed my apartment, tried to commit suicide again, then spent all my fucking money running all over the country and ended up here, in a flat in halls my uni are paying for while i bit-by-bit clean up my apartment, alone because i don’t trust anybody else to touch MY THINGS, until it’s livable again.

i think i’m gonna print a lot of these recent text posts and take them to my case review. i’ve always been too ashamed to take anything significant that i write to Brain Appointments, because, like... well. mother is to blame for that. “melodramatic/theatrical/overemotional/I think you’re just tired/making things up/imagining things” and so on. and the fact that when it was found out by my school i was self harming and they told her, shit got so much worse at home. like, that pretty effectively taught me Hide Everything Or You’ll Be Punished, Even By People Who Say They’re Just Trying To Help You.

man, seriously, fuck this shit. fuck this shit. fuck how hard i’m having to fight for this. fuck all this terror and aggression, sure I can pilot the ship on fear and fury, but i wanna pilot it just like, gently, with love and enthusiasm. i’ve been finding ways to start doing that, alone. but this whole, social stuff? i can’t do that alone. the social space inside my head is healthier, i’m not screaming and fighting with the voices, or constantly blocking them out with music and drugs and trances, but Other Bodies? i need help with Other Bodies.

ok im getting a headache so it’s time to call this post Done

#fliptext #trauma #abuse #neglect #uh #ask to tag #self harm #psychosis ment #suicide #long post #sorta

6 notes · View notes

calleo-bricriu · 4 years

Note

How do you feel about the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (FB verse!)?

(( Ask my character “How do you feel about ______?” Can be an idea, person(s), place, or thing, and they’ll have to answer honestly. Always accepting. ))

Apologies for the delay in response; I’ve been meaning to respond to it all day but there’s a lot of--it’s--not even complicated, it’s more akin to trying to move a stone wall by asking it to, for once, be rational.

I’m typically busy for most of the day and evening and sometimes well into the night on Sundays, so between that and trying to sift through my usual immediate answer to that question being a lot of cursing in several languages it’s taken awhile to get that untangled.

They're a bunch of miserable, pain in the neck, paranoid zealots for the most part but, as they're on the "correct" side for the moment, that's not a problem for anyone else.

They're the reason I lost three perfectly skilled, efficient, sane, long term Archivists and why it's now just myself and @directoryandle . That’s a grudge I’m probably going to hold onto probably until everyone involved in it has either quit or died.Those three weren't doing anything apart from their jobs and being mildly irritating when they tried to talk to me about their Views on Current Events. They weren’t even talking to anyone else about it, just me, and it wasn’t that much of a bother to tell them some variant of, “Lovely. If you wouldn’t mind getting back to work that’d be great.”

Still certain if the three of them had known how to shut their mouths when told to keep them shut they'd still be in the department. It only became a problem when someone from Magical Law Enforcement overheard.

Just shows how little control Fawley has over anything around the Ministry because they sure as hell weren't spot cleaning in the Department of Mysteries on HIS orders; he'd have been more inclined to let them continue on to avoid making waves, which is probably the reason they wouldn't shut it in the first place.

Do you have any idea how fundamentally annoying it is to not only have the Department of Magical Law Enforcement swivel its ugly little head in our direction and try to somehow prove they aren't completely toothless by making a lot of noise until, say, Director Yandle gets tired of hearing them barking at the fence and sending him strongly worded but ultimately unenforceable memos instructing him to get me out of the way so they can gut the department of its staff because their political leanings aren't in line with the Ministry's.

Or the International Confederation of Wizards, for that matter?

And I'm going to state on and off the record here that I absolutely do not care either way. I really don't. They were doing their jobs flawlessly and efficiently and it's very difficult to get anyone who didn't get dragged through Durmstrang to not die or lose their entire minds within five years. They don't teach anything useful on the subject here anyway apart from thirty different ways to cast Protego, seventeen of which are functionally useless and only meant to distract.

As far as I've ever been concerned and am still concerned, they can do whatever they want to do while they're off the clock and can drop it for a few hours once they're back in the office, which they were doing the majority of the time, as an aside.

It wasn't even that the Director got tired of dealing with Magical Law Enforcement directly; I was the one doing that, I'm STILL the one who does it! They'd just go crying to him after I'd shooed them back up the lift. That's what he got tired of to the point that he moved me out of the way just long enough for those three to be--well, one was arrested, I think, the other two managed to get back to continental Europe as far as I'm aware.

You'd think Magical Law Enforcement would have fucked off back upstairs after that, and you'd be incorrect.

Apparently, at some point while I was gone--the thing is, Director Yandle isn't spineless, he just doesn't care for conflict and is more than happy to play nice if it makes other departments go away.

I don't have much of a problem with conflict and have a fairly hair trigger opposition reflex still.

He was willing to jump through their agility course of Prove You're On The Ministry's Side.

My response was more along the lines of, "Well, I still work here, don't I?" and told them that was the best they were getting unless they were proposing a formal contract which isn't anything I'd enter into anyway because I still need to be able to do my job and now that the other three are gone, guess who gets to do all of the traveling, the majority of which is to continental Europe?

Because it's not the Director.

On or off the record, formally or informally, even if I were the sort of person to do something as stupid as declare 'loyalty' to a governmental body, I can't even begin to imagine myself being stupid enough to do it when I know damn well doing it would make it impossible to do the majority of my job.

As it stands right now, when I have to travel for work related reasons, while it says on paper that I'm there on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, it's one of those formality things that anyone who deals with the Department of Mysteries knows damn well is only a formality. I go either on behalf of the Department of Mysteries (which is, for the moment, playing nice with the rest of the Ministry; the degree to which it does that varies from month to month) and occasionally on personal business.

Having myself tied to the Ministry? If it were just to the Minister for Magic Appeasement, fine, nobody's terribly bothered by him. Invertebrates have more backbone.

But that's not how it's viewed; it's viewed as having ties to the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which is largely viewed as hostile in several areas I routinely need to work in. I'm not about to inconvenience myself because Magical Law Enforcement is comprised of zealots on the--is it the other side? I don't know who leans which way anymore, and I still don't care.

An association with Magical Law Enforcement would be cumbersome, so I wasn't willing to do it and they considered that to be "highly suspect".

I wouldn't call myself aggressive so much as I've worked here long enough and was so fascinated by how poorly everything is structured that I somehow managed to memorise a great deal of very, very obscure regulations and procedures and tied anyone they sent down up in so much red tape that it became more of a hassle for them to hassle me than it was to just leave me alone.

The more they came down to bother me while I was trying to do actual work, the more I started making them work off the clock by doing card tricks and sleight of hand tricks in Muggle pubs until I made myself enough of a nuisance and resource drain that they--mostly leave me alone now.

Now and again I'll get a dirty look or get someone who follows me around for a week or two or wants to know where I've been, who I've been speaking with, about what, for how long, for what reason, then gets offended and bristly when I won't sell out my contacts and resources because Magical Law Enforcement thought it had the authority to make those demands in the first place.

I'm also not much of a fan of how they criminalise Dark Arts use and addiction, see nothing wrong with the use of Dementors, offer no services or support networks to assist those addicted in managing that addiction so they can be functional and stable, and instead throw them in solitary confinement with soul sucking nightmare creatures then act surprised when people typically end up in and out of Azkaban until they finally snap to the point that they're either killed or wind up with a life term.

#don't mistake i'm hardly neutral #i just legitimately do not care #it's not my department and i'm not getting paid enough to care #v: ftbawtft #hp rp #department of magical law enforcement

1 note · View note

skylersummer · 5 years

Text

My Secret Phobia

Until I was eighteen years old, I kept a secret from every single person in my life. I didn’t tell a soul. Had I been brave enough to take to the internet and read about my secret, I would have realised that what I was dealing with on a day to day basis was nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about, in fact it’s fairly common.

My secret? I suffer from emetophobia.

Emetophobia is the fear of vomit; either physically being sick, seeing, hearing or smelling sick will send me in to a panic attack. Anxiety UK claims that 6-7% of women and 1.7 - 3.1% men will experience emetophobia in their lifetime. Had I known earlier that this anxiety disorder existed outside of my own personal life, let alone amongst thousands of people, I am certain I would have confided in someone about my fear. There’s only a handful of information on the internet (that I’m not too scared to read) about this disorder I’ve grown up with, so I would like to share my own personal experience in the hopes that it helps those suffering in silence realise that they are not alone and to help those who don’t have it, understand the complexities of the condition. I want to keep this as trigger-free as possible, as a lot of sources I have found on the internet I’ve found far too graphic to be of any help to actual sufferers of emetophobia, but bare in mind I will be continuously using the word vomit (a word which would make me flinch and feel physically sick until recent years.)

I am not aware of any one trigger for my emetophobia, there was no obvious experience that set off this whole disorder, all I know is that I have had it for as long as I can remember, from around the age of four.

Here’s something I want to make clear now, to those who don’t have emetophobia. It is a phobia of vomit. When I’ve told people in recent years, I’ve had some laugh at me, Of course you don’t like sick, no one likes being sick. Emetophobics don’t just ‘not like’ vomit, or being sick. Of course, it’s not pleasant for anyone and no one particularly enjoys the experience, however this is a fear. We fear it on a daily basis.

When I was younger, and suffered with more severe symptoms of anxiety, the sound of someone nearby coughing would be enough to set me off into a panic attack. I avoided school trips for fear of anyone getting travel sick on coaches and I avoided places I couldn’t easily exit in case someone did vomit. For these reasons I found school, in particular, very troublesome as there were rules and regulations - you couldn’t just leave lessons whenever you felt worried.

No one could work out exactly why I was so scared of school trips, or wanted to sit by the door in assembly or in class. Age 11 I had my first counselling session with the NHS Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services (CAMHS). I quickly came up with a lie, telling my psychologists that I had claustrophobia (ironically a phobia I actually gave myself), an excuse I deemed socially acceptable and far less embarrassing than the truth. I discharged myself within 6 weeks.

The fact that no one understand the root of why I was so scared of seemingly normal situations meant that no one could properly help give me the therapy that I needed, and I don’t want this to appear as a critique of CAMHS, or school, or my family who I know tried to do what they could, given the information they had.

As I joined secondary school my anxiety and panic attacks became more and more frequent. I would have to leave lessons almost every day, and would avoid the school toilets where possible.

Unfortunately one of the main symptoms that my emetophobia causes is nausea, and naturally this makes me worry even more that I will be sick. It becomes a vicious cycle.

Throughout my adolescent years I was in and out of doctors and hospitals multiple times as healthcare professionals tried to find the cause of my stomach pain and nausea. I had blood tests upon blood tests, I tried cutting out dairy, cutting out gluten, but nothing worked for me long term. The daily nausea persisted: from the moment I got out of bed to the moment I fell asleep at night.

During some of my worse periods I feared leaving the house entirely, in case I somehow became sick outside the safety of my home or in case I came into contact with someone else who was sick. I refused to go to school on a daily basis; until the age of 16 I would be dragged into school crying and screaming by my parents. By the time I was 17 and on study leave for my AS levels my school attendance had dropped below 50% and I was very depressed. My claustrophobia had turned into agoraphobia and being home alone during study leave had me spiralling into periods of psychosis, imagining voices and seeing imaginary figures around my house.

My parents and sisters tried desperately to find the source of what we all knew was just pure anxiety. I persevered with CAMHS until an unfortunate misdiagnosis of my emetophobia as anorexia. Only recently have I started to realise how much the emetophobia affects the way I treat food. I’ve always been naturally slim but, I think, during my school years I was subconsciously eating very little, for fear of feeling too full in case it made me feel sick. Between the ages of 16-18 I had an average BMI of 13.5 which, upon discovering, doctors believed was caused by anorexia. I’ve read recently of emetophobics who’ve become hospitalised; their fear of vomiting making them too scared to eat anything at all. I only wish that the mental health professionals I dealt with at 17 had known about other atypical eating disorders instead of quickly trying to label me with anorexia, which ultimately led me never to return to them (I did a full on running-out-of-the-CAMHS-building and never looked back).

By the time I was 18 I thought I’d exhausted every way of getting better. I had heard the phrase ‘fight or flight’ in reference to my panic attacks (if you know, you know) too many times to count and I was begging for someone, anyone to figure it out, so I didn’t have to tell them. I legitimately thought my daily panic attacks were normal, and that this giant secret that was gnawing away at my insides was going to be something I dealt with my whole adult life. The thought of being stuck like this made me even more depressed and my body was struggling to keep me healthy at such a low weight - I had severe (and recurring) bronchitis during my final year of school which led to me getting post-viral fatigue; I was completely exhausted. I was so tired of being tired all the time, I really felt close to giving up.

Whilst my friends were out experiencing their adolescence as they rightly should, I was instead being picked up from parties at 9pm, too scared to drink alcohol in case it made me sick, too scared of someone else being sick from over-drinking as was so common at teenage parties - unfortunately something I couldn’t always avoid. I wouldn’t touch cigarettes as I’d heard so many people say they’d been sick after trying their first one. I couldn’t, and still can’t, go to the cinema for fear of an unexpected and graphic vomit scene, or go to fairgrounds or theme parks. I’m still petrified of flying in case myself or anyone around me is sick. I couldn’t enjoy anything a normal teenager was supposed to and I became somewhat of a recluse.

During my final year of school I was attending a private therapist with my mother and sister (I was too anxious to be alone with strangers by this point.) It was around then that I started to crack, and they began to notice how I reacted when the word ‘vomit’ was mentioned - I would immediately leave the room, crying in panic. They’d always known I didn’t like being sick, but I don’t think anyone really knew the extent of the phobia, how it dominated my life each day.

At age 18, I was finally put on Citalopram to target my anxiety and panic disorder as well as the depression. I know that antidepressants do not work for everyone, but personally it changed my life. I’d been a shell of a person for the past 5 years, and I honestly think I would have just vanished had it not been for the medication. Alongside the relief of being honest with my family (and eventually friends) I dramatically became a fuller, happier version of myself. I finished school with three A Levels (something I am not sure anyone expected to happen only a year before) and even managed to go on holiday with my friends for a week (taking an aeroplane and even a dreaded coach!) Without the structure and pressure of school I really was a new person.

I started my Art Foundation at Oxford Brooke’s University in September 2015, and my exposure to lots of student drinking and therefore vomiting (other people’s as well as my own) dramatically helped me begin to overcome this phobia which has stolen half my life.

I’m in my final year of university now and living in London, and it hasn't been a completely smooth ride. I’ve had to switch medication twice now and I still struggle daily with public transport and the thought of being sick in public, but it’s definitely an improvement on where I was only 4 years ago, barely even living.

I still haven’t received any professional help or treatment besides my medication, for my emetophobia and that’s something I really want to do in the future, but I’m just trying to take small steps at the moment whilst I finish my degree. The thought of potentially having children (morning sickness, general kid sickness etc.) seems completely unattainable and terrifying to me, but one day I’d like to be brave enough to have the option.

I’m still recovering and I do have set backs, I’m still only just figuring out the extent of how much this phobia affects my daily life, but I do want to say that it is possible to get better. Age 11 I would have never dreamed of even telling someone about my phobia let alone be writing a public post on the internet like this, ten years later, but I think that’s probably why it’s so important that I do this. It’s not going to be easy, and I know the most obvious way forward for me is to get proper exposure therapy (gently exposing myself to sounds, television shows and movies featuring vomit etc.) but I do know for sure that I am going to beat this, one day, whatever it takes.

#emetophobia #emeto tw #emetophobic #mental health #mental disorder #positive mental attitude #tw ed

26 notes · View notes