#i have a decent job and am finally comfortable financially

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 13)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Brief Mention of Stillbirth

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

Two weeks had passed and you had almost moved on with your life which did not involve your family. 

Your mother had kicked you out of her own house following your tryst with Cillian. But as luck would have it, your cousin Lukas had offered you a place to stay after Emma's parents too would not allow you to remain at their family home for more than a week.

You had to find a job quickly to sustain yourself and fortunately, you managed to secure employment at a local bookstore. The hours were flexible, and they paid decently, making your living situation somewhat manageable under these circumstances.

School, however, had to give way to your new lifestyle and you chose to transfer to college in the evening in an attempt to finish your education.

As far as Cillian was concerned, you had not heard from him since that afternoon, leaving you in a state of limbo regarding your relationship status with him.

From the local papers, you since learned that he had finally left Danielle and was now publicly fighting for custody of his son Max who the columns claimed was not his actual son at all.

Yet none of this mattered as you sat there staring blankly into space, haunted by memories and regret. Overwhelmed by guilt and confusion, you tried to block out the past few months - how you became entangled in such a mess with no future, only moments spent locked away from the world. But, it wasn’t easy. It felt as though the entire universe conspired to punish you for daring to experience passion beyond societal norms, yet you continued searching deep inside yourself for answers that wouldn't come easily.

You were pregnant with Cillian's child and an abortion was not currently something you could afford emotionally nor financially, forcing you to confront your reality alone. For the first time in years, the choices you made seemed to echo hollowly in your ears as you attempted to navigate this complex web of deceit, betrayal, and self-discovery.

"Em, I do not know what to do," you admitted honestly, breaking down in tears as she visited you, just like she did every day after you finished work. 

Emma pulled you close, offering comfort as she held you tight.

"We're going to figure this out together," she assured you reassuringly, wiping away your tears. "But I honestly think that you need to tell Cillian," Emma added cautiously. "He has a right to know."

Her advice struck a chord in you, causing you to sit upright and nod thoughtfully.

"I asked him if he could meet, about a week ago, and he never got back to me, Em!" you said, feeling worthless and unwanted.

"He is going through a lot himself and he doesn't know about you carrying his child. Maybe you should try and give him a call again?" Emma interjected, attempting to mediate.

Despite Emma's suggestion, you remained hesitant, unsure whether reaching out to Cillian was the right decision. Nevertheless, you decided to pick up your phone and call him regardless of the consequences.

After a series of rings, someone else picked up on the other end – a stranger.

“Hello, can I speak to Cillian please?” you asked politely, trying hard to maintain composure amidst growing anxiety.

"Who am I speaking to?" replied the unfamiliar voice, curiosity evident in her tone.

”This is Y/N and I really need to speak with him,” you introduced yourself, taking a deep breath in preparation for what might follow. “Is Cillian available, please?” you begged and, just after you did, there was silence on the line for several seconds before the woman spoke up again.

"So, you are the homewrecker?" she snarled bitterly, anger radiating from her voice.

You flinched upon hearing those harsh words directed at you. You didn't expect the person answering Cillian's phone to actually know who you were, but then again, you did not know about the woman on the other line either.

"Listen, my brother isn't available. Don't call again. Please don't bother him anymore," came the venomous reply. Taken aback by the hostility, you couldn't understand why she reacted so aggressively when you hadn't even spoken poorly of Cillian. After a momentary pause, you found your voice.

"Actually, it's important we talk, whether you like it or not," you stated resolutely, ignoring the sharp edge in her voice. There was another brief silence followed by a mocking laughter that broke the air.

"Listen sweetheart, Cillian is going through legal proceedings against his wife, Danielle, because of you. He should not be speaking to you and if you call this phone again, I will provide you with a cease-and-desist letter on my brother's behalf. Any further contact will be considered as harassment, " she threatened ominously making you realise that the woman on the other end of the line was not only Cillian's sister, but also his solicitor, handling his custody case. 

You recalled having met her at the funeral a few weeks ago. Her name was Alison and she worked at one of the largest law firms in Dublin. 

As the conversation progressed, it became apparent that she despised you with an intensity that took you off guard. To make matters worse, she insisted you ceased communication with Cillian altogether. This was problematic considering she served as both Cillian's attorney and sister, putting her in a unique and potentially influential position.

You struggled to comprehend the full extent of your predicament until now. How were you supposed to inform Cillian about the child growing inside you without incurring the wrath of his sister?

It appeared impossible. Nonetheless, you had to reach out somehow, eventually, and hope for understanding from both sides despite their conflicted history.

As days turned into weeks, you grew increasingly anxious and restless, worrying constantly about how you were going to break the news to Cillian as the dire three-month mark drew nearer and you had yet another appointment with a local social worker to discuss your situation.

She offered you both, a community funded loan to carry out the procedure you needed or the option of putting you in touch with an adoption agency so that, further down the track, you could give up your child if you desired to do so.

Although it may seem cruel, it seemed practical and logical in light of your situation and, in the end, even Emma agreed with you on that front. The idea that you could choose whether or not to become a parent appealed to your desire for control over your destiny. However, this was easier said than done. Having a baby meant drastically altering your course forever, but you also knew that, not having the baby, might cause you regret. 

The choice loomed large, casting its shadow over your daily existence. You frequently found yourself pondering the gravity of your options while walking along the quiet streets surrounding your temporary residence late at night. You often stopped in your tracks, contemplating your fate as a result of your irresponsible actions.

Life seemed determined to play itself out according to the chaos you created. Every passing day brought you closer to facing the inevitable truth and this truth was now something you had to confront by yourself. Without the man who caused all this by your site. 

Tags:

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian fanfic #cillianmurphy #cillian x fem!reader #cillian murphy fic #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction

[spaceydoo]

sad hours <3

benimaru shinmon x female reader smut/fluff

contains : virgin reader, inexperienced reader, lonely reader, dick craved reader, foreplay, beni is experienced, rough beni, beni gives head, squirting, overstimulated reader, blabbering and talking nonsense, beni chokes you, use of safe word, doing it at ur parents house, comforts you after, talking about your feelings at the end, rainy day sex.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

you and your boyfriend, beni haven’t seen each other in a little over 2 weeks. it started when he had a bright idea that you both should live together in an apartment. he found a job to make some money for this idea which you supported him fully of course by getting a job as well. you stayed at your moms house as your parents were divorced until you were financially stable. he found a great job in the office and was making good money. while you worked as an assistant chef making decent money. he lived with some friends who you knew really well. you both recently started your jobs and started getting adjusted to your schedules. but deep down, you hated it.

he worked from monday to friday, 5 am to 8 pm which was exhausting and on the weekend he slept for most of the day, never finding time for you. he did facetime you and tried to visit you but things would get in the way and he wouldn’t be able to come over. you on the other hand only worked tuesdays and thursdays from 5 pm to 12 am since you were only an assistant.

you hated not seeing him for this long. you craved his soft hands, his caring touch, his loving eyes, his warm lips, and much more. you wanted him more than ever and you thought about him daily. shift after shift all you could think about was being with this man.

days turned into weeks, still without seeing him. you thought you were gonna go crazy. he facetimed you about your day once in a while but it wasn’t enough. one of these facetimes had you horny and craving him and you were at your breaking point and you decided that you had to let it out.

“hey baby how was your day?” beni said in a low and tired voice on a friday night while still in his office suit lying on his back. he looked tired and you felt bad for him but couldn’t deny he looked so damn good.

“my day was fine.” you said in a cold tone while you were doing your skincare routine, getting ready for bed. you hated how he couldn’t tell that you were in need of him and decided to give him the cold shoulder.

“why’re you giving me an attitude. what? u missed me so much you’re starting to hate me? oh he didn’t know the beginning of it. you needed him bad.

the way he stared at you through the screen with tired but relaxed eyes as if he was taunting you. the way he smiled a little almost as if he thought it was a joke. the way he ruffled his hair a little knowing you were still very much obsessed. oh yeah, that was your breaking point.

“babe i missed you so much i can’t even explain it. i want you so bad. i need you so bad you don’t even know. i’ve been trying to not think about you but that just went to thinking about you more. please come over tomorrow so we can talk about it. and maybe do something more.

*silence* you were starting to regret saying that.

“oh really? didn’t think you were that dick thirsty. not seeing me for this long made you that horny? i’ll be over tomorrow to deal with you. love ya. good night.” he said in a cocky tone.

“good night babe” you said not trying to seem too excited.

*end call*

“woah.” you were at a lost of words. your excitement was hard to contain. finally you were going to get “dealt with” which made you excited none the less. but you were of course nervous.

it was your first time having sex which made you a bit worried. but you knew beni would make it the best since he’s always been the type to spoil you and treat you the best possible. you finished your skincare trying not to worry to much and went to bed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

you ran to the door almost slipping on the way downstairs. when you opened it you saw your boyfriend standing there smirking while holding flowers.

“beni!” you jumped on him while he held you in a hug. it was raining pretty heavily outside and his hair wet was just magnificent to see. he didn’t even enter the house before you guys started making out while he still held you.

“i missed you so much baby i’m sorry i couldn’t see you” he said after breaking the kiss and taking brief breaths.

“i missed you too” you said while you stared into his eyes.

“i said i would deal with you right? now’s time i show you that i was serious.” he said while dropping the flowers he brought and began walking up the stairs still holding you.

he was a little wet from the rain but you didn’t mind. when you both made it up stairs, you knew this was going to be the best. he layed you on the bed before going on top and leaving hickeys on your neck. he took off your gray spaghetti strap shirt and stared with admiration at your perky soft breast

“didn’t even wear a bra. you missed me this much huh? i’ll take great care of you hun don’t worry”

before you could even respond, he began playing with your breasts. he sucked on one of them while he caressed with the other. you were caught off guard. this feeling was foreign and unusual but so good. you let out a little moan while raising your back off the bed indicating you want more.

he then started going down to your shorts which were already stained wet from the moment he entered the house.

“you’re so wet for me huh princess?” he said in a low voice which made you shiver.

you weren’t wearing underwear which made easy access. he moved your shorts to the side and moved down in between your legs.

“may i?” he said while staring into your eyes.

“y- yes” you stuttered being a little nervous. his red eyes never leaving your gaze.

he spread your legs and began licking your clit in circles. oh he was good.

“mmh” you moaned while you began closing your eyes before you were interrupted by beni.

“look at me. i want to see your lewd face when i ruin you. don’t turn away or else i’ll have to punish you darling.” you didn’t want to get “punished” so you obeyed like a puppy and it’s owner.

you didn’t think holding eye contact would be that hard because you loved staring into his his scarlet eyes when you went on dinner dates with him but you were so very wrong.

he continued to licked your clit, bringing one of his fingers and entered it into your soaking wet pussy. he had you wrapped around his finger (literally) and he began pulsing in and out at a slow speed so you could get adjusted. from doing this he got light moans from you that gradually got louder causing him to grunt a little over his growing boner.

“f-fuck benii your finger feels so good in me ah~” you moaned still forcing yourself to keep eye contact when he abruptly sped up his pace right at your g spot.

your vision was going blurry and you felt your high was coming and he could sense it too as you started to clench on his finger. he showed no mercy and abused that heavenly spot and he rubbed your clit with his other free hand.

“oh fuckk i’m gonna cum~” you whined while biting your lip.

“cum for me princess” he said staring dead in your eyes almost intimidatingly.

you’re orgasm washed over you while you squirted everywhere including on beni. your legs were shaking uncontrollably while you muttered sweet nonsense about your love for beni. you forgot one thing though, keeping eye contact.

you didn’t think about it at the time but before you could even finish coming from your high he grabbed your neck and forced you on your hand and knees

“what did i tell you about remaining eye contact?” he said while he still had his hand on your neck.

“b-beni you know i didn’t m-mean to, it was an accident.” you tried to plead with him.

“it’s time for your punishment” he came close to your ear, “i’m gonna fuck you silly princess.”

“wait beni please stop-” but before you could say anything more he started giving backshots at a ridiculous speed.

beni still had a good grip on your neck with one hand while the other pushed your back down to position himself better.

tears were falling from your eyes from pleasure but also pain. soon the pain started washing over more than the pleasure and the intimacy you felt before was all gone.

“beni i-can’t, it hurts” you said but to no avail of him stopping.

“you didnt follow my rules. this is what rule breakers get.”

you started feeling disconnected with the world, with yourself, with beni. you felt trapped. this moment that’s supposed to feel special feels rushed and painful. you didn’t know what to do but to just accept it until it was over.

while beni thought you were making moans of pleasure, in reality, you felt far from that. you couldn’t even speak properly, just in babbles because of how much pain you were in. you suddenly remembered something, a word you both swore to use whenever it was too much, too overwhelming. you had never actually planned on using this word because you expected your first time to be wonderful but that was the only only chance you had.

“chocolate.” you said with the last bit of strength you had.

as soon as you said that, it was as if he came back to reality. the grip he had on your neck loosened and he turned you over on your back to look at you.

“holy shit im so sorry babe. i didn’t know what came over me” he said while he hovered over you, staring into your eyes with concern and fear

you held your hand weakly to your face so he wouldn’t know you’ve been crying. you tried turning away when he stopped you by grabbing both your hands and pinning them.

“hon’ look at me. i didn’t mean to hurt you like this. i genuinely thought you were enjoying it but i guess i rushed it. i should’ve listened when you were talking to me but i took things way to far. i feel horrible for making your first time like this and i swear i will make it better next time. just please.. look at me?”

the room would’ve been dead silent if it wasn’t for the heavy patter of the rain. you’re eyes were filled with tears, barely even being able to comprehend what he just told you. you were scared and shaking from fear. he noticed this and grabbed the blanket on the bed and wrapped it around you while he went to sit behind you, holding you tight in his arm.

“my love look, i know you still don’t want to look at me, trust me i understand. i hurt you when you put all your trust in me and i could never forgive myself. but i at least want to make it up to you. tomorrow, same time, we can try again and i swear i will make it the best. just.. talk to me.” he said never letting go of you.

his hug felt warm and comfortable just like the day you two met at a club, but that’s a story for another time. you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him but you were still a bit shaken up by everything. still, you responded.

“baby.. i love you and i trust you with all my heart. i want you to stay with me and hold me in your arms just like the first time we met. we haven’t been together for long and i missed this, a lot. i’ll only forgive you on two conditions.” you said while you turned to look at him.

“anything my love. i will do it.” he said as he stared back into your eyes.

“the first condition is that you have to promise never to get carried away during sex and the next time we have sex i should be seeing stars and to also not be able to walk for days.” you said in a serious tone.

“i was already planning on apologizing with sex tomorrow but thanks for initiating it. you really are horny for me. it’s cute that you want it so bad. is that all the conditions, princess?” he said while smirking as if he thought it was a joke.

you turned yourself from his gaze to lay on his chest as you were embarrassed.

“there is one more. i want you to.. to stay with me.. please? not just for tonight but the whole week. i need you babe. i’ve been very lonely lately and i can’t go on like this. you might say i’m being dramatic but i really need you with me.” you said while tears fell from your eyes on his stomach.

“hey princess it’s going to be alright. i will stay with you until you feel better. i don’t care how long it takes i only care about you’re well being. i will quit my job and find one that works best for both of us. i know i wasn’t committed to this relationship as i was busy but now you can have all of me. please don’t cry my love. will you do that for me?

you shook your head in agreement as he wiped the tears off your face. your room was cold which made you shiver and cuddle up with your man as he played a movie while playing with your hair.

this. this is what you wanted. all along you just wanted to feel his warmth. you slowly started dozing off when beni woke you up by tapping your back.

“hon’ you forgot to take a bath. i can run the water for you if you’d like?”

you agreed while he got up to make your bath. you sat up in your bed thinking how you got so lucky to have such a beautiful, thoughtful and kind boyfriend. you layed back down dozing off again until beni came back to wake you up once more.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

as beni promised, the next day he did apologize in more than one way. let’s just say you did in fact see stars, he had you blabbering complete nonsense, had your legs shaking and weak for a while, and made you cum for the 9th time.

gotta love beni <3

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[cowboyjen68]

Hi Jen.

I hope you're well. I was hoping you can possibly give me some general life advice?

I have the possibility to finally move away from home and live with a friend I've known for 8 years (I am 26). My homelife is allright and my dad is accepting of my sexuality but mildly transphobic to the point where I'm not out and don't feel comfortable bringing it up.

I have saved up a sum of money (above 5k) to fund this move but the only problem is I don't currently have a steady job. (I've freelanced for the past 3 but it's not enough to cover rent)

We'd be sharing the apartment and to get it I need to be on the lease. The idea of signing for something without steady income to cover it makes the alarm bells go off in my head. Me and my friend have discussed this and she assured me that she would cover the rent completely until I actually move in/find steady employment (her current apartment costs the same). We've also discussed what would happen if she were no longer able to afford the place and the full responsibility would fall on me, but she doesn't see that happening as she has her family to fall back on for that if she was suddenly unfit to work.

Am I right to still be wary? Should I just go along and sign the lease even though I'm really scared of the possible consequences? Should I just stop overthinking this and just enjoy this really good thing that's about to happen??

please let me know what you think

As a parent of several 25 year olds (3) and as a former 26 year old (long ago) I would say it is time to move out and try life as an independent adult. It sounds like you have a decent relationship with your parent(s) so if things went terribly wrong you would have a place to land.

There is never any guaranty in life that a roommate situation or even a living alone rental situation will go smoothly or as planned. It is almost a sure thing you and her will have to navigate some unforeseen incompatibilities or iron out some quirks to make cohabiting comfortable for both of you. It is part of life to learn how to negotiate needs and boundaries with other people. It starts as we become teens with our parents and then, for me, college roommates and then apartment living with 5 gay guys in the very early 90's.

I think you will find that the move to share rental space and responsibility will be mutually beneficial to both of you. It is best to not be financially reliant on each other, basically, with a short grace period to get moved and your feet under you, you should work to pay your fair share. It is a great idea that in the interim while you seek gainful employment you use the extra time to give a little more effort to the household. Extra cleaning, errands, cooking is a way to show you appreciate the short reprieve from being a full financial partner while you get settled.

Having a roommate can mean learning to negotiate what is fair in payment, cleaning, and other responsibilities but it is also nice to have someone around. Having a sound relationship with a roommate means a built in support. She gives you a ride when the bus won't do and you give her gas money. When she wants to travel for a few days you are keeping the house safe, watering plants and bringing in the mail. When one of you is sick the other can pick up some of the cleaning slack until recovery.

When I rented my first place with those 5 men I had just started a new job, fresh from my undergrad and going to grad school. I paid my fair share and contributed by cleaning the kitchen and shoveling the drive during snowy times. When I lost my first job I only had enough money saved for half the rent. I was not instantly homeless because my roommates picked up my share and in turn I did some extra errands and cleaning for the house. I worked VERY hard to get a new job and did after two weeks. I often wanted to quit that flower shop job but did not because I LIKED the independence and I enjoyed not owing anyone anything.

I believe you will find that moving on your own will give you much more drive to find a job with consistent earnings. It feels good to feel stable and be an equal contributor. Having your name on the lease insures you have some skin in the game. It ensures that you ARE accountable to pay your part AND save for future mishaps. If two people are working together to make living more affordable it is a wonderful partnership.

This world is not build for single income independent living. It has not been as long as I have been alive (54 years) and perhaps never has been. Mutually shared space and financial responsibility is a long standing survival tactic. And learning to communicate and navigate in such situations is a beneficial skill.

#roommates #sharing space #independence

[bloodcorpceo]

today i am feeling pretty blackpilled. it's the first of the month...

i wanted to feel renewed, refreshed but instead I'm feeling pretty hopeless. i am having one of my many body dysmorphia outbursts. i saw this ugly picture of myself in bad lighting last night at a party and immediately began having negative thought loops and an anxiety attack. i know that sounds really silly to people who don't have issues like this but for me... this just made me feel defeated and hideous. i was already feeling down and ugly because no one talked to me at the bar or club last night again... people almost never approach me and my friends tell me it's because im "unapproachable" but sometimes i wonder if this is just cope not to hurt my feelings. what if the only time i look decent is when i am extremely curated but im actually ugly? i see all my flaws intensely and i often think im hideous or mid at best, no this isn't fishing for compliments either I've never been mentally sound with my appearance and spent too much of my life actually being a 4 to the point where i have permanent damage to my self image and general mental state.

i think the people around me irl are awful at dealing with and helping me with my mental health issues. this morning when i was seeking some kind of solid answer my friend just would silently nod or just say something like "don't seek approval from others". my mother and i got into an argument and she raised her voice at me calling me shallow and saying my primary focus is my appearance but she chooses to live in lala land and refuses to recognize that your appearance determines your entire quality of life, especially when you are as poor as me. i literally have no escape out of poverty besides my appearance because in reality I'm not that bright. my mom doesn't understand my mental health state despite having a psychology degree. she doesn't have pcos like me and never struggled with her weight as a young woman, always had tons of friends and boyfriends, was voted prom queen and even had a modeling contract. how could she ever possibly understand how i feel or relate to me? i have quite literally lived most of my life as a femcel. i can count on one hand how many friends i have even now and didn't even kiss a guy until i was over 20.

just last year i started to get sort of attractive by losing weight, changing my makeup and hair and finally felt a little comfortable putting myself out there but I'm still terrified. i still don't go out much and i feel like i repel people. I've built a wall to protect myself from being hurt again. i might be prettier than before but i still feel the same inside and I'm still socially inept, so i still don't attract people. i really need therapy but i cant afford it. i have been intensely struggling financially this year and i could barely scrounge up a dollar today to pay for my change difference at Starbucks because i desperately needed to get out of the house. i feel intensely upset about the fact that i thought i had found the perfect job to work from home just for the guy to scam me and never pay me even though i worked in bed editing a book for him while i was sick with COVID so i could get it in on time.

i was working my ass off expecting some compensation i desperately need. i feel at a dead end, I've been applying many places but my nail school schedule fucks me and it seems no one really wants to hire me. i can't go until the spring like this, I'm drowning in debt. i am also not looking forward to going back to nail school because i don't like the other girls and i had some issues and the vibe is dead, it won't be fun anymore, it won't be the same. i get upset thinking about it because i feel unwanted. i tried to talk to my friend about this too and she still gave me no reassurance, just the same generic responses. i don't feel relieved or comforted. i suppose i should stop dumping my feelings on my friends but i feel hopeless and really depressed. i don't want to do anything, right now i don't even want to exist.

i just want a decent job and a good man next to me and a home of my own and to get the fuck out of Detroit and to get the surgeries i want and to be thinner and prettier and i want a therapist

#tldr #trauma dump #bdd #depression

[omgkatinka]

Breaking and Entering

Summary: Your cat gets you into trouble with your grumpy new neighbour

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Reader

>>> chapter 2

Masterlist

Warnings:  Mentions of death, mentions of abuse; anxiety, angst, grumpy neighbour / Also: English is not my native language and this is my first and probably last attempt at writing. I do not even know why I tried. This is eventually a result of procrastinating from learning for my exam next week. I mixed up tenses.

Also not betad.

Words: 2.127

Here you were. New Job. New city. New apartment. Again. The past years have been a hassle of starting over. 

When did your life take that turn? When your mother died? When you had to leave your grandfather to live with your father because you were underage? When instead going to study English literature like you always dreamed of your father made sure you’d get some fancy business master’s degree? Or when your ex-fiancé abused you and no one believed you because he was not just abusive but manipulative. Your life possibly finally took that turn when you ran. Head over heels. Leaving everything behind but your cat. You stopped counting the places you lived. Well rather visited for you never stayed long. Sometimes your ex would show up and you’d flee. Or you thought you had seen him in a crowd and flee. Or you were getting restless. High Functioning Flight Mode. All the damn time.

Moving days were a constant companion and those days smelled like freedom. It was just you, your SUV and your cat. The little fella would proudly ride shotgun while you sang along your old school rock playlist. Your whole life fit into a car.  

This time it is Minneapolis. Large city. Anonymous, easy to vanish. You scored a job at a major financial player. Major as in Fortune 500 major. Thankfully, you worked project based for a while now, so no one ever really questioned your constant moving all over the nation. If they ever read that far in your resume that is. Summa cum laude in combination with a Harvard degree opened most doors for you.

The furnished apartment you found was in a half decent neighbourhood for a change. It was not the smallest you’d lived in and it faced the back of the building onto a yard hosting a huge oak tree.

Settling into Minneapolis was easier than it should have been. Your new co-workers were friendly. Too friendly. Not one lunch break you would get to spend on your own. Especially Marta from accounting was keen to talk to you. She was lovely. It was not her fault you never made friends. Because you never stayed. But still, that insistent woman and a couple of more people gave you a sense of familiarity you would never have expected from a huge company like that.

Most of the new neighbours greeted friendly too. Most, apart from one. When you were unloading your car, he stood right in your way, a bear of a man, shooting you a death glare. Mumbling something about not being allowed to park here and stomping off. You did not pay attention to his word, being intimidated by his sheer size. A broad beast, grumpy at that. You made a mental note to avoid him. Great plan.

Here ‘s the thing with your plans: they tend to simply not work. Three weeks after starting over, you come home to for once not being greeted by Jack. Your cat Jack. Named after an infamous pirate because of his funny face and weird way to walk. Not being greeted by Jack stirred panic. He was old but almost never failed to wait at the door for you. He did not today. Searching the whole place for him you came up empty. When you realised, you had left the bedroom window open in the morning you started to hyperventilate. He liked to sit outside on the fire escape while you got ready in the mornings. Looking outside he is not there either. By now you were freaking out, running downstairs, calling for Jack. Climbing up the roof. Nothing. By now you were crying. Starting to search the apartment one more time. And then once more. At some point you cried yourself to sleep until you are woken up by frantic knocking at your door. While still trying to figure out where you’re at, you glimpse the clock. It says 2 a.m.. Great. And what is this noise? Right. Knocking. On the door. Furious by now.

Opening your door, you find your grumpy neighbour. Even more grumpy. Scowling. „Is this thing yours? “ he asks, lifting Jack into your line of vision.

 As relieved as you were to have your cat back. That was when things got out of hand. Thanks to that scare you frantically double checked every window every day before leaving for work. All is good for five days. When you get home on the sixth though – Jack is gone. Again. And the window you double checked the very same morning is open. You panic. Torn between hoping Jack broke into your grumpy neighbours’ place again hence being safe and him sitting on the roof calling out pigeons. You check the yard, the roof. No Jack. Hesitantly you knock at Mr. Grumpy’s door. No answer. Going onto midnight you hear the elevator and spy onto the floor. There he is. You brace yourself and head out. Looking apologetic. „um Hi, I am so sorry, but my cat escaped again. Would you mind checking if he did break into your place again? “. He does not answer. Unless grunts count as answers. He just raises an eyebrow at you and tilts his head in direction of his door. You avoid breathing and follow him into his apartment. Where you find your cat sits lounging on the couch like he owns the place. You cannot help but snort. That is what you get naming the little fella after a pirate. Breaking and entering seems to be his thing. It takes you a moment to realise Mr. Grumpy is staring at you, so you take a deep breath, apologize again and introduce yourself. „You really need to close your windows, you know? Not just from keeping that thing in your place but also to keep others out.“. Telling him, you double checked your windows just earns you a headshake. And there is that critical eyebrow again. Great. Then it dawns on you „if your so adamant on checking windows, how do you think Jack got in here? “. Now he looks puzzled. „Who is Jack? “ he asks and you fight hard to not snort again. “The cat, obviously” you answer. That earns you another grunt. ‘Great at communication that specimen’ you think and grab your cat. “Uhm, I am so sorry he, uhm…, we invaded your place again. So so sorry. Thanks for your patience. Good night, Mister?” “Marshall”. And that is the last thing he says. “Well good night Mister Marshall”. At that you hold on to your furry, purring companion and head back into your apartment. From now it will be triple checking the windows it seems.

Three times within the next you need to get your cat from his new favourite hideaway during the next week. The only new thing is Mr Grumpy telling you “it’s just Marshall”. Everything else is the same. Like being trapped in a fucking time lapse. Him scowling, telling you to “fucking check your windows” and giving you that critical eyebrow of doom. Each time though, you start to notice things. About his place. About him. He seems to live out of boxes. His shelves are empty. The only cosy thing seems to be the fluffy blanket Jack made his favourite place on the black leather couch. Also, he wears a gun. And a batch. You despise guns but guess this one comes with the job. And his accent is foreign. No, not foreign, it is English. A bit like a lost, grumpy Mr. Darcy. WHAT? Mr. Darcy? You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you finally going insane? Now take your cat and get out of here!

How do you reason with a cat? You surely tried but the next time you have not even noticed Jack vanishing. It’s a Saturday and you were just filling your coffee cup when there is knocking on your door again. You open the door to a sleepy looking Marshall, holding Jack. Shrugging. Something is different. Taking your cat out of his huge hands you are about to apologize again, when he beats you to speaking “did you just make coffee?”. You nod and he steps into your apartment. “Well, come in, why don’t you?” you mutter and find him standing in front of your kitchen island, scratching his head, looking kind of lost. With huge eyes and a suddenly small voice he says “sorry for barging in like that, your little fella here woke me up. Pretty sassy for such a small guy. Would you mind sharing a cup of coffee? I forgot to go grocery shopping and seem to run out of everything.”. For a moment you stare at him, stunned from the number of words he just threw at you and the lack of grunts.  When you remember how to use your words, you tell him to take a seat, grab a cup and ask him how he prefers his coffee. Fixing both your cups and setting them on the table you finally get to apologize again for your little intruder, constantly breaking into his place. Marshall just shrugs at that and admits, that he has no idea how Jack opens the windows. He himself started to double and triple check his windows and it should not even be possible to open them from the outside. It is that moment you realise what is different. He looks sleepy but barely as tired as before and more important. He’s not grumpy. That’s new. And you do not know how to handle that. After silently drinking his coffee, he thanks you for the coffee and crouches down to pet Jack and tells him something that sounds like ‘see you mate’, then tells you goodbye and takes his leave.

It is the next Friday that you come home to a post-it on your door with “Jack is visiting” scribbled on it. Somehow you remember your cat not being overly fond with men, but he seems to have a soft spot for this one. Or his couch. Taking a deep breath, you turn and move over to knock at the next door. Heavy relaxed footsteps near and Marshall opens the door widely, motioning for you to come in. “We were just about to choose a movie and call for pizza. Why don’t you change into something more comfortable and join us?”. You look at the man as if he did just grow two more heads. Raising his eyebrow at you he adds “maybe choose pizza before you head over, so I can order already”. Shaking off the initial shock, you apologize. Before you can actually try to take a leave, he sternly asks “did you have dinner?”. When you shake your head, he repeats “come on, it’s just pizza and a movie. And maybe we should use the opportunity to discuss a shared custody arrangement for Jack.”. At that your stomach rumbles and when you see the glint in Marshalls eyes, you know this is a battle not worth fighting. And you are hungry. You tell him your pizza order and head over to shower and get changed. You wonder how you are not nervous about this. Since things went south with your ex you could hardly stand to be alone with one man. Let alone spend the evening at his place for dinner and movie.

Back at Marshalls place he offers you a bottle of water and his cosy looking armchair. While himself settling beside Jack on the couch. He suggests watching pirates of the Caribbean and you accept, telling him that you actually named the cat after Jack Sparrow to which he counters “It’s captain. Captain Jack Sparrow.”. The evening proceeds with you watching the movie, laughing and having pizza. You are taken aback to realise he actually ordered some extra tuna for Jack. From time to time, you catch yourself watching Marshall instead of the movie. He seems so much younger when relaxed. And handsome. How did you not realise what a beautiful face hides behind those curls and that beard?

After the movie you grab your snoring cat and thank Marshall for the evening when he pushes something cold into your free hand. You need a moment to realise, that he just handed you a key and give him a puzzled look. “I told you we’ll need a shared custody agreement, considering this little one keeps breaking and entering and claiming this apartment. I often work long hours and when shit hits the fan even spend the nights at the office. You might need it to retrieve the lodger.”. With that he winks - well tries to and fails – and opens the door for you, telling you goodnight.

#henry cavill fanfiction #walter marshall

[bondsmagii]

I needed to share this thought somewhere, but growing up poor really messes you up in a lot of ways. It just hit me today that I have money now—I've got a pretty decent job, I can handle unexpected financial hurdles thrown my way and make it to the end of the month. I can buy stuff that I want? And maybe organize a trip or two if I do it right?

And I have to buy myself some glasses and clothes, but every time I think about it, I get this burst of anxiety, because what if I buy them and then something happens and I don't have enough money left and really it's not even an emergency, I can deal with shitty glasses for a bit more, and-

I am financially stable after almost three decades of never having anything, and it's terrifying how my brain has been wired to live on the edge. I'm thankful for what I have now, but damn I wish I could just shake off my experiences and let myself enjoy the present.

you basically described how my brain works, lol. I feel this 100%. I think something we don't talk about enough is the concept of financial trauma. being poor is traumatic. it is quite literally traumatic, because nobody should have that amount of stress occurring at all times. being poor means never being safe, and never having security, and never being able to predict and plan. it means being at the mercy of circumstances totally beyond your control and impossible to predict, and it's an unhealthy way to live. it's my firm belief that being poor for a prolonged period of time leaves people with C-PTSD, a specific type of PTSD that comes from long-term trauma, usually some kind of prolonged fear or survival situation.

like any trauma, it takes time to process. we learned these behaviours because it was literally a matter of life and death, and even when things are going well, it's difficult to forget and difficult to ignore. even when everything is telling us that it's fine, we still think What If -- because we've always had to think What If. we had to try and prepare for every situation imaginable, because we needed to stand a chance when it finally happened. things that were minor inconveniences for others would be catastrophic for us. things that were slightly worse inconveniences for others would mean starvation and homelessness for us. all we could do was be as cautious as possible, and that's a very difficult habit to get out of.

the best thing to do is to keep pushing through it. it does get easier, even if it never goes away; these moments of guilt and doubt become less frequent, and it's possible to reprogram your brain into thinking of new things as necessary. you need clothes. you need glasses. you deserve to be comfortable and cool/warm enough, and you deserve to wear things that make you feel good. your glasses are a tool for your health. you require them to be healthy, to see properly (which is a matter of safety), and to avoid further strain to your eyes, which could result in more damage and/or nasty headaches. teach yourself that these things are your new priority, now that rent and food are more stable. it's possible to learn to think about things in a different way, and even if it's still tough or doesn't ever come as naturally to you as to someone who's never been poor, it will still come easily enough that it doesn't cause stress and torment and guilt.

finally, if you haven't done so already, create an account to save money into. even a little bit each month is good. whatever's left over that you don't spend by the end of the month, put it into savings. even having a little savings helps this kind of fear immensely. you've pulled yourself out of poverty, which is the most difficult bit. with some savings, you'll ensure that a major hiccup (such as an emergency move, a car breakdown, redundancy, etc) won't throw you completely off track. it'll do wonders for your stress levels.

#anon #asks

[rosy-cheekx]

I Want To Be A Real Fake

@kaiserkorresponds said: Black and White + "I want to be a real fake" + formal clothing <3

Prompted fic that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I received it! Hope you like it, Kaiser!

-

Jon would not consider himself fashionable. He has a distinct sense of style, yes, but that style lately has been Tired-Academic-Works-in-a-Cold-Office,-Steals-Sweaters-When-Necessary-core. Not exactly suitable for the business casual dress code The Magnus Institute “requires” (no one seemed to pay attention to the Archive staff’s choices of attire), but certainly not suitable for the small rectangle of cardstock Elias Bouchard hands him, on a quiet spring morning in the Archive.

“What’s…what’s this?” Jon asked, staring at the neat, printed text as if it was Greek. (If it were Greek, at least, he could decipher parts of it. He was an English Lit student, after all, and he had really enjoyed etymology.) The card was a stiff black and white, with the black owl logo, the symbol of the Magnus Institute, printed in the top middle. Glancing down at it, he saw a date, and the words: “black-tie.” Shit.

“My apologies, I forgot how tired your position tends to leave you.” Elias’s voice was prim and polite, but Jon still winced inwardly. “As a head of a department, you are now strongly encouraged to attend the fundraiser I host in April each year. Our donors are fascinated by our departments, and especially the Archives. Gertrude’s disappearance has raised questions as to her successor, and I trust you can assuage the concerns of our donors at your accomplishments in the position.” Jon chose to believe that Elias’s keen eye didn’t sweep the mountains of paperwork that surrounded his desk as he surveyed the small, poorly lit office. “I’m certain you’ll be able to find appropriate attire for the occasion.”

He turned on a heel, halfway to the door before seemingly considering something. “Ah, and Jon, one more thing. Gertrude always requested she bring an assistant. Would you like to do the same? I am happy to accommodate one more for the catering count.”

Jon snapped his mouth shut, utterly dumbfounded by the responsibility just thrust upon him, and nodded mutely, before clearing his throat. “Ah-um, yes, I would appreciate that. Does it matter which one?”

“Someone who can make a pleasant impression, please.” Elias raised an eyebrow, nodded almost imperceptibly, like he had made a decision, and rapped his knuckles on the doorframe on the way out. “I trust your judgement.”

Jon counted to thirty, to be certain Elias wasn’t coming back, and slouched into his office chair, scanning the save-the-date again, without the immense pressure of Elias’s eyes on him.

“The Magnus Institute Fundraiser Gala,” it read below the embossed owl, within a thin black border. “23 April, 7-10 pm. Black tie. Catered.” Jon traced the owl with the pad of his finger, flipping the card over to see, in Elias’s thin cursive: Make a good impression, Jon.

God, this is going to suck.

-

“Sasha, come on.” Jon wasn’t one to beg, but desperate times and all that. He had cornered her in the breakroom, while Martin was on a research trip and Tim was getting takeaway from the chippie down the street. “It’s only three weeks away, and you’re the one I trust the most. Please.”

“Jon,” Sasha sighed, smoothing her skirt patiently. “I would if I could, I swear to you. But my sister’s wedding has been planned for months, I’ve already requested time off, and I can’t undo all that for a work party.”

“Fundraiser,” Jon corrected instinctively, even as he signed in resignation. “Fine. I just really didn’t want to go alone.”

Sasha scoffed, shaking her head to herself as she opened the fridge and pulled out her bagged lunch. “You have two other assistants you know. What about Tim? Or Martin?”

Jon wrinkled his nose at the thought of bringing nervous, rambling, doe-eyed Martin to the gala. “God no. Martin would be too much; I need someone who can handle themselves and hold a decent conversation. I need someone who can attend a black-tie gala and look more at-home than me.” A withering look from Sasha.

“So why not Tim, then? He can do all those things.”

“Do all what things?” Jon jumped and spun around to see Tim, carrying a grease-spotted bag in one hand and a paper soda cup in the other. He surveyed Tim in a moment: the button-up shirt, red and printed with tiny black balloons, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, dark black hair artfully mussed. High cheekbones dotted with freckles, and what Jon swore could be the faintest bit of eyeliner.

“Tim, would you like to go to a fashionable, catered work party with me?”

“Boss,” Tim lowered himself to a knee and held out his soda solemnly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Tim, that’s backwards. The kneeler isn’t the one who accepts,” Sasha chuckles helpfully.

“You’re just jealous of our love, Sash!”

Good Lord.

-

Jon was really hoping the food would be good. He was in Tim’s flat, in the toilet, checking himself in the mirror one final time. His hair was carefully braided, courtesy of Tim’s deft hands and coiled into a thick bun at the base of his skull, gold and emerald hairpin snugly in place. His suit was nice: a respectable white shirt, dotted with tiny lime-colored flowers he had to strain his eyes to see, under a dark green suit jacket and matching trousers. The suit itself was cut in a rather androgynous style, pulling tight at Jon’s waist in a way he rather liked, and contrasted beautifully, he thought, with the smooth brown of his skin. He flicked an invisible piece of lint from his thigh and, satisfied, stepped into the hall to tell Tim he was ready to go.

“Tim, I’m all-woah,” the exhale was accidental. Tim’s suit was certainly not subtle. He was wearing a deep blue turtleneck, hair perfectly coiffed. Over the turtleneck, the suit jacket was white, a spray of water-color flowers in all shades of blue and purple shifting with every movement. The navy blue heeled suede boots on his feet accentuated his already-tall frame “Tim, you look good,” Jon breathed.

“Ouch. No need to sound all surprised. I know I clean up well; I dirty pretty damn good too.” Tim chuckled and adjusted his sleeves. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Mr. ‘I don’t want anything too crazy.’”

Jon grinned shyly, rocking on his heels of his own, less intimidating dress shoes. “I like it, I think. It feels nice.” The excitement over how good he felt in the clothes had, all too briefly, suppressed the impending doom he was feeling about the evening’s events. “Are you ready for tonight?” he asked for what must have been the fiftieth time, spinning the solid black ring he wore around his finger.

“Yes, Jon. Talk about the reorganization process as a structural renovation, converting files to audio formatting for future accessibility, don’t talk about artefact storage even a little, don’t get caught up with anyone too pretty, I get it.” His voice was flat, bored by the repetition. “This is going to be fine.”

“What-what if it isn’t, though, Tim? What if they ask about Gertrude or how their money is being used, o-or how the restructuring is going? I can’t bloody well tell them I’m using a tape recorder that’s probably older than I am.”

“Jon,” Tim’s well-manicured hand was on his shoulder, nails the same blue of his turtleneck. “Take a deep breath. For Gertrude: be honest. It was a tragedy, and you hope she’s found, but until then you’re doing your best to act on her wishes as her replacement. And for the rest, be vague. Restructuring is going ‘as well as can be expected’ or ‘is running quite smoothly with the help of your three wonderful assistants.’” He winked. “And tell them you’re using a multimedia system, that’ll confuse those old boomers enough to move topics. And it is technically true. Laptops and a tape recorder are multiple medias. Anything else we can riff, you know? I can talk with the best of them.” He eyed Jon meaningfully. “This will be fine. It’s one night. And we’ll get chips after. Promise.”

Jon nodded and closed his eyes, breathing steadying. He was grateful Tim had been available. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

-

“So, how did you know what black tie meant?” Jon asked, eyeing Tim across the seat of the cab. They’re on their way now and Jon’s hands are steepled tightly, pressing his fingertips against each other until it hurts to do so. “I had to Google it last week when I went shopping, in case we had to wear literal black ties.” He needed to talk about anything, anything but this stupid fundraiser they drove steadily towards.

Tim grew silent for a moment, considering his words. “My brother was an extra in a movie once and started dating a stylist for one of the leads. He fibbed his way into getting us tickets for premieres, so I’ve made my way through a few high-fashion events.” He shrugged, fiddling with a thin silver bracelet along his wrist, were Jon knew the letter D was carved in delicate cursive. “I like it, too, you know? Dressing up for events. It makes me feel debonaire, like a spy.”

Jon shook his head in disagreement. “Makes me feel fake,” he mumbled, eyeing the lorry floor beneath them. “Like everyone knows I don’t belong. I hate having their eyes on me and knowing they’re better than me.”

Tim prodded Jon with his elbow gently, raising his eyebrows in a comforting manner. “That’s it though, isn’t it? We aren’t fake. We worked our way here. Hell, you’re the boss of an entire department, Jon. We’ve gotten to where we are in the Institute because we deserve to be here. And anyways, everyone at that party next week is gonna be fake. They’re pretending to care about our jobs, and we pretend to care about their money, and they pretend they’re even the ones who write the checks and not some snooty financial advisor in Wales.”

Jon shrugged, trying to keep himself from biting back that he wasn’t enough, didn’t earn this spot, that Sasha deserved it more than he did and was doing nothing to prove to Elias he was up to the monumental task of being the Head Archivist. He didn’t, though, and instead took a steadying breath, nodding to Tim’s comforting words.

“And anyways,” Tim continued, shrugging. “Even if we have to be fake for a night, it’ll be fun. We get to be a part of ‘the queen’s high society,’” he added in a high-pitched, overly fake RP accent, eliciting a chuckle from Jon. “And Rosie said the catering Elias orders is divine. Apparently we should keep an eye out for tiny samosas?”

As if on cue, the cab shuddered to a stop. Jon thanked the driver, paid, and followed Tim out.

-

The Institute looked different under the pretense of wealth and success. It was still the same building of course, but the floor was clear of the rain mats and the smooth marble floor paved the way to the library, the main sitting room of which had been cleared as a rather respectable grand hall to host a party. Tables lined the cordoned off books, hot plates and silver trays steaming slightly. Bottles of wine lined a bar, behind which a vested individual with slicked-back hair was pouring small glasses and taking orders. A quiet orchestra completed the scene, cello and piano in a delicate duet. Before tonight, Jon couldn’t have imagined this many people in the Institute alone, least of all the library. Not that it’s packed. There’s maybe thirty or so well-dressed individuals milling about, the din of conversation white noise in comparison to the floating of the music.

Tim’s hand is on his back, pressing kindly into his spine. Oh yes, he remembers dimly, and nods, allowing Tim to guide him into the library and hand him a glass of wine. They stand out a little, two beacons of color around what is a pretty drab spectrum of black and grey, save for a few spectacular dresses in the crowd. Jon finds he doesn’t mind it, except that it may lead to unwanted conversation. It’s not his looks he fears being judged on, but that he be found wanting when it came to his capabilities. He was always selectively self-conscious like that, some things utterly meaningless, others inexplicably important.

Jon isn’t a huge fan of wine, but he finds himself clinging to the glass as a lifeline as he and Tim meander through the crowds, largely ignored. The music is intoxicatingly simple; he finds himself caught up in the deep reverberations of the cello as they walk, feeling it deep in his chest. There were, in fact, samosas, as well as small cannoli, and he and Tim piled plates as high as they could without garnering stares.

There weren’t many people Jon recognized; he didn’t even see Elias as he scanned the crowd for faces. Wine in one hand, a plate in the other, he thought maybe the night wouldn’t be too bad.

Jon shivered, the sensation of being stared at prickling the back of his neck. He spun around, trying to appear casual, and spotted Elias at last. He was standing with a large man, broad and wearing a deep blue suit, scruffy beard a mix of tawny and white. Elias crooked his finger, smiling primly. As Jon made his way over to the pair-who he could’ve sworn he hadn’t seen previously, he was intercepted by a short bald man in a plum velour suit, leaning heavily on a cane.

“Ah, Archivist,” he smiled warmly, extending a hand to shake before seeing Jon’s hands were full, and nodding his head instead. “Congratulations on your promotion. Elias has told me he expects great things from you.”

Jon smiled politely, glancing over to see Elias and the other man gone again. Regretfully, he turned his attention back to the man. “It’s a shame about Gertrude, yes, but I’m hoping I can do her proud,” he said in a practiced tone. He glanced over his shoulder. Where was Tim? He was just with him.

“Of course, of course. I was hoping I could have a word?”

“W-with me?”

“Yes, you see, I was rather concerned when I heard Gertrude’s position had been left open. When Elias said you yourself where at the junction to take over, I wanted to meet you for myself. I worry about the Archivists in your institute, so many of you do such monumental work for so little recognition. Do you worry your work to be meaningless?  Your name insignificant when it is all said and done?”

(It is this conversation he remembers, months later, when he demands to record Prentiss’ attack. He refuses to be another mystery, a name on a placard to be wondered about.)

“I-ah, yes? No?” What was the right answer here? Jon stammered out a half-assed reply about doing his best, midway through when he felt a hand firmly on his shoulder, where his neck and collarbone met. Glancing to his peripheral, he saw a golden ring, an eye, and was frustratingly grateful to hear the cool tones of Elias Bouchard over his shoulder.

“Now Simon,” he said, voice even, “you aren’t trying to scare my dear Archivist, are you?” He gave the shoulder a squeeze but remained put. “Jon, I believe you’ve heard of Simon Fairchild, a significant donor to our establishment.”

Jon nodded wordlessly, not really listening to the two bureaucrats delve off into some topic or other, craning his neck to look for Tim. The music had picked up, he registered dimly, a orchestral melody led by a violin, sharp and whimsical.

“Jon?” Another squeeze to his neck, and Jon tried not to wince. “Wouldn’t you agree,” Elias asked, voice patient at surface level. “That the best way to move forward is to restructure the Archive?”

Jon nodded, trying to recall the answer he had rehearsed. “Yes, ah—my team and I have worked quite hard at recording the statements a-and organizing them in a way that will last long-term.”

“Ah, what a delight,” Simon—Mr. Fairchild—said warmly. Jon was reminded of the voices adults would use when they spoke to him as a child, when his inane facts about space or etymology had moved from endearing to obnoxious.

The conversation lasted for what felt like days, Jon feeling rather like Mr. Fairchild’s cane: a statement piece, contributing nothing to the conversation but unable to find a smooth exit. Leading questions from Elias led to thankfully rehearsed answers before Simon found his own exit and walked away smoothly, eyes wide and taking the room in.

“I-I really should find Tim,” Jon muttered, glancing around the room anxiously.

“Nonsense. He’ll be back,” Elias said, releasing Jon’s shoulder and taking his elbow in turn, “I would like to introduce you to a few dear friends of mine. I believe Tim is keeping one occupied at present.” Jon sighed inwardly (and maybe outwardly as well) and allowed himself to be led around the room. His wine glass was empty, as was his plate and he found it snatched away by a member of catering. He had nothing to cling to, to keep his hands busy, and was struggling not to pull out his delicately-placed hair pin just so he could fiddle with something.

Jon was taken on a tour of old rich people of England. Names flew past him, conversation buzzed around him, and still Jon felt like nothing more than a well-dressed trophy to be ogled at. Did Gertrude do this every year, he wondered dimly. No wonder she disappeared. He fiddled with the ring on his finger, nodding and smiling at the appropriate times, speaking when needed, and feeling the swirl of the orchestra build up in pressure behind his eyes. The music was beautiful but hard to listen to. Something about it was ugly, hiding a dark secret behind the innocent melodies.

Eventually, the evening was so much of a blur that he couldn’t even begin to fathom how much time had passed. It may have been weeks, may have been merely twenty minutes. Jon glanced down for his watch before realizing he had taken it off at Tim’s flat and never strapped it back on. Pity. It only added to the dreamscape reality he seemed to be participating in.

At last, Elias led him towards the large burly man that was suddenly in view (hadn’t he always been? Jon wasn’t quite sure. The wine must have affected him more than he thought with the nerves) and Jon saw Tim, similarly trapped in conversation as he had been. He smiled apologetically as Jon and Elias approached and the larger man smiled warmly at the newcomers.

“Ah, Archivist. I hope you don’t mind I stole your companion away briefly. I was curious about the nitty-gritty of your Archive. Timothy here was very informative.” Tim winced at the use of his full name and a part of Jon smirked, relating to the sentiment of being called Jonathan or worse, John.

“I’m glad he can answer your questions.” Elias spoke before Jon could open his mouth. “I’m quite proud of the Archive staff. Jon chose well and I am sure the four of them are going to do great things together. Jon, you remember the Lukas family?”

Jon nodded, confused for a second before the man in front of him extended his hand. “Peter Lukas, at your service.” The hand was cold, and a feeling of dismay washed over Jon as he shook it. He couldn’t help the feeling that the shake of that hand was a seal of his fate.

The orchestral music had picked up, a swirl of strings and piano, ascending in pitch until it grated at Jon’s ears. No one else seemed to react to it, however, as the manic notes pulling at something inside Jon’s brain, something he couldn’t explain. It was almost like a migraine, but sharper and deep in his spine and in his ears. Elias let go of Jon’s arm at some point during the conversation with Peter Lukas, a discussion about boats, maybe? Travel? This was the conversation Elias was so keen on Jon being a part of?

As Jon felt that grip relax, the glint of the ring on Elias’ finger seeming to wink at him, Jon took a staggered step backwards. “Mr. Lukas, ah-Peter, it’s been a pleasure. Elias, ex-excuse me.”

Jon turned and dashed out of the library, feet carrying him on instinct through the winding halls and down the stairs of the institute, deep into the Archives. He stopped when he felt his feet echo against the cold, solid lino of the archival storage and bent over, hand on the wall, gasping in shallow, rapid bursts. It was too much, it was too much, he thought he could do this but it was too much and he wasn’t enough for them-

“Woah-boss.” Tim was there. When did Tim get here? Was he speaking out loud? Shit. “Jon, yeah-hey, Jon. I’m here. You’re okay. Take some deep breaths, okay? You’re going to black out if you’re not careful.”

Jon felt his suit jacket being shrugged off of him and the newly allowed freedom of his shoulder helped. He took a deep, sputtering breath, the sweet oxygen flooding his system and sharpening his thoughts.

“The-the music and the talking,” he said under his breath, Tim craning to listen without infringing on his personal space. “Too-too much.”

“The music? Jon, hey, hey, just focus on calming down, okay? That was a dick move of Elias to separate us immediately. I was talking to that Lukas guy for way too long. Not even sure what we talked about. I think he’s just one of those guys.” Jon smirked to himself as he focused on the floor beneath his feet, breathing slowly until his heart rate had resumed a normal rhythm.

“Says you,” he mumbled, eyes closing as he pressed his warm cheek to the cold wall.

“You bastard!” Jon felt a light swat on his shoulder. “I listen to people! I have meaningful conversation; just ask Martin and Sasha and Alexa from Library and Calvin from Artefact Storage. I am practically a professional listener.”

Jon smirked, satisfied with his jab and turned around, now pressing his back to the wall. “God, Tim, I do not want to go back in there.” It was hard to admit out loud, even if the evidence was written all over his face.

“Okay. So, we won’t.”

“What?” the answer was so mind-bogglingly simple, Jon reeled.

“We don’t want to be here. We’ve talked, we’ve eaten. Let’s just leave. I can tell Elias I had an emergency and you had to escort me home, like a true gentleman.”

“Lie to Elias? I feel like that cant end well.” The offer was tempting, Jon hadf to admit.

“I mean, Sasha has keys to my flat. I could ask her to start a fire, if you think that’s sufficient?”

Jon barked out a laugh at that. “Ah, no, lets save a fire for something big. Yes. Let’s-let’s go, Tim. And-er, I suppose I should thank you. For coming tonight. I know its not an ideal way to spend an evening.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim did a twirl, Jon’s own jacket slung over his shoulder. “I look hot. You think I’d pass up an opportunity to dress up like this? You’re dreaming.” He smirked and took Jon’s arm, leading him back up the stairwell. It felt different than Elias’s touch. That had been a cold tug, directional and leashed. This felt…snug, more like a link in a chain than anything else. Comforting, reassuring.

(Luckily, they weren’t laughed out of the Nando’s they popped into late at night. Lemon and herb and spices covered their hands, but they were careful to keep their jackets clean. Jon, when looking back on the evening; remembers this moment, talking and laughing and letting the fresh night air was over them. Elias, Lukas, and Fairchild be damned. He’d deal with that tomorrow.)

#the magnus archives #tma #tma fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #tim stoker #prompt fic #black-tie #elias bouchard #still a dick #peter lukas #simon fairchild #sasha james #me? write everyone BUT martin> #amazing

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 21

First  -  Previous  -  Next

I know I keep saying this, but unless my life suddenly slows down soon, updates will be slowed. This one was so close to being late. I have a layout for the story, I just don’t have the spare time to write. I am about to lose a commitment, though, so maybe things will work out!

cw: arguing, panic attack, angst

~

“You don't need a job.”

“Yes I do! I can't just let you and Remus support me, I'm an adult!”

“You're still recovering. You don't even know what a job would be like in this world.”

“Then let me find out!”

“Patton, no. This is not up for debate any longer.”

Patton stood up suddenly, shoving his chair back with a loud screeeech. For a moment, his anger boiled, so near to the surface, as he contemplated walking out of the apartment and getting himself a job.

Instead, he shoved the feelings down and stormed into his room, slamming the door shut. How could Father be so—so—!

All he wanted was to feel like he was actually contributing something. Sure, he was still in three kinds of therapy, but Father couldn't pay for that all himself, even with his two jobs. He couldn’t expect Remus to help, either—Remus was his own person with his own ambitions.

Patton picked up his pillow, only to throw it as hard as he could at the bed. He took a couple of deep breaths, then did it again. He was an adult, he could do anything Father or Remus could do, and he wanted to help! He wanted to see the Outside, interact with people from Out, learn what life was like here. He hadn't gone anywhere yet except his therapy appointments, which were all in the same cluster of buildings, so it wasn't like he was being exposed to a wide variety of stimuli.

Something was off, but Patton shook the feeling away. He was too mad to try and figure it out. Father didn't have much money at all, they were skating by on very little and Patton could help with that! He could help his family stay safe and alive, and here, with him.

Patton had felt helpless his whole life. There was always something, someone, to be afraid of. There was always something, someone, to hold him in place. He was always trapped. He'd thought, for months, that getting out would mean a sunny life full of smiles, a life with love and happiness.

This wasn't happiness. This wasn't sunshine, and certainly not smiles. This was being locked away, only leaving to see doctors who tried to 'fix' him, only to—

Patton fell to his knees, clutching his head as he tried to shut the memories out. There was panic rising in his chest, dousing the anger like cold water with fire, and he didn't know why. Where was Virgil, why wasn't he here? Where was his jacket—there, on the desk. So where was Virgil? Why wasn't he here, where was Father, please, not again, please—

The door.

The door was closed, and Patton hadn't closed it, had he? Someone shut him in. Someone had shut him in, and they weren't going to let him out. No, not okay, not at all okay. There was no way for him to tell someone to let him out, he couldn't ask for help!

Why wouldn't Father let him learn to talk?

Patton crawled over to the door, shaking fearfully as he reached up for the doorknob. Part of him was holding him back, insisting that if he didn't know that the door was locked then it couldn't be locked. Instead of giving in to that, he turned the handle, and—

It opened, with just a little bit of resistance of dragging along the carpet, and Patton fell over in relief. He was safe, he was at home with Father, he wasn't confined to a room. He noticed that his face was hot, and reached up to find tears.

Patton felt a little embarrassed, now that he realized that nothing had been wrong. He'd just been freaking out over nothing. Probably something he'd have to talk about with one of his therapists.

He got to his feet, his legs shaking a bit, which reminded him suddenly of Virgil. Patton felt a pang as he thought of his lost love. Remus had said that Virgil had gotten out for certain, but he didn't know anything else. He couldn't believe it—they both finally got freedom, escaped to the same place, yet their paths hadn't crossed. They'd been separated, before they even got to see each other.

The house vibrated, and Patton peered out his door to see Remus kicking his shoes off in front of the front door. He was saying something to Father, his mouth moving at lightning speed.

Patton withdrew into his room, taking a moment to pull on Virgil's jacket before falling back onto his bed. His heart was still thumping wildly, adrenaline surging through him. Everything was fine, though. Not good, necessarily. But fine.

-

Remus flopped onto the couch beside Logan, letting a drawn-out sigh hiss out of him. Logan watched him impassively, though there was a crease between his brows, and he didn't look all that present.

“You good, Lolo?” Remus asked. He scratched his mustache absently, not at all missing Logan's quick glance to Patton's room.

The kid was cool, if a bit jumpy. He and Logan had been butting heads a bit lately, and today must have been the day of another angry hands match. Remus wasn't really able to keep up, but Logan had filled him in—Patton wanted a job, and to learn how to read lips and talk. Like that one lady, but without the blind part or whatever.

Remus was on Patton's side, sort of—the kid needed out, and that was fair. He'd needed out to, which was why he got a job at the gas station thirty minutes out. Gave him time to drive, think. Laugh at the music on the radio. Pretend he was collecting a string of coins on the road. Fun stuff, free stuff. Pat pretty clearly needed some of that, and Logan was definitely motherhenning.

On the other hand, though, the three were barely keeping afloat. After payments for Patton's therapy (which they had financial aid for, too), there was only just enough to cover bills and food and whatall. They hadn't even been able to buy Pat more clothes, he was just re-wearing the same two or three outfits over and over. Which played into why he wanted a job—another person with a job meant more money, but even that wouldn't be enough money to cover lipreading lessons, let alone speaking lessons.

Who would hire a deaf kid, anyway?

Deaf young adult, Remus reminded himself. Patton was only a handful of years younger than him. He wasn't a kid, and he probably didn't want to be called a kid.

Suddenly, Remus realized that Logan was talking. He really needed to stop getting lost in thought.

“I can't let that happen,” Logan was saying. “Not again.”

Ah, they'd reached the part of the day where Logan talked about how guilty he felt. Lovely to tune in to!

“Lo, I get it. You've given me this spiel like eight million times already,” Remus said. “You love Patty, blah blah your fault, blah blah blah kidnapping, not safe blah blah. Come up with new material.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but he seemed to have broken out of his self-deprecating cycle, so Remus had succeeded.

“Why don't we talk to the school district?” Remus continued. “They've gotta have some deaf kids, and Pat could be a translator or something, I don't know.” He'd been thinking about it for a few days now. If there was anyone who needed a translator full-time, it was a school. He'd thought about other places—a church (nope bad memories probably), the post office (too many people), a motel (too shifty). Not to mention, all the places wouldn't need him regularly. The school seemed like the best bet. Logan, however, shook his head without even considering it.

“No, he doesn't know the first thing about a school.” Remus snapped his fingers. “Perfect place to learn! Good thinking!”

“That is not what I mean. I don't feel comfortable putting him in a situation where he would have to regularly deal with normal people.” Logan adjusted his glasses, his hand running up from there to trail through his hair. “He's not ready. It isn't safe for him until we can adjust his therapy schedule to include sensitivity training. It will take him years to be able to get a job, according to the timeline I've drawn up. Not to mention, in order to get a decent, respectable job, he must undertake a college education at a reputable university.”

That was completely wrong, and ruled out trade schools and apprenticeships. It also stung, pretty badly. Logan knew full well that Remus hadn't been to college. Remus tried to not let the hurt show on his face as he stopped listening to Logan's tirade.

He was wrong. Little Patty-Cake could totally survive in the real world. But how to prove it to him?

-

Patton was reading, sprawled out on his bed, several days after the fight when he saw his door move slightly out of the corner of his eye. He sat up to see Remus waving at him. He sent a casual wave back, before returning to his book. He was learning a lot—the book's main characters all worshiped differently. He hadn't even known that there was more than one religion.

His bed dipped, which meant that Remus had come in and sat on his bed. Patton took his time finishing his page. Eventually, Remus waved in his face.

“That's rude, you know,” Patton signed, finally placing a bookmark in the book and closing it. “What do you need?”

Remus took a moment, repeating Patton's sentences in miniature as he worked his way through it. Then he bounced a little bit, smiled, and pulled something out of the tote bag on his shoulder that Patton hadn't noticed until now.

A book.

Another one?

Patton didn't want to complain, but he had so many books already. Father was always going to the library in between shifts, bringing a new thing to read. He had six or seven to catch up on still, he didn't need another. And he was getting a little bored of reading.

Remus raised his eyebrows expectantly, holding it out, gesturing for Patton to take it. He did, watching Remus's excited eyes for a moment before turning his attention to the title.

Lip-Reading Principles And Practice: A Hand-book for Teacher and for Self-Instruction.

No.

Really?

Patton smiled, huge, hope building in his chest. Remus grinned toothily, and rereading the title was all it took for Patton to be launching into Remus's chest with a hug.

He was really going to learn! He could really do this! He released the laughing Remus to run his hands across the lightly damaged cover reverently, then hugged Remus again.

He couldn't wait to get started.

~

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404 @broken-pencils @thewhimsicallibrarytech @doomllily @hereissananxiousmess @judyismydog  @arodynamic-enby @at-that-one-nerd @therapysides @awkwardandanxiousfander @thekitchenpan @im-an-anxious-wreck

#slower than words #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #thomas sanders #ts #ts sides #fanfic #sanders sides fanfic #angst #sanders sides angst #patton sanders #ts patton #logan sanders #ts logan #remus sanders #ts remus #virgil sanders #ts virgil #moxiety #yo tumblr why did you forget all my tags #very rude #so how do you all feel about logan? #i want to clarify that he is not unsymp #logan is just struggling #he isn't sure what to do #so he's making stuff up #and he has unaddressed trauma #and preconceived notions #he's very protective #why am i trying to justify him lol

[bearbaitmegs]

I know I don’t have a lot of active followers here, but I’ve been going though some major changes in my life recently (both good and/or disorienting), and one of the things I am aiming to achieve with that is to reestablish myself online in some small way. Just casually, socially. I used to enjoy interacting and making friends online and some of my oldest friends remain people that I met through the web.

I hope these sporadic personal posts don’t bother you.

I think part of these changes that I’m aspiring to involve getting into the habit of simply posting more. I honestly am unsure of where to migrate to online outside of Tumblr. I’ve ditched Facebook except to check on businesses I’m planning on visiting and occasionally to sell something. I’m only on Snapchat and Instagram to follow one person. I haven’t logged into DeviantArt in almost 10 years. Yahoo 360 is long gone. Adjusting to Discord has been a slow and lurking process because it reminds me of some particularly haunting memories and it lacks most topics I’d be interested in (publicly, at least). Twitter never fit right. I refuse to engage with people on Ao3 or ffn because I’m very hesitant to engage with people who has the same media interests as I do because I’ve had far too much fandom-related trauma and drama and I still have trouble forming friend groups despite 9 years of distance

My brother has an undiagnosed and untreated personality disorder and it has often felt like his drama has been my defining feature for almost 2 years. I have gotten tired of carrying his monkey into all of my relationships and conversations, especially when trying to make new ones. I wish I had custody of my nephew because he and his ex are both sucky and neglectful, but all I can do is wait until the kid turns 18 or asks about emancipation. My brother deliberately seeks out relationships that renew and reinforce his past traumas in order to legitimize his unwillingness to move on and I hold him at least partially responsible for our parents’ decline in emotional, financial, and physical health. I recently opted to go for No Contact/Very Low Contact with him and it’s been freeing and refreshing and I feel immensely happier and more motivated. 

I frequently feel like I don’t have anything worth saying or cannot really think of anything to say. It’s a work in progress. I have always carried a sense of awkwardness and that continues to persist into my 30s, despite the fact that I generally consider myself a confident person. I’ve been in a romantic relationship for 5 years and it fulfills 95% of my social and emotional needs, which... I think has led to leaving many of my other relationships to pasture.

Instinctively, I want to reach out and rectify all of these relationships all at once. Of course, it doesn’t work that way, and in trying to pace myself I find I often procrastinate. I set myself a goal of reaching out to a friend per week, but it’s more like one every two weeks. I know some of us will pick up where we left off like we’ve never been apart. Some of my friends will have moved on and our re-connection will separate again because we’re just different now and I’m honestly not bothered by that. It’s normal. I just hesitate because I don’t know where to start even though the script should be so easy. I feel annoying and needy. “Hey, I hope you’re well! I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. I was thinking of you today every day.” Ugh.

I’m pretty financially, mentally, and physically stable and have been for a while. I like my job and I’m paid very well! I like me! I like my hobbies and my apartment! I’ve worked very hard to get here and there’s really only a few key things I want to improve upon.

But somehow I feel like I’m rediscovering myself again. Like I was shut out of something and didn’t even realize there was a door. I’ve missed something. I’m naturally comfortable alone and tend to be willfully obtuse about things that don’t involve me only to get startled by them later.

I moved back to my hometown 2 years ago in order to introduce my partner to my family and be around for some major family events. It was supposed to be a 4 month summer visit. The family drama just never stopped and I’m just...still here. I can’t wait to leave, but I also don’t resent my hometown as much as I did when I left. It’s changing immensely, but so am I. I definitely won’t be able to afford to stay.

I had a patio garden over the summer and, while we hardly got our money’s worth out of it, it was pretty and tasty and fulfilling. A few of the plants are overwintering with us.

I still haven’t lived somewhere that allows me a pet, but I keep saving stray cats. 

I have way more fabric than I know what to do with from old clothes and dead ideas, but I finally tuned up my sewing machine and bought a set of sewing machine feet and I have lots of plans and ideas that I just need to sit down and actually execute. Especially embroidery.

I finally spent the damn $70 on an old school drawing tablet and took the time to download some free art programs. A modern tablet is still too much to budget for and a mouse and MS Paint is not enough. I do not know why it took me 10 freaking years when I’ve spent far more money on far less desirable luxuries.

I am hoping to find a decent enough mountain bike at a manageable price to do a long-distance cycling trip next year. If I don’t, I’ll divert to hiking a long-distance trail. I’ve never stopped craving spending weeks and weeks out in the woods with an overstuffed backpack since my first trek in 2016. I’m willing to go out of my way and budget hard to make it a reality on an annual basis.

I’m slowly picking away at my original story, JatGSL, a 10+ year Work In Progress, and I finally have a setting and characters that I feel good about and have a lot of fun imagining. I’m afraid to say much about it. It has dying androids and mushrooms and mythology and domesticated seals and braille and it takes place on a melted Antarctica. But my writing is a muscle long neglected and I don’t know if I’ll ever really get it back.

I sometimes think about moving some of my old fanfics over to Ao3 so they won’t be lost, but my old penname carries weight I’d rather not pick up and I don’t want to add anything else to JKR’s legacy and some of the things I wrote when I was 17-22 have aged pretty poorly. So, I hesitate and debate and do nothing.

I keep having simple, but neat ideas that nobody out in the market seems to be doing/making, but I lack the connections and knowledge to do anything with them.

My romantic partner is an amazingly perfect fit. Absolutely well-fitting, in-sync, mind-blowingly complementary in every way. I increasingly worry it might not last because my partner has 1 (ONE) key issue that I just can’t live with long term and if they can’t figure out a healthy way to cope I don’t know if I can go another 5 years dealing with it. I grew up with it. I won’t live with it.

It often feels odd to talk about myself (even here. even now) because I feel so much happier than I seem to be describing myself.

#megii's commentary #this is more a ramble than anything else

[compassionatereminders]

I'm currently attending a job fair and exploring my options for an intership / job since I'm in my second year of college. But a big part of me is afraid and dreading having to go to work, my mental health has been terrible lately and I don't think I can handle it. Surprisingly my output this year has been outstanding, my superiors and professors are impressed with me, but the process I go through to reach that output is so painful that I don't think it's worth all the success. I feel like I still have to try to get an internship or a job because I'm in a tight spot financially and literally can't afford to fall behind. It's all very important for me to become financially indepemdent so I can finally escape my abuse.

I'm not looking for advice, just for, I don't know, some comfort. Advice is okay as long as it doesn't stress you out trying to come up with a solution for me. I just want to hear that it's going to be okay somehow and I'm going to be okay. Thabk you.

First of all, I want to say that I am really impressed that you're managing to do so well in school despite still being stuck in an abusive living situation. I know that must be really, really tough - and it's impressive that you've managed it for so long. That being said, if you're burning out and also need to get a job, it might be time to tune down your expectations to yourself a little. Remember that it's okay to just do a good job and that you don't actually have to push yourself to levels of perfection which it hurts you to reach for. So you might have to prioritize your energy differently and allow yourself to just be decent in school instead of on top of everything. Especially considering that you're struggling with both abuse at home and mental health issues, expecting yourself to excel in school AND work a job might be unrealistic - and that's okay!

#chat with kat #abuse tw

[winryofresembool]

Things We Lost in the Fire, ch 22

aka Caleo uni au

Fic summary: Calypso starts studying at a new university, but to her annoyance her new flatmate is a loud mouthed mechanic who also likes to sneak his dog in whenever. But as she learns to know him better, she realizes they might have more in common than what she first thought. Eventually, even the darkest secrets come out…

Chapter summary: Leo Valdez can be sweet when he wants to.

A/N:  Sorry for the long break! The holidays were a rather busy time for me so it did good to take some time off from writing. But now I'm back for my weekly updates (at least I hope I am)! And not just with any chapter but a long-ish chapter full of Caleo fluff :) I really hope you guys enjoy! Please let me know what you think because I 100% mean it when I say I love reading your comments!!

Words: 3200+ 

Genre: romance & hurt/comfort

Warnings: none

previous chapter / AO3

…

Once Calypso had made up with Leo and Annabeth, she had new issues to deal with. When she paid her rent for the month, she noticed that she only had enough money for one more month’s rent, not even including the other living costs such as food, other daily necessities and school supplies. She had pushed back the job hunting earlier partially because the friendship issues had made her feel too low to care about that kind of thing, partially because she had no idea what she could do, only having a high school level education and no special skills. She had only ever worked at her father’s company and that was not something she wanted to advertise in her applications. But now she was in a situation that unless she wanted to return to the very place she wanted to stay away from, she had to come up with something.

Annabeth and Piper had seen some of the clothes and other items she had sewed and made with her own hands and encouraged her to sell them but Calypso herself wasn’t entirely convinced they were good enough to be sold. She was also a decent enough artist but with a class full of artists just as good (some even better) than her, what would make her stand out in the public? Her people skills weren’t amazing either so she doubted that she would make a good retail worker. But she knew she would probably have to come out of her comfort zone in this case, so if anyone was willing to hire her, she’d accept it.

She was startled when she suddenly heard a familiar voice from the other room: “Sunshine, I’mma head out to buy some groceries and stuff for a new project. You need anything?”

In some other situation, Calypso would have been thankful for the offer, but she was still feeling like a nervous wreck because of her earlier discovery. That’s why the words escaped her before she could stop herself: “Huh? No, I don’t think so? And I can still buy my own groceries, thank you very much.”

“Sorry, I just thought I’d ask… I didn’t mean to…” Leo seemed a bit baffled by her outburst. He was already about to head out when Calypso came out of her room and stopped him.

“No, I’m sorry.” She sighed, looking regretful. “I was just on the edge because I just noticed my financial situation isn’t exactly the best… But that is something I need to figure out on my own, I don’t want charity.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna buy you a car or anything,” Leo tried to crack a joke. “Just thought that if you’re running out of milk or something, I could have saved you the trouble… Since I’m going there anyway…”

“Oh… no, I don’t think I need anything,” she said, this time a lot softer. “But thank you for asking.”

“No prob, Sunshine,” Leo replied, looking relieved now that he knew she wasn’t actually angry at him. “But hey, if you do need help with, like, searching for a job, or something, I’m your man.”

Calypso tried to keep her face neutral even though she had a feeling her cheeks were probably red. “I’ll… keep that in my mind.”

“Well, see you soon,” Leo said after the two just kept staring at each other for a while. He seemed to be sizing her, possibly still a bit thrown off by her weird reaction before he put his coat on (Calypso noticed it was the same shade of red as a lot of his shirts seemed to be. And it was also rather snugly fit, definitely not a bad sight, she thought before she had time to stop herself) and took his bags, leaving her alone.

“See you,” she said quietly when the door was already closed.

Once sure that Leo was far enough and not coming back, Calypso leaned her back against the wall of her room, sliding down into a sitting position on the floor. Throwing her head back, she groaned at herself. She had thought that the small falling out they had had because of the Percy incident might have affected her feelings towards Leo, but it seemed to become clearer and clearer every day that wasn’t the case. Even if she had admitted to Hazel and Annabeth that those feelings were not quite flatmate like, it was a whole different thing to really come to terms with that fact. She was falling quite hard.

The more she thought about it, the more she freaked out. Her relationships before one faithful day during her teenage years had failed badly (and that was over 5 years ago anyway) and the online dating she had done afterwards… Well, now that Calypso thought about it, only the conversation with Percy had seemed to be going somewhere. All the people she had cared about had left her and never come back. That, along with the fact that she had spent a lot of time alone in the past, had left her scared of relationships and ruined her self esteem, making her think that she simply wasn’t good enough. If Leo left too… she wasn’t sure how she’d handle that. Not to even mention, her dad was still probably looking for her and getting Leo mixed into that would be very dangerous for him. No matter what Annabeth said about wanting to help.

Biting her lip, she decided there was only one option. No matter what she felt, she should try to treat Leo just like any of her friends and conceal her true feelings. Having Leo in her life just as a flatmate was way better than not having him in it at all. When she remembered her friends’ hints that perhaps Leo himself wasn’t as indifferent to her as he probably should be, she suddenly felt like crying. In different circumstances… maybe they could be happy together, go on dates, hold hands… Now she would inevitably have to let him go when someone else would realize that Leo was a great person worth dating.

Calypso didn’t know how long she had been sitting there, and she also hadn’t noticed that there were tears running down her cheeks. She didn’t snap out of her daze until she heard the front door clunking again, this time indicating that Leo had already returned.

“Please just ignore me…” Calypso ranted in her head, but no luck. She heard steps from outside her room, stopping right in front of it. Swiping her wet cheeks quickly into her hands, she stood up from the floor just in time for Leo to knock on her door. Calypso didn’t really want to open it when she was in that emotional state but she knew that not answering would raise even more questions. Her messy looks she could always try to shrug off as a ‘bad day’, she decided.

“Yeah?” she asked weakly, opening the door to reveal her flatmate with that stupid trademark grin of his on his face. He seemed pretty happy about something he had or was about to do. The late autumn wind had made his curly hair even messier than usual and his cheeks were red from the cold weather and the exercise but his eyes were sparkling excitedly, like he couldn’t wait to show her something. He started: “I went to the hardware store and…” He quickly stopped when he noticed Calypso’s expression and puffy eyes. His happiness immediately melted away. “Hey, what’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

“It’s been a rough day,” Calypso sighed, looking down. “Don’t worry, I was just being overwhelmed by the loads of uni work before the exam season. And like I told you before, I need a job… But… it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Alright, if you’re sure…” Leo narrowed his eyes slightly, probably sensing that she wasn’t telling him the entire truth. “But yeah, I was gonna give you something. Hope it cheers you up a bit. He handed her a tiny packet of what seemed like flower seeds but before Calypso had time to read the text on it, he started explaining.

“So, I was gonna tell you that I went to the hardware store to buy me some supplies, and you know how they sell all kinds of seeds there as well? Well, I just happened to notice these while waiting for my turn to pay for my stuff and I just randomly decided to buy them.”

“But… why?” Calypso asked, finally looking at Leo directly.

“Um…” He started rubbing the back of his neck. “Remember when Festus jumped on your desk and broke it? There was a plant on it too… and I never replaced it. When I saw those,” he nodded towards the packet Calypso was holding, “I remembered that the plant looked like that… At least I think it did… I’m no good with that kind of stuff… But I know you care about your plants… so I thought it’d be only fair if I got you those. I know it’s not gonna be the exact same one you had, but…”

Leo didn’t manage to finish his sentence because Calypso couldn’t contain her feelings anymore. She closed the space between them and hugged him even tighter than the time they had had a game night with Jason and Piper. No one had gotten anything for her in years, and even if the seed bags didn’t cost much, it was the thought that mattered way more to her. She had never expected him to remember such a detail from several months ago when they hadn’t even been friends, but apparently he did.

“Uh, Cal, some air would be nice,” Leo said jokingly when it started seeming she didn’t even want to let him go. He didn’t attempt to break the hug, though, instead gently stroking her back. “Wow, Sunshine,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood, “You’d think I bought you a house based on your reaction.”

Calypso raised her head from his shoulder, giving him a half hearted glare as she broke the hug.

“I’m not allowed to be thankful for a gift? You don’t know… You don’t understand…”

“Understand what?” Leo raised his eyebrows.

Calypso took a deep breath before answering. “I haven’t gotten gifts from anyone since I turned 16. And even then it was just… uh, never mind. The point is that I’m not used to such nice gestures… And I didn’t think you’d remember… It was my favorite plant. So excuse me if I’m feeling a bit emotional because your gift was more thoughtful than you probably realized.”

“OK, sorry,” Leo apologized quickly. “If you’re not used to nice gestures, I’m not used to displays of affection so I got a bit surprised, that’s all… Well, either way, I’m glad I got you something you care about.”

Calypso’s expression softened again. “Yeah. Thank you. I’m sure they will look pretty.”

Suddenly Calypso realized she was feeling a little dizzy, not sure if from the crying or from the smell of the mechanic oil she had just smelled on Leo’s shirt as she had hugged him. Sitting down on her bed, she leaned her face into her hands.

“Um, are you really OK?” Leo asked. “I know it’s not any of my business, but… if I can help you somehow, let me know.”

After a while, Calypso looked up from her hands, having half expected Leo to leave already. “If you happen to know anyone who’d be willing to hire an inexperienced, uneducated young woman, sure, be my guest,” she muttered.

“Hey.” Leo sat down next to Calypso on her bed, nudging her arm slightly. “Where’s the Calypso who has told me to fight my fear? I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who’d be willing to hire you if they knew how talented you are.”

“Wait… what?” Calypso wasn’t sure if she had heard right. Even if they had been friendly towards each other for a while now, she didn’t remember Leo complimenting her like that before. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true!” Leo exclaimed, his eyes gleaming fiercely the same way Calypso had seen a couple of times earlier. “You are a talented person and even I can see that. You can draw and paint – I bet you’d do way better blueprints for machines than I do. To be honest, I’d probably hire you to do that if I could. You create a lot of things with your own hands – like that one dress you wore the other day, right? Like, OK, I wear overalls all the time so you can take my opinion with a grain of salt, but I thought it looked neat.”

“But…”

“But there are other things as well,” Leo continued persistently. “You know a lot and you’re always working on something – if not something university related, you take care of your plants or bake or something like that – and I think under that hard cover of yours you’re actually a super caring person. I dunno, those are things that at least I value. But maybe I’m the weird one here.” He rolled his eyes as if everything he had just said had been very obvious.

“Leo…” Calypso just stared at him with wide eyes, not finding the right words. She hadn’t been emotionally prepared for Leo showering her with compliments. If her cheeks had felt warm earlier, they were definitely burning now, and her eyes felt weird too… like she was going to cry again. “I…”

“Shhh. Crying doesn’t suit you, Sunshine. Luckily Uncle Leo is good at bad jokes that make the ladies laugh. How about this: What do you give to a sick lemon? Or… why didn't the astronaut come home to his wife?”

“Leonidas,” Calypso repeated but this time she did it with an annoyed groan. That was apparently what Leo had wished, though, because he grinned at her in return.

“Alright, I won’t finish that one!” he raised his hands up. “But it did work because there’s still some spice left in you. That’s what I wanted to see.”

“You’re the only person I know who can literally go from 100 to 0 when trying to cheer someone up,” Calypso said, but her mouth twitched. “But thanks. As much as I hate to admit it, I think it might have worked. For your information,” she added unexpectedly, “you give lemon aid to a sick lemon and the astronaut needed his space.”

“I think my job here is done,” Leo said approvingly, taking one step closer to her. Calypso had seen his brown eyes sparkling when he was happy and burning when he was mad but now she thought they seemed soft and warm, unlike she had seen before. And her heart skipped a beat when she registered that the reason for the warmth might have been… she herself. He looked at her right in the eyes and brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear before his fingers moved to her face. He brushed some of the wetness off with his thumb and for one, short second Calypso thought that he also wanted to do something else… touch her jaw, her lips… But that moment ended fast when he cleared his throat and pulled his hand away. One, tiny part of Calypso’s brain yelled: “no!” while the rational part tried to be relieved.

“Um… You had something there…” Leo tried to brush his previous actions off. “Anyway. Like I said I have no doubt someone wouldn’t hire you. But now that I think of it, I remember hearing from my moms that one of their friends is looking for a holiday helper at her flower shop that is quite near Waystation. The holidays are always a busy time there and the owner’s daughter, who has usually been the one helping, has moved away, so they could really use an extra hand.”

“A flower shop?” Calypso asked, hope starting to flicker in her eyes. “Do you think they may have a lot of applicants?”

“Who knows.” Leo shrugged. “I think it might be a pretty popular place… but you can’t win if you don’t try, huh?”

“Yeah. You’re right,” Calypso agreed. “Do you know how I can contact the place?”

“Hold on for a moment. I can call Emmie and ask,” Leo said and left Calypso alone in her room, baffled by what had just happened but also a bit hopeful. Maybe at least something would turn out right even if her social life would probably continue to be a mess.

A few minutes later Leo returned with a piece of paper in his hands and a satisfied expression on his face. It told Calypso that he had managed to get the number.

“Here you go, Sunshine! Hope you’ll still remember me and how I helped you when you become rich and famous.” He winked.

“I know I’ve told you this before but you really are a weirdo,” Calypso shot back but took the piece of paper gratefully. She excused herself to make a phone call and managed to get a hold of the owner of the flower shop who suggested a meeting for the next day. After finishing the phone call, Calypso searched for Leo who had withdrawn into the living room to watch a movie.

“So… I’m going to have an interview with the owner tomorrow,” she told him. “Keep your thumbs up that it will go fine. I’m kind of nervous, to be honest.”

“I’d keep even my big toes up if needed but I think you’re gonna do great,” Leo noted. “For reals. Have some faith.”

“Easier said than done,” Calypso sighed. “You probably understand.”

“I… yeah,” Leo admitted, thinking about one moment only about a week earlier when he had felt like nothing would work out. “But for what it’s worth, there are people who do support you.”

“You too?” Calypso asked carefully even though she was a bit scared of his answer.

“Yeah, me included.” Leo nodded.

“Listen, Leo… Thanks… for everything you’ve done for me today. Not just the seeds and the phone number, the emotional support too. It really helped.”

She surprised even herself by leaning closer to Leo and giving him a quick peck on his cheek. He went completely speechless and just rubbed the spot on his cheek Calypso had kissed absentmindedly as Calypso waited for him to say something.

“Uhh… you… you’re welcome?” he finally stuttered when Calypso had already started thinking she had crossed some line with the cheek kiss and they were back on square one.

“I should probably go back to do some research…” she said. “I’ve had a hard time focusing on anything lately but I’m feeling better now so hopefully I will manage to make some progress with some assignments. Have fun with your movie!” She attempted to sound cheerful even though the two sides of her brain were having an intense battle in that moment. One said: ‘why don’t you just stay with him? The assignment can wait!” while the other side wanted to run from that situation before Calypso did something she would regret.

“Alright… Thanks. And good luck with that!” Leo said. Calypso was convinced that she just imagined it but to her he had seemed just a bit disappointed that she hadn’t joined him. When she was back in her room, she exhaled sharply. So much for that ‘being just friends’. She would really have to start working harder on that before someone got hurt.

#caleo #leo valdez #calypso #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #trials of apollo #my fics #caleo uni au

[leam1983]

It’s the end of the work week and, well...

I’m having thoughts on labor culture.

My father was born in 1958. He lived as the son of an absent father of five children who had no ability to truthfully express his love and care, and who instead chose to bury himself in work as a means to display his commitment. My paternal grandfather made and sold mattressees and died quite young of a cancer strain that today would’ve seemed benign. He was described as a hard worker, either up to his neck in his business or wanting just a scant few hours per day to himself. It made an aloof lover out of him and a distant father - who still loved his wife and children to bits but who felt emotionally castrated in a sense, as were men of the era.

The family consensus is that his work killed him.

My father is now 65 and survived a bout of Non-Hodgkinian Lymphoma. The oncologist and anyone with half a brain agreed that stress was the culprit. Early on, Dad had the family as an excuse for his tendency to overwork. He had to provide for us, after all, and garnish my mother’s meagre savings. All she has is her government-issued pension plan, while my father does have his own pension as a retiree of the City of Montreal’s Real-Estate Appraisal service. Considering, he felt obligated to pull a heavier load to bring in more, so they’d have better investment opportunities. Later on, he kept working out of a sense of fealty and attachment to his division, breaking out of retirement during the pandemic to join the work-from-home team. He wanted to help techs and city officials find ways to bring more of the traditionally snail-mail-based parts of the system online so the city’s Land Management service wouldn’t be paralyzed by COVID-19. What was supposed to be a single month turned into four, which turned into twelve.

By the end, they were begging him to stay on the team and to pull longer hours. We’re talking twenty hours per day, in some particularly grueling stretches. That means being logged in by breakfast and scarfing bagels down with Urban Design techs on Zoom instead of your own family, or having supper with your boss because she needs a play-by-play of the situation to stave off her executive anxiety.

Long story short, I didn’t see Dad much during the first wave. His reasoning was that he’d eventually stop, pool all this cash, and chuck it into his and Mom’s Registered Retirement Savings Account - with maybe an extra two thou or so in case the country reopened enough for their postponed trip to Cuba to take place.

Guess what? His zona flared up and he ended up with odd, shingly bumps along his scalp which to this day the local dermatologist grimaces at and tentatively has us dab with cortisone cream.

Mom, though? She’s a retired and registered nurse with a self-negating streak and a chronic propensity to undervalue her own physical ailments. Someone who quite literally understands the pain of busted hips on a clinical level because she was trained in Gerontology - and also someone who refuses to schedule an appointment with her GP and who inexplicably self-medicates with white wine.

As for me, I’m a 37 year-old man with a paycheck I consider massive with its meagre six bucks above the minimum-wage threshold - someone who chose to shack in with his folks until the current crisis ends and who therefore has a history of a single, willingly terminated apartment lease that originally began in the Planned Housing market. The apartment I want is basically a Barbie doll house for adults, a gleaming fantasy I’ll never have enough capital to touch unless I feel like trying my hand with criminal applications of my skills. The apartment I can get right now is a shithole, and I have the audacity to think I deserve a shithole that at least wasn’t someone’s former cockroach den.

Now here’s the kicker: I value my sanity and my health. I know my mental stamina levels and I know from experience that after working seven-point-five hours per day with the occasionally shorter Friday, I’ve found my limit. I could invest more if I worked more, yes, and I’m already in a better position than my parents, retirement-wise. I’ll never be rich, but I’m already set to be comfortable, provided I don’t spend my golden years trying to make it as an unsponsored TechTuber or anything else that’s equally ludicrous.

Where that’s a problem is in the toxicity this is generating. See, I have the gall to slide my daily schedule later so I can start at an hour that fits my biological clock and ends at an hour where I’m at my most creative. That means the folks saw me spending my pandemic mornings on Animal Crossing while Dad was trying to wrangle Excel spreadsheets for non-tech-savvy fellow Boomers while preventing the dog from eating his meeting notes. That means they guzzled vinho verde like it was Kool-Aid after seven while I made sure to find more concrete means to distance myself from work - ideally ones that didn’t involve functional alcoholism.

Naturally, what was bound to happen, happened: Dad soon spent his evenings calling me shiftless or “unwilling to commit”, while I was stuck watching him miss all the cues his stressed-out body were sending him. We already had Trump’s last desperate months and a global plague to handle, I really didn’t want my work to turn into more of a nuisance than it already is. I already love the people I work for and hate what I do (repeating the family cycle, it seems), but I’ve at least decided to give myself ample Me time every single day. 

I’ve paired that with smaller, if consistent portfolio investments, along with a few new habits I wanted to get into to stay saner. Dad pulls crosswords or plays competitive chess in the wee hours, while I usually lay down to meditate around midnight and fall asleep by 1 AM at the latest. I’m half-expecting my father to pull a Tyler Durden and to sneer at me, at some point. “Self-care is masturbation,” he’d probably say.

Looking at classifieds for rentals, it’s obvious that the entire system is predicated on abuse. Work yourself down to the therapist’s office, right down to the fucking bone, and you just might earn a half-decent retirement because nobody’s taught you to invest incrementally. Nope, Society seems to say, you’re supposed to buy, buy and buy some more, until you realize you have ten years left to start from scratch!

I remember Dad’s face on my eighteenth birthday. “Why would you want a Disability Care Savings Account, Brain? You just turned into a legal adult by Canadian standards - you’re in no rush, right?”

I told him the real gift I wanted for my birthday, that day, was a ride to the family’s Financial Investments counsel. I pulled up the PDFs I’d printed out and filled and brought them over. From then on, if I dropped a penny in my nest-egg, Ottawa would drop another one. If my share grew, so did the government’s. In the twenty-odd years since, it’s expanded exponentially.

Dad thought I’d done this to have a big cushion by the time I’d retire. Mom thought I’d done this in case my disability worsened and I started requiring equipment or physical assistance. Honestly, my dumb, if slightly prescient eighteen year-old self figured I’d rather spend my time reading or playing video games than working. I knew I’d need something to help cushion my admittedly low career-related ambitions. I might throw several thousands at a new computer every seven to eight years, but that’s because I’ve saved them up for just as long, little by little. I have no vices beyond what sillicon offers and what you’d find in the pages of a book and don’t exactly need a big ‘ol, stonkin’ humidor stuffed with conoisseur stogies.

I have a shoebox with a poked-out Ziploc bag and a sponge, with a handful of joints and a few Santa Anas I got off of a buyer’s pool from work. Five of us occasional chair-bar goons pooled cash together on Cigar Chief and cushioned prices with a single, shared and massive order. I’m nowhere near rich, but assuming the housing market can catch its breath eventually, I’ll be able to live modestly - with one or two markers of occasional luxury I’ll have chosen.

I have a shittier job than my father has had and I’ve chosen to be happier than him. It’s just sad that the usual response elevates overwork as the supposedly one, true way to leave a mark in society.

No, Dad. I don’t want to die while my own cells eat me alive, I want to die blazed out of my fucking mind, happy because I’ll have had time to enjoy my friends’ company and to finally make some sense out of Kerouac’s Subterraneans or to figure out what the fuck is going on in Joyce’s Illiad. I’ll die crusty as shit and fulfilled as a Pop Culture jockey, because I’ll have either finished Persona 5: Golden in my lifetime or I’ll have watched the entirety of the MCU’s output before Disney finally manages to kill their golden goose.

I want to die decades from now, feeling like I at least owned my choices and didn’t spend my time tethered to someone else’s professional expectations of me.

#personal life #thoughts #work culture #overwork #cancer #free time #mental health

[stumbleintothesun]

Life Rant

For the few people in here...sorry lmao this is long as hell.

Lately I've been feeling like...garbage. I know there's no one on this place that really follows me, so this is me posting to the void.

I have been dealing with a lot of health issues related to my mental health and weight. I've gained nearly twenty pounds in a year, and no matter what I do my weight doesn't budge. I work out regularly, Ive been trying to eat better but...my only thought is its because I'm working a desk job now - which I fucking hate with a fury. And I know my weight isnt the end of the world - it just really, really fucks with my mental health. I've always felt ugly. The only time I didn't was when I was super thin which I know is problematic - and I know that's part of my mental health...like my aunt died from an ED. And my mom definitely had/has an ED even if she's gotten much better about it in the past few years...

And I'm finally getting my face to clear up after wearing these masks for a year - a year! But I'm still dealing with the healing process and I'm anxious it will scar. I've worked this entire pandemic at a job I *hate* just to you know, finally pay off my student loans just go back to school so maybe I can do something I love. But even at 25 and providing for myself, I hardly got any financial help. The only thing saving me is my grades that got me a decent transfer scholarship.

But the first school I applied to wanted my high school transcript, even though I have an associate's degree, and because I'm, frankly, stupid I somehow missed that they needed it. So they threw out my application that I spent an otherwise four hours writing for.

So I'm going to Eastern, which frankly will be better for my mental health, but they don't have a tuition free program. So I'm going to have to borrow money after just finally paying off my single year at a liberal arts college debt that I took on when I was 17 (it ended up being like 30k to pay off). And it's all because I didn't fucking read right. So much for being a good student, I guess.

But it wouldn't have mattered because they would've hardly taken any of my classes despite most of them being from down the road and for an associate's degree! And even Eastern is giving me a hard time, despite my degree they say I don't have the basic level biology course - my degree is biology focused! I'm going into ecology! I have taken genetics, conservation biology, anatomy and physiology, cellular biology but I don't have intro bio? So now I have to test out, on top of working full time. Which is fine, its a good refresher...I'm just so overwhelmed with life right now. I have a stack of over 100 flash cards and I'm just anxious.

This is a year after my partner went through an ugly break up with their old fiance (we were poly), and their ex was an abusive POS who once told them if they came out as anything other than their assigned gender, he wouldn't date them anymore. He gaslit them constantly, made them feel like hell. So we finally got out, but he wanted the house they got together or 10k. He made over double what they make - and he always forced them to pay half the bills, including half of his fucking protein bullshit because it was "groceries." He knew they didn't have the funds. Because our friends are amazing, we were able to buy him off but he left the house trashed.

It fucking sucked, and they were also responsible for getting his name off the house which meant a refinance that we could hardly afford. We got lucky we were able to do it, but they hardly got anything back for it. And it was a *nightmare*. We finally got it done, after pulling teeth and it took six months. Four months longer than they said. And that entire time they were forced to occasionally reach out to him, their old abuser.

Finally we were free, but then I started having further issues at work. Between the pandemic, and working in a heavily red area during the election, I cried a lot. I work in customer service and while I make okay money for the industry, I'm constantly burned out. My colleagues are okay, but it feels stupid to leave just to find a job for three months to go back to school. Then I started being short in my drawer (I'm a teller at a bank). The final straw was being short $500. Now I'm on a work plan, and if Im short again, I'm out. And it's my fault. I don't know how it has been happening. So now I'm always on edge at work, triple checking everything. And I could leave, I could get another job but there's no promise I'll make what I do now, and in order for me to pay for the chunk of school I need to, I have to put away a certain amount every month.

I do have a grant of sorts for 5k per semester to help with bills, which will alleviate a lot once August arrives. And I know I'm crazy lucky to have that. So sometimes I feel like such an asshole about it. But we have a house to pay for and bills to pay. Just like everyone else. Ugh, I don't know.

I talked to my doctor about my weight, came in with calorie intake numbers and how much I work out with zero change. I cut out pop entirely from drinking it every day. Nothing has helped. So we switched my meds from Lexapro to Wellbutrin to see if I lose weight because of that. Nope, just having more mental break downs, steady weight, and my resting heart rate is abnormally high, stopping me from making a little extra cash donating plasma. So now I'm switching back to Lexapro with nothing gained other than. You know. Feeling like shit. Next up? Birth control coming out of my arm. Don't really need it anyway. And maybe that will help? But I don't think so. I'm not sure what to do.

I am genuinely trying to be healthy, eating more whole foods. More veggies. More home cooked meals. I love to cook, I'm just tired. And sometimes the air fryer and oven baked frozen foods are too easy to pass up. I'm trying to always eat breakfast. I'm working out again, we have a gym membership but there are so many men there and I dont always feel comfortable, because my partner has been anemic and they can't go yet. So I use our bike in the living room and do home workouts.

But when I did this last time there was zero change in weight or anything. Even when I ate really, really clean for three weeks and worked out for most days, tracking calories and everything. Nothing changed. My thyroid is fine, we've already checked it. I'm just tired.

This past year, other than being with my partner has fucking sucked. And this doesn't even cover all the shit they've dealt with with switching to they/them and a name change. I love them so much, and love that they are finally comfy but their parents were assholes about it. And that matters. It does, and I get it. I just wish I could help them more. I wish we had a break, a breather for longer than a day. Even then I can't relax, I'm too on edge. There's too much to be done. I need to earn money, I need to clean, I need to focus. I need to be productive in some way to justify if I'm not working on those things. It's...all dumb.

[isitreallyok]

Therapy, Medication, And Mental Help

I’m gonna level with y’all here. This post will likely not be quite as articulate as some of the other ones. It’s been a really rough morning, but I wanted to address this issue while it is still fresh in my mind. I have yet to ask for advice or feedback on a single one of my posts, but if anyone has any I’m definitely not opposed to receiving it on this one.

Uh oh. That doesn’t sound great. What’s going on?

I’m going to attempt to keep this as brief as possible, and it likely will still be quite lengthy, but I’m going to have to give a bit of context here as well. My current life situation has been radically altered in the last year. 2020 has thrown so many wrenches in my plans and Covid isn’t even the biggest of them. However, lets take this from the top.

When I was 9 years old my parents divorced. Not a huge deal. It happens to a lot of kids as sad as that is to say. I grew up with my mother, brother, and sister in a single parent household with a skewed picture of who my father was and didn’t want too much to do with him. Fast forward a few years, my dad moves to Idaho and remarries and has a wonderful relationship with my stepmother. I wasn’t able to visit too often, but it wasn’t horrible when I was able to make it out there. As much as I minimize the normalcy of being a child of divorce though it still had a horribly impact on my emotional well being and my mental health as a child. Many other kids throughout school came were content with their home life. They were able to enjoy being children and did not have to worry about the pressures of caring for their siblings started at a young age. I, on the other hand, was not content with where I was at in life and wanted desperately to change it.

My mother was incredibly supportive of us kids as best as she was able. She made sure that we had routine trips to the doctors, that we had what we needed in terms of food and shelter, and even got us therapy and psychiatric help. I was blessed to have that available to me as a child. Many children going through similar situations do not have access to that level of external help for a myriad of different reasons. However even though I had these things I still ran into trouble. As I was growing up my father discredited mental healthcare as a practice so I always had that rattling around in the back of my head. By the time I was 15, I decided to stop taking my bipolar and depression medications because I didn’t feel like they were helping me. This is honestly the biggest mistake I’ve made in my entire life. I continued to see my therapist, until I not longer had insurance at age 18, but I didn’t feel as if I was making any real strides there either because I had also adopted the mindset that nothing was working and therapy and caring for my mental health was a joke.

Wait. Isn’t this a place where you talk explicitly about your mental health and how to manage and cope with various aspects of it?

Why yes. Yes it is. I’ve been handling my manic depressive bipolar disorder unmedicated for the last 13 years. It has been absolute hell most days. A few years ago I hit rock bottom and realized that I needed help. The girl that I had been dating for a few years, was living with, and planned on proposing to cheated on me and I ended up moving back in with my parents because of the situation, I slept on a futon mattress on the floor for months before we ended up moving, and due to this my mental state deteriorated to the point of suicidal ideation with intent.

This is when I realized that I was wrong in my views on medication and therapy. I had been putting myself in a position where I was running people out of my life due to the fact that I was using my friends as free therapy and they drew a line and I had to respect it. There was only one problem with finally accepting that I needed to get help. That problem is that help is expensive. I had been uninsured for mental health since I was 18. I accepted the fact that I needed to get help, but the fact that I could afford it drove me even deeper into despair about my circumstances.

So what did you do? Did you get the help you needed? Clearly you didn’t give into your suicidal tendencies.

Well. Yes and no. I didn’t get the help I needed, but I managed to find a way to distract myself from the troubles of the real world. I poured myself into my job and decided that that was the time to go to college. I do understand the irony or going to college after complaining that therapy was too expensive. Believe me that is not lost on me. The difference is you can’t get student loans for learning how to take care of yourself.

Rather than allowing myself to begin working through the existing trauma in my life, I decided to put myself in a position to where I could start to try to live a “normal” life again. Whatever the hell that means. I had a routine, albeit a poor one, I was socializing, albeit minimally in my classes and typically only for group projects, and I was too distracted by other pressures to reminisce on how much I hated my life. I started taking steps that I felt like a therapist would tell me to and began working towards chasing a dream again. This felt different, but I don’t think I’d venture as far as to say it felt good. It was just a different kind of stress that I was piling on myself. I still felt like I needed help handling the day to day. Learning to cope with my bipolar unmedicated took years and the singular trauma of living with my family again meant that all the coping mechanisms I had worked to develop became even more difficult to manage and I had to once again learn different strategies to handle all the new challenges.

Instead of schooling and attempting normalcy on your own wouldn’t it have been easier to get help?

Easier? No. More beneficial? Absolutely. The hoops that one has to jump through even to get seen by a therapist nowadays is challenging enough and that doesn’t even include financial ramifications for those without health insurance that covers mental health, which most workplace insurance plans don’t. With that in mind, the benefits of getting the help that you need often are not able to outweigh the cost.

Realistically, even if I had been able to afford to get myself the care that I need I likely wouldn’t have. I have always been the type of person to do everything on my own until I have exhausted all of my options. This is not something I recommend. One of the biggest things that I want to learn to do is ask for help when I need it instead of asking after I am already at the end of my rope. Even as I’m typing this I am beyond frustrated and want nothing to do with with the stress I’m under from today and it took me hitting that point to finally open up about talking about it even though it was among the first topics I decided to address when I first started this blog. Asking for help at appropriate times is a topic all on it’s own so we’ll save that conversation for another day.

So I’m starting to see a bit of where you’re coming from, but what happened today?

So this part of the background info I plan to address more in depth in the future and will keep the context of this very brief. Remember how I said that my dad and I had a strained relationship even after he moved? Well that changed once I was about 20. We reconnected and for years spoke nearly every day and he became a close confidant and more of what most people with a healthy relationship with their father have. We disagreed on a lot of things, but we were able to understand each other. A few years ago my stepmother passed away. Even before she passed my dad was diagnosed with early stage dementia. He had been having memory issues and it felt like he was a completely different person. At the start of this year he moved back in with my family and that has been a challenge having my divorced parents living under the same room without the ability to properly communicate with each other.

Fast forward to this morning. I woke up to both my mother and father bickering with each other about something related to Dad’s socks. Rather than handling it like adults they were both fighting like toddlers from what I could hear in my bedroom. This has become an increasingly common occurrence. One gets frustrated with the other, situation escalates, I feel pressured to step in and deescalate the situation, I typically end up frustrated and my mood is shot. Dad feels more comfortable talking and listening to me, Mom backs off because I get what needs to be done done, I wind up once again in the middle of a weird situation between my parents. I tolerate this because of the fact that I am able to assist in my father’s care in a way that is beneficial to his understand of what he needs and it eases the burden on other people that are trying to convey the same message with zero results. However over time this would wear anyone down and that point is where I finally reached this morning.

Rather than being able to calmly handle the situation with a level head I ended up snapping at all partied involved. I snapped at Dad for not wanting to do anything to mitigate the problems he complained of, I snapped at Mom for escalating the situation, I snapped at my sister who was just checking it see if I was okay, I ran the gambit of getting frustrated with people. Instead of handling the situation the way I normally would with patience and dignity, I mismanaged the situation and likely made it worse. 

This is where we get back to the topic at hand. I have finally managed to actually get myself on some half decent health insurance that has wonderful mental health coverage. This kicks in at the start of the year and I will be able to finally get some help with handling the fact that this entire situation has been traumatic and has left some serious scars. I’m excited but this also got me wondering about the part that I need help on.

My bipolar and resistance to most psychotropic medication had to come from somewhere, as it’s a disorder that is tied to genetics, and my mother is not bipolar. This tells me that my father, who exhibits clear symptoms of having bipolar depression, is where I got my proclivity for the development of this condition. That being said, with my father’s resistance towards getting psychiatric care, and being medicated to balance any chemical imbalances, puts me in a weird state for doing what is best for him and his care. Do I force this help on him? Do I accept that he’s not ready for it and sit idly by and continue to watch him deteriorate? With his dementia he’s less likely to be able to receive the care he desperately needs due to his inability to create a coherent thought in regards to what his needs are for the large scale rather than just being fine in that exact moment. So I truly am at a loss. This is the part where I ask for advice. If anyone who has read this far has any experience with dementia and psychiatric care I could really use some advice on how to best have these conversations with my dad. This has been one of the biggest hardships I have faced and I am getting to be at a proper loss for words in how to help the situation which as you can tell by the verbosity of this post is difficult to do.

You’re totally fine in not knowing how to handle this situation. This is a difficult situation to be in regardless of who you are. You’re doing well.

Thank you. All of that stuff is an absolute nightmare to handle and life has been absolute hell, but I hope that that helps you to understand where I’m coming from when I encourage you all to once again remember the three reminders! I know most days, including today, I need to remember them to so lets run through them together before we end things for today. You are so much stronger than you think, you are beautiful inside and out, and jinkies you are worth love, kindness, respect, admiration, and all those things you think you’re not worthy of. Lets turn today around together and kick some butt and take some names.

#suicidal tendencies #suicide #dementia #mental health #bipolar #bipolar disorder #depression #help #i need advice #three reminders #self help #Psychiatry #Therapy #Medication #cognitive dysfunction

[thisselflovecamebacktome]

My personal connection with Taylor’s discography, part one: It’s Time To Go

No more “official” meanings for music. The world has progressed past having to consider “official” meanings of songs. I’m kidding... partially. Obviously I love connecting the dots with Taylor’s music as much as the next Swiftie, but my favourite aspect of listening to music is the emotional relatability of transferring it to events in my own life. I have also unfortunately been ridiculed for relating to romantic songs in non-romantic ways and so forth. So I’ve decided in a bid to normalise personal relatability to songs and just generally get my thoughts out there, I’m going to write out what these songs mean to me and how. Also a special shout out to @cowboylikedean who inspired this series with how Folklore and Evermore has been helping zir recover from zir heartbreak over the Supernatural ending.

Anyway, I’ve decided I’m working backwards with these because why not? I should probably also note that unless there are lyrical changes in a repeated part (mostly choruses), I’m only going to include each of those parts once as a way to reduce repeating myself. So let’s get started.

It’s Time To Go

As a whole, this song is a reassuring comfort that despite seeing my tendency to leave as a flaw caused by the trauma of staying too long in the past, it typically has served me well. Though, like many of Taylor’s songs, It’s Time To Go mostly reminds me of my family, there are aspects of past friendships that I definitely feel like I dodged a bullet with by leaving.

When the dinner is cold and the chatter gets old, you ask for the tab

To me, this line reminds me of my father and my relationship before I cut him off. Despite feeling like I was his favourite child for most my childhood, communication between us started breaking down in my teen years. By the time my family fell apart when I was 20, I felt like seeing him weekly for lunches was a chore I was doing ‘for old time’s sake’. As a whole, despite loving him, there was just no longer any common ground and it showed with most of that time being spent in awkward silences or silently nodding along to things we didn’t understand that the other person said until I guiltily gave my ‘well I guess I better be heading home’ line.

Or that moment again he's insisting that friends look at each other like that

When I was in my teen years, I was in an (partially non consensually sexual) abusive friendship. This line brought me right back to the beginning of that friendship when I’d vocalise that I, a person with a history of sexual violence before that, was uncomfortable at the way he would sexualise me or stare lustfully at me. And you guessed it, every time he’d try to gaslight me into thinking I was just making it up and ‘friends look at each other like that all the time’. This line also has a tinge of regret for me because looking but I wish I had accepted that it was time to go then as opposed to staying which led to the abuse.

When the words of a sister come back in whispers that prove she was not in fact what she seemed. Not a twin from your dreams, she's a crook who was caught

So these lines are interesting to me because outside of the generalised outro, it is the only part of this song that relates to two completely unrelated scenarios.

‘When the words of a sister come back in whispers to prove she was not who she seemed, not a twin from your dreams’ reminds me of the members of my family I thought I was close to growing up. Like these people spent my whole life telling me I was their favourite, telling me they’d provide if I needed anything and just generally put so much extra time and effort into me than my cousins and siblings. Then, when I begged for help, refused to even check in on me when my sister left and then told me they’d rather watch me starve and be homeless than step in and push my father to do the right thing by my mother, brother and I.

‘When the words... come back in whispers that prove she was not in fact what she seemed, she’s a crook who was caught’ meanwhile reminds me of an ex acquaintance from university. While I was not super close with her, she seemed decent enough so I introduced her to another now ex friend of mine in hopes that if I ever held events, I wouldn’t have to worry about her because she’d know at least one other person. While seemingly a small thing, this was a large step for me given how much the abusive friend mentioned above fucked me and past friendships up to the point this was the first time in six years I was introducing friends that hadn’t previously met to each other. And this girl knew that. She also knew that I was in a very vulnerable state given I had just cut off my father and was in between medications. Despite this, she spent the week she knew this other friend doing everything she could to fuck up our friendship and convince me that this other friend didn’t like/trust me, and unfortunately it worked.

That old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in your soul. You know when it's time to go

This line feels very self explanatory. Sometimes you just need to trust your gut, even if it fucking kills you. Very much ‘I think I’ve seen this film before, so I’m leaving out the side door’ vibes.

Twenty years at your job then the son of the boss gets the spot that was yours

So to me, this line reminds me of the way my parents pinned my sister and I against each other, and in turn the resentment that causes when thinking about how I felt like I was damn near to the perfect daughter, stuck around for the ‘ugly’/hard parts that she didn’t and did everything I could for my parents and family in general just for everything to still revolve around my sister. Like my father chose ‘her’ (more like chose his own dishonesty and knew she’d put up with it for financial gain whereas I wouldn’t), my mother’s whole life revolves around her hurt for my sister rather than trying to have a relationship with me and my sister still got all of the support from the family despite being the one in the wrong. But here’s the thing, as much as I want to be bitter at her, she was a child when everything happened and couldn’t help that she was put in a good position and I wasn’t. It was the ‘boss’ of my adult family that chose that and that’s where the blame lays here.

Or trying to stay for the kids when keeping it how it is will only break their hearts worse

Ironically this line pretty much means the opposite to me. Like to me, this was how I felt trying to juggle relationships with both my parents after they split. Like my mother felt betrayed every time I went to see my father even though it was a precondition for him giving her money when he finally agreed to, and my father felt betrayed that I was his favourite yet opted to live with mum and support her. It was a lose/lose situation and the longer it went on, the worse the pain was for all three of us.

Sometimes giving up is the strong thing

Giving up on the abusive friend above was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. After having experienced the suicide of a close friend the year before, I had admittedly grown a supergirl complex where I felt like I had to save everyone, and knowing that this abusive friend was suicidal and still walking away despite my fears that he’d die in a way he wouldn’t have if I just stayed tore me apart emotionally and made me feel like I had failed and been weak as a friend. But ultimately it was the strong thing because I had to leave all my friends from that group behind as a result and start again.

Sometimes to run is the brave thing

So in the theme of ‘I’ve had to restart my life too many times from leaving everything behind’, we have the beginning, the first time I stood my ground and refused to go back to a situation that I was upset in. In sixth grade (final grade of elementary school where I am), I had an outburst with one of my friends about how I felt like I was her comedy/emotional punching bag. Her response? Make the whole year barring one guy hate me. That guy and my friends in the year below also got targeted for their choice to stay friends with me. By the end of the year, things started cooling down and she asked me to go to the same high school as 99% of the rest of the year and remain friends. I didn’t. I instead went to the opposing school with the bad reputation despite the idea of knowing no one and being alone scaring the shit out of me. Granted looking back it was kinda dumb to be scared given that I went from having 40ish kids in my year to like 120 (and would have been more if I went to that other school) so wouldn’t have had to deal with the false ultimatum of her or being alone anyway, but at the time it was a massive deal for me and the bravest thing I would do until leaving that abusive friendship years later.

Sometimes walking out is the one thing that will find you the right thing

Basically this just encapsulates leaving both friendship groups from above. Like leaving the elementary school group allowed me to find people who I didn’t feel I had to pretend around in high school and then leaving that high school group found me people who had common interests and wanted to challenge and grow beside me. In general, it really doesn’t feel like much is going well in my life right now, but the one thing I can say is that I finally feel like I am in a place where every friend that I have put effort into is meant to be in my life and deserves to be and I don’t feel like anything is missing on that front. So maybe it took 23 years, but at least I got there.

Fifteen years, fifteen million tears begging 'til my knees bled. I gave it my all, he gave me nothing at all then wondered why I left. Now he sits on his throne in his palace of bones praying to his greed. He's got my past frozen behind glass but I've got me

Family, family family. Quite frankly, I think these parts I wrote in an unsent letter to my father explain it best.

“And I’ve had to do it alone because the literal years I spent degrading myself into feeling like the child this family made me out to be and begging for an ‘adult’ to step in and help were met with apathy and in your case, fake apologies. And then each and every one of you has had the nerve to act like I abandoned you or that I am a thoughtless child who only won’t see you because mummy said no.”

“You have taken every part of my family, my mental health and potentially even my future away from me, and whether you care or not, that’s something you and I both have to live with for the rest of our days.”

I spent my whole childhood/very early adulthood seeing the signs of my sister slipping from us and trying to prevent exactly what ended up happening. I spent the following three years begging for people who could fix it to do so. And then when they refused, I somehow became the villain and ‘insane’ and ‘not a family person’ for leaving.

But at the end of the day, they lost a person that would have loved and done anything for them for a lifetime. I left with my self-respect, only losing fairweathered people who only liked the idea of me anyway.

And you know, you know, you know, you know when it's time to go. So then you go. You just go...

Going back to the main theme, sometimes you’ve just gotta trust your instincts and take that first step knowing you’re doing the right thing for yourself and walking towards what you need.

#taylor swift #it's time to go #evermore album #about me #did anyone ask for this? no. but I am annoying and plaguing your dashes with my thoughts and feelings anyway lmao