Discover Top Posts Tagged with #c finn

Nov 16, 2023

TIMING: Current LOCATION: A coffee shop PARTIES: Finn and Regan SUMMARY: Finn drops his prescription medication in front of a doctor who knows what they are. Regan tells Finn how to become stronger and he might just be receptive. CONTENT: Negative/stigmatizing attitude toward psychiatric medication/conditions (which does not extend ooc xoxo), allusions to self-harm

Was there really anything more humiliating than counting out change on the coffee shop counter while people waited in line behind you, their impatience and annoyance tangible even to someone who wouldn’t have been able to actually feel it? Yes, yes there was, and it was doing exactly that with your fresh and crinkly white paper bag of prescriptions sitting on the counter next to the depressing culmination of coins. Finn knew that his mom would have offered to pay for the meds but she had her own shit to deal with and anyway, there had been enough change for a filter coffee to go so hah! Thankfully, his headphones provided protection from also hearing what the annoyed customers were mumbling about him as he left but that didn’t stop him from rushing outside.

In hindsight, having a table handy while he tried to balance a cup of steaming coffee, a rattling bag of medicine, the last of his change and his phone would have been a solid plan. However, Finn’s hindsight, much like his actual vision, was pretty shit. His dexterity was nothing to celebrate either and when the choice came to saving the precious cup or coffee or the white bag, he offered the much more expensive option to the pavement. Of course, they didn’t just stay in the bag after falling to the ground - that would have made things much too easy. No, the three fun and different kinds of bottles rattled across the street and drew all of this lovely attention to his already fumbling self.

Cursing quite colorfully under his breath, Finn finished the stupid task of getting his stupid change and dumb phone into his pockets before embarking on the rescue mission. Only to find that someone had already started the task of picking up the bottles. Headphones lowered, he figured panic was preliminary since not a lot of people generally knew the names for weird ass medicine off the top of their head. “I’ll take that,” he said in lieu of a thank you - he might not have been panicking but his brain was currently rattling around hard enough inside his head to forget any sort of manners he’d ever been taught.

In, get coffee, out. The days were not long enough and Regan wasn’t one to linger around a coffee shop. She’d get her 6 shots of espresso and leave. The cup of steaming coffee was just out of her grasp and before her fingers could wrap around the plastic, some oafish, greasy-haired child stumbled around next to her. She turned to watch the trainwreck.

Clearly, he had been holding too many things. It was a mistake Regan would never make. One must know their limitations, their literal carrying capacity. But this child, in his untamed youth (which actually appeared to be just a hair over mid-twenties) evidently lacked the self-awareness that came with years of great discipline. He was probably better for it, most of the time, except for right now.

Pills clacked around in their orange bottles as they hit the ground. The child had a weather-beaten look like his entire day had been against him. He also looked like the type to absentmindedly lean over with the coffee in his hand, spilling it, too. She decided, after a moment of annoyance and grieving the loss of five minutes of productivity today, to help.

Regan respected privacy. She did. Sure, she was nosy, and often pressed her luck, but she wouldn’t have gone out of her way to read someone else’s prescriptions. Only those of her patients. Or… ones right in front of her nose, apparently. She hadn’t really meant to look. But the drug names were familiar and they drew her eyes in regardless. She handed the bottles to him, her bright expression betraying her knowledge. “Here’s your… quetiapine?” On one hand, it was none of her business, and him being on these medications probably made him one of the more sane individuals who lived in Wicked’s Rest. On the other hand… well, she was nosy. Her eyes darted around to see if anyone else was nearby; not really. “And the…duloxetine.” The medication rattled as the bottles were passed between fingers. “I imagine you will take them. That’s what they’re for, right? Taking?” For the inferior. If she raised a brow and stared at him until he spoke, he’d tell her something, right?

Once he got a decent look at the woman currently holding everything that supposedly made Finn function, he got hit with her annoyance and… distaste? God, did he have something on his face, zipper undone? Maybe it was just his general vibe that was displeasing to the lady and whatever, didn’t matter, he just wanted to get home. The hand reaching for the first bottle halted as she read out the name, glancing at a passerby who couldn’t give two shits about the conversation they were passing. “Nice pronunciation,” he muttered, snatching the bottle away and stuffing it in his jacket, hand held out impatiently for the next one. His many doctors and psychologists tended to absolutely butcher the name which meant this woman either had very good grasp on grammar or knew exactly what she’d just passed over.

Finn would have been happy to let this interaction end there, all three bottles safely stuffed into his pockets and the coffee cup starting to burn his palm but Miss Nosy seemingly had other plans. “No, I thought I’d sell them for profit. Great high, the duloxetine,” he bit back, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “It’s none of your business and you really shouldn’t read out people’s prescriptions,” he continued, cementing the fact that this was about to turn into a conversation whether he liked it or not. “And maybe they’re not even for me.” A solid lie, that one, that Finn couldn’t even justify telling because why did he care whether or not this strange woman knew his brain was broken?

“People do sell quetiapine, you know.” Regan raised a brow. “I have seen it. When I was doing my fellowship, we would get the occasional deceased inmate, and –” Regan shook her head. Even she had the sense to stop talking about illicit drug use in a coffee shop with someone who was prescribed that very drug. “There is a market for it, is all. I cannot say the same for duloxetine.” Right. Not even for him. He couldn’t even shore that up by making it a definitive statement. “No, it’s not any of my business.” If he expected her to say but, and then an excuse, he was mistaken.

“I just think it’s a shame that these are necessary. But I suppose not everyone is in control of their emotions.” Regan allowed herself a moment of satisfaction, of pride, for being above the use of such human tools. She picked her coffee back up and sucked in a hot sip. She wasn’t above caffeine. She was less proud of that. But even Saol Eile had a coffee shop. It was run out of Mavourneen’s kitchen and always smelled like hot bone marrow. “Ah, well. Your inadequacy is not your fault. It’s good you’re striving for control… even if this is how you’ve gone about it.” With a shrug, she turned away, but she had a feeling that was not the last of the matter. Humans didn’t like learning how small they were.

Finn’s mouth clamped shut at the woman’s comment and raised brow, wondering if he’d made a very badly timed joke in front of a police officer or something. Before a lengthy explanation about sarcasm could be started, she outed herself as a doctor, which wasn’t great but a definite improvement over a night in a jail cell because he joked about selling his anti-psychotic meds. His mother never would have gotten over that one. “Good to know. Not in a ‘I’m going to use this information to actually sell these’ way, though. To be clear. Don’t think I’m cut out to be a dealer.” That was about as convincing as it was going to get.

Her pride mingled with Finn’s… annoyance? Was he even annoyed? Not like he could exactly argue that he was in control of his emotions, seeing as they weren’t even technically fucking his. Yeah, it was a damn shame that he needed to spend most of his earnings on meds that did nothing to help with his actual problem but mostly just made him sleepy, shaky and slightly less anxious on good days. Mouth still agape, his tendency to argue having opened it before he realized he didn’t have an argument, it morphed into a frown when the doctor lady simply turned away.

“How else would you suggest I go about it, then?” came the argument, finally - he didn’t care too much about being called inadequate, it fit well with every thought he’d ever had according to every therapist, but claiming there was a better way to ‘strive for control’ as she put it? Moving forward and falling into step with the woman, Finn regarded her with furrowed eyebrows. “If there was a switch to flick off emotions, I would be all over that, FYI.”

“I don’t think you’re cut out for that either,” Regan said, sizing him up – the scrawny build and dark half moons under his eyes. He seemed like the type who would take that as an insult before realizing it probably shouldn’t be insulting. Humans had such fragile pride like that, and this was – obviously – a fragile human. She pushed her way out of the coffee shop and was very aware that he was just on her heels, following her like a puppy waiting for a command. Something she had said was eating at his thoughts, and she suspected she knew what it was. Regan stopped and gave him a pointed look that communicated an utter lack of surprise that he was still there.

Ah, so that was it.

Regan had answers. He wouldn’t like them. Some of them, she could not even speak of; others, she had no desire to, ever. But he was struggling, clearly, and Regan had come off as an expert on this subject matter (at least, that was why she hoped he was asking her about this). Her eyes dropped to the pharmacy bag in the boy’s hand for a second before she brought them up to meet his gaze. He did need help. And fortunately for him, she was feeling charitable today. Why not impart some wisdom before she left Wicked’s Rest for good? Maybe he would be better at succeeding than she ever would be. Few were strong enough to withstand what Regan had been through; even she had been too weak to finish the job, to achieve the perfection that was expected – required – of banshees. But perhaps even something like him could attain some measure of success.

“Very well,” Regan said, stopping in front of a bright red store called “Stake n’ Shake”. That didn’t even make sense. What did it mean? Not important. “You’re asking the right individual, and you happen to be asking at the right time. That is to say, I’m willing to help you.” Yes, so charitable. “So, what is your deficiency?” She didn’t like speaking of feelings, and her lips crinkled for a second before she continued. “Anxiety? Bottomless despair? Paranoia? Don’t worry, I will judge you the same for all of them. There isn’t a switch. Nothing is easy, you know. But in my professional experience… all you must do is introduce yourself to something much worse than whatever ailment you have, repeatedly, and in response to whatever incites it.” Regan clenched a fist, looking pleased with herself (though absent a smile of any sort). “Call me Regan, not FYI.” Her words surprised her. She did not like the informal nature of offering her first name, but something about what she was telling him made her hesitate to disclose that she was a doctor. This was not doing any harm, was it? No. Of course not.

Her monotone delivery brought a scoff of a laugh from Finn - no bullshit. Sure, he could get behind that. She didn’t seem as pleased with the fact that he was trailing behind her but that’s what you got for picking up and commenting on someone’s medication. Granted, she didn’t seem annoyed either, whatever she was feeling just a mild tingle as opposed to everyone else’s raging feelings swirling around all of the time.

Curiously, almost confrontationally, Finn stared back until it seemed her deliberation was complete. Again, he found himself having a hard time containing a smile because this woman was so different from any health care professional he’d had the pleasure of meeting. No beating around the bush, no coddling, just… what’s your deficiency? And there was no easy answer to that, was there? He had time to think, though, as rattling off different ailments (yes, to all of the above would have been the answer, anyway) led directly into the… solution?

Blinking, trying to process this supposed advice and coming to the decision that he had no fucking clue what she meant, Finn decided to start with the easy part of his response. Well, easier. “My deficiency is… everyone else’s deficiency.” Might as well come clean, have this Regan tell him to see a proper shrink and walk off now rather than later. “What everyone else feels, I feel. And no, it’s not delusional disorder or schizophrenia or any other DSM-5 code, trust me. So anxiety, despair, paranoia, anger… I get all of it. Like the fact that you’re feeling a bit weird about this but also kinda pleased. Even though it’s a bit… weird and muted.”

Once he’d finished the little speech, Finn squared his shoulders, prepared for whatever reasoning Regan was about to provide that would in no way help. “Got a… worse thing than that for me to introduce myself to?”

At least he wasn’t shy about following her. There was determination in the way he studied her, and Regan respected it. He was not afraid to look her in the eyes even when she spoke as bluntly as she had. He did seem a bit surprised, though. Interestingly, he seemed to be thinking of a way to respond and actually answer the question, when most would have simply walked away. There was some drive within him. “Everyone else’s?” She raised a brow, scanning the people around them, who were walking by without so much as even stopping to look at the two of them. “I don’t think they give a stéig francach about you, so why concern yourself with them?” That was not a mental illness; it was stupidity.

He was one of those bleeding hearts who took on the world’s problems, wasn’t he? Empathy was the word that came to mind. Back-breaking compassion, the same sort that had left many of Regan’s peers fatigued and spiraling through their careers. He didn’t really seem like the type, though. Too closed off, too impolite, or maybe that was because she’d read his prescription labels.

“I am not feeling anything.” Regan scolded, though her stomach twisted a little, some recognition that it might have been a tiny lie. “I don’t.” A bigger twist. Not so tiny, that one. A connection sparked, occurring to her. There was something familiar about what he was saying. She’d heard someone make a claim like this recently – Eleanor. And then Regan had immediately discarded the claim, assumed it was woo-speak. He didn’t strike her as being one of those types, either, but all humans were prone to such fallibility. “You just feel too much.” Regan shrugged, “I am not a psychiatrist, which is for the best. Regardless of the source of your problem, the solution is the same – counter it with a more negative stimulus. Now, you could say ‘what’s worse than feeling anything,’ and I would agree, but the body knows; the body responds to pain.” She leveled her eyes at him. “If that sounds distasteful to you, it means it would probably work. Or, if others are the issue, you could stay away from people.” She rolled her shoulder again. “Plenty of people make a living on the internet these days. You could get everything delivered to you and make money by selling photos of your elbows. Or… maybe it’s feet that people are into. I forget which.”

‘Not feeling anything’ was a flat out lie and something told Finn that the good doctor knew it. More importantly, she definitely thought that he was lying, or at the very least exaggerating. Surprise, surprise. Another doctor who thought he was loopy. Well, just loopy, some of those other diagnoses were maybe not too far fetched. “No shit I feel too much, brains are only made to feel one person’s shit at a time,” Finn argued, annoyed even though he shouldn’t be. Shouldn’t care what this random doctor lady thought. He still did.

Despite his annoyance, bordering on anger, Regan soldiered on. Went into further detail on stuff that sounded like the exact opposite all of his various trained professionals had told him throughout the years. That there was no point in trying to force it away, especially not through the use of physical pain. Momentarily distracted by the very serious suggestion of selling feet pics, Finn sputtered before getting back on track. “So what, break my arm to stop feeling what everyone else is feeling? That’s your solution? Pretty sure using pain to work through emotions has a fucking code in the DSM-5, doc.”

Why was he so angry? There was nothing stopping him from simply walking away and ending this pointless discussion. Had he actually gotten hopeful that this random stranger, medical degree or not, would just happen to have the solution Finn had moved here to find? Or was he angry because the thought of using pain to block out emotions would work and he was too chicken shit to use it as a crutch, preferring the weaker way of meds, alcohol, weed and blatant denial?

Something flickered over him, and Regan recognized it immediately. It was the same expression next of kin had when their fury was gathering like a storm, before the rain came in the form of their spittle flying in her face. But he bridled it in a way that some people were capable of, others not. That was promising; maybe he would be able to reclaim control yet. However, he clearly didn’t like her proposed solution. “Breaking your arm would be a foolish decision. You don’t want to incapacitate yourself. Nothing that impedes your ability to continue with your…” Training was not the word she should use here. “Treatment.” She ignored the DSM-5 comment. This was a tool, not a pathology.

But he didn’t view this as treatment, did he? She recognized his expression now, too – loss, grief. He wanted something easy and painless but that wasn’t possible. “I’m only telling you what I know will work. Most h– most benefit from their emotions, living richer lives because of them, but if you want to be rid of them, I told you how to do it.” Her eyes flicked down to the bag in his hands. “You have the luxury of choice, so exercise it. Whatever you choose, don’t live a life of regret.” It was short enough as it was. She could say nothing more encouraging than that, so Regan turned away, something like guilt clotting inside of her chest.

It didn’t happen often but Finn was speechless. Arguments, even debates, usually provided him with fuel from the other person to top off what he already felt but now… the strange apathy mixed with what was mostly confusion on his end, sizzling anger down to what could barely be called annoyance. So he blinked, lips parted in case something decided to slip past them as some form of a response but what was there to say? He wasn’t even really sure he understood her suggestion enough to properly comment on it.

Don’t live a life of regret. Bit too late for that, to be honest, even though life now revolved more around finding a solution. A solution that had been dangled in front of his face for the briefest of seconds before being snatched away, another nonbeliever with useless information. Points for creativity, though. A stone lay heavy in his stomach as the good doctor walked away, dissipating only once she’d left his bubble, his own feelings finally finding space to break through to the surface. Anger, disappointment, hurt. Fear.

“You’re really fucking weird, lady!” Finn shouted at her back, not giving two shits about heads turning and people scoffing. She didn’t respond and he hadn’t expected her to. Yelling at the back of her head didn’t make him feel any better, either. In a huff, he spun to walk in the opposite direction, angrily sipping at his still burning coffee, letting the hot liquid scald his tongue as he walked.

#writing #c finn #tried my best with the cw it's mostly banshee outlook toward FEELINGS rather than the medications themselves

averylhudson

Jan 16, 2016

Text || Finn

Finn: Pretty sure its really irrelevant to ask you how you're doing, so Im going to do this. If you want, I have some ice cream and you can always have your dog. If you're still planning on getting a dog, and keep them over here. If you wanted.

Avery: Thank you, Finn. That's very kind of you and I'm extremely grateful.. Especially because I've already contacted a breeder that just had a couple of puppies.. And they're really cute and I love them.

#hurpfinn #text #phone #convo #c finn #t finn #phone finn