i just vented to my therapist im scared if she tells my parents.. any tips also HII!
Hi buddy!
As for tips, it honestly depends on what you told youâre therapist, if itâs something like you wanting to ya knowâŚ
Then it will definitely be brought up, however if it doesnât involve that, then your therapist is legally not allowed to tell your parents anything. As for tips, I would say just breath, take a second to think about what you vented to them about and how it would it go, think about the situation and how youâll handle it. I know some people are over thinkers but just take a deep breath and maybe get something to drink, like water, itâll help clear your head. Hope this helps kiddo!, and hope youâre doing okay now!
Luckily, no, I didn't talk about that, but yeah, I am feeling better now. just really hate being vulnerable :( That, and crying always make my head hurt >A<
Summary: Nathan was slowly sinking into financial ruin, but with you it felt like everything was going to be okay. Then he found this kid in a ditch...
Word count: 1500
->pt1 ->pt2 ->pt3
Masterlist
Gardening was itâs own torture. Aching back, dirt under nails, and sweat ensuring every stray hair clung tightly to your skin. Hellish, but it had to be done. You were, as always, out of money before the end of the month, meaning there was no chance you could hire an actual professional to tackle all this. âThisâ, being over a decade of overgrowth and neglect. The pool was no longer stained green, but there was no way you could afford to fill it anytime soon, the rotten mossy stink still lingered on the walls even after throwing all of the household chemicals in your arsenal at it.
At least you could now walk to the shed without fear of ticks or grass snakes.
Abaddon had been âhelpingâ all morning, mostly picking at bugs and rusted nails, but the company was nice. Youâd asked him to fetch a pencil, heâd instead shot down a goose and gifted you its flight feathers. Still freshly attached to the wing and ready for plucking. Though, that didnât explain why heâd disappeared into the hotel for over a half hour, unless the goose had taken refuge in the attic.
âNathan leaks.â
The boy stated it as a matter of fact, building himself a large dirt castle with the stick you gave him. More of a dirt pile than a dirt castle, but he did make a small flag out of grass. Naturally, you were more concerned about your husband than the architectural semantics of dirt. Abaddon was yet to understand pain, in others and himself. This didnât mean he didnât experience it, he got himself hurt all the time. It just took a regretfully long time to realise heâd been walking on a fractured ancle since youâd met him.
âDid he hurt himself?â You stood, chucking the trowel and looking over to the kitchen window, hoping to catch sight of Nathan. Abaddon toddled over, hands grabbing at his clothes and yanking them outwards to properly show you the slight done against him. âHis waters have stained my doublet,â Abaddon spoke as if he were pouting.
âWhere is he?â There was little point in waiting for a response, he continued to hold up his shirt for you to inspect, like you could click your fingers and never have to do laundry ever again. Might even fix your water bill situation. âIâll put it in the wash later.â You head inside with growing urgency, the quiet bounced off the walls and cycled your anxiety round and round. The longer you waited the more your mind wandered.
Nathan had not been feeling good about himself, he hadnât for a while. Since youâd known each other he would go through these periods of getting really invested in something, the commitment would get too big, then heâd get overwhelmed and psych himself out and get really distant. Sometimes slipping into a depressive episode, as the therapist would call it, they could last months. Heâd neverâŚhe hadnât tried anything in a while, or at least that's what his sister told you.
âNathan!â
You noticed it a couple of days ago over dinner, he was quiet, didnât try making any stupid jokes or simple conversation. He just ate, offered to wash up, then went straight to sleep. Heâd stayed in there all of yesterday and the day before that, not on his phone or even reading, just sleeping.
Hearing the bathroom door slam had air finally returning to your lungs, from the other side you heard a faint, âout in a second, Honey!â Patient as ever, you waited him out. Knowing that as soon as you walked away the door would open, he was trying to avoid you. Again.
âBad day?â It was a kind understatement, the bags under his eyes aged him like a tree, you could count the years heâd lived. Hair a mess and rocking pyjamas past two in the afternoon, something was wrong. This man had also, very obviously, been crying. Eyes red raw and âleakingâ. âI have a lot of bad days.â He was quiet, almost weepy. Taking him into your arms, he leans into you heavily, deflating what little energy he had left to exist in your presence. âDoesnât make this one any less bad, wanna have some ice cream and chips?â You felt, what you hoped was not snot, being rubbed into your collar as he nodded. Crying, huffing out shallow breaths, one after the other.
âNathan?â
âIâd like that a lot.â
Pulling him in tighter, you press a firm kiss to his clammy face, whispering a âlove you.â Nathan smiles, making a gargled whine that morphed into a sad sort of half laugh as he swallowed his build up of saliva and tears. âLove you too.â It was then you felt a pull on your leg.
Abaddon.
âMatriarch?â
The two of you peered down at him, slightly frazzled by the interruption, Nathan especially. He prided himself on not bothering people with his âbummerâ side, though youâd worked hard on encouraging a more balanced approach, knowing it came from a place of concern given his upbringing. Shielding Nathan slightly, you asked Abaddon politely, âwant to watch TV with us?â After a moment of him giving you that goldfish look you rephrase it slightly. âThe trapped humans in the glowing big box.â
âWill we feast on manna?â
âIâll get you some grapes, Abaddonâ
He tugs at his invisibly stained clothes again, pointing up at Nathan in a rather accusatory way, a moment youâre sure your husband will be thinking about for a while. The first time he cried in front of you he was apologising at random for weeks, right now heâs probably thinking heâs scarred Abaddon for life. If that was a thing that could even apply to Abaddon.
âAfter your washing.â
Eventually you all moved to the back downstairs sitting room, with just a small set up. One loveseat, Nathanâs recliner, and an old box set the old owner had graciously left behind. It was only a little broken, sometimes turning on at random, despite you never having it plugged in. Mainly because you feared the possible fire such a fossil could create. The VHS video player still worked so you made sure to put on Nathanâs favourite, Con Air, while he grabbed the snacks. Given that he was more relaxed you began to work on Abaddonâs doublet, the thing was too old to be put on a full cycle anymore so it all had to be done by hand, including the semi-frequent repairs.
This time it was a gaping clawed out hole in the back, âAbaddon, whatâs this tear from?â The boy had sat himself at your feet on the floor, resting his back against your legs. Whenever you had the sewing kit out he drew himself closer, it was strange, the first time he did this it freaked you out. It being one of the first times heâd ever initiated any kind of physical contact with either or you. Now heâd clearly gotten more comfortable, though youâre scared to acknowledge it, like spooking a cat. He could scratch you like he did Nathan. âA foul creature was encroaching on my territory, I saw fit to defend it. This is a medal of war, mortal.â
âBud, you can sit in the recliner.â Nodding along in passive support of your husbandâs suggestion, you focus your eyes on trying to get the thread through the eye of the needle, a task relatively difficult with the dim movie lighting. âNathan, your throne will remain untouched until I receive the appropriate attire.â
âI can only sew so fast guys.â
Predictably, Nathan had nodded off within the first ten minutes, head craned all the way back. Open mouth snoring, at risk of knocking down the fresh dry wall with all that noise, thatâs how you knew you loved him, the man was still handsome drooling on your new furniture. âAbaddon, what did we talk about?â The small shadow halted all movement, having snuck behind the back of the loveseat. âNathan is too slow to catch his own sustenance.â
âDoesnât mean he needs a mouse, hand it over.â You donât bother looking up, the kid was getting predictable. Holding out a hand, you try not to gag at the fact the furry weight was still warm. With excellent aim, you score a goal, landing it in the open door wood burner.
âNow hell can see your impressive catch.â
âAnimals do not fall into either spiritual realm, instead trapped in Limboâ He was looking up for once, the back of his head falling over your knees to get a proper look at your progress with his precious doublet. âWhy Limbo?â It was strange to remember Abaddon wasnât exactly local, or even from earth. âNot many mice are baptised, or other creatures. It is a neutral space, trapped between the cloths, sitting on the edge of my domain.â Smiling, you hum idly with his explanation, brushing his bangs away from his eyes with a warm palm. His face scrunches up at the contact, but you know you're safe since heâs only bitten Nathan and the delivery guy so far. âI think your jacket is almost done.â
Summary: Nathan was slowly sinking into financial ruin, but with you it felt like everything was going to be okay. Then he found this kid in a ditch...
Word count: 2000
->pt1 ->pt2
Masterlist
Abaddon became Nathanâs new hobby, most of his time was now being redirected from making the hotel liveable to teaching the child fairly mundane things. Like how to chew without dislocating his jaw, or reading, both seemed equally challenging for the demon boy. It had only been a couple weeks since heâd been introduced into your lives but that was hardly enough time to adjust to hisâŚcharacter. âCharacterâ was the only way to politely encapsulate what you would hear or see him do and day, like when a smaller dog isnât properly socialised and matures into having behavioural problems, that then gets labelled as a âpersonalityâ. Not completely dissimilar to the creature in your living room at this very moment.
Abaddon had his back turned to you, facing the fire with dangerously close infatuation, nose surly burnt from the heat. It was a wonder how his hair hadn't gone alight yet. Something youâd learnt during his stay is that the possession made his body much more resistant to the usual wear and tear that comes with a demon controlling such a small vessel.
He was hunched over. Wet popping and stringy tearing sounds reach your ears, joints tense and stiffen as the ball of anxiety raises to your throat, cutting off your breath effectively but you did your best to swallow the fear. What did he bring inside this time? Any answer to this question would result in either you or Nathan being attacked again for simply trying to drag a damp towel across his face. Youâd both taken a break from trying to encourage baths.
âAbaddon, what are you doing?â
The boy ceases all movement, shuffling around to offer you a glimpse of his reward for a well spent afternoon. Caged between his little hands was a limp bird. It was only a small thing. A cardinal. Abaddon had been picking out the bones and thrown them in the fireplace, his chops stained red with the poor animal's stomach gaping open. A deep hole had been gnawed open, catching the light and illuminating another reason to ask yourself, âwhy? Why did I let Nathan keep him?â
âThis vessel hungers for precious sustenance. The hunt was bountiful.â He answered, disturbingly calm for someone eating a dead bird. You try not to imagine all the other times heâs had to do this, Nathan asked around in town which is when you found out that the kid had been telling the truth, Abaddon had been alive for centuries. It was appalling the way heâd been treated in the past, so you made sure to steer clear of letting your disgust slip out into the open. It helped to imagine yourself doing an impression of your husband, who was basically Ned Flanders in your mind, just without the religion and dead wives.
âDo you not get sick after eating that raw?â The way he looks at you when you speak to him was uncomfortable, every time he would give you his full undivided attention yet still not understand a word. Maybe it was also the fact that youâd never seen a child with such a monotone expression, or maybe the demon within triggered some kind of fight or flight response deep in your lizard brain. Whatever it was he was creepy, and yet you still couldnât help but have sympathy for him, some hen instinct to force a brush through his hair and keep his belly full with warm meals. âPerhaps, but then the stomach is emptied and another hunt is required.â Abaddon was not immune to food poisoning. Great. Your heart couldnât handle another fright for the day, so you mentally set aside your schedule to prioritise keeping an eye on him. The last thing you needed was to find out how much more difficult he could be with a fever and trichinosis.
Kneeling down, youâre hit with the wave of odours seeping from the dead bird, trying your best to resist the natural urge to snatch it out of his hands and disinfect the surrounding surfaces. Softly as you could, you ask, âHow about I make you something instead?â
âYou are making me an offering?â
âYes. I am offering to make you lunch instead of whatever this used to be.â
The boy stands, using all of his kid strength to launch the bird body into the fireplace. He announced in an outside voice, âMortal matriarch, you shall honour me with a feast to feed a hundred men.â Smiling, you watch as he marches to the dining room/kitchen. âMhmm, if you finish the first sandwich Iâll make you another,â Abaddon scowls, jumping on the bench seat. âNo. I want all of the sand-witches, their meat will be devoured by moon fall,â The wood groans as he stomps his shoe down in a small fit.
Grabbing all the essentials you start assembling a simple ham sandwich, then your own and a cheese one for Nathan. As if by scent alone, said husband had been alerted to the status of his hunger. âHey, Honey.â The man had snuck up behind you, naturally Abaddon did not acknowledge his presence, unbothered as usual. You offer him a small kiss before pulling away to set down the kidâs plate in front of him. âAbaddon, how about we work on those Ps and Ts again bud?â The child squints, inspecting the food and brushing off your husbandâs remark smoothly. âI know not of these letters.â
âHere, enjoy. If you finish all that Iâll give you the other half.â Abaddon says nothing, still glaring at his plate. âNathan.â You call him over, handing him a sandwich. âOh, thank you, Honey.â He presses another kiss into your skin, this time on your cheek. Making sure to put emphasis on the âthank youâ, having promised that setting a good example would help the manors rub off on Abaddon.
All three of you sat down together, on either side of Abaddon, who made sure to claim the head of the table. âBetter than a dead bird?â He only grumbles, Nathan raises a brow but is otherwise not surprised. âAbaddon is satisfied with the sacrifice.â A win was a win, this was a win, you won.
The renovations were seemingly endless, but just because the hotel was practically falling apart didnât mean you couldnât save a couple pennies cleaning a few plumbing blockages the old fashioned way.
Chemical warfare.
Heading to the laundry room, youâd locked the cleaning supplies in a cupboard to hide them from a certain someone. Such care would soon prove pointless. You should have known better, why else would your thick citrus bleach be burning through the carpet, at least the fumes disguised the constant scent of damp. Opening the doors, the boy rolls out, suckling on a chlorine tablet left by the previous owners for the abandoned pool.
âJesus! Abaddon, why?â You yelp, grabbing the spilt bottles, not knowing fully if youâd be punished with a rash later for not wearing gloves. âCould you put me back?â He asked, blank eyes gazing up at you innocently. He was covered in wood chips, clothes littered in large splinters. Abaddonâs nails had been bleeding as a result of clawing his way through two layers of drywall and the back of the cabinet. He must have gotten into the walls again. In this mess he seems to have constructed a nest, scrap sponges and rags torn into hamster bedding, offering little to no support for the boyâs spine. âNo. That canât be good for your back, why donât you go sleep in your bed?â
âIt tried to swallow me whole, as if the Leviathan had awoken to steal my essence from this mortal shell and anchor it back to hell.â Pausing momentarily, to decode his nonsense, you ask, âSo your mattress is too soft?â
âYes.â
âCan I at least try getting you a space with proper heating, youâll freeze here without a blanket.â
âAbaddon, does not feel the coldâ The boy crosses his arms, rolling over in the bleach puddle away from you, unbothered by the sting. Still clutching the chlorine puck like a giant gumball. âIâll be right back,â you smiled, retreating upstairs to grab him a small quilt. Theory being that he felt too restrained by the heavier blanket in his room. Grabbing one of Nathanâs old AC/DC band shirts, you convince the kid to swap out his bleach soaked clothes for a single night, by some single blessing from God he agreed. Granted you framed it as an act of service, in a way it was, but mostly it was about reducing the possibility of burns.
He screeched when you tried to clear out the âNestâ so instead you shuffled the littler to an umpty bottom shelf, one of the larger ones that was split between two doors. Abaddon was stiff as a board, knees locked as you physically laid him down and wrapped him up in the duvet, gently lowering him into the small space. A snug fit but definitely safer than his prior spot.
âBetter?â You hadnât meant to sound so nervous, wary of how easy the transfer seemed so far, breathing a deep sigh as the boy confirmed in a mellow voice, âthis is acceptable.â
âCool, goodnight Abaddon.â Reaching out of the cocoon, he closed the door on himself, content. With that out of the way, you take a small moment to reflect on how bizarre your standards for normality had become. Returning upstairs youâre met with a heavenly sight, Nathan. Already asleep and snoring, head craned back, mouth open like an old man. Moustache all frizzed and limbs jumbled around randomly, in a way that made him take up more than half of the California king.
Stripping with ease, you slip into something more comfortable. Somehow exhaustion made the rough springs and dipped padding of the mattress feel heavenly, even more so when Nathan felt the warmth next to him. Gravitating over to leech your heat, utilities being off for the rest of the month until bills were paid, debts settled. You got four good hours of blessed unconsciousness. In a house that wasnât crumbling, with dream Nathan in the dream garden, in a dream summer where you didnât have to sink fifty dollars into a dehumidifier to clear up the mould only to find rats in the floors.
â______?â
âHoney?â
âLove?â
âSnuggle muffin?â
âJelly bean?â
Your eyes felt dry, sealed with sleep dust and squeaking with every blink. âNathan please itâs not even five yet.â His voice was hushed, yours was laced in frustration, understandably so. Whatever was so important could wait, the ghosts or robbers, whatever it was, could take what they wanted as long as you could sleep until after the sun had risen. âDonât panic and donât look up.â
Naturally, you did just that, the opposite of what was asked.
âWhy wouldn't IâŚâ From your pillow you were faced directly below a sleeping Abaddon, who had hung himself by the legs like a bat over the back of your bedâs headboard. His hair tickled your face, still very much asleep.
âNathan.â
âI said not to look up!â
âWhy is he on our bed!â You whisper-yelled, now fully awake, not daring to move in fear of waking the sleeping beast. âMaybe he got lonely?â Your husband suggested, not conveying much confidence in his belief, so you make your own suggestion. One much more plausible possibility based on Abaddon's behaviour thus far. âOr he was watching us sleep.â
âYou think this means he likes it here?â Nathan was smiling, wrapping an arm around you, a mild comfort in the face of such a peculiar set of circumstances. This was your life now, whether youâd accepted it or not was still unclear even to yourself. âI donât know what to think Nathan, just go back to bed.â
âI wonder if heâll be gone when we wake up.â
You whine, moving to bury your face into his shoulder, hoping to block out Nathanâs voice as the man continues. Lasting a full twenty minutes before he realised his wife had fallen asleep moments after he started talking about the new pyramid conspiracy he picked up from the history channel.
I get they're brothers and crap, but I honestly wonder if this is an inside joke, a habit, or an Asgardian custom and way to express theyre very pleased with said beverage.
pixelskylines
kaledo-art
vaporwave
areudirty
andulkaphoto
