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hotchley · 4 years ago

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pallbearer

Not completely sure what this is, but it was sparked by the posts about Kevin being a pallbearer at Haley’s funeral. Saw it in my drafts and decided to finish it because yeah, why not?

It’s Eid somewhere (India and Australia for sure) so take this as a little gift from me to all of you because you’re lovely but I suck at writing fluff, so it’s pretty much just angst and a bit of Reid being a good friend to Hotch because I live in the nice world where they have a good relationship :)

As always, absolutely no proofreading, and it low-key sucks, but nothing else is working so...

Trigger Warnings: references to death, funerals, grief, just general sad things

read on ao3!

After they get back from the case that took them from the funeral, Reid, who is still using a cane, leaves without telling anyone.

Derek panics because he’s meant to be taking Reid back to his apartment- there’s a lift that functions and it means Reid isn’t being stupid- then Garcia tracks his phone and realises he’s going to see Hotch. They can’t interrupt that, so they don’t.

Why is Reid going there? All alone?

To apologise.

He goes there himself, takes the lift up because he knows his limits and rings the doorbell. Hotch doesn’t answer and he panics, so he rings it again.

When Hotch does open the door, it’s clear he wasn’t expecting any sort of company- least of all his colleagues/family. He still lets Reid in, and he asks him if he’d like anything to eat or drink. Reid declines, because Hotch shouldn’t have to be running around after him. Not now.

They’re sat in silence for a few minutes- they both try and justify it by saying Jack is asleep- but then Reid speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Hotch seems exhausted by all the apologies- after all, people are only giving them because there’s nothing else they can say- but Reid doesn’t say things lightly. It always means something. And he knows how Reid’s intelligence is always used against him. The team asked him to recite the phone call because they wanted the information, but Spencer would always associate it with a way in which he failed.

So although he hates the way everyone is apologising to him, he won’t tell Spencer to not. Spencer needs to say the words so he feels like the forgiveness Hotch has already given him- the forgiveness he received the moment Hotch saw him come into the office where Jack had been hiding- is deserved. And Hotch needs to hear the words from somebody that is saying them despite knowing everything about the situation.

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to speak, and even then, the words do not feel adequate.

“You did everything you could Spencer,” is his soft response.

“Not about Haley’s death. Of course I’m sorry, but what I meant was- I’m sorry I couldn’t carry the coffin. You know I would’ve if I could’ve.”

Hotch meets his eyes, and sees his own tears reflected in Spencer’s face. There’s a certain innocence to Spencer’s expression. One that Hotch thought his own failures would have permanently taken away. He should have known better. Spencer is nothing if not resilient. But then he thinks of the situations that forced him to become like that, and he wants to scream into the void because of how unfair the world can be.

He doesn’t though. That would only make the situation worse.

Instead, he sighs. “I know Spencer. I know. But I- even if you could, I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

Spencer frowns. “Why not? Will, Derek and Anderson were all pallbearers, and I probably knew Haley about as well as them. It would’ve made sense for me to carry Haley’s coffin. You know that. I can see it in your face.”

It would have made sense. It would’ve made much more sense than Kevin Lynch. But Hotch’s words are the honest truth. It wouldn’t have mattered- not to him anyways- whether or not Spencer was able to carry that weight. He wouldn’t have asked. Would have rejected the offer if it was given. Found anyone else to be the final person.

“I know that.”

“So why would you not have asked?”

His reason- the true reason- is one that steers the majority of his decisions regarding Spencer. It is one that clouds his judgment and forces him to confront how human he is, and how the team were the only people (aside from Haley- who had always been perfect) to teach him that love didn’t need to hurt.

That people came back when they were angry.

The words that would explain his actions have been on the tip of his tongue since Gideon left. They almost slipped out after Chester Hardwick. And then Owen Savage. He wanted to say them when Reid almost died at the hands of Benjamin Cyrus, but he had pulled away at the last moment, too afraid of the consequences. He got stupidly close after the anthrax case.

Something had always held him back. But Haley’s death reminded him of how fleeting life was. Haley died protecting her son, knowing Aaron would make the right decision and raise him to be a good man, but she should never have doubted the love Aaron had for her, and that was his fault. He wasn’t going to repeat that mistake.

“Because parents want to protect their children from all the evil in the world, no matter how unreasonable that may seem,” he blurts out.

Spencer’s brow furrows, and the resemblance to Jack terrifies him so much he almost laughs. He repeats the words to himself, clearly searching for some other meaning behind them. But in that way, Hotch and Reid are similar. They will only rarely say things they don’t mean.

“Oh,” is all Spencer is able to say.

“I’m sorry. It’s not fair of me to tell you that I look at you and see-”

“Can I hug you?” Spencer asks, cutting him off.

Hotch nods, unsure how else to respond. Spencer doesn’t use the cane as he moves onto the other sofa, opting to use the cushions as his support instead. When he’s close enough to reach out and touch Aaron’s hands, he takes them. Hotch cannot look at them, even though Morgan had washed and bandaged them almost immediately, so he stares at the ceiling instead.

Spencer’s touch is gentle and almost not there, but it feels like the safety of a childhood home that he had only ever read about in the books that served as his one escape in that little town that had no mercy for any boy that dared to speak out against their father.

“You’re a good father. To all of your children,” Spencer says.

“I know I’ve failed you. All of you. More times than I could possibly count, even though I remember every single one of them. But I always told myself that the one thing you would never do is carry a coffin that contains the body of someone you loved because of this job. Or because of my failures. It’s the only promise I’ve been able to keep.”

Spencer realises that Hotch is right. Although both him and Morgan had been on the time when Adrian Bale attacked, Hotch had organised the funerals without any input from the two of them, with all the pallbearers being family instead. No agents had died after JJ had joined, but the option of carrying Haley’s coffin hadn’t even existed for Emily.

It saddens Spencer to know that the only way Hotch is able to show how much he loves the team is by shielding them from certain horrors, and to protect them from the aspects of their jobs that cause them to wonder how much longer their hands will go cold when they see crime scenes. It makes him want to rage at the world for taking this man- this good and loving and kind man- and destroying him.

But his anger will terrify Aaron. Everyone’s anger terrifies him, because he always feels responsible. Always feels like it’s his influence, or his actions, or his failures. So he doesn’t say a word, knowing Hotch will appreciate the silence. He also knows that Hotch will understand and accept the silence for what it is: all of the words and emotions he would never be able to put into words, but so desperately needs him to believe.

It’s a haunting image. There is one one man so young he may still be a boy, and he is trying to hold the fragile and broken pieces of a man he had always believed was invincible and able to come back from anything together.

It is also a beautiful image. It proves that every child will eventually learn that their parent is not invincible, and that they get hurt and fail and mess up in the same way every single person does, but that the knowledge will not destroy them. If anything, it will comfort them because they will learn that no human is perfect, but they can still be good.

It will also be a moment ingrained in both their memories forever. Even if Spencer’s wasn’t eidetic, he would remember it. Because Aaron would not be able to keep this promise. The team would carry Emily Prentiss’ empty coffin only nine months later. And Spencer would carry Maeve Donovan’s, despite Aaron’s pleas to let somebody else handle the pain for him. When Spencer turns to him, and says he has to do it because he’s not a child that can be protected from any evil in the world- not when it emerges from the same cracks that should only contain love, they will both flinch.

Because he is right.

Because Aaron failed.

Again.

It’s funny, in a twisted sort of way, that his failures will always be associated with the bitter tang of death.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #sad aaron hotchner #hotch whump #hotch angst #tw grief #tw funerals #tw death references #sumayyah writes cm

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regrettablewritings · 4 years ago

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Preference: When They Get Jealous

Characters: Nevada Ramirez, Okoye, George “Digger” Harkness, Lucifer Morningstar, Clyde Logan

Nevada Ramirez

Nevada Ramirez does not get jealous. Don’t get anything in that pretty little head of yours twisted: Nevada “El Trujillo” Ramirez does not stoop so low as to feel jealous. Jealousy is what a pussy incapable of keeping his woman feels. And Nevada don’t never gotta worry about that type of bullshit.

Nevada Ramirez does not get jealous. Not even when he sees some jackass getting a little too handsy with you. He gets angry, sure. But not out of jealousy: It’s because that dumbass just doesn’t know his place. He knows you’re too sweet for your own good, that you’ve never been particularly good with confrontation or speaking up when it came to strangers; luckily for you, your boyfriend is more than happy to lend you a hand with that problem.

He sees you smile all wobbly at the asshole, brows ever so slightly furrowed over eyes that whimper in panic. Maybe even reads your lips a bit. He can’t hear you over the thudding bass of the club, but he knows you well enough to know that you’re stuttering, your voice quivering as you try ever so gently to politely shut him down. It almost makes Nevada want to smirk: You’re trying to help your own pest, give him a head start and give him a chance to escape. But it’s too late for that, and you know it the moment you see two of ‘Vada’s boys stalk up to you and your new friend, with one of them grunting that it’s “time to go.”

You’re pretty sure your “new friend” knows it’s too late as well, given how he tenses, but the hand he has on your lower, lower back stays. Maybe even applies further pressure. He tries (stupidly) to hold his ground. But the ground can’t hold him; not as Nevada’s boys pick him up effortlessly and drag him off to a more dimly-lit section of the club. The only thing shining brightly from that corner being the exit sign.

Fifteen minutes later, your boyfriend joins you. He would pretend that he doesn’t know why your lips are pressed in disapproval, and that he doesn’t see how your brows are still furrowed but this time, in a way to suggest disapproval. And you would pretend that you don’t smell the smell of cigarettes smoked in the alley, or sweat worked up from an activity he got too into. More importantly, you pretend that you don’t see his bruised and bloodied knuckles as he rests and arm about you, gently ushering you closer to him as he murmurs about how lonely you looked without your Papi around.

Instead, you give in to the kiss he gives you. His idea of an apology without outright owning up to it.

Nevada Ramirez does not get jealous. He gets even.

Okoye

On the outside, she is calm and collected. The very image of the perfect warrior. But on the inside? Okoye is blaze with passion. Of course, her fierceness shined through when it came to protection, particularly that of her country, her king, her queen, her princess, and, of course, you. But it was ultimately her taciturn countenance that people took note of, which makes her all the more deadly to the unassuming.

Case in point, if she sees anyone putting the moves on you — man or woman — they will find themselves in one of two situations: They will either have the tip of an often-used vibranium spear pointed at them, or they will be requested to help Okoye spar. And, more often than not, the latter is what she chooses to apply.

Mind you, the challenged needn’t be a member of the Dora -- they needn’t even be a seasoned combatant or even have so much as an orange belt in Tae Kwon Do. Which frankly isn’t very fair, considering they’d be receiving a challenge from the head of Wakandan security, but oh, Okoye will insist: “There are few things more patriotic than assisting your protectors where they need the assistance,” she says. The smile she speaks with is very slight, but there’s no doubt from anyone who knows here that there’s a sliver of malice in them.

There’s really no need to go into how the match goes, especially since it’s obvious who the victor is every single time. Generally speaking, there are only four things that bare mentioning:

For one, no matter how much of a sweat or how bruised and banged up her opponent gets, Okoye always goes easy on them. Always. For two, every blue moon, Okoye might let them land a hit on her. However, this is out of pity as well as being for show. Because in the event they so much as scratch her, there’s the third thing: At the end of every sparring match, you go up to your beloved, singing her praises or to offer her a cloth to dab what little sweat she might have shed, or to tend to whatever sores she might have received. But whatever the case, you always go to her.

Fourthly, none of Okoye’s opponents ever try getting cozy with you again.

George “Digger” Harkness

Digger’s got a lot of nerves, daring to actually exhibit jealousy. He’s not a cheater, no, but he sure doesn’t exactly keep his eyes locked and loaded on you as much as you would like for him to. The amount of times he’s earned your ire for glancing at a jiggling ass or checking out a pair of swaying hips could fill a small novel.

So you (pretend) that it isn’t petty when you finally gain the opportunity to enact revenge on him.

Considering that his release from Belle Reve wasn’t exactly officiated by actual personnel (and was, in fact, just a flat-out jailbreak), your beloved Aussie had to lay low for a bit. That meant that in order to keep the feds from knocking down your door and getting you more involved than what you already were, Digger had to hide from place to place for a bit before he could even dream of returning back to you and setting up shop in your humble abode. But just because his life was sort of on pause didn’t mean that yours had to be.

It seemed like every time Digger gave you a ring from a burner phone, you were about to be headed out somewhere or were planning on going to an event with friends. Really, the fact that you wanted to go somewhere wild should’ve been a big indication to Digger that you were pulling his leg, but it didn’t matter: On the occasion that you sent a pic of what you planned on wearing, the jealousy consumed him.

You were going out? In that outfit? In that color you know makes you irresistible to both him and probably literally anyone with functioning eyes and a working downstairs!? Well, no, actually: While you did occasionally join your friends for a night out on the town, it was rarely ever in any of the outfits you implanted in Digger’s mind. And even then, for the most part, you weren’t actually going anywhere except to the couch to scroll YouTube or binge watch New Girl until you fell asleep.

But of course, Digger never thought this might’ve been the case. Instead, he thought to enlist the help of “friends” to keep an eye on you and report back to him if any bastard’s eyes or hands went anywhere they didn’t belong, aka on you. And when those efforts came up fruitless (he refused to believe them when they insisted you weren’t acting up), he took matters into his own hands: His dumb ass cut his location-hopping a bit short, appearing at your door a frustrated and possessive mess as he wasted no time storming through the door, hoiking you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes so he could take you to the bedroom and “remind you who you belong to.”

So, in short, Digger’s main resort when he can actually be around you is his go-to for most things he gets involved in that isn’t thievery: He, ahem, “smashes your back out”. Lovely.

Lucifer Morningstar

Lucifer swears he doesn’t get jealous but since he doesn’t think it’s a lie, he’s technically not lying. But he’s most definitely not being forthcoming with the truth. And that truth is that when he gets jealous, Luci becomes the most petty baby of them all!

Normally, he’s pretty confident that he has your attention. After all, what’s not to love? He’s sexy, talented, witty, interesting, and, oh yeah, the literal embodiment of enticement and charisma. Regular men just simply cannot compare! . . . So why in the Heaven would you be smiling at such a drab, bipedal specimen who thinks that they can replace having a personality with simply owning a pocket watch in this day and age!?

He doesn’t care that that guy is your coworker, he’s boring and stupid and there’s no way you really find him interesting, right? . . . Right?

If left to his own devices (hell, he’ll make the devices himself even if you protest), Luci will go out of his way to try and prove that that guy isn’t worth your attention and that you should please keep it on your loving Devil instead please. He’ll bequeath him unpleasant sobriquets; he’ll enlist his connections to dig up some dirt; if you leave them alone together for too long, Lucifer might even ask him what his deepest desire is. But these will often fall flat on the ass: The nicknames will roll off the “opposition’s” back like water off a duck (or you’ll fuss at Lucifer to quit it); the worst thing that could be dug up was that he was a college republican or something; and apparently his deepest desire is to acquire a copy of the Star Wars holiday special.

And somehow, that’s even worse!!

He might actually become a little pathetic (which, considering it’s Lucifer, probably just means his hair becomes a bit less combed, his clothes become more disheveled, and he might even somehow become even more clingy and demanding and even direct his pettiness towards you) because (Y/N), please, you can’t seriously be considering leaving your handsome, interesting, Devil for some boring, sad, oblivious piece of --

Really, the best way to get Lucifer to stop pestering is by reminding him who you’re with: Himself. After all, you’re not going home with the guy from work. Nor do you let him rest his head on your lap so you can play with his hair, or giving him your kisses, or letting him touch you in places only Heaven and Hell know drive you wild.

No . . . Those are reserved only for Lucifer, your beloved Hell bastard, for better or for worse. But mostly for the better -- even though he can sometimes just be the worst.

Clyde Logan

It really depends on the environment, because it ultimately can go one of two ways based on that alone. Clyde thinks the world of you, that you must be some kind of angel to see something good enough in him worth dating. And while it’s a bit of a confidence-booster in some respects, it also leads to a lot of other worries, highlighting even further his own long-term insecurities.

In a way, he’s both shocked and glad that you don’t get hit on every moment of every day the moment you walk out the house: You’re clearly the most gorgeous gal ever. You deserve acknowledgement of this! But then again, he doesn’t want so many eyes on you; one pair might most definitely belong to somebody better for you than him: Better-looking, better at talking, better socially, better job . . .

So when the two of you are out grocery shopping or visiting a local farmer’s market or anything and some rugged fox of a man casts a sensual smirk your way, Clyde can’t help but gain the demeanor of a nervous puppy, his large frame seemingly shrinking as his long hair curtains his face. If he had a tail, it would most certainly have tucked itself between his legs. It only gets slightly better when you only return a polite but small smile and take your partner’s hand to gently lead him elsewhere. But only slightly. It may take some cuddles and smooches when you get home to properly perk Clyde back up, but that’s far from something you mind doing.

However, should you both be at Duck Tape, or any other gathering that might make use of a mixologist for that matter? Clyde is in his element.

Clyde isn’t one to boast or show off; it’s not compatible with his shy nature, and his belief in the Logan Family Curse just doesn’t allow for him to get greedy about it. But if one night you drop by to visit him at work and he sees some guy making goo-goo eyes and hokey small talk at you? It’s on.

It doesn’t matter what drink the guy orders: Clyde immediately knows how to make it and make it perfectly, utilizing only his organic hand. The concoctions are mixed with such ease and precision, his every move emoting a sense of confidence that the unsuspecting would never have guessed a man like him could possess. And if he would be so bold, Clyde might even do so while barely breaking eye contact. It’s all the more better if the guy flirting with you tries ordering a drink for you himself. Because that’s when Clyde can start off with the man’s drink . . . before making you a completely different one entirely. The patron’s brow furrows.

“That’s . . . not what I ordered for her,” he points out.

And Clyde nods. “Nope. But that’s her favorite, and I reckon she’d prefer that over what you wanted her to have.”

You toasting at your beloved and offering a, “Thanks, honey” only sweetens the deal.

There aren’t many opportunities where Clyde feels like The Big Man on Campus, so to speak. But moments like that, where he feels he gets to show some of his worth? He can’t help but be a bit emboldened by them.

Of course, it goes without saying that it isn’t the drink-mixing or skill that drew you to him: It’s that sweet, thoughtful disposition of his. Because let’s face it: In a county of foxes and wolves, you can’t beat a sweet-eyed puppy-dog.

#nevada ramirez x reader #okoye x reader #digger harkness x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #clyde logan x reader #nevada ramirez #okoye #captain boomerang x reader #trouble in the heights #black panther imagines #suicide squad imagines #lucifer imagines #regrettablewritings

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letsdiscoverkitty · 4 years ago

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Treatment/Recovery Update - May 2021

Okay, I will try to ramble less in this one (so sorry!) ^ well that didn't happen!

In terms of when I did leave hospital, as I mentioned a tiny bit in the last post, my EDP was completely AWOL. A month before I was due to be discharged she came to a meeting with myself and my consultant, during which we set up 4 appointments that would be over zoom before I was discharged to help with relapse prevention and the transition home, as well as setting out, in principle, the therapeutic support that I would be getting once home...it all sounded great, so great. But as usual when it comes to my team, it was too good to be true (should have called it). I attempted to contact her when our appointments never happened but I kept being met by a brick wall; no one knew what was happening, all I got told was that she was "off"... Time passed and I was discharged with only a phone call booked in from someone from the general team to check I was safe a few days later (it was literally 5 minutes, long if that) and an appointment to do physical monitoring the next wee....a far cry from the original discharge plan *sigh* Coming home was a bit of a whirlwind. We were approaching Christmas but we were still under a lot of restrictions with COVID, so it was a very strange/messy/weird few weeks.

Time continued to pass and there was still no confirmation around therapy or support, even the ED team didn't know what was happening with L, I just continued to go to two weekly physical monitoring. In the end, with nowhere else to turn, I contacted my consultant from hospital. To say that she was mad that nothing had been in place/I had no support would be an understatement and I thank my lucky stars that she was able to get involved. It took a couple of weeks but I finally had my first session with a therapist in February. In total it took about 8-9weeks from discharge to see someone, which, well, was hard.

Upon reflection, I think one of the biggest things I struggled with with coming home was that I had literally no leave to practice beforehand. This meant that I unfortunately slipped back into old habits very quickly as, well I know it is no excuse but coming back to the same environment your brain easily slips into automatic mode and you find yourself doing what you "used" to do without realising it.

I was in, I would say, quite a vulnerable state when I left hospital (the last few months there were pretty rocky to say the least) and the day before I was discharged (as I mentioned in a previous post somewhere) I was handed 3 different, very conflicting, meal plans and the nutritionist who had previously been very horrible to me and who had been away for a number of weeks, told me that she did not think I could continue to recover at home and that the best possible case would be if I only lost a bit of weight over the next 6 months....I think you can probably guess how badly this was taken and how messy my mind was. So with 3 meal plans in hand, none of which I had practiced, with little to no support from the ED team, I was, essentially, crisis managing, simply trying to get through each day.

I know, I know. Classic kitty - stuck record. failure. mess. making a million and one excuses. trying to make out like she is fine to the rest of the world when in fact inside she was falling apart. sigh.

In terms of my weight recovery I was not discharged at a healthy BMI/weight, which my consultant was sad about, however I was in a much better place than when I was admitted (I think I had gained about half the weight I would have needed to from when I was admitted to get to a healthy weight). I will admit that part of me does wonders whether staying would have been beneficial, because on a very basic level yes it could have helped in some ways. However if I stretch my mind back to when I was still on the ward ,it actually still floods me with anxiety and fear because of how UNHELPFUL the environment had sadly become. It is hard to explain to someone who has not experienced an EDU, but the patient groups can and do make a massive of differences. I was vvv lucky that when I was initially admitted, and for the first good couple of months, it was a v supportive and recovery focused environment. However, by about late Sept/early October ,things turned completely upside down (which was not helped by the fresh COVID lockdowns either) and even staff were saying how terrible it had gotten and how they could not believe the things that they were being asked to manage on the progression ward. There were times when I felt incredible unsafe on the ward and feared for others patients, which is not "okay". I genuinely believe that staying any longer would have likely made my mental health decline further; I had already found the massive shift was negatively affecting me and I think staying would have been unwise. I had also gained quite a lot of weight and was, I hate to admit, struggling with both coming to terms with that along with dealing with everything that you are continually facing when going through treatment/recovery alongside working on trauma stuff. I know none of that is any worthy excuse, but that was how it was...At this time I was struggling a lot with my meal plan and had quite a few lapses whilst on the transition phase of the unit however despite screaming out for help/support from staff, because of the acute situation on the ward, I was just left. They knew I was struggling, I was told time and time again that they had not forgotten me, but did I get help? no. It was actually made worse by the then nutritionist who sat me down like a naughty school girl and basically told me that I was a failure and that I would never achieve anything in life blah blah blah (please see a past post if you want to know more) which made me even more scared to reach out for 'help'/'support'. So no, I don't think staying would have helped much, which is a real shame.

Therapy wise I had a bit of a rough ride in there (god I'm really selling this aren't I?!). When admitted I was not in a place for 'traditional' therapy what so ever; looking back I honestly have no idea how I was even 'functioning' (was I functioning? probably not) and even the group therapies were a struggle but my consultant stuck with me and with time I was able to process a little more. One thing that helped me beyond words was 1:1 Art Therapy. This was not something I had accessed before, only ever doing group sessions in the past which was mostly about getting away from the ward and doing a bit of art. I cannot reiterate enough how different and HELPFUL the 1:1 sessions were. The art therapy, who I knew from the last year and is an absolutely GEM, helped me to begin to process and work through the trauma that I had experienced with dad. It took a lot of time and persistence but I was able to use those sessions in so many ways and I will forever be grateful to P for supporting me (I was so lucky to be able to have 1:1 sessions for the majority of my 8 admission).

The more traditional therapy initially took the form of 30min sessions with my consultant once to twice a week (as much as I hated them, she was bloody good). I also had a review and a few sessions with the lead therapist via zoom (she was heavily pregnant so was working from home) not long after being admitted, but she soon went on maternity leave. This left me to be picked up by her student, who was actually incredible. We did a long extended piece of work on my perfectionism which, again, was SO helpful but she sadly left (for bigger and better things) and I was left hanging for a while as there were no other openings. A new lead therapist started and after a while he did a few sessions with me before leaving suddenly (I think even staff only had a weeks notice, which was ridiculous), so I was back to twiddling thumbs for a few weeks. I then met with a therapist who worked 2 mornings a week that I saw a bit during my last admission but we didn't do many sessions and it just fell away. This was mostly my fault as by this point I was questioning my admission and whether I would self discharge as there were some not good things going on on the ward, so I wasn't really in the headspace to explore things deeply and had been picked up and put down so many times that I just couldn't do anymore. Throughout that time though I continued to see my consultant weekly, mainly focusing on mindfulness and other therapy styles thrown in there too at times.

I will forever be thankful/grateful for the admission I had, especially to be under a different consultant (for COVID reasons they had to split things differently as they would usually do it by area but that wasn't possible at the time I was admitted) as her approach made a huge difference. I still remember one of the first things she said to me was that she couldn't believe/was that I had been placed on the SEED pathway and that she believed that I could be more than that, which honestly, gave me a little bit of hope (something that had been ripped apart and shredded by my usual consultant multiple times).

But back to now.... I have now been seeing a new therapist weekly (when possible) since February and, in a backwards way, I am so glad that L disappeared off the grid because the "support" I was going to be getting under the original plan was just sessions with her to do some self guided self help stuff, whereas with this therapist we have actually been doing some HELPFUL work. In terms of L, I think the last I was told she never returned to work and has now left the team (we have a sneaky feeling that she either had a complete break down or that it was due to too may complaints (mum called this a long time ago as she was not qualified for the role at all and was utterly useless), which, yeah, was strange to not get an ending as I had worked with her for a few years. Anyway, I've been doing SCHEMA therapy with this new lady (I'd not heard of it before) and at first I was a bit reluctant but it's been incredibly insightful. I continue to learn more about myself and the reasons why I may have gone down certain roads each session. HOWEVER. and this is a big however. There has been a bit of a snag in the rope.

In short, yes I have been engaging really well with the therapy side, my weight and physical health has only continued to deteriorate since i was discharged. We are talking classic kitty of slowly slipped backwards, nothing dramatic, nothing to make alarm bells go off or warrant a review, but it's not been good. Anorexia is screaming at me for saying all of this, it shouts "but you weigh so much more than when you were admitted, you are a complete fraud blah blah blah" which is all the same old boring drivel it always spews out. But basically Im in dangerous waters now in terms of losing therapy/not being able to engage with therapy properly if things dont improve. Ive been in classic stuck mode, getting so absorbed by the numbers and the bubble that AN offers, that I have been numb to it all. The HCA I was seeing was really trying to help me to make changes but she left a while ago (she was going back to train as a nurse) and since then I have had the odd appointment here and there (I think it fell to every 3 weeks for a while as there were no available appointments) with people trying to cover the clinic until someone else is hired for the role, which is far from ideal as they literally just do the necessary obs and send you on your way.

Okay that sounds like yet another excuse, which is probably is, but it's not been an easy ride since I left hospital to say the least.

BUT this past week things have begun to shift a little. I was honest with my therapist about the whole food/meal plan side of things and we actually spoke about how we can't focus on therapy things until I am in a more stable place, which is both really hard to hear but also exactly what I need to hear. I am actually being more open to change, which is a shift from where I was just a week ago. It is bloody painful, even just thinking about it all hurts/is exhausting and I am still very much in the darkness /struggling with it but there is now a little part of me that is screaming out and trying to be heard. There is a little part of me that WANTS to get out of this endless messy limbo that this relapse has been and wants to start stepping back into "recovery". There is part of me that wants a chance. And I've got to start listening to that side a little more.

I promise, the next update will be a little more positive Stay tuned.

#personal #update #If anyone actually reads this you deserve a medal #im sorry #this is a crappy update #I promise there are more positive things to come #I have things to tell you all!!!

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theetangerine · 4 years ago

Text

What it’s real like being a Dyslexic

Today's post shall be about Dyslexia from "Dyslexia the Gift". Well I didn't know that I was blessed with such an omnipotent power. Thank you Dyslexia the Gift for Awakening my abilities. Anyways this post is just my rebuttal to this list as an Anthropomorphic Tangerine with severe dyslexia. Here we go: General:

1. Appears bright, highly intelligent, and articulate but unable to read, write, or spell at grade level.

Ahhhhh.......... so I am all those big words that I can't spell or pronounce.

BTW who ever came up with the word Dyslexia is a troll cause you knew damn well I can't spell that.

2. Labelled lazy, dumb, careless, immature, “not trying hard enough,” or “behavior problem.”

Hey I am not lazy just because Suzie spends her the night figuring out Algebra questions and I on the other hand will look at her formula, "Copy and Paste" for myself and even then at the end of the day I stilled will have learned it. Einstein did say there are different types of genius.

3.Isn’t “behind enough” or “bad enough” to be helped in the school setting.

Let's just pretend it didn't take me 3 times to read this inorder to understand it. Anywhose.

The school suggested to my parents to take me to get tested. Although I think it was because they wanted justify their discrimination against me.

4. High in IQ, yet may not test well academically; tests well orally, but not written.

Lies. I failed in both.

5.Feels dumb; has poor self-esteem; hides or covers up weaknesses with ingenious compensatory strategies; easily frustrated and emotional about school reading or testing.

*clear throat* In best Beyonce voice "I'm survivor................"

6.Talented in art, drama, music, sports, mechanics, story-telling, sales, business, designing, building, or engineering.

Ohh.......come on I suppose to be talented in these fields why didn't Dyslexia tell me this.

7.Seems to “Zone out” or daydream often; gets lost easily or loses track of time.

They were in the Zone like in Soul

woahh..... that was a bar.

8.Difficulty sustaining attention; seems “hyper” or “daydreamer.”

As I type this I peer out through the window wondering if clouds really are made of precipitation or that is what the Illuminati wants you to think.

9. Learns best through hands-on experience, demonstrations, experimentation, observation, and visual aids.

Crash Course history is my religion.

Vision, Reading, and Spelling:

10.Complains of dizziness, headaches or stomach aches while reading.

Starts going in the 4th dimension if I pick up a book.

11.Confused by letters, numbers, words, sequences, or verbal explanations.

Algebra is not for dyslexics. You mix letters and numbers together. Mathematicians were not thinking of dyslexics when Algebra was created.

12. Reading or writing shows repetitions, additions, transpositions, omissions, substitutions, and reversals in letters, numbers and/or words.

Yes Yes . Truly feal for all of of my teacher who read my essays.

13.Complains of feeling or seeing non-existent movement while reading, writing, or copying.

I am Percy Jackson so I am a god.

14.Seems to have difficulty with vision, yet eye exams don’t reveal a problem.

I actually had glasses.

15.Extremely keen sighted and observant, or lacks depth perception and peripheral vision.

Yet another sentence I can't understand. Hold up let me go and look up “depth perception” so I can understand this sentence, real quick.........................This is true.

16.Reads and rereads with little comprehension.

Reading number fifteen (15) proves this.

17.Spells phonetically and inconsistently.

Hooked on Phonics told me otherwise.

Hearing and Speech:

18.Has extended hearing; hears things not said or apparent to others; easily distracted by sounds.

Being an only child while being home alone this ability doesn't have any benefits.

19.Difficulty putting thoughts into words; speaks in halting phrases; leaves sentences incomplete; stutters under stress; mispronounces long words, or transposes phrases, words, and syllables when speaking.

I feel called out.

Writing and Motor Skills:

20.Trouble with writing or copying; pencil grip is unusual; handwriting varies or is illegible.

I may have changed my writing style multiple times. Some legible, some not.

21.Clumsy, uncoordinated, poor at ball or team sports; difficulties with fine and/or gross motor skills and tasks; prone to motion-sickness.

But if I am supposed to be talented at sports in the afro-mention point why can't I catch a ball.

Dyslexia being confused since 1877.

22.Can be ambidextrous, and often confuses left/right, over/under.

Yip...A 20 something that doesn't know their left from their right.

Math and Time Management:

23.Has difficulty telling time, managing time, learning sequenced information or tasks, or being on time.

Well if I can't tell time I can't manage my time thus I don't have enough time to do tasks so that is why I am never on time.

24.Computing math shows dependence on finger counting and other tricks; knows answers, but can’t do it on paper.

Only if Math exam were oral I would have accolades in Math.

25.Can count, but has difficulty counting objects and dealing with money.

Y'all I have nightmares about being a cashier.

26.Can do arithmetic, but fails word problems; cannot grasp algebra or higher math.

As I said before Algebra not, for dyslexics.

Memory and Cognition:

27:Excellent long-term memory for experiences, locations, and faces.

I wish could forget about that time I fell down in front the entire school. And yes this is not an exaggeration. The ENTIRE school saw this.

28.Poor memory for sequences, facts and information that has not been experienced.

Subjects dyslexics shouldn't do:

Science: too many big words you can't spell.

History or Literature: reading is detrimental to your health.

Math: A-L-G-E-B-R-A

29.Thinks primarily with images and feeling, not sounds or words (little internal dialogue).

Sad truth I wear my heart on my sleeves. It's fricking annoying cause I want to be mad in peace without anyone knowing Goddamn it .

Behavior, Health, Development, and Personality:

30.Extremely disorderly or compulsively orderly.

I am Death the Kid.

(If you don't get that reference you are uncultured)

31.Can be class clown, trouble-maker, or too quiet.

Like I was disliked in school for being too quiet. You would think that it was students oh no no no Patricia it was teachers.

Sorry Mrs. Emily for not giving you grey hairs, so you have the opportunity to go home to your loving husband to complain about how much you hate your job and kids. While you thinking about your affair with the young nextdoor neighbour, who you would end up marrying only to then leave them for a hot 20 yea.............................Ummmm that got a bit personal there lets continue shall we

32.Had unusually early or late developmental stages (talking, crawling, walking, tying shoes).

It took a while to learn how to tie my laces.

33.Prone to ear infections; sensitive to foods, additives, and chemical products.

So wait not only did Dyslexia inhibit my ability to read, comprehend and to tell my right from my left to function normally in society but it caused my ear infections too. That is it I'm done

Moving to Siberia.

34.Can be an extra deep or light sleeper; bedwetting beyond appropriate age.

I was a very well trained tangerine.

35.Unusually high or low tolerance for pain.

Everytime I stub my pinky toes it feels like an aeroplane wheel rolled over it.

36.Strong sense of justice; emotionally sensitive; strives for perfection.

Facts!

37.Mistakes and symptoms increase dramatically with confusion, time pressure, emotional stress, or poor health.

2 second Rant

Examiners don't think of dyslexic people, even with extra time. The sheer amount of times it takes just to understand the question then to answer with the best possible Grammar is straight cruelty.

You automatically want me to fail and not finish don't you.

You Demon.

Mini sidestory:

While writing this I asked my significant other to spell "Exaggerate", dude looked at me and told me to sound it out. Past me knew he was going to say this and I did sound it out before he asked me to sound it out. I told him that I did and that I don't know what letter comes after "Ex", he was like babe sound it out..................................

Tangerine internal thoughts: (Exsqueeze me) Every time try that a ""H" is coming up in my head. I thought this through ya know.

In conclusion I sound it out to my phone.

To anyone who don't understand Dyslexia fully I do suggest researching.

My commentary is completely subjective but if you relate that is good :)

That's all my Fruits until next time

- TheeTangerine

Proof read by TheeApple<3

https://www.dyslexia.com/about-dyslexia/signs-of-dyslexia/test-for-dyslexia-37-signs/

#funny memes #dyslexic #dyslexia #long reads #long post #relatable #funny content #funny

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jeonggukingdom · 5 years ago

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splinters of love • day XVII [myg]

pairing ⟶ min yoongi x fem!Reader

summary ⟶ a collection of drabbles (one for each day of April) based on prompts by an online prompts’ generator site. Specifically ⟶ • day XVII ↳ in which Yoongi feels lonely and decides to text a random number in search of a friend and you are the one at the other end of the line.

genre ⟶ fluff, a little tiny bit of crack, a drop of angst

rating ⟶ G

word count ⟶ 1.832 words

warnings ⟶ there are mentions of depression the first part of this drabble so if it triggers you, avoid it please! The rest might give you cavities instead so be ware lol

series masterlist ⟶ here (links on mobile may not work, if you’re looking for all the works in this series, you can click on the “!splintersoflove” tag and you’ll find them all there!)

His eyes fix on the world outside his window, the silence of his apartment enveloping him whole.

It’s one of those nights when he feels heavy inside and so desperately alone it is almost hard to breathe.

The sky is black and littered with little shining stars and usually, the sight would soothe his aching heart, put him at peace enough for him to fall asleep like this.

Tonight, though, it feels different.

He yearns for the human touch, the words of affection or even more simply, some company.

But he has none of those because he chose this for himself. He cut ties with everyone in his life, he moved to a city far away from his own and then, he avoided making friends or falling in love, too afraid of his heart being shattered again if he did, just like it happened in the past.

Most of the times, Yoongi is pretty fine with this but there are nights much like this very own that he simply cannot rest, cannot function knowing how flat, lonely and simply sad his life is.

On nights like these, he wonders if he really made the right choice, if it really worked to keep his heart to himself and save it from other people. After all, isn’t his heart aching still?

His fingers quiver as he picks up his phone to seek refuge in the distraction of social media in whatever form available but even that feels suffocating tonight.

Everyone looks happy or in love or surrounded by friends or maybe it just does because he yearns for these things, so much so he cannot see through the cracks, through the lies reflected into pictures online that reflect only a fraction of the reality surrounding someone else’s life.

He heaves out a sigh, closes his eyes and then opens them again to fix them on his screen. He doesn’t know why he does it but, in an instant, he’s putting in a random string of numbers onto his phone and sending it the most basic and stupid text he has ever sent in his entire life.

[3:05 AM] Unknown: Hello

Your phone chimes and you grunt, twist under your covers and reluctantly open your eyes to see who would text you at this ungodly hour.

Your brows furrow at the unknown number displayed on the screen and you would normally toss your phone away and never think about the text ever again but, quite frankly, you are pissed.

This person, whoever that is, woke you up from your deep slumber for absolutely no reason. Oh, you are feral.

[3:05 AM] You: Do you have any idea what time it is???

Yoongi’s mouth opens as he stares at the screen. Not only he actually managed to input an existent number but the person behind the screen actually responded.

His heart is beating frantically in his chest, his breath turning laboured as he sits up on his bed, wets his lips and with trembling fingers, types down his response.

[3:06 AM] Unknown: Yes, fuck, sorry. I… I didn’t think someone would actually respond.

You look at your phone with your mouth agape. Is this person high or something?

You shake your head, close your eyes and try to get back to sleep but after a few minutes, you have to accept the fact that now, you are fully awake and this nuthead is to blame for it.

[3:15 AM] You: Who the hell are you? Do I know you?

Yoongi thought his luck had already run out when you didn’t respond in the next two minutes or so. He had let himself fall back on his bed, trained his eyes on the world outside and just sighed in defeat.

His heart almost jumps out of his chest as his phone chimes and even without looking, he knows it must be you because, pitifully enough, nobody else would text him and especially not at this ungodly hour.

Oh.

He bites his bottom lip, scratches the uncombed top of his head almost as if you were in front of him, scrutinizing him, judging him and his mop of mint hair.

[3:16 AM] Unknown: No, we don’t know each other… Honestly, I was feeling lonely and I tried to text a random number and I really didn’t think anyone would receive it let alone answer it…

You look at your phone, blinking a few times as if by doing that the words written there will change but, obviously, they don’t and before you know it you are laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Should you believe this stranger? Or is this some type of scam of some sort that you are simply too-sleep-deprived to see through? What if this is a stalker or something?

Against your better judgment, you text them back.

[3:19 AM] You: You are crazy.

Yoongi laughs at the text, nods his head a couple of times in agreement because honestly, who in their right mind texts a random stranger in the night seeking for company? Nobody.

Well, apparently, him.

[3:19 AM] You: Well, I don’t think I’m going to fall asleep anytime soon thanks to you so…What’s your name?

He blinks a few times, baffled by the fact that you are still playing along, giving him the attention he was yearning for so easily… he wonders if you are a teenager or something, naive and unaware of the dangerous world outside.

[3:20 AM] Unknown: Yoongi… yours?

[3:20 AM] You: ________.

[3:20 AM] You: Crap, should have used a fake name… are you a creep or something?

[3:21 AM] Yoongi: Would I tell you if I were, though? Lol

[3:21 AM] You: You may have a point, lonely stranger. Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to trust you… but just so you know I own a taser and I’m not afraid to use it.

Yoongi laughs at your words and he fails to notice how his heart grows bigger in his chest, how the smile is permanent on his lips as he is talking to you. He fails to notice how his body relaxes naturally the longer he text you like this, gets to know you a tad bit more.

This random stranger… You feel impossible to him, like a dream and that’s why he wants to keep this moment closer, cherish it while it lasts so that it can soothe his loneliness, placate his rattled mind even if it’s just for one night.

You talk and talk and it’s weird but natural at the same time and he barely notices how the sky switches from black to bright orange and later, into cerulean blue because the entire time, his eyes are fixed on the screen, on you.

[6:55 AM] You: Lonely boy, you have officially kept me awake the entire night… I’m gonna be a zombie at work thanks to you ç.ç

[6:55 AM] Yoongi: Oh, I didn’t notice it was so late already

[6:56 AM] Yoongi: I’m sorry? XD

[6:57 AM] You: What a sincere apology -.-”

[6:57 AM] Yoongi: I don’t have much else to offer, you know? Ahah

[6:58 AM] You: Well, shouldn’t you at least try to make it up to me???

[6:58 AM] Yoongi: Ok, how do you suggest I do that, exactly?

[6:59 AM] You: I don’t know, just figure it out, lol

Yoongi bites his bottom lip, his heart beating really fast in his chest while he feels absolutely euphoric, delirious even but also incredibly stupid because what is all of this?

What the hell is he even doing? Throwing outside the window all of his precautions as if they meant nothing before last night?

With the sun up in the sky rationality seeps back in, shakes him from the bubble he had been living in the entire night and just like that, he wavers.

[7:30 AM] You: Woah, you thinking that hard about it? I was half-kidding anyways, you know?

His silence feels weird. Which is odd because you’ve spoken for what, three hours and you already miss him? It feels absolutely nuts, just as much as last night does now as you get out of your pajamas and slip on your work clothes for another day at the office.

[7:45 AM] You: You passed out or something? Well, I gotta go to work… it was fun talking to you.

The hours pass and he doesn’t text you back. Not in two hours, not in four, not in six and you don’t even know why you care so damn much but a little tiny part of you wonders what might have scared him away when he was the one seeking the company in the first place.

You exhale loudly as you close the door behind your back, get yourself out of those damn heels and simply relax on your couch while sipping on a glass of red wine, your favourite.

Just then, your phone chimes.

[9:10 PM] Yoongi: Hey…

[9:10 PM] You: Ring the bells, he lives!

[9:10 PM] Yoongi: Sorry for disappearing… I… had a lot on my mind.

[9:11 PM] You: You don’t have to justify yourself with me, Yoongi-ssi. We don’t even know each other.

He grimaces at your words because stupidly enough, it feels like you do know each other. Hell, he is certain you know him more than anyone else in his life as of now does which is of course extremely sad but nonetheless the utter truth.

Your words sting but he knows they are somewhat true to you and that he deserves them.

He crashed into your life uninvited and then disappeared just as fast.

He had made up his mind that he was going to let all of this go early this morning but now, he wavers again and before he can stop himself, he does something he would have never imagined.

[9:13 PM] Yoongi: I’d love to change that, though. I know this might sound crazy and you’re free to say no of course but… I’d like to meet you. Like, in person.

A small smile stretches on your lips as you open the picture he sent you last night. He looked adorable under his white covers with his tangled hair, sleepy eyes and pouty lips and you had immediately tried to ignore the way your heart rate increased just a little bit while looking at his selfie.

You also tried to ignore how it started beating even faster when he called you cute when you sent one in return but now, as you look back at his photo, you can’t ignore any of those signs and before you can stop and think about what you’re doing, your fingers tap on the screen your response.

[9:15 PM] You: Thought you’d never ask, lonely boy.

#hyunglinenetwork #ficswithluv #bangtanscenery #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #bts fluff #bts angst #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #bts ff #bts imagine #bts react #bts scenario #!splintersoflove

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monchikyun · 5 years ago

Text

11. till the end of time

Nothing lasts forever. That’s something he should have known from the very beginning. But it’s difficult to think like that when it feels like time doesn’t exist. They were safe for a while, seemed like nothing could stop them. But then it got too perfect and with it came the fear. He was absorbed by it to the extent that no amount of reassurance could put him at ease. Humanity in general doesn’t provide a great example for happily ever after and he isn’t sure he even believes in it, but he’s willing to do everything in his power to take them as far as possible. To the end of the line. Cutting his lifespan short would always be sacrifice enough not to live in a world where Gavin is buried in the ground.

Connor peruses all his memories, looking for anything that would persuade him otherwise, but there is not a fragment of doubt he could latch onto. All the bad doesn’t even come close to overwriting the magic they created together. It looks like it’s truly meant to be. What a terrifying concept.

He isn’t sure how he’s going to go about it, there is no concrete plan anywhere on his mind. It won’t be perfect no matter what he decides to do so there is no point in worrying about it too much. Still, Gavin deserves some effort. It’s not like he stayed with him this long out of kindness, though it might be one of the contributing factors. In the end, it all depends on trust. There is no verbal proof that they both have the same future in mind, but he doesn’t need it. It’s clear from all the gestures he receives and all the words that are whispered between them. If he can ever rely on a feeling, now is a great time.

They have so much ahead of them, so why not seal it so that it’s there for them to hold onto. Not that they wouldn’t be able to function without it, that’s not the case here. A way to decorate their relationship, to dress is it in a shiny suit, that’s more how Connor sees it. To officially form the family they both never had and always wondered how it would feel to be a part of. Disregarding the fact they could already be one, without realising it properly.

The weather is auspicious too. A downpour. Gavin once said that it means that the sky is crying, but not always because it’s sad. Sometimes it experiences joy so intense it cannot contain itself. Connor wants to think that today is one of those times, that the absolute happiness he feels inside is has been transmitted to the clouds and above, to the whole universe.

And so he waits. He has ended his shift a couple of hours earlier than Gavin, which in turn allowed him the time to make up his mind once and for all. It’s a reminder to him that there is some good in everything.

But the hours he has to fill the emptiness with drag on for years and when the tired autumn sun sets, he’s still alone. Outside, the rain has stopped but it still lashes down inside of Connor.

Then he gets a phone call. Something his fears have warned him about. The moment when their little world starts breaking apart.

He can’t connect the words “Gavin” and “shot” in a way that would make sense to him, only the part that he probably should be there makes him run out of the door and straight to the hospital. “Probably should.” Like there is any other option.

The room he has to wait in smells of death and antiseptic and he has to do his best just to remain in one piece. Tina is there next to him, but that might be just a mirage. He can’t see anything through the pain. Still, the comforting hand on his is as real as is this nightmare, so he takes it and tries to convey through it all the things he can’t say out loud right now. As long as he stays quiet, he can still hope to wake up from this tragedy.

If Gavin survives this, if they’re allowed to see each other one more time, he’ll give him every single bit of his heart until there’s nothing left, just to keep him alive. He’d give anything for their time to continue.

When the surgeon enters the waiting room, Connor immediately knows the result before the man has the chance to open his mouth.

It was a harsh ordeal, passing as a suitable visitor, but he hasn’t been created as a negotiator for no reason. Also refusing to leave the premises and reducing himself to an image of a kicked puppy might have helped his cause a little.

But the fact that Gavin is breathing and on his path to recovery overshadows the endless hours he has spent begging to be let in. And now he is beyond elated to finally be near him. He would wait till the end of time if it meant that they can be together once more.

“Hey.” Connor doesn’t mean to wake him up, he just gets a bit carried away when taking hold of his hand. Luckily he hasn’t crushed any of his bones, the injuries he sustained at work looked bad enough.

“Good morning.”

“Is it already?” Gavin eyes the darkness behind the white curtain.

“Might be.” He is likely even more clueless about time-progression than his bedridden boyfriend, to be honest.

The smile he receives makes him realise just how cold he has been this whole time, a miracle that he hasn’t frozen to death. But the warmth emanating from Gavin is enough to melt him anew.

“You know, I was going to ask you to marry me if you had come home on time like a sensible person.”

He promised himself to tell him the next time they meet, after all. But he hasn’t expected bringing Gavin to tears, not this much at least.

“Does it still stand?”

Or maybe it was him who is crying, it isn’t easy to discern the difference when his system is about to overheat.

“Of course it does.”

“Okay then. Let’s do it.” He gently grasps his hand again, so he doesn’t float away with how light he feels. “A soon as I’m out of here. I have never planned on letting you leave me anyway. You’re stuck with me forever. It’s you and me till the end of time, tin can.”

@convinseptember i don’t know this is my first proposal story ever :D

#convinseptember #convin #this could go both ways #but does it have a happy ending?#go find out I dare you xD #big brain fog mood today btw

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heartless-error · 5 years ago

Text

Broken, not perfect, but together. - Chapter 5

Fandom: DC comics, Batman

Pairings: Jonathan Kent x Damian Wayne (JonDami) & Jason Todd x Timothy Drake (JayTim)

Rating: General, family feels, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, running away

Other(s) links: AO3

Broken.

The Batfamily was broken.

It was six years ago, and they had barely stood together since then, trying to stand up despite guilt and regret.

Damian was sure there was nothing to save, not after losing something that he didn’t know he cared about. But when a new opportunity to get back what they had lost appeared, he cannot help to doubt as his past decisions haunt him again.

If you love somebody, set them free. But you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.

Chapter 5

Now

The sound of the keys being pressed hard and quickly resounded in the room, as well as the light and continuous whisper of the machines on and running around her. The dim morning light leaked slightly into the room, reflecting on the many screens that had been hidden from the public in the watchtower.

Adjusting her glasses better and placing a rebellious lock of hair behind her ear, Barbara read each line, phrase and code that passed on the screen in front of her carefully and methodically.

Although it was early, she had decided not to waste time and get to work immediately on the case that now worried her. After all, Oracle didn’t just guide Gotham vigilantes through the night, she did much more. Also had a few of cases to check out for the Birds of Prey, but she had run into something important the day before that couldn’t wait.

“Here.” Said a figure standing at her side, leaving a steaming and necessary cup of coffee on the counter. She hadn’t even heard him arrive. “Just how you like it.”

That “something” was also the reason his early visitor was there, showing up an hour ago with a promise of coffee and company.

“Thank you.” She said absentmindedly and returning to work as if nothing happened.

She didn’t have to bow her head and look at him to know that Dick was rolling his eyes and smiling at her fondly, she could feel his gaze on her, distilling tenderness and understanding as always did when she was absorbed around him by an important case.

And this certainly was, no matter how much Dick had appeared in the watchtower worried and waiting to talk about a totally different aspect of it.

“Damian knows?” She asked without taking her eyes off the screen, reading the news and recent events as grabbed the cup to take a sip.

As she delighted in the drink’s taste and caffeine starting to pump through her body, Dick pulled out his phone with a dejected aura and turned it on to watch the screen, his face showing nervousness and anticipation. However, that sad and decayed aura grew stronger after verifying he had no calls or messages, then shook his head.

“I’ll try to call him again.” He said, taking a few steps away to not disturb her and dialing Damian’s number, waiting for the younger to answer.

He wasn’t going to.

She knew it, he knew it, everyone knew it.

Contacting Damian these days was already very difficult itself, at least for something unrelated to the crusade. He always hung up unless it was an Oracle frequency, the comms was the only thing that connected him directly with them, and he used to turn off his phone when he knew they could bother him. Depending of the day, he could also read your texts or not, but that depended on his mood and other factors, such as Jonathan Kent intervening or his level od nostalgia.

But no matter how many times she tried to explain Dick that Damian is already 22, he’s not Robin anymore, lives with his boyfriend in Metropolis and doesn’t want to know anything about him. Because he always calls him, waiting for an answer as if nothing had changed. And she, as usual, allows it despite knowing the result.

Also, if Damian doesn’t want to see Dick on a normal daily basis, what makes him think today is going to be different? He had more reasons than ever to avoid him and everyone now, and surely, he would have turned off his phone and hidden it in the darkness corner of a drawer until next week or month.

It wasn’t just because Damian usually isolated himself completely from everything and everyone during the anniversary of Tim and Jason disappearance, without answer and hiding with his head down like a wounded, sad puppy to lick his wounds in the dark. But because this year he had starred a rather interesting and destructive episode resulting from what was surely an unhealthy coping mechanism and an ineffective emotion management.

It wasn’t the first year something like that happened, as time passed and the anniversary arrived, it was well known that it was coming a brief period of awkward silences, latent guilt, heated arguments, and an impending disaster. By whom? That was a surprise.

Two years ago, was Jonathan Kent with his spectacular drunkenness and tractor launch; Three years ago, it was his brother, Conner, who flew out of nowhere to the space, was missing for a whole month and when he returned the answer was “I went for a walk but I got hungry.”; Another was Stephanie and her call from the local police station for get into a bar fight and broke several bones of some men who seemed very afraid of her while they process the fine; Other, was the imminent and irremediable break up of Bruce and Selina after months of arguments and tension, whose consequent robberies to art galleries were disastrous; This year had been Damian getting fully involved in an explosion; And the previous -and the best, in her opinion- was Dick breaking into her living room drunk and stripping while screaming “Let’s do it for the old times” when her father was visiting.

Yes, something happened always, to a greater or lesser extent. Those involved always stayed away for a while before lifting their heads up and bearing the consequences, some more easily than others, of course. Kon promised to say someone if he was taking walks again, Jon paid the tractor, Stephanie the fine for aggression, Selina returned nothing, and now his father can’t look at Dick again. But the whole process took a while, after all the emotions had overflowed, they had stopped being rational so as not to deal with the pain of loss and they had to get back together. That was Damian needed, to recover and take responsibility for what happened.

The problem is that he didn’t know what had really happened, and what it could mean.

“No answer.” Dick sighed coming back to her side.

“Of course not.” She replied thoughtfully and drinking her coffee. “Give him some time.”

“I know, but Babs, he was hurt.” He complained, concern written on his face. “He should be in the cave, recovering…”

Barbara raised an eyebrow and looked at him behind the mug questioningly, causing Dick to snort nervously. If he really thought Damian was going to stay in the cave for a single second, with him there, after the disaster he formed part and injured, he hadn’t been paying attention to anything for the past six years.

“At least he won’t be alone, he’ll call us later.” He won’t. But Dick had to convince himself to don’t lose his temper. “How are you doing with that?”

He asked that pointing to the screen, and she still looked at him recapping her work from a few hours ago.

The explosion in Zodome center had been big, spread to several streets with subsequent serious fires and numerous wounded, deaths still to be determined. But as much as Superboy had appeared to help and the situation had gotten better, for the city was something common. Gamorra was an island where crime lived and reign, always had, no matter how hard they tried to cleanse or purify the place, crime always found another way to get in, adapt and live in the shadows.

That had been precisely the real cause of the explosion, even if they had deduced that it had been because the terrorist group Damian was chasing had become a little nervous with his presence.

Ironically, it was a trigger, but not the cause. One part of the group had entered the island because of the easy access to the black market, and the others for something more important and substantial in these times: information.

“Good.” She replied, setting the cup aside and typing on the keyboard again. “When the servers went down, I could get a lot of what was leaking on that supercomputer.”

Dick nodded, settling on the counter next to her and watching her working again, classifying with her programs the information they now had.

Gamorra was an ideal place for any villain or organization with questionable intentions to find a cozy place and establish a base. No one asked anything, your neighbors were other criminals who didn’t want to be disturbed too and privacy was highly valued.

Except when some annoying neighbors were more curious than usual and discovered a strategically hidden supercomputer in the city center that may contain very valuable information.

She still hadn’t determined who it belonged to and which was the exact function of such a processor, but based on what she had seen so far, the servers acted as a kind of filter between the common and the dark network that they drove privately. Apparently, they were pretty well established, shady deals, big money transactions, questionable contacts, handling and dominance of hacking programs, organ sales, forged documents, human trafficking, and in general everything that a dark net can bring.

Whoever it was, Barbara knew they were good, had resources and well organized, because not only had they managed to escape from their radar all this time, but the security was extreme and the network they had built was very large, it couldn’t have been done by a single individual. It was a group, one that didn’t mind destroying half a city as long as nobody gain access to them, because the moment the terrorists tried to enter, the extra security was activated, and everything was blown up.

All trace of the supercomputer and what had been around it had been reduced to ashes, causing a fatal and unexpected explosion that struck Damian and five blocks around. And everything could have stayed there, they would have succeeded and getting away with it, people would have died, and they would have continued with their network and control in the criminal world, but they didn’t count with one thing:

She was fucking Oracle.

And when everything exploded, the servers and programs that acted as a filter and security went off for a few seconds, then went back on immediately at the other part of the world, probably where the group had another computer which she was already trying to track down. But those few seconds were enough for her to steal information and certain operative programs, freeing them from theirs claws and using for her benefit.

It hadn’t been a lot, but enough. And since then, Barbara had been classifying each thing carefully, disabling viruses, sending the necessary information to entities that may need it and taking notes of every harmful business or name that went through her eyes.

Thanks to this everyone will be busy for a while, they had found a criminal mine which it’s necessary to eradicate and investigate, as well as the group that had given them the network and sense of freedom. If they did it right, they would know soon who they were, and can erase them, but at least she would have liked to discover all of this in a way that didn’t involve a fatal explosion, she’s sure Damian too.

But Damian doesn’t know this, because blames himself for it, can’t stand failure, misses Jason and Tim, and has not been able to forgive anyone in the family since they deserted.

“Something interesting?” Dick ended up asking as she finished her coffee. “Apart from all the illegal acts we now know.”

Barbara leaned over her chair and looked at him, reflecting.

Dick shouldn’t be here. He didn’t even understand part of what was going on, not because he couldn’t, but because his head wasn’t in the right place right now to do it. That’s precisely why he was there, making coffee, smiling at her and watching her working without question, because it was better to be distracted with her than his own thoughts. It wasn’t annoying, nor irritating, just… Babs knew why he did it, and that caused a slight pinch of anguish through her chest and made her want to work without rest to neither think (talking about unhealthy coping mechanism, right?)

Dick didn’t want to be alone. At least not today. But Bruce wasn’t an option, because they would jump into each other’s throat just by being in the same room, and probably argued about who was more guilty of what; Damian had fled away into Jon’s arms, he preferred to spend time with anyone than Dick, and the affection he had for him had frozen at the moment he did that six years ago; Stephanie wasn’t going to receive him, probably would spit him in the face for the same reason; And Cass not only lived with the previous one, but would look at him that way, so… Cass. Former Titans or other friends weren’t a bad choice, but it was as if Dick was afraid to get out of Gotham, as if he were tied up here.

So, he was there with her, talking and trying to distract both of them from the emotional meltdown that the whole thing entailed.

“Actually…” She started to say. “All of this gave me an idea."

“Hm?”

Dick tilted his head with a smile, looking at her expectantly and with great interest, just as he did when he was Robin and they were both young, so young and stupid. And the words Barbara wanted to say died in her throat, leaving her quiet.

She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t hurt him like that.

It was a brief idea, not even well formulated, but one that had been bothering her since she looked at the hacking programs she found within the dark network. Some of them were very smart and well programmed, but there was one in particular, expensive and sophisticated, that had caught her attention. It combined the typical control over cameras and security systems to turn them off or superimpose images, along with facial recognition systems. That reach an interesting effect, because according to what she had understood about it and how operated, if it hacks specific cameras and predetermine a face, a name or a person, the program prevent its detection, saving the images in the private servers of the network, avoiding them come to light and not only the acts of the person who use it were hidden, but also their presence, their existence. As if they had disappeared.

What if…?

With such kind of program, refined and using it correctly in specific points, a person could move around the world perfectly undetected, totally invisible to any media because his image was not registered commonly and it was derived to a closed and secure network. It was dangerous, and at the same time, perfect for wanted criminals, thieves and above all, people who want to disappear.

What if Tim and Jason had been using something similar?

Tim was brilliant and knew Barbara. They had worked together, was familiar with her methods, and he was aware that the moment they disappeared she would track them with all her power. But the tracking and recognition system she had created solely to find them had not find a single match in six years. She had thought it was because they knew how to avoid cameras and keep a low profile too well, but what if it was another thing? What if there was something else blocking her system? Like a sophisticated program like this?

It was a possibility.

And looking at Dick, curious, smiling and expectant, but with a deep sadness, guilt and tiredness shining behind his blue eyes, she realized she couldn’t tell him this. She couldn’t.

Because it was a possibility, it was a hope.

She couldn’t do that to Dick, not like that. If she told him about it and then she was wrong, it would break him. Everyone knew that Dick would jump into a burning building if anyone told him that Tim and Jason were inside. And if Barbara gave him something to hold on to and then take it away from him, she wasn’t sure how he will react. So, she just shook her head, grabbed his now empty cup of coffee and gave it to him carefully.

“Doesn’t matter. Don’t mind me.” She turned that down. “Can you get me another cup, please? I’ll finish this and then we can rest.”

“Of course.” He answered, still smiling and pretending not to have realized how she had hesitated, taking the cup and leaving.

She watched at him go, feeling a little bit more miserable than usual and holding back a sigh. Everything had been easier when they were young and stupid, hadn’t it? It was just them, jumping in the roofs, forming a good team and laughing as they flight. Now they have secrets, regrets, permanent injuries, brothers to miss and nobody to ask for forgiveness.

Would any of this have happened if she had put more effort at the time? What would have changed if she had decided to speak when everything happened instead of remaining neutral? Had anything would change?

She shook her head and decided she couldn’t begin to think about that topic beyond the possibility that now had, because it wouldn’t worth to sink in unanswered questions again. She knew the idea wasn’t defined either, that maybe it was more complicated than that, after all Tim was smarter and if he did something like this, he would do it with people he trusted.

But a little hunch mixed with a tiny hope leaded her to search that program, studying it for a few seconds. She couldn’t trace who used it and how, but now she’s the owner and main admin, she could disable it, undo it, digging up the original images. The probability that Jason and Tim were there was low, but if she were wrong at least would leak infinity of incriminating videos and photos that would serve to put other people in jail.

“It would be too lucky, right?” She thought with irony.

It was very difficult to be optimistic after so long. And after pressing the button, she saw how her systems started to work, analyzing and storing the images that were already beginning to appear in her screen quickly.

She heard Dick approaching her again, this time with two cups in his hands. Quiet, the ex-batgirl thought about how she could trace other programs like this, or their creator, or anything that could bring her a little closer to what had caused not to be able to find the missing Robins with her methods. And also, allowed herself to think with sadness how easy it would be if Tim were here, in another computer and helping her in the same disinterested way as ever, smiling shyly and insecurely as he told her about how Jason had invited him to his favorite chilli dogs truck the other night, or how Damian had been mad at him because Alfred the cat had learned if his owner put him on a diet, the solution was beg food to Tim.

She remembered how empty and useless she felt when she couldn’t track down or find the other two after Bruce called for help. As if all the work and development she had been through after being paralyzed were nothing, because at the end she couldn’t find her family.

Until one alarm started to ring.

An aloud and shrill alarm that had never sounded before, and she had been waiting -begging- for six years.

“Don’t screw with me.” She said straightening up in her chair and looking up surprised. “Don’t fucking screw with me.”

“What’s that sound?” Dick asked, standing at her side again.

“Oh shit.” She said, getting away from that computer to go to another one, rushing and starting to typing in a hurry, more surprised than ever. She didn’t think it would be true, nor if she were even right. “Oh shit!”

“Babs?” The other asked again, chasing after her and beginning to worry. It wasn’t like her to act like this unless she had a reason. “What happens?”

“Oh my god.”

“Babs?!”

She didn’t answer, because it was better to turn on the other screens around them so that Dick could see the same as her.

All the screens lighted up, showing images, many images from different places, different countries, a lot of places whose cameras had managed to record those whom they lost. The tall figure of Jason accompanied by the little of Tim, sometimes alone, almost always together, appearing in every corner of the screens without stopping, images where they were laughing, talking, walking, kissing, living, appearing one after another. Some from years ago, others from months, weeks, hours, the most recent from a few minutes.

Babs gasped, assimilating what she had just achieved. Dick dropped the cups on the floor, overwhelmed. “Match detected.” Shined on the screens, in large and showy letters, at last.

“Oh shit.”

They found them.

#myfic #tim drake #jason todd #jon kent #jonathan kent #damian wayne #jondami #jaytim #timjay #damijon #red hood #red robin #superboy #robin #dc #dc comics #supersons

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mbti-notes · 5 years ago

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I read a post from last week on someone’s ENFP mother who often describes gory/violent events with little empathy. My ENFP mother does a similar thing: she describes cruel events and emphasises the innocence of the victims like “a small, cute, fluffy puppy was brutally killed because he was stabbed in the neck”. She literally just said this in a quick and unbothered tone, like she wants to bring out peoples reactions or something, she says she cares but THE WAY she says it makes it seem like she

[con’t: is devoid of any true empathy. She cries when she watches documentaries about war and violence against children, but just a second later she takes up her phone and checks facebook or something superficial. She does not seem to understand or care for other peoples problems, or when they are going through tough times. She does not seem capable to properly identify feelings in herself other than “positive emotions”. What is this in terms of functions?

She is very extroverted and not particularly good at introspection, talks a lot without any purpose or thinking behind it. My best guess is that this has to do with some kind of Fi-Si distortion. It is like she has a very immature mindset where she relies on a routinised a system of symbols which others have taught her to comprehend the world, like hurting children = sad, a room full of books = cosy (even if she doesn’t really read to understand things deeper), people of colour = cute or pretty (it is weird, idk why she does that), etc, and doesn’t understand WHY it is represented like that.

She also has a weird sense of humour sometimes and doesn’t know how to stop laughing at certain things. It is partly what I mean with being “too heavy” on “positive” emotions. It is hard to describe the totality of this behaviour in short space, but I think she has some deep-seated issues and is not able to identify what the sources are.

When I (daughter) have problems or am sad/upset she gets 10x more upset because I am not happy, because she relies on my feelings. It is like I am one of her symbols which = “happiness” or something. I don’t quite understand this so sorry if it is vague, but basically she doesn’t try to help or find a solution or properly show empathy (wishing ANOTHER persons wellbeing completely for THEIR sake), she is more concerned about me “just getting happy” so she can be happy because she cannot bear not feeling “positive” because she relies on my feelings.

It sounds cute at first but it is very selfish, it is “masked” as empathy and I end up looking like the bad guys for being frustrated with her behaviour. Could you comment on this? Thank you so much for an insightful blog, I read it often and very much appreciate it.]

What is your type, as it may heavily influence how you perceive her behavior? Your description of the problem isn’t helpful because it is laden with your negative feelings and judgments of her. There is no way for me to get an objective assessment of her state of mind with the info you provided.

Generally speaking, horrific/cruel/depressing things are very difficult to digest, and everyone has their own way of coping with extremely negative occurrences. It is especially difficult when you feel powerless, which is often the case when watching the news.

Take a simple example like grief. People cope with the pain of losing someone in all manner of ways. Some people cry, some laugh, some withdraw, some drink, some get violent, some help others. Just because someone doesn’t cope like you do or in the way that you imagine they “should”, doesn’t mean that they don’t feel deeply about it. Just because someone finds the pain too much to bear that they need a distraction to stay sane, doesn’t mean that they don’t feel empathy or that their feelings aren’t “real”.

You seem to be jumping to conclusions about someone’s state of mind based on narrow beliefs about how feelings “should” be expressed a certain way. This kind of “mindreading” is destructive to relationships because it creates needless misunderstanding and conflict.

Along the same lines, you accuse your mom of wanting you to be happy for “selfish” reasons. Just because she has personal reasons for wanting you to be happy (and this is not yet an established fact), doesn’t mean that she doesn’t actually want you to be happy - these two things are not mutually exclusive. Feelings, by nature, are messy and often contradictory - that’s why people struggle with them. Making the assumption that feelings should be easily understood in a straightforward manner says more about your approach to feelings than hers.

You seem to resent the “pressure” to feel the way that she wants you to feel, okay, but you also need to take responsibility for the fact that you feel resentment and that it is very likely coloring your perception of her. This is a very common parent-child dynamic.

Children often misunderstand their parents because they are actually working out their unconscious need to establish independence from them. In simple Jungian terms, children treat parents as the enemy in order to establish themselves as the hero of their own story: “She’s unempathetic, I know, because I know what real empathy is.” Children often don’t realize that they’ve demonized their parents until they are able to reach higher levels of ego development (and become less egocentric), or until they have kids themselves and finally know what it’s like to be demonized.

Here’s a question: What kind of relationship do you want with your mom? Do you want a good one? If so, what purpose does it serve for the relationship to accuse her of lacking empathy? In Jungian terms, perhaps you have not realized that your objection to her lack of empathy is really about you and the fact that, as her child, you hope for her to have more empathy for you and treat you the way that you would like to be treated. Unfortunately, this hope has been dashed, and how should you respond to that?

Whatever she does or doesn’t do, your resentment is yours, it’s for you to work on. People are always going to say/do things that don’t sit well with you or violate your sensibilities. Instead of reflecting on why that’s happening in order to get at the truth of the situation (for example, whether your “sensibilities” might be part of the problem in making you oversensitive to perceived slights), you jump to accuse the other person and claim that there’s something “wrong” with them. This is a bad habit that is damaging to relationships. Relationships are a two-way street; it is almost always the case that the truth is found somewhere between the two conflicting perspectives. You won’t realize this if you automatically assume that your way of seeing the situation is entirely right and the other person’s entirely wrong.

In short, you are trying to claim that your mom lacks true empathy. However, from your description, the claim seems unwarranted. I can’t agree. You’re not telepathic are you? You don’t know how she really feels inside, do you? The fact that she even comments on these things means that she cares enough to be bothered by them. If she truly lacked empathy, she would look upon horrific/cruel/depressing things with no expression/reaction at all.

Just because a person isn’t capable of handling or expressing their feelings, doesn’t mean that they don’t feel. If anything, the more deeply someone feels, the more likely they are to struggle with reconciling and expressing their feelings, and the more likely they are to feel helpless when bombarded by negative feelings. It is often the case that EFs have difficulty handling negative feelings because they feel TOO MUCH.

IMO, you have misunderstood your mom, perhaps because you are annoyed or resentful towards her and it leads you to view her in an unsympathetic light. In Jungian terms, it’s possible that your judgment of her as lacking empathy is actually a manifestation of your unconscious guilt about having no empathy for her. You can reflect on the truth of it.

#relationships #mindreading #empathy #emotional expression #ask #parent child relationship

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leonkennedystuff · 6 years ago

Text

not alone (leon kennedy x reader)

[RE4!Leon]

Summary: wherein reader finally confronts leon about ada wong

Warnings: angst

Part 1 of ?

hi guys! so this is my first ever original Leon content! I’ve been obsessing over him since RE4 but the RE2 remake just breathed new life into my already unhealthy obsession. hopefully you guys enjoy this little piece and please, please do feel free to send me some writing requests ! I’d love to generate more Leon content on here!

The tears you were trying to suppress felt intolerably difficult to keep from spilling, the stinging in your eyes threatening to cascade down your flushed cheeks and show Leon just how much sadness and anger was erupting in your heart.

The argument you both had snowballed into a full-fledged match; your voices were raspy and strained from how long they’ve been raised at each other, filling the apartment you shared. At no point, though, do you think this will stop soon. Not with how stubborn he was being.

It was crazy - how only he can make you feel this loved but also this worthless. You wish he could stop hurting you - this thing, this same issue, over and over again. All you wanted was to break the cycle, having felt suffocated even by the mere mention of her name.

Ada Wong.

God, how your blood boiled - she just couldn’t stay away. But the fact that Leon seemed unable to do so either absolutely made you see red.

When their paths cross, it’s as if he forgets he has you - his girlfriend of almost six years. It made you feel insufficient, like you weren’t good enough to keep his attention from swaying. It broke your heart in ways words cannot even begin to describe; all you ever did was love him, as truly, deeply and selflessly a person can love another person.

What were you lacking? What did she have?

“You’re being so unfair, (Y/N)! If you can only hear yourself!” He berates, running an exasperated hand through his already disheveled blonde hair. He was clearly worked up with the whole situation - pissed off at how largely the argument escalated and how he was unable to see where you were coming from.

For the most part - truth be told - he thought you were overreacting, your jealousy clouding your better judgement. It was ridiculous that you felt disposable whenever Ada came up on your pages.

Can you really be blamed though? Especially when the reason for this mess was when you found out Leon had been secretly conversing with her after coming home from his latest mission?

It was like the world tilted on its axis when you answered the call and that damned woman’s seductive voice rang through your ears. His betrayal created a rift that was just continuing to grow; you couldn’t look at him without feeling a terrible stab in your heart and this overgrown fight was only making it worse.

If you hadn’t picked the phone up, would he have told you? How long was he going to go without telling you?

Your head throbbed trying to think of the answer to your questions - of convincing yourself that it would be the answers you wanted even though the worst came to mind.

Despite all this, he still didn’t want to disclose to you what they’ve been talking about.

“Unfair?” You grit your teeth, incredulous at what he had just said. “I’m being unfair, Leon?! How would you feel if I went behind your back!? If I was hiding secrets from you with another man?!”

He shuts his eyes harshly, distress prominent in his strong features. He lets out a frustrated grunt. “Why can’t you just believe me when I tell you that the information is classified!” He snaps, moving forward.

Leon was always very level-headed and calm, but he couldn’t help his small outburst. This fight, far by the worst you’ve both had in the entirety of your friendship and relationship, was taking it’s toll.

He brings his hands down on the white counter top, the kitchen filling with the sound of his palms connecting with the marble. You flinch at the noise before glaring at him, the dam behind your eyes finally breaking.

Before you could try to stop it, tears leak in streams down your face as your chest started to tremble. “Was it also classified not to tell me you were talking to her? Or did you just want no one stopping you?” You retort, your voice being its lowest and softest in nearly an hour but just as harsh.

You swallow the huge lump lodged in your throat, your hands unconsciously clenching as you look away from the bewildered man. You breathe out, not wanting to look at him as you asked your million-dollar question. “If I hadn’t answered, would I ever have known?”

Heavy silence shrouds the room as Leon remains mute. You peel your gaze away from the polished floor and up at him. You blink to clear your teary vision but seeing your boyfriend’s angry demeanor change into a softer, more remorseful one - a fresh wave tides in.

You knew him way too well to know just by his body and expression that the answer was no. He didn’t have to say anything, nothing at all. Your heart was already twisting.

With his anger reduced to non-existence, his face drops at the sight of you crestfallen, his guilt biting at him. He watches helplessly as a fresh round of tears run down your cheeks, he aches to wipe them away and just hold you - to forget about this stupid night.

There are a lot of things in your fucked up reality that he hated and seeing you hurt would be at the top of the long list. He breathes out, disconsolate and defeated, “(Y/N), she saved my life countless of times,” He tries to explain, feeling pathetic. The fire in his voice as cold as snow now. “I owe her mine,” He says, barely above a whisper.

Although you were still trying to let everything process, you knew that he was right there - she did save his life more than once and that’s something you’ll forever be grateful for regardless of how you feel about her, but that wasn’t the real problem here.

There was something deeper, and you knew for a fact that it wasn’t a green-eyed monster of jealousy. It was another nasty beast lurking in the shadows and you just want to know what you’re facing already.

Your voice gives in from exhaustion and heartache, cracking at the start of your sentence, wanting to end this - no matter how it goes. “Leon - just be honest with me, please.” You urge weakly, your eyes beginning to throb from crying so much. You steady yourself, wiping gingerly at your face and holding it in your palms for a few seconds.

Lowering your hands, you felt ill just getting your sentence out. “Do you have feelings for her?”

It felt like another eternity that he was silent. When you hear him sigh slowly though, the kind before a bad news was going to be delivered, your blood runs ice-cold. You shake a bit.

“S-she’s like a part of me I can’t let go,” He finally confesses, finally tearing your heart apart. “But it’s you I love, (Y/N). You’d have to be crazy not to believe that.”

You barely heard the last part of his talking. Your face scrunches, like an invisible hand just slapped all the feeling off your skin. Your breath was painful in your throat and you felt like you were going to choke. You were light-headed, nauseated with the betrayal.

‘She’s like a part of me I can’t let go.’

Who would’ve thought?

You quickly gather up the last of your wits to will yourself to move, to walk upstairs and grab some clothes and leave the place with some shred of dignity- maybe for a few days, maybe never honestly. Where were you going to go though? You didn’t know either. You couldn’t think or function normal, not when you felt stripped of anything and everything.

He loves you? If he loves you so much, he wouldn’t have caught feelings for another woman. A woman he met in a day while you, years before.

Once your body obeys your commandment to move, you swiftly turn for the stairs, not caring that you’ll have to pass him. Leon takes a frantic dash towards you, hooking his grip gently but firmly on your arm. “Wait, where are you going?”

Without looking at him, you pull your limb back from his hold. You try to ignore the wounded look in his beautiful blue eyes from how harshly you recoiled from his touch. “I can’t do this,” You croak, shaking your head. “I have to leave, this isn’t good for me or for you.”

“Leave?” Leon’s face blanches, his thoughts going haywire at the thought of you gone. You were leaving him? No, it can’t be. You can’t. He was a fool - yes - but he knew that the sun rose and set with you and you only. Ada - she was manipulative, but she saved his life more than once and they’ve witnessed hell together - their experience in Raccoon City set some kind of attachment between them.

It was his fault, though, for letting that attachment cloud his vision at times of what was really important. You.

“(Y/N) -“ He starts but you cut him off.

“Save your breath, Leon.” You dismiss the conversation, approaching the staircase a second time. He follows behind you, alarmed.

“Let’s talk about this. Just calm down, please,” He stammers slightly, trying to keep his calm despite his racing heartbeat. “I’ll tell you what you want to know. Please, just stop.”

A momentary feeling of solace washes over Leon as you turn back to look at him. His chest, though, feels like a thousand pounds when he sees your purely heartbroken state.

“What is there left to talk about? I’ve heard your piece and I don’t need to be reminded that she’s some part of you you can’t seem to let go. You don’t know how helpless I feel, Leon, that another woman is living in your heart with me.”

“She doesn’t -”

You shut your exhausted eyes, repined and extremely tired of hearing his empty reassurances. “I understand that you’ve been through hell and back with her, but it’s been years since Raccoon and you still can’t give her up. That says more than enough.”

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nativemossy · 6 years ago

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Cap-IM Rec Week 2019 - Wednesday

Rec Week- Angsty Wednesday @cap-ironman

Don’t forget to leave kudos and comments for your hardworking authors! they deserve the credit for the hard work they put into entertaining us with their fabulous works of art!

disclaimer: i genuinely struggle with the difference between angst and h/c, so the way i’m differentiating those lists is (mostly) by what the author tagged.

the stillness of forgetting - by nasa

“Who are you?” Tony asks every morning when he wakes up and finds Steve lying next to him.

“I’m your husband,” Steve always replies.

aka Tony has Alzheimer's.

why rec?: ouchie, this one makes me cry a lot, so I don’t read it often. memory loss fics really get to me, so if thats something youre interested in this has it in stock! its so heartrendingly sweet and i just love it a lot

Orbital Mechanics - by Sabrecmc

Freshly out of the ice, Captain Steve Rogers definitely does not want to Bond with anyone. Until he does.

(Steve's POV for Celestial Navigation)

why rec?: tbh i’d recommend anything of Sabres (and multiple times at that - hence why i posted abt this on monday as well), but Celestial Navigation and by extension Orbital Mechanics both have permanent places on my instant classics list. just a lovely fic all around.

Something Death Can Touch - by thatdammeddame

Tony nearly dies in the field on a Saturday.

Steve breaks up with Tony the Wednesday after he's released from hospital.

why rec?: sad!! with happy ending!! its got a nice round conclusion, everyone comes full circle and is better for it.

Like A Comet Streaming On - by Sineala

Tony escapes Afghanistan with a functioning Iron Man suit and a perfectly normal heart. He even manages to bring Ho Yinsen home safely at his side. But he may as well have lost everything... because his wolfbrother is dead. Six months later, the Avengers find Captain America, frozen in ice, miraculously alive. Everything and everyone Steve has ever known is gone -- except his wolfsister, the recipient of the lupine version of the super-soldier serum, who was frozen in his arms. Tony has everything but his wolf. Steve has only his wolf. This is how their lives fit together.

why rec?: another fic that lives in my phone and travels with me - this is an instant classic for sure. i feel like i’ve recced this before no but i will be reccing it’s “fanfic of a fanfic” in tomorrows post, so I have talked about it. I love the psychic wolf premise, I hope to maybe do something in the future with it, though I could never dream of coming close to this amazing fic. If i’ve read this once i’ve read it dozens of times and loved it more each time.

Wait & Sea - by Lenalena

In which Tony and Steve get sent on an undercover mission aboard a cruise ship to make contact with Hydra. In this AU the military has kept the discovery and defrosting of Captain America a secret, so Steve and Tony have never met before. Yet they are to pose as newlyweds....

why rec?: tagged as angst and humor and if memory serves that’s exactly right. perfect blend of the humor of the identity porn trope with the angst of constant misunderstandings.

Born From The Earth - by venusm

Tony Stark's born an omega in a world where that means he's supposed to follow certain social rules. He becomes Iron Man anyway: Fuck biology.

If only his biology (and the world) would quit fucking him back.

why rec?: i debated real heavy about including this because it’s technically steve/tony/omc, but hear me out: A great part of this fic focuses on the developing relationship between Tony and Steve, as well as Tony’s relationship with himself and the world around him. This is, hands down, my favorite fic of all time. as far as writing in general goes it’s right up there with my favorite authors. if i could only read one fic for the rest of my life this would undoubtedly be it - unfinished or no. i cannot even begin to impress upon you how much I love this fic. I can only aspire to write like this. the author makes you angry when they want you to be angry, sad when they want that too. It’s a beautifully orchestrated rollercoaster of emotion and I fall a little more in love every time I read it (which is frighteningly often).

Never Too Late for Love - by Sineala

Steve has always believed that a soulbond is a blessing -- a rare and beautiful miracle, joining the thoughts and feelings of two people forever, from the first time they touch. Steve knows he's not going to be one of the lucky ones. He knows Gail isn't his soulmate. But he loves her, even if they're not soulmates, and he's going to do right by her. After the war's over, he's going to marry her, and they're going to settle down. They'll buy a house. They'll have children. He'll see his family again. Maybe Bucky will live next door. It's going to be a good life. He doesn't need a soulbond. He'll be fine without one.

Then Steve wakes up sixty years in the future to find that his wonderful life has moved on without him. His family is long dead. His fiancée married his best friend. And the only purpose he has left is leading the Ultimates, a misbegotten team of superheroes with flaws too numerous to count. Steve hates everything about the future -- but most of all he detests Tony, flashy and flirtatious, who embodies everything Steve hates about a world he never wanted to live in.

And, oh, yeah, Steve has a soulmate after all: Tony fucking Stark.

why rec?: so much relationship angst. so. much. angst. Steve has to get his ass in gear and his brain into the 21st century, and Tony probably needs to go easy on the poor guy. its also ultsfic, which I’m usually not a giant fan of bc of the assholery but the dynamic works for me here

Senseless - by Scavenge4Dreams

Blinded, deafened, exhausted, injured and afraid, Tony raised himself up into a defensive position, the knife coming up just like Nat had taught him.

“That had better fucking be you, Steve Rogers- it had better be you. Fucking disarm me. If you let me kill you, I swear I will be very, very pissed.” Tony snarled, sure it was Steve approaching. Had to be. Had. To. Be.

What if it wasn’t?

why rec?: it’s been a while since i’ve read this, but I remember this being a good one that involves a rescue, injury recovery, and some eventual upon a brief reread I can say that this fic also has established relationship going for it! it’s tagged angst but it’s definitely got it’s fluffy parts and a really fun ending

Thrust Issues - by Sineala

A battle gone wrong leads Tony to the unexpected and pleasant discovery that Steve is much more well-endowed than he could ever have imagined. But when Tony learns that Steve has never actually been able to sleep with anyone because of his size, Tony does what any good friend would do: he offers to relieve Steve of his virginity. Personally. Tony's determined, Tony's methodical, and Tony has a plan. He's going to get Steve laid. Tony just needs to make sure Steve never finds out that Tony's in love with him.

why rec?: look at this point i think we can all agree that i might be a little bit of a fan of sineala’s. just wanted to throw that one out there to start us out.

so my rec has little to do with the oodles of pining angst (of which there is plenty) and much more to do with there being a specific line in this fic that boils down to “friends fist friends right?” and I think of it at least biweekly. the rest of the fic is beautifully written and the characterization is to die for, plus its got a lovely happy ending!

She - by isozyme

Iron Man is strong and muscular and masculine, and Tony Stark wears a three-piece suit and walks with his hips stiff. No colors other than navy or muted red. No prints bolder than a pinstripe. No luxurious silks and linens. His outfits are tailored to hang crisp and straight, his slacks hemmed to a conservative medium break. The public won’t know. Nobody will go digging deeper, for classified ads and witnesses who remember him from half a decade ago. Steve will never find out all the ways Tony’s ruined himself.

why rec?: i’m putting this here just in case I don’t make a post for Sunday. This is one of those fics that hurts so good - it’s so well written sometimes it makes my teeth ache because it’s so sad and as the reader you can see all the pieces but a character cant. I love that feeling, its a great feeling. Some of this stuff can hit close to home so heed the warnings and read the tags!

#capimrecweek #capimrecweek2019 #stony #steve rogers #tony stark #fic recs

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crystalninjaphoenix · 6 years ago

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Normalcy

A Stitched Story

JSE Fanfic

Wow, I managed to write something for this AU again! Now if I could only get around to Resurgence XD. This is a very simple story, much like No Strings on Me it deals more with aftermath than anything else. But like that one, it needs to be told. The main focus is on Jack and Schneep and their problems. Oh, also, read to the end :3c

Tagging @septic-dr-schneep for inspiring this AU with this post.

Read where it started: Stitched Together | Season One

Previous season two stories: No Strings on Me | Nightmare World

“Hey Chase, I got you something.”

Chase looked up from his phone as Jack entered the apartment, shutting the door behind him. He set a box next to him where he was sitting on the couch. Chase blinked at it slowly. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything, I just thought it was something you needed.” Jack smiled. “Well? Are you gonna open it?”

“Uh...sure.” With some effort, Chase peeled away the tape holding the flaps of the box closed. He opened it and stared inside. “You got me a blanket?”

“Well, it’s not just a normal blanket.” Jack pulled the folded fabric out of the box and draped it over Chase’s shoulders. Chase looked mildly surprised at how heavy it was. “It’s a weighted blanket. I think it’s supposed to be used for helping anxiety and stuff like that, but it can also, like, simulate physical contact without actually being physical contact.”

“...oh.” Chase pulled the blanket closer. The weight did actually feel...really nice. “You went out and got this for me? You really shouldn’t have.”

“Well, I ordered it online,” Jack explained. “Just went down to pick it up from the front desk of the building. They really should deliver packages directly to the apartments, it can be kinda tricky to carry a fifteen-pound package up here even with the elevator.” He paused. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah.” Chase smiled just a bit. “Thanks, Jack.”

“No problem.” Jack made an okay sign with his hand. “If you need anything else, just tell me. I’m gonna go check on the others.”

“Okay. Um, again, thank you. A lot.” Chase said awkwardly, picking up his phone again.

Jack waved at him as he crossed through the living room and into the kitchen. JJ was sitting at the round kitchen table, its surface basically hidden beneath the books. All four of the magic books were open, various pens placed between the pages to keep them from swinging closed. JJ was leaning over one, intent on reading. “Hey JJ,” Jack said, making him look up. “Need anything?”

Jameson shook his head. No, but I appreciate you offering.

“Alright. Whatcha working on?”

Just looking for anything that could help. JJ tapped the page he was reading. This book seems to be about amulets, but there may be something inside. After all, doesn’t he wear a pair of them?

“Yeah.” Jack shivered. “White, teardrop-shaped, some sort of green scribbles on them. They’re broken.” He’d seen them frequently enough to remember their appearance.

Right. JJ nodded. If we knew what they were for, maybe we’d know more about him.

“Well, good luck dude,” Jack said, making his voice lighthearted. “I’m gonna go check on Henrik, want to take a break and come?”

Something sad flickered through Jameson’s eyes. No, I’m afraid I can’t.

“...oh. Right.” Jack backed away. “That’s understandable. But we need to figure out some way of getting around this soon.”

I agree. But not right now. See you soon, Jack.

“See ya.”

It was a short walk down the hallway to the same spare room that Schneep had been staying in for the past three and a half months. Except now, there was actually someone living there instead of just existing, sleeping. Jack opened the door slowly. “Hey Hen, are you—”

There was a surprised yell, which was accompanied by something hurtling toward the door. Jack hurriedly closed it, hand still on the knob, and heard the clatter of something plastic hitting the door and falling to the ground. He swung it open again and poked his head inside. “Did you just throw the clock at me?”

“Oh. Jack.” Schneep’s shoulders suddenly slumped. “I am sorry, it is force of habit. The clock was the closest object.”

“Totally understandable.” Jack bent over and picked up the small, battery-powered clock. It still seemed functional. Though only time would tell if he could still tell time. Jack smiled a bit at that thought, then walked over and replaced the clock on the nightstand next to the bed where Schneep was currently sitting. “You doin’ okay?”

Schneep laughed dryly. “Well, there are good things and there are bad things. The good thing is that I am not stuck in that place anymore. The bad thing is that I cannot fucking see.”

“Yeah, guess that’s true.” Jack sat on the bed, near the foot. Schneep’s shoulders raised at the shifting of weight. It was...odd, almost unsettling, that Schneep wasn’t looking at him. His head was turned in his general direction, but his eyes were staring directly forward, not seeing anything. The strange effect was compounded by the scars he had, the ones that looked like tears coming from his eyes. “How’s the, uh, lessons coming?”

“You mean this?” Schneep waved the book he’d been holding. “I’m afraid it is going very bad. They do not read like letters, they are just bumps.” He pursed his lips. “When I said I wanted to know three languages, this is not what I meant.”

“Maybe you just need some help,” Jack suggested. “I’d be happy to try.”

“That would be appreciated.” Schneep hugged the book to his chest, leaning backwards onto the headboard of the bed. “But not right now. I want to do something.”

“Well, like what?”

“I do not know, just—just something!” Schneep snapped.

“Whoa, hey. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Jack scooted closer to him until he was able to put a hand on his shoulder.

Schneep jumped at the unannounced contact, but settled into it easily, putting his hand on top of Jack’s. “I know, I know, I am sorry.” He sighed deeply. “I am just...frustrated.”

“Maybe you could channel that into something productive?” Jack asked. “JJ’s busy right now, but I think if you asked, he’d be glad to...I dunno, have help with his work.”

“How?” Schneep asked, his voice almost bitter.

“Uh...” Jack didn’t have an answer for that. Until they worked something out, communication between Schneep and JJ would be...difficult, to say the least. Jameson couldn’t speak for Schneep to hear, and Schneep couldn’t see Jameson’s signing anymore. There had to be a way around this, but in the week since Schneep had woken up, they hadn’t been able to find anything.

“That is what I thought,” Schneep sighed. For a moment, he was silent. And then: “Fuck it. I need to get out of here.” He swiveled around to the side of the bed and stood up.

“What—Henrik, what’re you doing?” Jack stood up too.

“I need to get out of here. You didn’t leave anything on the floor, did you?” Without waiting for an answer, Schneep walked straight across the room. He had the route from the bed to the door memorized, and the only difficulty came when he got close enough to said door, having to reach out to find out how open it was. He managed to grab the edge of it where it had been left ajar and walked out.

“Dude, wait!” Jack half-ran until he was even with Schneep. “I’d like to think you just mean out of the room, but you didn’t did you?”

Schneep kept walking down the hallway, fingers gently brushing along the wall so he could keep track of where it ended. “No, I did not, my friend. I have been awake and in this world for seven days, and I am thoroughly sick of this apartment. How have you three stayed cooped up in here for so much longer? I need to see—well, I need to experience the world again. I want to feel sunshine and air that doesn’t come through a tiny little glass.”

“You can’t be serious!” The two of them had entered the living room at this point. “Hen, I-I-I think you’re right, I mean, it would probably be good, but it’s not safe! Anti is still out there, and-and you—”

“Blind people have managed to get around in the wide open for a long time,” Schneep retorted.

“Hey, uh, I’m in here.”

Jack jumped. He’d been focusing on the situation with Schneep and had forgotten Chase was still in here. He looked over to where he was sitting on the couch, still wrapped in his new blanket, still staring at his phone. “Sorry, dude,” Jack said. “Didn’t mean to ignore you.”

“It’s fine,” Chase shrugged. “But, uh, what’s goin’ on?”

“I am trying to leave, and Jack is not letting me!” Schneep half-yelled.

“I’m not ‘not letting you,’ I just really think you shouldn’t!” Jack said defensively. “It’s dangerous out there! And confusing!”

“Well, maybe you could come with me and make sure I do not get to the confusing part!”

“I—I didn’t—that’s not—I wasn’t—” Jack stumbled over his words.

“I can go with you, doc,” Chase piped up. He unwrapped himself from the blanket and got to his feet, tucking his phone in his pocket. “It...I mean, we have to go outside sometime, right? Vitamin D and fresh air and shit.”

“You two—!” Jack didn’t even finish his sentence, just walked over the the kitchen entrance and poked his head inside. “JJ, I need backup over here.”

JJ looked up from the book. He tapped it insistently.

“Sorry, dude, this is important. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Jameson exhaled deeply, then closed three of the books but left the one he was reading open, with a pen tucked inside to mark the page. He pushed his chair back from the table, stood up, and joined Jack and the others in the living room.

“JJ, I need your support,” Jack said. “These two want to go outside, and I keep telling them it’s not safe. Right?”

Jameson considered this. I suppose it’s not entirely. But if they want to leave, they should be able to. In fact, we’ve all been in here for a while.

“So you’re saying it’s dangerous?” Jack summarized.

Schneep make a sound of disbelief. “That was too long a pause to just be an agreement.”

“Cheater,” Chase mumbled. “He actually said something along the lines of ‘yeah, but we should still be able to, actually let’s all go.’”

“He didn’t say we all need to go!” Jack said, a note of...desperation entering his voice.

Jack. Jameson signed his name firmly, spelling it out. We’ve all been stuck in here for a month and a half. That’s not healthy for anyone. I would certainly like to go outside and relieve some stress, and it sounds like everyone else would too. You’re welcome to stay inside, of course.

A strangled sound escaped Jack’s throat. He wasn’t going to win this. So the real question was, why was he even so attached to staying inside in the first place, when he really agreed with everything they were saying? “I...didn’t...” he sighed. “It’s...not safe to be alone, no matter where we go. I think...I think that’s even worse than leaving in the first place. So...if everyone wants to go, I...I guess I’ll come with you.”

“Great!” Schneep said, clapping his hands. “Fantastic. Do any of you know where my coat is?”

Five minutes later, and the four of them were standing on the sidewalk outside. It was unusually sunny for a November day, though there was still a chilly breeze that occasionally ran through the streets. Jack and Schneep were standing close to each other, with Schneep holding tight to Jack’s arm. JJ was also close to them, though Chase stood a bit farther away.

“Okay. So, we’re out here,” Jack said. His eyes were darting up and down the street, locking on to every moving object before eventually looking away again. “Now what?”

“I...don’t know,” Chase admitted, pulling on his bandanna to make sure it was tied tight. “We can go for a walk?”

“Is there not still a park?” Schneep asked. “I would very much like to go there.”

“Yeah, there is. It didn’t close or anything, doubt it would.” Chase turned to JJ. “What d’you think?”

That seems like a wonderful idea, JJ signed. Come on, no time like the present.

Jameson started down the street, Chase following. Schneep squeezed Jack’s arm. “Jack...the other two are walking away. I’m assuming you are going to follow them?”

“Y-yeah...right.” Jack took a deep breath, then slowly started walking after them. The city streets hadn’t been this...open before, had they?

As they strolled through the city streets, most of them slowly started to relax. Sure, their little group was attracting occasional attention from passerby, most of them staring at Jameson’s mask or the way Schneep stared at nothing. But they didn’t notice. Chase and JJ fell into relaxed conversation, and after some time Chase began translating JJ’s signs for Schneep. Schneep himself, meanwhile, couldn’t stop smiling. He loved this. Loved hearing the sounds of the city instead of hearing nightmares and static, loved being able to feel the breeze and the warm day.

Jack, however, was feeling increasingly on edge. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like anything could come at them from any direction at any time. He had to hurry to keep up with the others, but he wanted to slow down, maybe stop moving altogether and just watch for something to happen.

This was not helped by reaching the wide-open green space that was the park. Even though there were rows of trees planted, and the park was still small enough to see the surrounding city buildings, there was still nothing in all directions. Jack’s head was practically on a swivel, it was turning around so swiftly and frequently. But he forced himself to take deep breaths and stay calm. He couldn’t ruin this for the others. They were having so much fun.

They settled at a picnic table near the playground, Chase and JJ on one bench and Jack and Schneep on the other. I’ve had a great time, JJ signed, eyes crinkling in the way they did when he was smiling under the mask. Henrik, this was a good idea, thank you.

“JJ’s having fun,” Chase translated. “Schneep? He says this was a good idea and says thank you.”

“Oh!” Schneep’s face lit up. “You are welcome, my friend! See, I know that fresh air has many benefits, I am a doctor, why do you not trust me?”

Chase laughed, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. He was staring at the playground with a faraway look. His phone was in his hand, and he played with it nervously.

Is something wrong, Chase? Jameson asked.

“Oh!” Chase snapped to attention. “Uh, can you sign that again?” After JJ did so, Chase sighed. “I dunno, I just...” He looked down at the table surface. “I’ve been thinking about...about calling Stacy lately.”

Everyone went silent. “Well, why do you not?” Schneep asked gently.

“I dunno, I mean, what do I say? ‘Sorry I haven’t been able to take the girls for the weekend lately, I’ve been mind-controlled by a demon’? She’d think I’m crazy.” He looked up. “Did you guys...tell her anything? When I...you know.”

“In a way.” Schneep leaned forward onto the table. “We tried to say that you went away for something important, but she saw right through that. So instead, we just told her that you had disappeared, and that while we knew the reason, it was not safe for her to know more. She did tell the police, but she did not tell them that we were involved.”

A smile ghosted over Chase’s face. “Yeah, that sounds like her.” He glanced over at the phone. “I guess I...I don’t have to tell her too much, do I? But...I mean, I kinda want to. Communication is good, right?”

Do what you feel is best, Chase, Jameson signed gently.

“It is, but the choice is yours, my friend,” Schneep said softly.

“Yeah...you’re both right,” Chase sighed. “Jack, what do you think?” When Jack didn’t answer, Chase looked over at him. “Hello? Dude, you alright?”

Jack startled. “What? Sorry, sorry, sorry, I just—what were you saying?” He wasn’t even looking at the others, all his attention turned outward. His shoulders were tense, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the surface of the table. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna go sit over there, I’ll be—I’ll be—I’ll be right back.” And with that, he stood up and walked over to the nearest tree, sitting on the ground with his back against it and his knees drawn up to his chin.

“That’s...weird,” Chase muttered, exchanging a look with Jameson. “Uh, Schneep, Jack just...left but we can still see him and he looks...nervous. To say the least.”

Schneep frowned. “Well, we can’t have that.” He slid off the bench. “At least one of you needs to get me over to where he is now.”

“Yeah, let’s all go.”

It was only a short walk over to where Jack was sitting. Once there, the three others sat down, all facing him. Jack didn’t even look at them, just looking around them for...something.

“Hey bro, you doing alright?” Chase asked.

“Huh? Yeah yeah, I’m okay,” Jack said, still not looking at them.

“Jack, even I can see that you are upset,” Schneep said gently.

“I’m not upset, I’m not, I’m just—” Jack broke off. His eyes were going back and forth, darting around the scenery wildly. He was rocking gently.

You’re right, you’re not upset, you’re having a panic attack, Jameson signed, eyes widening.

“What? Panic? No no, I’m—I’m—”

“Panicking,” Chase supplied. “Jack. You don’t have to tell us what’s wrong. But at least tell us that something is wrong.”

There was a long moment of silence. Jack finally settled on looking at the others. “I—I don’t want to make you guys upset,” he finally admitted. “You’re all relaxed, and having a good time, and I’m over here, just fucking...I don’t like this. I-I don’t like this. I d-don’t. I don’t like this. I don’t li-like it.” His words became more choked up with each repetition.

Schneep moved first, blindly leaning forward with a hand outstretched until it found Jack’s knee. From there, he scooted over to Jack, ending up next to him. “Tell me if this makes you not good, okay?” he asked, then leaned on Jack, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

Jack tensed at first, but soon melted into the contact. “No, that’s...that’s the opposite of not good,” he mumbled, tilting his head so it rested on top of Schneep’s. “Thanks.”

“Is no problem.”

Jack, are you comfortable telling us anything about how you feel right now? JJ asked slowly.

“I...” Jack took a deep breath. “I feel...like I can’t keep track of anything. Like there’s something bad about to happen, but I don’t know what, o-or where it’s gonna come from, because there’s no—it’s easier when I can see, like, an entrance or something, because then I know where—but there aren’t any doors or windows out here, and it-it could be anywhere!”

“You are breathing fast,” Schneep suddenly said. “Calm down a bit. Do it more slowly.”

Jack did his best, trying to take slow, shaking breaths. “I just—I want everything to go back to normal, so I thought...maybe if I didn’t—I don’t fucking know, talk about this, then it would just—”

“That’s not how it works,” Chase said firmly. “Things don’t just go away if you don’t talk about them. If anything, they just get stronger.” His voice softened. “Jack...you’ve been through a lot. We all have, and you’re not...you’re not any less important than the rest of us. If something freaks you out, then tell us so we can avoid it.”

“But—”

“It’s what you did for me, isn’t it? It’s what you did for Jays and it’s what you’re doing for Schneep. If you honestly thought we’d be more upset about having to change something than about giving you a fucking panic attack, then you’re completely wrong. What kind of friends would we be if that was the case?”

Jack made a small whimper sound. There were tears in his eyes, and though he was aware he could blink them away, he didn’t. “Thank you...” He buried his face in Schneep’s shoulder, who made no effort to pull away and instead reached up and started running his hand through Jack’s hair comfortingly. “Thank you, guys...”

“I told you, it is not a problem,” Schneep said with a smile. “Do you want to go home?”

“...yes.”

“Then we will go home.”

After a moment more, Jack pulled away from Schneep, standing up. The others followed suit. “I...you’re...you’re all great,” Jack said. “You’re all...I love you guys.”

And we love you too, Jack, JJ signed cheerfully. If you ever wish to talk, we’ll be ready to listen.

“It might...be a while.” Jack reached up and rubbed his right eye. It’s moments like this when he can feel the phantom pain.

And that’s alright, JJ assured him. We’ll all share in our own time.

The four of them walked back in silence, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t need to speak to understand.

Weeks passed. They eventually worked out a system for leaving the apartment. A pair would always go, leaving another pair behind. Jack was trying to readjust to open spaces, and Schneep was trying to adjust to his new disability. They were all slowly starting to open up about what happened to all of them.

They also realized that funds were running low. An unfortunate set of circumstances, since Jack and Chase were still “missing” and couldn’t do much without attracting the police, who’d ask questions they honestly couldn’t answer without sounding insane. Schneep also couldn’t return to his job; surgery was one of those jobs that required sight, as did many others. Jack was considering returning to his YouTube channel, but until he worked up the courage to do so, JJ took it upon himself to find some way to earn money for this new household.

He and Chase were out one evening in early January, searching for a place of business that was hiring and also wouldn’t mind having a strange, silent man working for them. It was slow going, but they were both optimistic.

“We should probably start heading back soon,” Chase said, checking the time on his phone. “Unless we want Jack to cook.”

Jameson shuddered at the thought. Alright, but if I may...I need to use the bathroom.

“Alright. I think this place has one, might as well. I’ll wait here.” Chase leaned against the wall.

I’ll be back in five minutes. With that, JJ turned and walked back into the office building they’d just come from.

And five minutes later, he walked back out, only to find Chase wasn’t there. He froze at first, then trampled down the surge of fear that had immediately arisen. That wasn’t any guarantee that something bad had happened, maybe he just...he couldn’t think of another explanation.

His head whipped side to side, and barely caught a glimpse of someone rounding the nearby corner. Though he only just saw the person, he could tell that it was Chase just from the build and the brief color of the hair. He broke into a run, speeding to catch up with him.

He turned the corner, seeing Chase leaning against the wall once again. But wait. He wasn’t wearing his bandanna and wristbands. And there was nothing underneath. Instead, there were a pair of necklaces, white teardrop-shaped pendants—

“Hey, Jackson.” He smiled. “Did you m̷i̕ss m͠e̵͢?͞”

Chase woke up lying on the ground of an alleyway. His head felt fuzzy, and when he tried to stand up he suddenly got dizzy and had to try three times to get to his feet. What...happened? He pressed his hand to his swimming head, and something brushed against his face. He jolted, then looked at his wrist. The string had come loose from underneath the wristband. And...on the other wrist too. He looked down. A string was dangling from underneath his bandanna, too.

Panic stopped his heart. “JJ?” he called. “Jameson? Can you—can you clap or something if you can hear me?” When there was no obvious answer, he ran out of the alleyway and shouted, “Jameson?! Give me some sign you can hear me! Jameson?!”

He looked around. No sign of Jameson. But there was something to his left. He felt a sort of...familiar tingling coming from that way, a sense that made his stitches feel hot. He hesitated for a split second before running toward it.

He rounded the corner, and the feeling increased. Nobody was there. But then Chase looked down, and his blood became ice.

Lying on the sidewalk was Jameson’s mask.

“No...” Chase breathed. “No, no, you didn’t...” He scooped up the mask. It looked the same as it always did, except for the fact that it wasn’t on JJ. “Shit!” He reached into his pocket and sent a text to Jack: We have a problem.

He didn’t even wait for a reply before turning around and sprinting back toward the apartment. They weren’t going to let this happen again. He wasn’t going to let this happen again.

That bastard wasn’t going to touch any of them ever again.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #chase brody #jameson jackson #dr schneeplestein #antisepticeye #brigid writes fanfiction #fixing stitching #stitchedstories

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flowers-by-the-bed · 5 years ago

Text

Just ignore this it’s just for me to try and organise myself because idk what to do right now aside from cut myself up and hit my head and I’m trying my fucking best to not do that. But as always I need the knowledge that my thoughts are “out there” rather than just writing somewhere private in order to feel like it’s helped me. Not that I have much hope for that anyway. I was doing so so well, moving on, making progress, taking control of things, finding good influences to be around and getting my work done and it all gets shattered over nothing or when my meds don’t work as well as they should. Everything in my life and everything about me is so fragile and built on such fragile foundations and however stable or genuine the changes I make seem, they are nothing. Even if my mood flips again tomorrow and things magically get better, it doesn’t make my emotions any less strong right now, and it would definitely flip back to this as soon as the next stressor happens. I hate it.

I wrote out a huge post about all my feelings earlier and it made me feel better but I went to post it and the fucking connection got fucked and it deleted itself and that alone has sent me spiralling and im so upset and angry and that just says everything, i almost threw my laptop at the wall but threw my phone instead. I’ve been trying to remember what I said because it made me feel better but I just keep crying and hitting things and myself and I cannot shake it, and that’s my reality rn

_____

I’m so exhausted being me and being this mess and I don’t want to even try anymore. Whatever I do and however much I think I make progress, I always end up back in this situation with no triggers or warning. No progress or motivation is worth it because I will never be fixed or stable and there isn’t a guide to navigate this. Why should I try and move forward when within three days this can happen and I’m back at square one. Either my meds were faulty or this is just me but who the fuck cares which it is because either way I’m just a fucking incapable piece of shit. There is no reason I should flip this quickly and feel so strongly over literally nothing but tiny normal inconveniences and the level that I hate myself because of everything and just in general is too much. I hated myself anyway but EUPD moods make it so much worse and so much more intense and I literally cannot do anything close to normal functioning when this happens. My dad came round to check how I was and I cried for a while but then I was ready to try and go out the house with him, but I saw myself in the mirror and had a complete breakdown and cried in bed for hours and didn’t speak. I’m fucking pathetic but I can feel all of the fucking fat on my body everywhere and it feels like a disease, I disgust myself. I couldn’t move or even think about going outside because I couldn’t and still cant stand the thought of anyone seeing my body. It’s vile and I hate it and even when I have a few good weeks and start eating normal amounts again, seeing my body sends me back into a spiral and I regret ever eating at all. I’m crying now because it just feels like you can see the fat expand by the minute and it makes my anxiety and anger and sadness go haywire. I don’t want to try anymore I’m exhausted trying to pretend that one day I’ll get fixed and I’ll be stable enough for myself that I can lead a normal life but it just isn’t possible. I want to drop dead because this is not living. I am exhausted of my thoughts making me think of the most triggering things when I know full well I am already bad enough that I want to die and hurt myself, and just sinking lower into that spiral until I scare myself about what I’m going to do. Every single month there is something that brings me back to this place where I remember that no matter what progress I’ve made, it’s all fake and down to some fucking pills. And as soon as those get taken away, I’m back to being some pathetic waste of space and effort who’s almost 25 and unable to even control their fucking emotions even at the bare minimum level so I can function. I felt so guilty with my dad here and me just being a wreck and unable to talk or go outside. It’s pathetic. I don’t know why I deserve a head that hates me this much and can’t do it’s only fucking job. I’m tired of faking it and tired of hating myself and tired of knowing that for as long as my life lasts, this is all it’s going to be. And it isn’t a life. It isn’t fair and I don’t know why I had to end up like this. EUPD is ugly and it is vile and eventually, whenever it happens, this will be what kills me. The only things that distracted me even a little was my dad coming over and keeping me busy before I fell back into that hole and Matt messaging me, because it grounded me a little for an hour or so because it was nice to interact when it’s been months, but it didn’t work for long. Those aside, I just want to be someone else. It’s too much, I don’t know how to get my thoughts out, I can’t get the anger out even when I hurt myself or break things, it’s like drowning in self-hate to the degree that you cannot see anything else. I just want to sleep and wake up and have this whole stupid fucking disorder and brain gone or a bad dream. It’s not hard to see why I don’t achieve anything, I will never get to my full potential because of my brain and the boat has pretty much already sailed on me achieving the things I wanted to with my work anyway. Because of how incapacitated I have always been during education because of this. It’s not hard to see why people leave, why I am too much to handle. I flip so quickly and the anger expects others to understand what’s going on when in reality I don’t have any idea either. I need validation and then I don’t want a thing from them. It’s too much. I don’t blame anyone. I blame myself. Every aspect of my life gets fucked up by my inability to control myself or my thoughts or feelings and this is just a huge fucking pity party for me to try and organise my thoughts, just so that for the rest of today, I might be able to move my head away from them now. I’m exhausted. I’m angry. I’m upset. I’m detached from 90% of the people in my life and I don’t care. I just want to hide until I drop or until just one area of my life makes sense. If I could hate myself less and not want to puke and cry and cut every time I saw my body, I’d be able to come with the sad and the angry. If I didn’t react so strongly to the smallest triggers, or felt stable, or stable in my relationships, or able to trust ANYONE, I’d be able to deal with hating myself a little better. If I didn’t read meaning into everything people say and misinterpret things, or have such a strong emotional reaction to people speaking to me or whatever then I’d have more stable relationships and I could cope better with the rest. If I didn’t have such bad anxiety affecting most of my life, the EUPD in general would be easier to control. If I didn’t feel this inability or desire to share with the people in my life who actually do care, I’d find things easier to deal with and would have an actual support system. But by my own design and suspicion and refusal to overshare and burden people directly, I’m a fucking mess. Everything hitting me at the same time, at 400% power, it incapacitates me. I wish I didn’t have a personality disorder so I knew exactly what I’m actually like, and not constantly wondering what is me and what is an illness. I wish I wasn’t anxious so I trusted people’s intentions and could be myself instead of reining myself in and being terrified of being bad at things or embarrassing myself, and never making progress with anything or anyone because of it. I wish I had a healthy relationship with food. I wish I didn’t self harm. I wish I wasn’t depressed. I just want to be someone else and be a real adult. Life is hard enough without an arsenal of chemical imbalances and broken mental Schemas. I was doing SO well and it equates to nothing. I don’t want to be a 24 year old pathetic mess of a person. It’s too much. Although I do it to myself because I’m not someone who enjoys talking directly to people about my problems and I’d never want to burden them, it’s alienating and hard to try and function without explaining what is wrong.

#personal #eupd #bpd #mental health #illness #venting

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