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khaire-traveler · 1 year

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Is it the gods, an imposter/trickster spirit, or your own trauma?

The reason I am choosing to make this post is because I've seen an increase in the trickster/imposter spirit talk in polytheist and pagan spaces, and I feel like I have some personal experience with this that may be helpful to share with others. Whether you agree or disagree with me is entirely up to you, and I am not trying to force anyone to follow the same belief system as me, since we all have a different truth, but I wanted to share my take on things in case it can be useful to someone, so without further adieu, here we go.

I feel like there is a serious problem within pagan spaces of individuals projecting their personal traumas onto gods.

I'm just gonna outright say it: this is a very real problem within the pagan (and the polytheist) community. So, what exactly do I mean by this? How are people "projecting their traumas onto gods"?

When I say this, I don't mean to imply that people are doing this intentionally. In fact, I think that 99% of the time people are doing this without realizing it. It takes a serious level of self-awareness to recognize when one is projecting traumas onto a situation, and in my experience, therapy often aids significantly in making these types of discoveries; once you recognize it within yourself, sometimes you can also recognize similar behaviors in others (do not diagnose anybody with anything, though, or assume you know everything about them and their life).

Personally, I have done a lot of self-reflection and have become very aware of behaviors and experiences I've had in the past where I've projected my trauma onto the gods. For a lot of these experiences, at the time, I thought I was going through a situation with imposter spirits or "deity drama" (experiencing some kind of major drama with the gods), but looking back, I have spotted several underlying patterns (I suggest always looking for underlying patterns within your own situations; are your situations often very similar to each other, and do they remind you of situations from your past) within all of these scenarios - they have always been connected in one way or another, whether it be by the type of things the "gods" or "spirits" are communicating to me (what they are saying) or the type of situation I've gotten myself into with these entities (the type of drama I'm experiencing/how the situation plays out; e.g. it relates to some form of abandonment, hyper-criticism, emotional abuse, etc.).

In order to tell if these things are trauma-related, I've found that stopping and asking myself a few questions has been really helpful.

First, I asked myself, "When was the first time I felt this way in my life?" By that, I am asking myself when I first felt the emotion I'm feeling in the given situation (does this situation feel familiar, does this sense of sense of abandonment feel familiar, does this feeling of helplessness feel familiar, etc.). You'd be surprised how many times the answer to this question in a "negative experience with the gods" has been yes (100% of the time, actually).

The second question I ask myself is, "Would [insert deity name here] actually do [insert problem/bad experience here] to me?" Remember to think very critically about this question. It can be easy to think - especially if you have religious trauma - that some deity would really spend their time focused on "punishing" or berating you in particular, but realistically speaking, would a deity really spend their time tearing you down instead of lifting you up? Would they really spend their time telling you about how awful you are, how disappointed they are, how you're doing everything wrong, etc., especially if this is a deity you have been historically very close with? Why would this deity be upset with you in the first place? Now, sometimes deity DO get upset with us for our actions (and it is important to note that you may not click with every deity you encounter), but even then, keep in mind that deities are extremely mature and ancient beings; they aren't going to treat you in a cruel, or even abusive, manner. If you don't think deities are mature enough to treat and respect you as an actual person, maybe you should examine why you feel this way about them. Do you expect to be treated as less than a person by other people as well? Have you been treated this way in the past? Look for possible connections to your past traumas before completely discounting the idea that these beliefs are entirely unbiased.

With the third question, it's important to think very critically about your situation. "Why would [insert deity name here] treat me this way?" When answering this question, make sure to consider also asking yourself if you expect to be treated this way by other humans; the answer to that can be very telling. Some people also assume deities will treat them a certain way due to a deity's mythos. It's imperative to realize that a deity is often very different from their mythos in reality. Mythology isn't typically meant to be interpreted literally. Most of the time, mythology was there to explain things that didn't make sense to humans at the time, such as the seasons changing or the sun moving across the sky. Of course, that wasn't the only purpose of mythology, but it was one of the many. Along with that, deities were often paired with the cultural values of the time, such as Hades kidnapping Persephone being a common practice in ancient Greece when "taking a wife" or Zeus giving Persephone's hand in marriage without telling Demeter or Persephone first (fathers were seen as having the right to marry off their daughters, with or without consent). Consider the cultural context of a deity's mythos before immediately assuming a deity is accurately represented by it. Again, deities are extremely mature and ancient beings, so realistically, would such a wise, knowledgeable, and very mature being treat you in whatever way you think they're treating you now? Why do you think this?

A simple and easy answer for a deity acting out of character that people have come up with is "it's an imposter/trickster spirit", but...is it really? Or could it just be your personal traumas reflecting onto that deity? Do these situations feel a bit familiar to you? Do these harsh criticisms sound like something you'd maybe even say to yourself when in a negative state of mind? How would this spirit know how and when to target all of your deepest insecurities (spirits cannot just randomly read minds, in my experience)? Would it even be worth it for a spirit to impersonate a deity (think of the potential consequences they'd face for pretending to be a literal god; if humans were punished for their hubris, just think of what would happen to a spirit)? Would a deity really just allow some random spirit to impersonate them, and if so, why do you think this? Random spirits are not more powerful than literal gods - remember this. Do you think a god wouldn't at least try protect their worshippers from imposters in some way? Why would some spirit pretend to be a god anyway? What would they have to gain from you?

Rather than it being an imposter/trickster spirit "messing with you", could it really be your personal trauma manifesting itself within your mind?

A good example of something actually being trauma, within my personal life, is when I thought that Hermes was permanently leaving my life. After the fact, I blamed my experiences on an imposter/trickster spirit, but when I actually stopped and examined the situation, I realized it was a culmination of past traumas and fears coming to light and manifesting themselves within my mind. I began almost looking for reasons why Hermes would want to leave my life and told myself that he was going to "abandon" me, despite receiving tarot readings, and even some dreams, that were reassuring me Hermes was sticking around. I had constant nightmares about the situation, misinterpreted signs as being negative, and was constantly anxious about Hermes' perception of me. When I reflected on times in the past where I perceived to have been abandoned by others, I realized that this situation was eerily similar to these past traumatic events in my life. I took a step back from the situation, calmed my nerves as best as I could, and reproached the situation with a clearer and more stable mind. Sometimes taking that step back can help significantly in figuring out the true cause of a spiritual problem.

Why are deities so easy to project our traumas onto?

As is everything within this post, this is my personal opinion; you don't have to agree with me.

Personally, I believe deities act as mirrors into our subconscious. They reflect parts of ourselves that we choose to hide from, often to aid in our personal growth. Sometimes, though, they do this unintentionally, and I think it's something that's just inherent in their nature. I can't fully explain it, but it's definitely a phenomenon that I've seen time and time again within both my own practice and the practices of others.

As well as this, deities are intangible beings that we often cannot hear, see, or physically interact with. When you can't hear what someone is trying to say to you explicitly, your own biases and experiences often do the work for you in interpreting what that person is trying to communicate. It becomes alarmingly easy to assume that they're upset with you, randomly leaving your life forever, and so on. Think of a time where maybe a friend didn't respond to a text you sent and you thought they were upset at or ignoring you. When you have existing traumas involving people abandoning, ignoring, or even just being generally upset with you by not interacting with you, it becomes extremely easy to misinterpret the actions of others as something more malicious. It becomes extremely easy to project your past traumatic experiences onto completely unrelated situations and people. This is the same for deities, especially since you cannot hear, see, or physically interact with them.

What should you do if you discover that you've been projecting trauma onto a deity?

Chances are that if you've been projecting trauma onto a deity, they're already aware of it. In fact, they may have been trying to help reassure you or send communicate that the situation is not what it seems. You can find this is signs/reminders that they're still a part of your life, divination readings that everything is ok (despite you thinking or feeling otherwise), comforting dreams featuring the deity of symbols of said deity, and so on. Try looking for these signs and/or messages within your life, and see what you can find.

In rare cases, the deity may have been entirely unaware of the situation. I think, either way, it's best to communicate with this deity and tell them what you suspect has been going on. If you feel the need, you can offer an apology and maybe provide an offering as a way to make amends, but in my opinion, you never have to apologize for experiencing trauma and not knowing how to properly cope with it. Therapy exists for a reason, and trauma isn't something that you have to be ashamed of. Deities are very understanding and forgiving, and more than likely, they're not going to judge you for having potentially projected trauma onto them. In my experience, you have nothing to be afraid of.

If you're still unsure whether you are projecting trauma onto a deity or not, that's ok. Sometimes you never really get a concrete answer. When that happens, my advice is to move past the situation as best you can. You can give offerings to the deity and tell them, "I need to move past this situation with you because it is negatively affecting my mental health and well-being. When I am more stable/feeling better, we can readdress the issue," and take a step back from the problem for a while. It is more than ok to need space and time away from a deity or a situation to focus on your own wellness. If something is extremely triggering or upsetting for you, let your deity know, and take that step back that you need. You can always come back to the issue later, when you feel readier and more equipped to tackle the problem. Sometimes it just takes time for the issue to resolve itself, too. Either way, always prioritize yourself and your well-being.

Conclusion

It's clear that my stance regarding trickster/imposter spirits is simply that they aren't really a thing. This doesn't mean spirits can't be problematic (because they absolutely can), but I just personally feel that spirits aren't pretending to be gods. Spirits can certainly cause issues in other ways, such as messing with divination, causing you to feel uncomfortable/uneasy, or even being generally antagonistic towards you, but I don't personally believe they impersonate gods. It just doesn't seem realistic or worth it to me, especially when considering the fact that there will more than likely be massive consequences for such actions. It's more than ok if you disagree with me, but I'd like to ask that you don't reply to my post with an argument. This post is meant to give advice and share my personal thoughts, not start a debate about the existence of trickster/imposter spirits. To be completely honest, this is a triggering topic for me, but I wanted to make this post because I've seen so many new pagans and polytheists get discouraged or even straight up decline the opportunity to worship deities solely because they're scared of accidentally interacting with trickster spirits, and I want to reassure them by providing an alternative to out of character deity interactions. Plus, I haven't really seen anybody talk about this before, so I figured I'd hopefully shed some light on a topic that isn't usually discussed but is clearly a recurring issue within pagan and polytheist communities.

ANYWAY, thank you for reading this massive block of text! I hope it gave you some insight or at least a new perspective on this issue. Take care, and have a wonderful day/night! May your gods bless you, if you so wish them to. 🧡☺️

#deities #deity work #deity worship #paganblr #personal opinion #helpol #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #paganism #pagan deities

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crash-and-cure · 1 year

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If I Were You Part 3 (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: In the months since his return to the stage, you have been doing your best to keep the relationship between you and Elvis underwraps while also trying to continue treatment. You’ve been able to somewhat manage this this precarious balancing act, but an upcoming event threatens the stability you’ve created while also having you reflect on your past and worrying about your future.

Note: I know I said in my last update that I would have had this done earllier, but good news, i ended up breaking what was planned for this part in two so that should be done... soon. All together this part was orginally 24k words, so... yeah the break was necessary, and works slighty better for the flow. Reader is cis female, as well as some background in readers home life, and aside from that no other descriptors are used. I do have a Bachelor’s in Psychology, but I am not a therapist, so nothing here should be treated as genuine mental health advice. Please read the warnings before deciding to read.

Also getting together a taglist so let me know if you want to be tagged for the next chapter or alternately, if you are tagged and would like to be removed let me know.

Words count: 12k

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, jealous, and delusional behavior as well as some heavy allusions to blackmail, emotional and otherwise, here too. Dubious consent in some areas. Depictions of Therapy sessions, in which topics of relationships with parents, emotional abandonement, self-destructive behavior, performance anxiety, and exploitation, are discussed. Inappropriate relationship with Therapist (Which should go without saying). Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), Daddy Kink, Praise kink, cum eating, vaginal fingering, cockwarming (kinda), overstimulation and allusions to oral sex (f. recieving). Depictions parental abuse that including depictions of parentification, favoritism, as well as emotional neglect and abandonment. Also mentions of Elvis' mommy issues, and more exploration readers daddy issues. Period typical misogyny depicted. Finally depictions of a toxic relationship that include power imbalances, emotional manipulation, uses of coercion, grabbing that leads to bruising and verbal mistreament. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

My Masterlist

When you had received your Doctorate, it was perhaps the proudest moment of your life. One of only a few women in your graduating class, you remember seeking out your parents in the audience and hoping to see their beaming faces after all that you had accomplished. Instead you found them apathetic with virtually no change in expression when your name was announced, about as excited to see you up there as they would be watching water boil. You remember only feeling the slightest twinge of hurt at that, before plastering on your biggest, fakest smile to receive your degree.

After the ceremony they would both greet you with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes, limp hugs, and mild platitudes about how hard you worked. You can at least appreciate that they would go through the motions of putting on the facade of proud parents. Your father would take you to the nicest restaurant in the city and let you order whatever you wanted. He would also call you “fellow Dr.Y/L/N,” as though he hadn’t spent the past four years rolling his eyes at your chosen field as a whole. Your mother would present you with a blue Tiffany box containing a pearl necklace to wear now that you were a working professional and follow up the night interrogating you as to whether or not you had a boyfriend. Even your brother made an appearance at dinner, claiming to have been too busy at the hospital to have gone to the ceremony, and you all politely ignored the grass stains on his pants, telling you he was anywhere but seeing patients that day. Afterwards you would go back to your own apartment that night, throw the blue box into a drawer and cry yourself to sleep. This is one of your more pleasant interactions with your family in recent memory.

That night you made a promise to yourself that regardless of how they all felt about it, you promised to always take pride in what you accomplished. You would take pride in it because who else would?

Now though, as you gaze at the degree over Elvis’ shoulder as he thrusts erratically into you and whispers filthy things into your ear, it is nothing more than another source of shame. Somehow you can feel it mocking you with its presence, stating how you aren’t worthy of it, as though it’s privy to every single way you’ve violated your moral duty as a therapist just tonight.

You would close your eyes to it, choosing to revel in the feeling of him within you as you both neared the edge. All of the problems you're facing seem so far away now that you’re with him, even though logically you know that he’s the source of many of them.

“You’re so good for me mama,” he would whisper against your skin, sending reverberations throughout your whole body, and involuntarily making you let out a soft mewl in response. After months of encounters like these, you’re still paranoid that anybody could overhear you, so he takes particular pleasure in his ability to make you lose yourself in your office like this. He makes a pleased hum, rewarding you by rubbing your clit in tight circles that has you seeing stars. You fall back on your desk, your degrees forgotten, as you wrap your legs around him to keep him in as much as you can.

Elvis halts as your walls tighten around him, his brow furrowing and his breathing getting more ragged as he tries to prevent himself from cumming. The look in his eyes has you kissing him hungrily in an attempt to muffle yourself as the aftershocks run through your body. You’re hyper aware of every sensation he’s giving you from the way his fingers lightly trail from your hip to the back of your knee to the way his chest hair feels against your nipples. You’re far too sensitive, every nerve is a live wire ready to burn, but he’s far from done with you.

He’s still hard inside you, a fact he’s not about to let you forget as he continues his unforgiving rhythm once more. That last orgasm took everything out of you and you barely have the energy to lift a finger let alone meet his thrusts no matter how much you want to. Elvis takes advantage of your pliancy to grab a hold of your knee and hook it over his shoulder, giving him a new angle to better spear himself into you.

“You love taking care of me dontcha darlin’? You live to take care of your daddy?” Every word drips like honey on your soul.

“Yes daddy” you breathe as tears threaten to stream down your face. You hate how easily it falls off your tongue.

“You got another one in ya’ baby?” he growls, feeling his lips brush against the skin above your knee.

“N-no, it’s too much ahh-” you’re interrupted when he takes an especially harsh bite at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You can already feel the bruise starting to form as he lathes his tongue along the bite and asks you again.

“You know what I wanna hear mama,” he grunts, a particularly feral grin as you feel a few tears escape.

“Pl-please make me cum again daddy” you beg, desperate in a way only he has ever been able to make you. You let out a needy whine as he stops to plant a knee on your desk, before he takes a hold of your hips and pulls out of you until only the tip remains, before proceeding to ram you back into place.

He’s not moving, instead he’s moving you up and down his cock, and you’re left a keening mess beneath him. The obscene and humiliating feeling of being used by him as more a thing to fuck into in the end is what does it for you. You blindly reach out onto the desk behind you, frantically needing some sort of leverage as you peak once again, this one even more devastating than the last. You clench around him, desperate for everything he can give. And never let it be said that Elvis Presley is not a giver.

Elvis lets out a guttural groan as your walls close in around him again, and you feel hot streams of cum paint your insides. After what feels like an eternity, he finally pulls out and you see him take a bit of a step back as though to fully admire his work. A chill goes up your spine at his intense gaze on you as well as the feeling of his cum beginning to leak out of you, and you feel rather than hear his purr of approval at the sight. You give a strangled yelp when you feel him dip his fingers back in before he hoists you up into a sitting position.

“How’s it taste mama?” he says, removing his fingers from your mouth.

“Good” you’re barely able to breathe out.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, bringing you closer to him and giving you a long languid kiss.

He had been in a particularly jovial mood as of late due to his suit against Tom Parker finally being settled in his favor. After all the evidence of mismanagement and shady business practices was brought to light, along with Diskin’s absolute bombshell testimony of all other unethical behavior behind the scenes, the Judge had no choice but to rule in Elvis’ favor. It had been a long battle, and Elvis discovered the people he could and couldn’t trust, but seeing him healthy and looking forward to the road ahead without all that was holding him back shows you that it was worth it in the end.

The last few sessions had simply been mostly him discussing all that he’s excited for with this new chapter in his life. How planning for the world tour is now officially underway and all the places he’ll be able to visit and perform, and you’re able to share in his excitement, but for a much different reason. Today, he even proudly announced to you how soon he’s going to begin training to get his pilot’s license. Despite how off the rails his treatment has become, you’re proud to see this development and view this as a small victory as he told you months before how he’s always wanted to fly, but was always hesitant due to his mothers fears.

It was at the very least a good indicator of the progress he’s made in therapy in the fact that his risk taking behavior has become far more controlled. If you remember correctly he had first brought up the idea months ago. Right around the same time he returned to the stage.

The weeks following the concert were a silent struggle between the two of you, with you trying to retain whatever agency you could and attempts at reducing his tighter and tighter grip on your life and him trying to enmesh himself further into your life. It was a careful balancing act of compromise, mostly on your part, and picking and choosing your battles.

Officially he’s no longer your patient, however that doesn’t stop him from meeting with you at his regular times, nor do you even attempt to fill that vacant spot in your schedule. You attend any and all social events he wants you to, but you tell no one your full name, let alone your official title. He wants you all but sitting in his lap during session and you have to settle for being within arms reach of him at all times. He refuses condoms, but begrudgingly accepts that you’re on the pill, and so on and so forth.

Now with this… unconventional development in your relationship there is now the expectation of reciprocity from him. Any probe you make for treatment, if you can even call it that anymore, now always has to be preceded by a look into your own life. You learned this a few sessions in when the two of you had gotten on to the topic of his early days of touring, and how it affected his relationships back home.

“It was real tough on my Mama, bein’ away for so long.” he said, before looking at you. “But ain’t that how all of ‘em feel when the kids leave. Like you.”

“Elvis this isn’t about me.”

“I know,” he says with that smirk that makes your face feel warm. “It’s about me, and me? I wanna know how your folks felt when you started goin’ to school?”

You give him a deadpan look, and he responds by leaning forward, elbows on his knees, seemingly eager to hear what you have to say. The look on his face tells you that he wasn’t going to talk until you did.

“Ok, if you’re so insistent,” you sigh, ignoring how his slight smirk turns into a full blown grin as he gets his way yet again. “I lived at home while I was getting my Bachelor’s, and if anything, my mother wanted me out and about as often as possible. She treated my education more as an expensive hobby that I would use to get a husband. She still believes that Benny was a boy I was seeing in my last two years, and not the diner I was working at.”

“How ‘bout your daddy?”

“He…” you hesitate a little, as this isn’t something you’ve ever been comfortable discussing. “...didn’t really like the idea of me going to school, thought I was too… delicate I guess. He especially didn’t like the idea of me with any man, but I do think it was more because he wanted to pick one for me.”

“You two close?”

That gets your attention as you realize you're treading into dangerous territory, as it's starting to sound suspiciously similar to when the two of you talk about his mother. Especially given the fact that he is very much aware of your…odd tendencies in bed. But you fear avoiding the topic altogether will only showcase that there is something to be prodded in the first place so you decide to leave him with something.

“I mean we were when I was a kid, but then, as it goes, we sort of drifted when I became a teen,” you tap your fingers along your notebook, knowing how to transition from this subject, yet hesitant to broach it. “Speaking of fathers, is there a reason you’re so interested in the topic today?”

He looks dismayed for a moment, before giving a small dry chuckle. “So I see you’ve been keepin’ up with them magazines.” His eyes however aren’t accusing, simply defeated.

“In regards to you Elvis, I try to avoid tabloids so as to be as unbiased as possible when it comes to our sessions.” This is a lie, as any time you’d been away from him you made it a point to scour these rags, to make sure they hadn’t caught on to your relationship. As you discovered they are aware of your existence, but no information beyond that other than a few pictures of you at some of his events. Because you are unknown to the public, and the fact that Elvis is remaining tight-lipped in regards to you, this only raises interest in discovering who you are. “I pay no mind to rumors, but when an event such as this occurs, I feel it warrants discussion. But I do want to hear from you what happened, if you are comfortable talking about that.”

He huffs at this, clearly angered by the situation, and maybe with you for bringing it up, but eventually he does concede. “What’s there to say, that piece of shit, got my own daddy to side with him as a character witness or whatever. Now I can’t even trust my own goddamn family to look out for me, ‘cause Parker may have them in his pocket too. Maybe I’m just easy to throw away if my own daddy can’t stand by my side.”

You let out a sigh as you plot your next words carefully. “Elvis, the decisions of our parents affect us no matter how young or old we are. It’s difficult to not internalize rejection as some sort of short-coming on our part, especially when it comes from family. I can’t speak for your father’s motivations to side with Parker, but I can say with absolute certainty that he chose wrong.”

He takes a second to look at you before giving you a somber smile. “Can’t say I’m surprised though. Ever since I found out ‘bout Parker, he’s been going to bat for him. “Trying to get me to forgive him or drop the case, and when I brought in someone else to manage the business, we just stopped talking altogether. Well… he stopped talking to me.”

“I know exactly how that feels,” you say without even thinking about it. When you realize what you had just said, you quickly try to recover. “I mean I… I’ve had patients who have experienced something similar,” you clear your throat. “Elvis, part of maintaining healthy relationships, is also recognizing when you're the only one putting in effort to preserve it. Did these feelings of abandonment exist prior to you firing or even meeting Parker?”

“I mean… I was always closer to Mama, and when I think about it, Daddy was just… there,” he says, looking at you for reassurance that you understood.

This certainly sounds like a familiar story you’ve heard before, but with the new information, you realize to some extent that Elvis had no choice but to latch on to his mother, with a father like this. “It… sounds to me that what you're describing is emotional abandonment,” you say to him. “Many patients have described how there is a relationship in their lives where they feel they put in all the effort of maintaining it. And how the person in question has ‘checked out’ essentially in that physically they’re present, but otherwise they don’t engage.”

“But he’s family.”

“I recognize that Elvis, but a hard truth about codependency is that it’s not limited to romantic relationships or friendships, and it can in fact occur or even be shaped by familial ones, considering that those tend to be the earliest ones in development.”

You wouldn’t say you’re exactly jumping for joy that he has an unhealthy dynamic with his father as well, but you do believe that being able to deconstruct his relationship with Vernon will at least act as a bridge that will allow him to reflect better on his relationship with his mother.

And luckily it seems to strike a chord with him, as he goes from defensive to angry to sadness to acceptance all within a few moments. “So what should I do ‘bout it doc?”

“I’m not going to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do in regards to your father Elvis. But what I can say is you’re the only one who can decide what you want a relationship, if any, with your father going forward to look like.”

“What ‘bout you?”

“Excuse me?”

“What does your relationship with your daddy look like”

“Oh… it’s fine,” you wave dismissively, desperately hoping for a change in subject.

“I know you better than that, Y/N,” he said, his eyes hardening. “You got something to say about your daddy and I think you really wanna tell me.”

“Elvis I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“Yes you did,” he says, so sure in his words. “You’re always so careful with what you say, ain’t no way you did that by accident. And if I’m going to figure out what relationship I want with my daddy, I think I need an example of what one could look like.”

You clench your jaw in frustration but you sigh in defeat, and give in, Because you always do, you think spitefully. What can you do though, he was able to discern that there was something with your relationship with your father from what little you’ve revealed, and now he’s latched on to getting it out of you. Not to mention he’s made a pretty convincing argument as to why it would benefit his treatment.

“My father and I have a very… troubled relationship. Prior to me going to college he didn’t interact with me outside of trying to guide where my life should go. And I listened every time in a vain attempt to return to that previously close relationship. But when I chose to go into this field he stopped interacting with me whatsoever. I still see him on occasion, because I want to maintain a good relationship with my other family members. And that’s the relationship I choose to have with my father.” you finish, feeling rawer than you have ever felt. Elvis, in the few months you’ve been doing this, had been able to get more out of you than most other partners you’ve had.

You look up to see him and find that he’s surprised and maybe a little confused at your answer. “I can’t believe he ain’t proud to see his own daughter become a doctor,” he says.

“He’s also a doctor, though in the medical field. As far as he cares, I have a useless degree in a useless field.” you say, biting your lip to stop it from quivering. “But I don’t let it get to me. I’m proud of the work I do and the people I help, even if he’s not.”

He goes quiet with your confession and silently he takes your hand, “Well for what it’s worth Doc… I’m glad you didn’t listen to him.”

You give a small smile at that, “Thank you.”

“I mean it Y/N, I’m so goddamn proud of all that you done. I feel like you don’t hear that enough.” Those words, though you hate to admit it, have an effect on you, and you lean forward, resting your forehead against his, your eyes welling up with tears.

Lately he had the courtesy to not start anything sexual until at least the 45 minute mark of session. Though you don’t hold your breath at the thought that this is progress in any way. The more pragmatic part of you believes that he is simply getting over the high of having you at his beck and call, and now he’s exploring other aspects of a relationship. Part of the reason you’ve let this continue is that you hope to some extent that you can help him model what a healthy relationship looks like with emotional vulnerability, compromise, and honesty. You suspect with the world tour on the horizon that the end of this arrangement is on the horizon, and you can only hope that he takes what he’s learned from this simulation and he goes on to have a better romantic relationship in the future.

Surprisingly enough you are able to help him to some extent with this turn in your relationship. Particularly he felt more comfortable in discussing previously more touchy aspects of his life. About a month after his return concert, the two of you discussed the anxiety that his status as a sex symbol has caused him over the years.

“I always hated bein’ called that,” he stared morosely looking at the floor. “It felt like I was always workin’ and always had to be what everyone thought I was.”

“In what regard?”

“I was always worried that if I didn't give these women the best night of their lives, it would get back to the world that I wasn't what they called me.”

“I can imagine that this was a major source of stress, due to public perception being essential in your line of work.”

“I guess,” he said. “Sometimes it felt more like a… like a chore. If I didn’t live up to what they were hopin’ for, then I wasn't doin’ my job. But ain’t that normal though doctor?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean ain’t there always somethin’ you're scared of happenin’ with your work. Like you, doc. What’s the scariest part of the job for you?”

You mean aside from this whole situation, you think sarcastically. You want more than anything to tell him that, but still you feel the ardent need to keep this going due to your sense of a breakthrough on the horizon. Though you can’t totally trust your own instincts anymore when it comes to him, as you can’t rule out that this isn’t you insulating him from the truth of the matter.

Greatest fears is not an uncommon question to be asked, but you can usually respond with the standard, snakes or spiders, but his specific wording of it having to do with your job also has you nervous. Does he want you to admit the truth so he has a reason to be mad and avoid delving deeper or does he want you to lie and validate that this relationship isn’t the worst thing to happen to you? Ultimately you decide to err on the side of caution and give him a half truth.

“Given the nature of my specialty, my greatest fear for all of my patients is seeing them return to their old habits. Specifically when I see them return to those who abused them,” you answer. “It’s like saving someone from a fire, only to turn around and see them run back in.” This is certainly not untrue as, while not so frequent, you have had this happen more than once, and experiencing it is a particular type of hell in your opinion, as it reinforces the fact that at the end of the day there is only so much you can do to help people. Before Elvis, you thought it was the worst thing you could possibly experience as a therapist.

You're wrenched from your thoughts by a comforting hand on your knee. “You don’t gotta worry about that with me baby,” he whispers to you. “I ain’t ever goin’ back to him after all the shit he pulled.”

If you can take comfort in anything about this whole situation, you can take comfort in that fact. You rest your hand on top of his for a moment, even curling your fingers slightly, before looking into his eyes. Truly he has some of the most mesmerizing eyes you’ve seen in your life, his dark lashes outlining the deep oceans that never fail to leave you a drift. You even begin to reconsider your opinion on hypnosis, considering his ability to make you act like a completely different person with seemingly a single look.

You pull yourself away from those thoughts, remembering that you have a job to do. So you gently squeeze his hand once more before clearing your throat to continue the session, though you don’t make any motion to remove his hand from its spot on your leg. “I would like to circle back to your frequent flings in Vegas if you wouldn’t mind.” you probe softly. You have a theory, but you want him to reach that first.

“Go ahead.”

“When most people describe their reasoning for affairs, it typically boils down to some want or need not being met in their relationship. Previously when we talked about this topic before, it was to my understanding that the distance from Priscilla was the driving factor in this behavior,” he shrugged his shoulders at this. “But now you’ve described how you took little satisfaction from these encounters, even likening it to a chore. Please help me better understand what you gained from these experiences or what was different with these women.”

He sits on this question for about a minute, bringing a fist to his mouth as he typically does whe deep in thought. “I ain’t gonna lie and say I didn’t wanna fuck at all, but I guess more than anythin’ I didn’t wanna be alone those nights.” He smiled sardonically at that statement before continuing, “Funny thing though, it was never as good with women I didn’t know that well, and it just made that lonely feelin’ worse. What do ya’ make of that Doc?”

You ponder his response, though it is pretty much what you suspected. “It sounds to me, that what you were seeking wasn’t necessarily sex, but intimacy,” you state.

“Ain’t they the same thing?”

“They certainly can be,” you say. “But what separates the two is an emotional connection. I suspect that the reason that these encounters weren’t satisfying for you was because that connection was missing.”

“Yeah,” he says with a long tired sigh “Yup that sounds ‘bout right.” He covers his face with his hand as though ashamed, before saying, “Fuck, I feel so stupid. How I ain’t never noticed before?”

“Elvis, please don’t speak about yourself that way,” you say in your softest tone. “It’s hard to truly reflect on our behavior and how it affects us, unless directly confronted with it. To some extent we view ourselves with blinders on, making self-reflection and by extension, change, nearly impossible without the intervention of consequences.” Taking his hand away from his eyes and holding it before continuing. “Especially when you’re living a life where outside forces are encouraging the behaviors that you were exhibiting. I commend you for having enough courage to change.”

His expression is still solemn as he says, “you sound like you knew already. Is this real common with the others?”

“I can reassure you that to some extent, everybody on some level wishes to be understood. I’ve heard stories from patients who have admitted to hiring escorts for the sole purpose of listening to them speak about their day and pretend to be their girlfriend. You don’t have to feel alone in your need for companionship, as it feels like part of the human condition is to seek out understanding from another person.”

A small smile finally breaks his grim face. “Lucky for me that I think I found her,” he says, kissing your hand. As you put your hand over his once more, all you’re thinking about is that the only difference between you and a prostitute right now is that you’re partially covered by his insurance.

When your time was officially up that day, you were already prepared for him to initiate something with you, but to your surprise instead he would simply bring you to sit on his lap and hold you for a while before letting you know that he wanted to head home now. You quickly gathered all your things and followed him to his car all the while he held your hand. You recognize what this is about almost immediately: He’s testing the waters with non-sexual intimacy.

You contemplate sabotaging his attempt by initiating tonight, but scrap that plan, as A, you don’t want to give him the wrong idea, and B. you’re not going to ignore someone who's clearly communicating their emotional needs.

“Whatcha readin’ darlin’?” he asks later on as he gets into bed.

“Oh uh just some Agatha Christie,” you say, showing him the cover.

“I didn’t know you like mysteries,” he muses, motioning for you to come closer to him and you abide, wanting to settle for the night. He positions you so that your back is to his chest with his arms encircling your waist, with his legs on either side of you.

“I guess I just like problem-solving,” you say.

“Read it to me.” he says, planting a kiss on your temple.

“You sure? I’m well into it, so it’ll probably be boring,” you warn.

“Then I’ll fall asleep faster.”

You huff in amusement at him, but comply nonetheless. You won’t lie this feels… nice. It was moments like these where you were able to forget how truly disturbing this entire situation was. You were not his therapist who was strong-armed into this relationship by a deeply disturbed man to fill some sort of mother role. No. You were a woman who was reading in bed while being held by her boyfriend. It feels… simple.

True to his word he was asleep within twenty minutes of when you started reading. In all honesty you enjoyed it, especially after you were able to gauge from him that this wasn’t something his mother did when he was a child.

You’re not too far behind him as you have found it easier and easier to fall asleep here the more time you spend in Graceland. Though you can recognize that it’s very much by design at this point. Elvis’ bouts of insomnia seem to correlate perfectly with the nights you spend in your apartment, and he had taken to late night calls on those nights. His calls are nothing short of psychological warfare, as they are both constant yet unpredictable. He had no qualms calling you while you were asleep or even multiple times a night, no regard given to whether you were asleep or not. It’s gotten to the point where you barely sleep in your own apartment anymore and just wait in an agitated state waiting for his calls. One night he even refrained from calling at all, but rather than relief, you were left an anxious, sleep deprived mess until you saw him later that day.

It was only as the words asking why he didn’t call you last night left your mouth, did you realize the trap you walked into. You hung your head in shame at your misstep, no doubt missing his smug expression as he promised to not let that happen again, and that he’d call you every night the two of you weren’t together from now on.

Even away from him, you couldn’t fully be away from him. You had a total of two days out of the week where you didn’t expect to see him, and yet somehow these were the days you felt most anxious. He’s almost akin to an ambush predator, able to strike when your guard is down and coerce you into relinquishing some sort of freedom to him. It’s how he was able to get you to reduce your work week from five to four days.

He had walked into your office earlier than his scheduled time that day, take-out in hand, insisting on an early dinner with you. At first you were only counting your stars that your last session had wrapped earlier than usual today, as even mere minutes ago he would have barged in on you with a patient. You had thought you had already subverted whatever powerplay he was making by sheer luck and you were thinking of ways to tactfully ask him not to do this again. As you were coming up with an excuse, you see him put down the food and you see his once amiable expression drop into that of disdain. It’s only then do you realize you left your notes from your previous session fully on display a top your desk.

You as casually as you can move your notes out of sight, and shift the conversation back to the food at hand. He quickly changes back to his previous mood when you accept his offering, though that does little to quell your nerves. So as the both of you eat, he talks casually about his day so far, and you try to rationalize that with the quick glance he got at the papers, it is unlikely he got anything more than maybe a name.

“I didn’t know you were seein’ other men,” he said oh-so casually putting down his plate.

And that’s all he needed apparently, you thought ruefully.

Samuel Baker. Mild-mannered accountant who had sought out your services after separating from an emotionally abusive ex-wife. He had come to you after a distant relative of his had recommended your practice and was one of the few male patients you helped on a weekly basis. Just today, you had talked to him today about strategies to employ when having to meet with her when doing custody exchanges. He had also just unknowingly become the object of Elvis Presley’s ire for merely existing in your presence.

“Elvis, please don’t say it like that,” you said, putting your fork down. “Yes, I have many patients, and yes some of them are men. But I can reassure with total certainty that you don’t have to worry about any of them as it is all strictly professional.”

“Ain’t that what you used to say about us?” he argued back. And what can you say to that really, you know he’s right.

His bouts of jealousy are nothing new to you, as you have both heard from him and experienced what it’s like when he gets this way.

“Elvis, this is my job,” you emphasize. “I help people through their emotional turmoil, and I take pride in the work that I do. I’m not going to stop helping them because you don’t trust me.”

“It ain’t that I don’t trust you,” he said, caressing your face. “It’s them. They don’t know you’re my girl. And I can’t protect you.”

“Elvis, why would you need to protect me?” you said, truly baffled at that statement.

“Darlin’, as smart as you are, you don’t understand men like I do,” he said. “They see you and think you can fix ‘em. I don’t want to see ‘em take advantage of your big heart.”

Is… Is he being serious right now?

“What would you have me do Elvis?” You are genuinely curious as to what he wants from you.

“Baby I don’t like seein’ you havin’ to work so hard for these other men that don’t deserve you,” he says. “Maybe you should drop ‘em.”

And there it is, you think snarkily.

“Elvis,” you say, standing up to your full height to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to do that,” your voice firm and your fists clenched.

He looks taken aback by your hard stance, and his dismay from being refuted passes as a near sadistic glean in his eyes takes its place. “Y/N, I just want to ease your workload. I guess I can start by transferrin’ over to that other therapist you were reccomendin’.”

“No, no,” you say quickly, closing your eyes in defeat. “If you’re really worried about me working so much, then I-I can rework my schedule so that I work fewer days in the week.” bringing your mouth into a tight line in an attempt to keep it from quivering.

“Three days.” He says.

“Four and I give myself a three-day weekend.” You say.

He thinks on that for a moment doing some internal calculating, before smirking and agreeing on the condition that you start on that schedule immediately.

He ultimately rewards your compliance by laving your pussy for almost the entire scheduled session. It’s become something of a pattern, where you push back against a demand of his and when you inevitably end up compromising he does this. Your worries about this being some sort of conditioning you chalk up to paranoia. Even still a month after the shift in your schedule did you notice that many of the patients that you ended up transferring or graduating out, just so happened to be men.

One Wednesday evening, as you were settling in for the night in your apartment, you feel your blood run cold as you hear a loud knock, because it’s not a stranger you fear at the door. You however breathe a sigh of relief though when you find Mark at your entrance. In spite of the fact that it had felt like months since you had talked to him, he seemed happy to see you greeting you with a big hug. You welcome him in and he remarks at how long it’s been since you’ve seen each other.

You laugh nervously at that, knowing it’s due to the fact you're rarely at your place anymore. You’re barely able to maintain contact with your own family anymore, having to swap your previously regular phone calls to weekly, because anything less would have your father filing a missing persons report on you. Even so, you try to dismiss his concerns with a weak statement of work having kept you busy lately, quickly changing the subject by asking about his students and how his research is going.

As you’re chatting you look at the clock and realize that it’s around this time that Elvis would call. He has maintained his promise of calling you regularly now, and you’ve never missed a call from him, fearing what he may do in retribution. However you can’t exactly talk to him now while Mark is in your place nor can you let Elvis know that he’s here. So with that in mind you “accidentally” knock over your drink onto the coffee table.

You curse at your supposed clumsiness as he acts quick to save your mail on the table. You grab the glass and run to the kitchen to grab a towel after quietly disconnecting your phone. You’ve decided to roll the dice and hope he doesn’t decide to call until Mark is long gone. Either way you need to get him out of here, as you’ve already experienced his jealousy with hypothetical men he’s never met before and you don’t want to think of what could happen were he to find out another man was here alone with you.

“Oh that reminds me” he says holding up the red envelope he managed to save. “I got the invitation.”

You feel your heart stop. “What invitation?” you manage to squeak out, worried that this is Elvis related.

“To… your parent’s 40th Anniversary?” he said, confused as to why he was the one to remind you.

“Oh… right, that um…” you say, trying to gather your thoughts. “That… really snuck up on me this year.”

“Right? So… do you still need a date for it?” he asked. Since grad school he had been your go to in regards to a plus one to family gatherings such as this. He was somewhat familiar to your admittedly complicated relationship with your parents, and with his success in the field as a professor and overall innocuous presence, he was the perfect candidate to help stave off the comments of you attending alone.

A part of you wishes to walk into the party, arm-in-arm with Elvis, just for the satisfaction of seeing something beyond indifference on all of their faces. You quickly banish that thought and say yes to Mark as a result. You can’t help but notice even in conversations not about him, your thoughts somehow find a way to make it about him anyway.

You chat with him a little while longer, though you are still uneasy, as you can’t quite put it past Elvis to show up at your doorstep because you didn’t pick up your phone. Before long you’re excusing yourself, saying you have a session early in the morning and he thankfully takes the hint. You walk him to your door and when he leans in to give you a kiss, you turn your head so he kisses your cheek. He clearly caught that, but thankfully says nothing, before taking his leave and promising to see you Saturday.

You fall to your couch and bury your head in your hands feeling awful, though when you hear the pounding on your front door, you know you’re going to feel alot worse. You open the door, only for Elvis to push past you to stand in the middle of the room, “Who was he?” he asks, cold as the grave, as you close the door.

You’re not even going to pretend to play dumb. Though you are perturbed as to how he knew, the how isn’t as important as the what now? You approach him from behind to put a hand on his shoulder, and you feel him tense up under your touch. “Elvis please sit down so we can talk about this,” you say, simple but firm.

He whips around and before you know it he has a bruising grip on your arm and gives a firm yank towards him. “Answer me!” he roars.

Though you’re shocked and more than a little afraid, you refrain from letting him see how scared you are right now. You swallow and look him right in the eye, and say, “You will not treat me like this.” If your years working as both a therapist and waitress has taught you anything, it’s how to be yelled at and not let it affect you. “Elvis, you’re hurting me. Please let go,” you say though you don’t let your voice betray your pain.

You know it would be easier to placate him with tears and begging and whatever else he wanted to quell his nerves at the situation, but you know in the long term that it will do you nor him any good if he’s not called on this behavior now.

Your words seem to snap him out of it as he lets go, but you can still see him huffing, and know he’s still raging inside. “Now let’s sit down and discuss this,” you say, leaving no room for argument. You guide him to the sofa, and sit with him and breathe a sigh of relief that you were able to bring him down somewhat. “Now as for who that was, he was my friend and colleague, Mark,” you see that fire in his eyes return full force, “and he stopped by today, unannounced, because we haven’t seen each other in months and because he hasn’t been able to get a hold of me he wanted to make sure I was okay. We talked for a while and then he went home, that’s it.” you say as concisely as you can, without going into further detail.

“Why the hell didn’t you answer your phone?” he asks, calmer but still very angry.

“Like I said, he’s a colleague and I didn’t want to take any chances of you calling me and having him overhear and find out about our relationship. So I unplugged my phone, and I haven’t plugged it back in yet, and I’m sorry that I missed your call.” You know you have nothing to be guilty about, and you act like it. You’re not going to beg him for forgiveness beyond disconnecting the phone, and you won’t give in to any intimidation tactics he has. However you still feel your hands go clammy as though you did betray him in some way.

For all his initial bravado you see him deflate and ease back into the couch, and you can finally swallow that lump in your throat. This is where you truly mess up, and betray all your years of experience, by leaning into him and letting his arms wrap around you.

You wish for it to end here, but you know very well how this is going to end, so when he turns your face towards him you simply close your eyes and accept it. He plants a filthy kiss on you bringing you closer so you can straddle him fully.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he says between kisses, the delusional look in his eyes telling you that that is very much the case. You fumble with the buttons on your blouse, as all the while he still hungrily kisses you as his hands move underneath your top to unclasp your bra. Once bare from the waist up you remove yourself from him, only to take his hand to lead him back to your bed.

Seeing him in your bedroom is always an odd experience, it’s why you rarely allow this to happen. Being with him here doesn’t have the otherworldly mystique of Graceland or even the salacious allure of your office. No. Here next to your various tchotchkes and cups that you need to wash, it feels… real. There is no hiding behind the thin veneer of treatment that what you two have isn’t a full-on relationship.

But it’s also a sobering reminder of the fact that for as personal as it felt, you still have a life outside of him that he simply can’t be a part of. You’re his therapist and you know that this can't go on forever. You two will eventually go your separate ways and this will all feel more like a dream in the end, but you don’t think you’ll be able to forget how beautiful he looked against your floral sheets or how the rug burn on your knees felt.

Nor do you think you want to forget.

He takes his time with you that night, making sure to stake his claim on your body, leaving no inch of you untouched and leaving the occasional bruise to fully mark you as his.

And you want to indulge in him as much as you can because you don’t know how long you truly have left with him.

Later on, as you're laying on his bare chest listening to the steady thrum of his heart and you feel him going soft within you, is when you remember the anniversary party to come. You don’t even know how you’re going to broach the subject to him, especially given the fact that he had just gotten into his feelings about you having a life outside of him. Mix in the fact that you’re going to be attending with a man who you just told him not to worry about, and this is going to be nothing short of a disaster.

You realize how manipulative it looks to ask for something (Though you shouldn’t really have to ask) right after having sex with him, but you know this is not something you can simply put off for later, because you realize the effect he has on you. If you don’t do it now, you fear you may lose the courage to do so having to face him in the light of day. You can no longer justify putting off your personal life for his benefit anymore.

So truly is it not better to just rip the band aid off now?

“Elvis?”

“Yeah baby?”

“This saturday…” and with your ear over his heart, you hear it speed up a little, and that makes you take the coward's way out. “I made plans to meet with my graduate class for a get together.”

He’s quiet and his steady breathing has you fearing that he’s already fallen asleep, until he says, “Alright then, what time should I be ready?” he says.

“No, Elvis,” you sigh. “I’m going alone.”

You never quite understood the phrase cut the tension with a knife, until the heavy silence fell over the both of you in that moment. You swallow thickly as you feel him remove one of his arms around your waist and turn the lights on temporarily blinding you. Part of you wishes it had become permanent as you see the heartbreak etched into his face as he whispers, “Why don’t ya’ want people knowin’ ‘bout us?”

You close your eyes in frustration, because this is certainly not the first time you’ve had this conversation with him, but this is the first time it’s been so emotionally charged. You get off of him and sit on your knees to fully look at him, far too comfortable in your nudity than you should be, especially for what is about to be discussed. “Elvis you kno-”

“I know, but I don’t understand mama,” his eyes glassy. “You do all this work for people who don’t appreciate you like I do, and for a job you don’t even like.”

“What are you on about?”

“You’re unhappy,” he accuses.

“I am not,” you lie.

“Yes you are,” he raises his voice, so sure of his assumption. “I see it every goddamn session. How tired you look at the end of the day. How even when you're home you’re thinking about the others. Hell you don’t even see you’re own fuckin’ family because of the job, and now you say you can only go out with friends because they’re shrinks too.”

“The reason I don’t see my family is you,” you redirect.

“When the hell did I ever say you couldn’t see ‘em!”

This clamps you up because it’s true. That was your choice, not seeing them in the past few months, but that was only because the last thing you wanted was for him to want to join you.

“How long before you end up choosin’ this job over me?” he says with the most heartbroken tone you’ve heard.

Your continued silence speaks volumes.

“So that’s it, ain’t it? This job is already more important than me?”

“Elvis this is what I've spent years of my life working for, I can’t simply throw it away for you,” you say, trying to justify yourself. “You can’t demand someone quit their job so they can be with you.”

Whether at your words or you directly, you feel the resentment in the look he gives you as he turns away from you and plants his feet on the carpeted floor. You hear him huff for a bit before he ultimately clicks his tongue and says venomously, “You got work in the morning dontcha? Well I best get outta here since it’s so important to ya’.”

As he stands to get dressed, you want so badly to ask him to stay and against your better judgment you reach out to him.

“It’s all the same to you, ain’t it?” he says, pulling up his pants interrupting your attempt. “We pay you to listen to our troubles and feelin’s and you tell us how we should act and shit.” Throwing on his shirt, he gives a small mirthless laugh before turning around, grabbing your face and saying “‘cept I’m the only one who gets to fuck you?” with a dangerous look in his eyes.

“Yes.” you answer looking away in shame.

You wish you had been looking at him, because then that you would have at least been a little better prepared for the fingers that were suddenly in your cunt. Though mercifully you were still very wet, you still can’t help but the soft shriek of surprise at the sudden intrusion, which is all he needs to get to work once again. He knows you well enough now to know exactly how to touch you in a way that has you falling apart in minutes.

You want to lean back, but his firm grip on your face makes it impossible to run away from the sensation. You're forced to look in his eyes and know who is making you feel this way. You make a token effort of trying to push him away or clench your thighs together to prevent him entrance, but you just can’t stop yourself from chasing the pleasure only he has been able to give you.

“This just part of the job too, Y/N?” he whispers angrily.

You don’t get the chance to answer as he curls his fingers in just the right spot and nips your ear just the way you like, and you're falling apart yet again. You can’’t help your cry, and he responds in kind by shoving his fingers into your mouth forcing you to taste yourself, while your hips desperately seek purchase from your sudden emptiness. Once he wrenches his fingers from your mouth, you see that he still has that cruel look on him and you're not entirely sure if that shudder that run through your body is one of fear.

“Since it’s just a job to you, I best pay you better for all the extra services,” he growls, before pulling out his wallet and throwing whatever cash he had at your face. “That enough?”

You want to be mad at what he’s implying, but your feelings of anger are quickly stamped out as you see the genuine hurt in his eyes before he turns away to angrily shove his boots on and stomps out of your apartment. You cry to yourself until you hear your alarm go off and you're forced to get ready for the job you’ve chosen.

He doesn’t show up for his scheduled session.

That Friday, because of your altered schedule, you don’t even have the luxury of work to distract yourself, so you can only really stew at home. He’s mad at you no doubt about that, and why wouldn’t he be? He truly wants to treat what you two have as an actual relationship, and you made it clear you have a life outside of him that he’s not welcomed in, not to mention him finally figuring out where your priorities lie. No matter how reasonable it is to keep him separate, it no doubt hurts for him. Especially given the fact he’s opened up his whole world to you.

It’s the uncertainty that is killing you though. If he were to call right now and tell you that he was going to report you, that would at the very least be better than the silent treatment you're currently receiving.

Of the two impending disasters in your life you choose to focus on your parents party for the time being. You were not looking forward to this whatsoever, given how your typical family get togethers go, and with you having been far less available in the last few months, you can only imagine how this will go.

When you had first begun to circle in on Elvis’ issues surrounding his mother, he had pushed back as many do by asking the same of you. This wasn’t an uncommon avoidance tactic, so you already had vague answers prepared for all general questions you asked of your patients. Your go-to descriptor of your family dynamic was simply ‘fine.’

Fine as in you had an open invitation to all holidays and family get-togethers, which almost always consisted of you helping your mother in the kitchen before and after the meal where she would talk your ear off with gossip she heard and try to set you up with someone from her church. You would eat with the entire family, you would play with your niece and coo over your nephew, and grin and bear your sister-in-laws backhanded musings of why anyone would ever choose anything else over this. Your brother and father would separate from the lot of you to sit and drink on the porch in loaded silence. You would say hello and goodbye to your father, and that would be the totality of the interaction between the two of you. Neither of you would acknowledge this. You would go home as soon as was appropriate. You would repeat the next time.

The story of your parents is, all things considered, picturesque. Your father the baseball star, your mother the prom queen, who married right out of high school. He would attend college and then medical school right afterwards, she would have a beautiful boy and become the ideal homemaker. Your father would later be drafted and served on the western front until the end of the war and upon his return is when you enter the picture.

Your father was a prideful man, and why wouldn’t he be; Chief Physician of the biggest and newest hospital in the city, beautiful wife, smart and successful children. Image was always a great concern of his, taking great stock into who he associated himself with and what he owned. Though you and your brother, Danny, were undoubtedly your fathers most prized possessions though.

Your brother, the very image of your father from his career down to the way he walks. Aside from a brief rebellious stage when he was a teen, Danny had followed the path your father had made for him down to the letter. You can never recall any instance in which your brother said he wanted to be a doctor, though you do remember your father always saying he was going to be one. You remember this specifically because in one instance you had asked him what you were going to be when you grew up and he replied with a kiss on the forehead saying how you would make a man so very happy one day, because you made him so happy. In retrospect, most of your childhood you felt more akin to a doll, meant to smile and be fussed over when he was interested, while also being quiet and sitting unobtrusive when he wasn’t.

And you played along: good grades, good social standing, good attitude, all around good girl. In fact you can only really point to two instances of rebellion in your life, your chosen field of study and your relationship with Elvis.

You’re not too sure how your parents would react to your relationship with Elvis even under normal circumstances. Your mother you’re almost positive would approve as her highest aspirations for you were that you would marry a rich man. And you don’t remember her having strong opinions about… anything really, let alone Elvis Presley. Though she doesn’t often disagree with father, so whatever hypothetical reaction she would have, you can at least guarantee that it would be a joint one with your father. As for your father you do remember his near violent rage towards your brother for playing Elvis’ music during his more controversial days, as he had adopted the opinions of his fellow bible thumpers. You can also recall him immediately showering you with love and affection in front of your brother, audibly complimenting how much he loved you because you weren’t a difficult child. That is still one of your fondest memories of him.

The dynamic between you and your father was always an odd one, either very hot or very cold at any given moment. From a very young age you remember him having, what your mother would refer to as episodes, where he would be home from work but not entirely present. He would sit for hours in front of the fireplace and be in a near catatonic state. Apparently when you were a baby one got so bad that he was there nearly the whole night and your mother at the end of her rope with him, thrust you into his arms, and it ended up having the desired effect of snapping him out of his state.

From a young age he had described you as a godsend for him, how all the men he had lost in the war still haunt him, and how you were the only one capable of making them quiet, and how you were a reminder that he was still capable of life, whatever that meant. At one point you asked him once if there were ghosts in the house, and you remember him giving you a pained smile as he reassured you that ghosts only live inside your head. You fear that he was all too correct about that.

The burden of quieting these ghosts was always on you. Your brother who remembered your father prior to him being drafted was perturbed by his apparent shift in personality. And your mom saw nothing wrong with the arrangement as he wasn’t stuck in his head forever and you got to spend quality time with your father. If by quality time she meant talking, singing, etc., to your father while he silently held you in his arms. Mostly you read to him and once he snapped out of it he would praise how smart you were, though even from a young age you could recognize that he hadn’t heard a single word of what you had said.

Though for all that it helped him, it was not particularly healthy for you. You can recall how being anywhere without your father was stressful, as you feared he would have an episode and you wouldn’t be there to help him. The negative effect it had on your social life as you would rush home to be there when he got home from work and finally you would learn that this was not a common experience amongst the other girls. How you would barely sleep some nights due to the fact that he hadn’t had an episode in some time so you knew one was on the horizon.

This all came to a head when you were twelve or so, and asked if you could go to a friends, whose name you don’t even remember, sleepover, only for him to immediately shut you down and remind you how much he needed you home just in case. You don’t even remember what it was about that particular sleepover that made you want to go so bad, but this would be the first time you butted heads with him in your life.

Specifically you remember telling him how you weren’t going to be a little girl forever and you should be able to do things without him. You think you even remember saying how he needs to talk to someone about his episodes and how he shouldn’t always rely on you for them. Almost as soon as you said those words, did you regret them, as you watched the humiliation and pain in his eyes turn hard. He would let you go, but you could hardly enjoy yourself there, knowing how badly you hurt him. The next day you would come home to find your dad training a new dog, he refused to talk about it and you didn’t want to push the issue, so you let it be.

You would regret that the next time you saw him having an episode, he would dismissively ask you to go back to your room all the while looking only at the new dog. And how could you complain, or more aptly, what did you have to complain about? Is this not what you wanted when you said that to him? For him to rely on someone else because you wished to be independent, and now he is doing just that. Even if that meant he didn’t really look your way anymore.

For the next few years you would have little interaction with your father outside of him giving you orders and you almost always followed them, desperate for that connection you had once more.

You would be lying if you didn’t admit that this was part of the reason you got into your field in the first place, however you have since made a vow to refrain from attempting to diagnose any family member. Though of course now you can look back on it and conclude that turning you into essentially an emotional crutch since your infancy was an unhealthy coping mechanism on your fathers part and you wish that it did not happen, and you have worked to unpack all that on your own. However you don’t believe it has had any lasting damaging effects on you.

Come Saturday you had decided to fully push Elvis out of your mind and focus on the party. Your mother had called the night before to invite you as her plus one for a spa morning before getting ready for the party. Your father is a perfectionist and you always knew when he was like this before a party the best place to be was out of his way.

As you approach the spa, you try to take comfort in the fact that your mother at the very least will be able to get all her intrusive more questions out before the party. You have no doubt that everything you say to her will be parroted back to your father before long. In spite of this you try your best to relax that morning and take your mind off of everything.

Your mother brags that this trip was an anniversary gift from one of your fathers more high profile patients. It’s odd to you how your father can so easily accept gifts from patients in your eyes, when not only your job, but your own safety is reliant on an ability to maintain a professional distance from your patients. Your father is able to not only do this so flagrantly, but to thrive on it socially, as you know from past experiences that a good portion of guests that attend any of your parents' events are in fact his patients.

You on the other hand reluctantly accepted one bottle of wine from a patient and your life has been on a downward spiral ever since.

You ponder what your life may have been if your father had been able to talk you out of switching majors. “I just want to see my princess succeed,” those words, seemingly gentle in delivery, when they in fact pierced your heart like a knife. Whether he was trying to intentionally break your spirit or not becomes irrelevant, as his message was clear: you would not find success here.

And look at me now daddy, you thought bitterly. Fucking a patient who has the eyes of the world on him, with my entire future uncertain as to whether or not I’ll make it to the other side of this. I sure showed you what it means to succeed. Though you wouldn’t be surprised if this was in fact a success in your fathers eyes.

You and your mother would return to your childhood home as the staff was finishing setting up. Every party your parents threw was nothing short of an event and this time was no different. Your parents took the concept of this being their Ruby anniversary seriously, even going so far as forcing you, Danny, and his family to wear the exact same shade of red for the full effect of family unity.

The dress chosen for you was more conservative than you would have liked, but as a result was a nice breather from the more risque dresses Elvis has been having you wear. You grin and play your part of the adoring daughter for the obligatory family photo, to which Danny reveals he’s going to have the portrait painted for the mantle for their wedding anniversary. You would gift them an expensive watch and necklace that you picked up last minute yesterday, and would secretly hope for your brother's plan to fall through because the last thing you want is to have to see this period of your life staring you in the face for years to come.

You would play with your niece as guests started to trickle in and quite honestly it’s the closest you’ve come to reprieve in a while. She wanted to show you her new doll and you in turn showed her how to braid their hair, and you idly wonder if she would get along with Lisa Marie. You yank the doll's head a little too hard when you think about the circumstances of the two of you meeting, let alone her meeting your niece, as you are hoping for the relationship between you and Elvis to peter out before that point. Eventually one of your cousins with kids arrive and you no longer have the excuse of keeping her company to avoid adult interaction.

As a child you were always so mystified with these parties, sneaking to the staircase to watch all these fancy people milling about in your home below. Doctors, and lawyers, and businessmen and even politicians from around the city, all mingling together and having important discussions you were too young to understand fully. Your mother, beautiful as always, would play her part as hostess perfectly, occupying the women in a separate room to talk about whatever gossip had been brewing in their circle. But it was always your father who was the proverbial belle of the ball at these parties. He could walk into any room and all eyes would eventually gravitate towards him, he could hold a conversation with men of all backgrounds, and he could enrapture an entire party with one of his famous stories. You wanted more than anything to be down there and see up close what was essentially your father holding court.

Now as a grown woman, you are far more jaded to the experience, as going to these parties primarily entails intrusive questions of your love life, and attempts at playing matchmaker by most of the women. Not to mention the comments of how much you’ve grown with tones of varying levels of appropriateness from the men. It started when you began college, as before conversations with these people tended to be generic questions on if you were doing well in school and clubs you were in. Now, in spite of your status as an independent adult with a career and expanded interests, these people struggle to make conversation with you that doesn’t pertain to your love life.

The evening was going as well as you could hope, considering you were able to connect with some old friends and family members you hadn’t seen in a while, though a glance at the clock tells you that Mark is running late and you have to take the judgemental looks from distant family members as to the whereabouts of both a ring and a boyfriend. There is still some time to go before the end of the evening and you plan to make a quiet exit once everyone makes the obligatory speeches and toasts.

That is until you hear, as does everyone else, the heavy entrance doors open simultaneously and you feel the air shift. There seems to be a hush that falls across the attendees before you start to hear the incredulous whispers, each one filling you with dread.

Is that?!

I can’t believe it!

Why is he here?

You feel everything slow down, and without even needing to see him, you know exactly who just arrived. But the optimistic side holds out hope, so you have to confirm for yourself. You turn slowly as though that will prevent what’s about to happen and you feel your heart stop as you meet his gaze for the first time in days.

Tags

@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2

#elvis #elvis 2022 #elvis x reader #austin!elvis x reader #yandere #yandere elvis #yandere x reader #yandere!elvis x reader #yandere elvis presley #yandere elvis x reader #yandere austin!Elvis x reader #austin!elvis #austin butler #austin butler x reader

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alonetimelover · 1 year

Text

Action! - Heartbreak Anniversary- 2023

Pairings: ex!Harry Styles x Director!Reader x Joseph Quinn

Summary: Harry has an emotional and heartfelt conversation with his mother and sister. If it wasn't heartbreaking enough - to be this vulnerable and open - they had some news for him. Something that would tip the scales at the breaking point.

Warnings: it's angst. harry's not very polite. some self-degrading talk. some swear words. pregnancy is mentioned.

Word count: ~3,4k

A/N: While writing the whole thingy I was listening to this beautiful song, Heartbreak Anniversary (hence the title) by Giveon. It inspired this piece of a story, so give it a listen.

series masterlist let's talk about action!universe

“How do you feel after today’s session, Harry?”

“Pretty good. It’s - it’s nice to talk about it with someone, someone unbiased,” Harry expressed, searching for the right words. Words that would sound convincing. He knew Doctor McCanister would catch him on his lies but he needed to at least try.

“You’re lucky this session is almost over. You’re capping over and over again. You trusted me with so much from your past and present, why do you think you can’t trust me with this?”

After a solid minute of silence Harry whispered, “I don’t know. She was - she is still important to me even though she’s no longer a part of my life. Knowing it all could be different if I hadn’t done what I did. It - it’s making me overthink, reminding myself of everything I did wrong.”

“Does it work for you?”

“What?”

“Keeping it all to yourself, slowly rotting in this feeling.” She noted something down in her brown notebook. “All that emotional build-up is going to explode sooner rather than later, Harry,” Dr McCanister warned him.

“I don’t think I’m ready. I have this thought in the back of my head that if I tell anybody all that is here,” he placed his pointing finger to his temple, “and here,” moving the finger to his heart, “I’m going to lose her forever. Those thoughts and feelings are the last thing I have of her. Emotional thing.”

From the look on Doctor’s face he knew he needed to justify his words.

“Umm, I have lots of photos or her, old clothes that she’d never taken from ou- my house in LA. But they don’t bring me any - I dunno - there’s no comfort. No warmth. And when I’m thinking of her, of us, it brings me that comfort.”

“And pain?”

“I deserve it. I am responsible for our relationship ending on that bad foot, I am responsible for everything bad that happened to her after the breakup. It’s all my fault. And if a minute of comfort from the memories of her, and feelings that I still have for her cost me hours and days and weeks of sorrow and pain, then so be it. I’ll do anything to feel somehow 1% as happy as I felt with her by my side.”

It was the first time Harry spoke honestly about YN and their past relationship. It was a taboo whenever he went, even therapy. He knew the importance of speaking up about his feelings, sharing his emotions so he wouldn’t be alone to deal with them. But after losing YN, it wasn’t present in his relations with other people.

He felt like he deserved the pain. He hurt her so now he was the one to be hurt.

When they broke up - when YN broke up with him - he didn’t understand the importance she as a person had in his life. The scant and ethereal feeling succumbed him away from YN. Something new, exciting, nonroutine. Someone new fascinated him. Before he knew it, he was already gone, letting himself fall for an unknown.

He regretted it greatly, but it was too late. She moved on.

Everyone thought he moved on too. While still being in a relationship with YN, he moved on. But it was wrong. To the last day of their relationship he was faithful, and at the same time he let himself be pulled away, forget momentarily.

After calming down a little and doing a few breathing exercises with Dr McCanister, Harry left the clinic, having paid for the session.

On his way home, the phone call disrupted his Rumours listening session.

“‘Ello? I’m driving so I hope it’s important.”

“Hello my darling. Put me on speaker,” Anne said, her voice breaking here and there.

Harry did as his mum told him to, “all done. How are you, mum?”

“Good. Good. The weather is finally nice, so-"

“You didn’t call me to talk about the weather, did you?” Harry interrupted his mother, making her very audibly swallow. “Something happened?”

“No, no. Do you have some time to spare for your mother’s visit?”

“And sister’s!” Harry heard Gemma's voice shouting over Anne’s.

“Of course. I’m just going back from my appointment with Dr McCanister. I’ll be home in about 15 minutes? That’s alright with you?”

“Oh sure, sweetie. I’ve got a key to your house. We’ll just let ourselves in.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

***

When Harry got home, Anne and Gemma were already there, making themselves comfortable. Anne was making tea in the kitchen and Gemma, like always, was snooping for some new vinyls or papers with song ideas. Harry was used to leaving them everywhere.

“Hello there. To what do I owe the pleasure of having you both here?” Harry asked while walking into the living room.

“Like we can’t visit your annoying ass, brother,” Gemma laughed, smirking at pouting Harry.

“Gemma, be nice,” Anne reprimanded, walking inside the room. “Cannot we visit once in a while? We haven’t seen each other since you started the break.” She turned to her youngest child.

“I know. It’s nice to see you, mum.” Harry swiftly came up to his mother and embraced her in a bone-crushing hug, swaying from left to right. “Missed you.”

“Oh, I missed you, too, honey.”

“Ekhem,” Gemma interrupted the heartfelt moment between mother and son. “I’m here, too. And I also missed you, H.”

Harry smiled at his mother, teasingly rolling his eyes at Gemma’s words, making Anne grin at him. She loved her children so much, that seeing them being so close to each other was the best thing a mother could ask for.

“Come here.”

After the warm and longed-for siblings’ hug, and the joint one with their mother, they all moved to the patio to have the tea. Harry, unprepared for any visit, found some cookies to go with the beverages.

The weather outside was beautiful, this year's July was surprisingly warm in London. Harry’s garden was blossoming, different flowers, bushes and trees waking up to life, beautifying the area. At the same time, it needed a gardener. Since YN, no one put a foot near the beds. Weeds were slowly overcoming parts of the place.

His garden was the living epitome of him. There wasn’t a gardener good enough, good like the last one, to help.

“How was the appointment with Dr McCanister?”

Harry tensed at the question. He wanted to forget about that meeting.

“Like always. Hard.”

This time Gemma tensed. It was hurting her to see how much Harry was struggling. Years after the break up, he couldn’t get up, couldn’t find peace. He loved her too much, if that was possible.

“Did you talk about her?”

“Yeah.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“It’s not therapy anymore, mum. I’ve had one already. Talked enough about feelings.” Harry sounded frustrated, was frustrated.

“And I’m not your therapist but a mother that worries about her son.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it. Nothing. It’s - she - she’s gone. Not here anymore, she’s got her life with someone else, and I can’t stand it.” Harry hid his face in his hands, pulling at the locks of hair. The emotional build-up that Dr McCanister was talking about, making its presence known. “It’s been three years. Exactly three years. And - and I hate this day.”

Anne just sat down next to Harry, placing her hand on his back, stroking it slowly. Comforting him. He didn’t need anyone to ask questions, he needed someone to listen.

“I don’t deserve to think about her because I was the one to contribute to her leaving me. It was all my fault-”

“Harry, stop. It wasn’t-”

“No, mum. It was. It is. I didn’t cherish her. I let myself be captivated by the bliss of a relationship that I had with Olivia. I threw away three years with YN to follow the excitement of something new. It was my decision and it’s something I’m gonna regret forever. And now? Look at me? Look at her.” Harry scoffed.

“She’s happy,” said Gemma, earning an uneasy look from her mother. “And you need to accept that.”

“Easy to say not being in my shoes.”

“You’re not the only one that lost her, Harry,” Gemma said firmly.

“Gemma, not now.”

“Yes, now, mum. You,” she pointed at Harry. “You were everything to her. She got people promising her the moon, sending flowers. She didn’t bat an eye. She was in love with you. She was-”

“Don’t say that.”

“What? She was, Harry. She loved you so much. She cared about you, supported you, followed you everywhere. She was there for you any second. Any moment you needed her, she was there. And what did you do with that?”

She left the question to linger in the air. She bottled her feelings up for those three years.

YN was her best friend. Her sister. They understood each other without words. And with the break up happening, it wasn’t the same. YN didn’t feel comfortable with her or Anne as she did in the past. They still talked, met up, and had sleepovers. But it wasn’t the same.

Gemma understood that Harry losing the love of his life, by his own mistake, was hard for him. And it hurted her seeing him heartbroken. At the same time, she was angry. He hurted YN. Made her leave him. That’s at least how she understood the situation. YN didn’t talk much about the breakup with anyone.

“I screw up, alright? I know that, Gem. I know! Do you think I’m blaming her for that breakup? No! It was my fault. I drove to that. I thought I lost my feelings. I thought there was not much love between us anymore. I realised it too late. I know it! All of it. And it hurts.”

Harry before starting his monologue had stood up, and paced back and forth.

“It hurts so bad. I dream of her. I see her everywhere. Her - her things are still here, staring at me like souvenirs. I look at my phone every night, going through our pictures. Our texts, the latest that she didn’t answer. I play back the last time we were together each time before falling asleep. I remember everything that I said and didn’t say. I remember her face, the smile slowly fading. Tears strolling down her cheeks. Pain in her eyes. I remember everything.”

“Harry, that's enough. Please, sit down.” Anne tried to pull him off that self-degrading talk.

“You know what’s funny?” he asked rhetorically, sitting down on the grass. “That night at the venue, three years ago, when - when I proposed,” he sobbed softly. “I had the speech. How she made me happy and was my family, and - and how you guys treated her like a daughter and sister you’ve never had. How I appreciated her work and our relationship. And - umm - I praised her.”

Harry took a pause, breathing deeply, trying to calm down a bit. Unsuccessfully.

“I wasn’t looking at her till she stopped me. I - I couldn’t look into her eyes deep down knowing how I felt, really felt at that moment. She stopped me, asking one question.”

“Do you still love me?”

Her voice was shaky because of all the crying. He didn't look at her once today. From the moment he picked her, through the dinner they had at the restaurant and till the moment she stopped his proposals. Somewhere deep in herself she knew why he wasn’t able to look at her, but was hoping she wasn’t right. It all was going to be a nightmare. She was going to wake up next to him, sleeping soundly.

He looked at her.

And stayed silent.

YN learned that day how loud the silence could be. How definitive and thundering it could feel. Terminating.

“Do you?” she choked out.

There was no sound of the voice. Just the one of a heart breaking apart.

“She dropped my hand and left, saying she’d be out of my house in an hour. It was our house, our home. We were supposed to grow old here. To - to spend forever there.”

“Harry, honey. You need to let her go.”

“I can’t! Don’t you understand? Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to do that. It’s the last thing bringing me joy in life. She’s my antidote. Always has been, always will be.”

Gemma sat next to Harry and hugged him. He sobbed into her neck, shaking heavily. She felt his pain and regretted deeply her words that encouraged and strengthen that feeling of guilt Harry had.

Anne was sitting on the chair still, crying. It was the first time she heard the story about the engagement.

“Is she happy? Really happy?” Harry asked after calming down a little.

“She is,” answered Anne. “Joseph, he’s a good man. He treats her well.”

“Have you met?”

Gemma looked at Anne worried. They met Joseph. Went to dinner with him and YN a few times. Last time was just two days ago, when they came back from Italy.

YN wanted Anne and Gemma to know it before the pictures were uploaded. Joseph threatening paparazzi with charges bought her a few days to tell some important people in her and Joseph's lives about their secret.

“Why are you looking at each other like that? Is he really good?”

“He is,” Gemma answered immediately.

If Harry couldn’t be the one for YN, Joseph was perfect. There was something between them that no one understood. The way they looked at, understood or talked about each other was so unique, so genuine. It was heartwarming to see YN being that happy after what she had gone through with Harry.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Two days ago we met for dinner.”

“Gemma, it’s not a good time to be talkin’ about it. Please,” Anne begged, knowing the news would crush her son tremendously.

“It’s never going to be a good time, mum,” she said to her mother. It would be better if Harry learned that information from her and not the internet. “YN is taking a break from her career. For the next two or three years.”

“Why?”

“She’s pregnant,” Gemma whispered after a moment of silence.

If it was possible, they would hear Harry’s heart being ripped out of his chest and thrown to the ground. Laying there broken in a million pieces, not possible to glue back together. It was over. Now like ever, it felt real. He lost her. There was no possibility anymore, no prospect. The final curtain dropped.

“Do you want kids?” Harry asked, tracing shapes on YN’s naked back. Her head was lying on his chest, close to his heart.

“Someday, when I’m ready to be responsible for another human being. Do you?"

“I’ve always dreamt of a big family.”

“How big?”

“How big would you want?”

“Two for sure. So they would be able to take care of themselves when mum wants a quick break.”

“With dad?” He smirked.

“Stop it!” She slapped his chest playfully, looking up at him with a big smile on her face. “But maybe.”

Harry grinned at her and kissed her lips. Because of the smiling and laughing their teeth would clash, but they didn’t care. That moment they were so happy. Nothing else mattered.

“Is she - they - are they healthy? YN and the baby?” He asked finally.

“Yeah, healthy as a horse. Both of them. Pregnancy treats her well,” Anne said carefully, not knowing if Harry was going to lash out any minute.

“That’s good. That's good. It’s what matters the most, right?” It sounded like a programmed answer.

Harry gently made his mother loosen the grip she had on his shoulders. He needed to get up, to get away from people. He felt all of the emotions slowly entering his mind, his soul. Breathing started to get harder. More tears gathering in his eyes. Stabbing pain in his chest was getting more severe, but it couldn’t be his heart. He had lost it with that information.

“I - I’m tired,” he tried saying, but it sounded more like a whimper.

“Harry, my sweet boy.”

Anne walked up to him, trying to make him look at her, and failing. He dropped her hands, which had been briefly placed on his cheeks. There was no way to calm him down. No way to help him. How, if his heart wasn’t there? When the last drop of hope vanished, leaving his chest dry as a desert.

“I want to be alone.”

“You shouldn’t be. You don’t have to be alone. Please, let me - let us be here for you” his mum begged.

“I’ll call you, okay? I need to be alone, mum.”

And after more convincing from Anne, she and Gemma left. There wasn’t a chance for Harry to cave in.

The moment the front door closed, Harry sat on the floor hugging his knees to his chest. He swayed back and forth because of the sobs that were escaping his mouth. His eyes were like a river source, but a river was of tears. And it wasn’t slowing down, much less stopping. It was staining his cheeks, slowly moving to the red T-shirt he was wearing, decorating it with darker spots.

Deep down he was happy for her. After all, she always wanted to be a mother. She talked about dreaming of the family she could have, would love to have. Those times, she wanted it with him. However, they never came to the conclusion of what names were perfect. Maybe it was better for him.

He pulled out his phone from the jeans’ pocket and clicked the message icon. Was he going to text her? Yes. Was that a mistake? Yes. But he couldn’t stop typing.

Harry

Congratulations on your pregnancy, YN. Hoping the baby and you are healthy, H.

He didn’t count on the response. Considering that his previous messages to her were rather misplaced, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had blocked him. For a long time he was making decisions that he knew were wrong, that were probably hurting her current relationship. And, as bad as it sounded, and felt, it was giving him false hope. It was cruel of him. Desperation made him do things that were hurting her. And he would repeat them until the moment he realised that he was a bad guy. That when he told everybody he had never wanted to hurt her, he was still doing it.

Then the process would repeat itself.

yn🌻

Thank you, harry. We’re feeling great, baby’s healthy

And if he wasn’t surprised enough with one text, he got another.

yn🌻

Annie’s said you took a break, how is it going?

Unconsciously, he slipped into that process, hurting her again with his words.

Harry

You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. I understand. Just wanted to congratulate you after mom told me about your pregnancy.

yn🌻

I think I'm mature enough to put the past in the past. Also anne is seemingly worried about you, Harry.

But if you don’t feel comfortable yet, then it’s okay. Thank you again for the message. Hope you are well.

Those two messages came in immediately after his. He wanted to write so much. Tell her how he was feeling. How lost and broken he was. Tell her how much he loved her. Missed her. Longed for her. How, every night, he dreamt of her. Happy dreams with them being content and together. And nightmares, much more frequent, where she wasn’t his. Nightmares that were blending into reality.

With his phone screen still showing those messages, he finally moved from the floor, slowly walking to the bedroom. He placed the phone on the bed and walked up to the wardrobe. From under colourful sweaters he pulled out the one he was looking for.

He laid down on the bed, and cuddled the soft material, inhaling its scent. It no longer was hers, but the fact she made it for him and wore it more frequently than him, could make up for that.

When the wind started to come through the open windows, he didn’t move. It was cold outside, like when she walked out of his life. It was cold like the day they had their first date. Like the day they met, when he thought about forever with her.

These days feel like you and me, Harry thought.

He put the sweater on, turning to the side of the bed where his phone was lying. Where she used to lay.

Harry

Do you ever think of me?

deleted

#action!universe #director!reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn

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etirabys · 7 months

Text

on email

I put off wedding planning with the expectation that I would do a terrible but functional job once deadline urgency kicked in. This has started to happen. One consequence is that I have (probably but hopefully not temporarily) had to become a timely emailer.

The impetus was procrastinating on clicking a link in an email that it turned out I should have read ideally acted upon immediately. This is an embarrassing but characteristic mistake – my habit with emails is to open them, get a fast (and sometimes wrong) impression of the contents, have the emotion of not wanting to deal with it, and marking it as unread. I do this with a lot of non-email messages across all platforms, too, with the result that I drop a lot of messages that I forget to or can't mark as unread again.

I knew perfectly well what a loathsome creature I am to do this, but Willpower did not work.

I've been much faster with all messages in the past week and will describe what I understand of the change, so that it will hopefully persist.

(A prerequisite: for many years I have unsubscribed from, filtered, or blocked unwelcome senders. I try not to give out my email address for any reward greater than $20.)

i. I had to radically accept that I am tired and stupid most of the time.

Radical acceptance is a concept from mindfulness / dialectical behavioral therapy, and mostly means the opposite of "trying to believe something that isn't true". It means understanding and accepting your actual circumstances without flinching from them, and acting in a way that actually achieves your goals in those circumstances.

So it turns out – in some part because my expectations for myself haven't adjusted from my pre-burnout days when I had more energy and a better memory – that I put off things because "I can tell I'm dumb right now, and if I try to book this flight I'll probably double-book myself even if I check my calendar three times, and I should do this when I'm more awake." Or "I shouldn't resume this conversation about an art commission, because I don't feel all here today and I'm probably going to mess up the conversation". Or, of course, "I shouldn't make this decision the wedding planner is asking me about right now, because I'll make the wrong one."

While there is variance in my mental abilities depending sleep and time of day and so forth, I almost never pass the bar of cognitive competence I implicitly set for making these decisions. So if I keep the bar where it is, I'm never going to get anything done.

I have to radically accept that I am (compared to when I was younger) tired and stupid all the time, and I still need to live my life. I need to double-book myself and then pay $20 to reschedule my flight, arrange for a tasting with a caterer that doesn't meet a desideratum my spouse told me about, join a reading group I'm too busy for and then leave, get on a call that I forgot to do research for beforehand... etc.

And: I have to respond to emails and messages approximately as soon as I see them, because "my future self who will make informed decisions about things I cannot" is an illusion.

ii. Conversely, I should never check messages when I'm not prepared to make respond to arbitrary textual stimuli.

I used to check my email or messages when I was bored. This makes no sense! The contents of my email inbox are determined by the decisions of a large number of other people, and could contain anything. It is this variance that makes this addictive, and it is also this variance that makes it important to read it when I have the wherewithal to react appropriately.

I don't want to keep training myself into being the kind of person who repeatedly clicks and unreads a scary medical bill email. To stop that behavior, I want to have a mindset of "if one of my emails is a scary medical bill email, I am willing to read the whole thing, think about it, and take the appropriate next action" whenever I am about to navigate to my inbox.

The same goes for clicking into Discord or Messenger, because I need a similar presence of mind to react to invitations to high-effort social events, requests for help I may not be able to give, requests for information I need to think about before providing, etc.

The important thing is to not mix actionables with entertainment. I need mental separation between those two, because perceiving personal pings as a subset of social media notifications made me treat them more passively. "Oh, huh, a decision to join a Paradise Lost reading group is on TV. Interesting. Now an ad..."

---

I expect to backslide on my improved response rate/quality once I'm done with the wedding, but hopefully writing the above will act as the strut of a dam.

#rambl #human stuff #nia specifically should not read this because I haven't responded to her on discord

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bunji-enthusiast · 21 days

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Wonder how Redeemed! Scourge would act around Team Sonic during and after his therapy and redemption arc, would be interesting to see how he would react seeing the genuine friendship between the whole team especially if the reader is involved. He only had his team and Fiona, most probably stayed out of fear(?) idk I haven't read the whole lore but prob close to that

Note || somewhat rushed but here you go! I AM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE, SO MANY THINGS KEPT COMING UP AND LIFE AND UGGGGHHH—

Okay first of all, you probably had to give your friends a large heads up and a warning to be kinder and not act so weird toward Scourge. Considering his huge reputation with his previous actions, quite frankly it could be worse, seeing as how he enslaved a numerous amount of mobians and mobilized the plant in his own dimension. Then came his scars, then came this.

His memories are scrambled, so he can't recall every single thing evidently. But when it came down to you, Sonic, Knuckles and Tails; he could feel the warmth of friends and family found alike. Working together and providing good memories together regardless of the circumstances or the situation. He didn’t entirely expect them to greet him warmly as they would.

But in all rights, they still reserved some resentment toward the green hedgehog. Scourge completely expected that, and he was fully ready and prepared to gain back their trust with time.

Unusually, he felt a new sensation stirring in his chest each time he saw you interacting with any members of the team. Scourge evidently didn’t realize how much he had done his old friends wrong. Nonetheless, he simply watched from a comfortable distance – while maintaining his persona, less his old self, but with better restraint now this time.

Fiona was one of his closest members, his old lover. But he sees now he was extremely piss-poor behavior when he saw you interact with one additional honorary member; Amy Rose. He did apologize to her properly for his prior behavior toward the pink hedgehog, to which she still held grievous amounts of skepticism toward Scourge, but was most willing to make amends with him. Scourge thought she was an absolute saint: at any point in time of his life, he never expected to have such a mindset. He felt a little better that he improved more on that aspect before meeting any of your friends.

Scourge could appreciate how quickly Sonic could make amends with you, or any other of his friends for that matter. Before he was easily annoyed by Sonic, as he was often compared to the Blue Blur – but now he could understand why those comparisons were uttered before. He just needed a bit of straightforwardness and blunt honesty to set him straight on a bit of a better path.

He thought he was really annoying to converse with though, Sonic will not let him live down his infamous reputation for prior events. He didn’t like him in that entirety, but he came to learn and understand that he has a tendency to tease; Sonic surprisingly won’t cross any boundaries with Scourge, and even began to worry over him in the few past months he’s gotten to know him. The real him.

The real Scourge.

Getting acquainted with Miles was something he found rewarding, he thought the little fox was cool as hell the better he had gotten to know him. Scourge didn’t mind being in his presence, as he had also found him to be very reliable. Tails was a nickname he was continuously called by many who have come to know him, as he had often introduced him this way. Scourge felt the honesty and modesty radiating off of the little fox, he could really respect the guy.

As for Knuckles, he wasn’t completely sure. He was cold and hardened, indifferent to Scourge. Though he did his best to remain with understanding and patience toward the echidna, understanding that the guardian may resent him moreover in comparison to the others.

#ミ★ ser’s thoughts #scourge x reader #scourge the hedgehog x reader #scourge #scourge the hedgehog #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #tails the fox #knuckles the echidna #knuckles

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the---hermit · 6 months

Text

Self care journey 3.0 - WEEK 2

This is the second week of my dear friend @oneardentstudybuddy and I working on practicing self care daily without feeling too overwhelmed about it. My goal for this week is to rest. Next week I'll start commuting to uni again, and I desperately need to recharge before that, so this week's focus is precisely that.

Take some days off from studying (as I am posting I am still debating whether I should take the whole week off or still try to get something done for a couple of days, after some planning and having an overview of my study progress in the past weeks I'll decide what to do)

Moisturize my tattoos (I tend to be a bit more careful with this during the warmer months, and I'd like to pay more attention to it now that it's also cold)

Monthly therapy session

Journal for at least 10 minutes

Turn off phone at least 30 minutes before bed and try to read at least a couple of pages of a book before sleeping every night (once again, because I am still struggling with it and it's my priority to get this habit back)

Create a cozy space to read/romanticize taking time off studying (whatever happens fight the guilt of not studying, I need and deserve rest even though sometimes my brain tells me the opposite)

Bake something (I have always found this relaxing but lately it also got into the list of activities that felt too overwhelming, so maybe fight that too)

#self care journey 3.0 #self care journey #self care #mental health #self care list #cris speaks #mine #the---hermit

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genshinemblem564 · 5 months

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Sagau: A god's closure + world building

World building, possibly, it's here if I need it

Characters: Hu Tao

This came about from a journey to the "border" with Hu Tao. As an immortal being who grew up as a mortal, your own mortality, or lack thereof, began to weigh on you. When you finally reached your destination, you and Hu Tao were surprised to find a massive gate where you distinctly remember there wasn't one, and in front of it stood a hulking being which resembled an Anubis.

"Anubis": Ah, your grace. To what does this watcher of souls owe your visit? Ah, but forgive me, your memory is not fully intact, so I imagine you must have many questions.

Warden: I am a being known as a "Warden" as I am a protector of the kind and good willed souls that pass through here, while making sure the evil spirits remain trapped in their prison. This gate you see is the gate to the after life. You may note that it was not here upon your last visit, both it and I were revealed by your desire and divine power. Now may I ask, what is your desire?

You shake yourself from your shocked state and state the purpose of your journey.

(Y/N): I-I wish to know, can I visit my friends once they're "gone"? I may be immortal, but I was raised as a mortal, so bonds come to me much easier than they do the archons and other immortal beings.

Warden: I see. Well, to answer your question, yes, you may visit the afterlife whenever you like .

You breathe a sigh of relief as the weight that had been on you the entire journey here finally lifted.

Hu Tao: Oooh, hey, big fella, would you mind describing the afterlife a bit? I'm just "dying" to know more about it.

(Y/N): I'm also rather curious.

Warden: Very well. The afterlife has gone by many names, you may choose to call it whichever you like, but it serves as both paradise and prison. You may recall I said I am "a" warden, there many more of my kin beyond this gate. This place was made by you in your past life to be a paradise to all, and that meant making it a prison for others, and I must say your past self understood mortals well, as there are many aspects to this ever expanding plane. First, I should explain that this gate's destination changes depending on your soul. Good and neutral souls enter a serenity inducing room where servants attempt to lift the weight of their past life, and just beside that is a therapy center as some spirits are more tormented than others. Meanwhile, evil souls are brought straight to the prison, where they are kept until further notice.

(Y/N): Sorry to interrupt, but what is a neutral soul?

Warden: Hmm. I suppose you would say they are those who mind their business, or perhaps they are broken souls who could have done more if life had provided better circumstances. In short, while these souls are not "good" by some standards, they hold no malice within then. Thus, they are neutral. Pranksters, such as your guide here, are also labeled under this category, while good at heart, they are still trouble makers disturbing the peace and thus require disciplinary action should their pranks get out of hand.

You nod and smile in acceptance to this answer, feeling relieved for all of the broken people you've heard of. Hu Tao kind of huffed as if she thought he was describing her.

Warden: On the note of broken souls, there is also a rehabilitation wing of the prison per your command. In your words, "Evil is a disease. Those who are born with it may be beyond saving, but those infected by it are curable with proper treatment." So far, these words have proven true. Many a Rotten soul has been cleansed of malice and given freedom from their torment. Speaking of the prison, the only other thing of note is that it is ever changing in size to house the ever changing number of inmates, but this is true of all aspects of this realm. Now, onto the more pleasant aspects of the afterlife. As stated before, your past self understood mortals well and constructed many districts, with the souls making new ones with each generation. The first is the obvious housing district where the souls live or rather have more personal family time as, if you wish to be technical, no one "lives" here.

You and Hu Tao chuckle a little at his little joke.

Warden: Second, there are the working districts as, surprisingly, many souls find satisfaction in hard work. These souls do jobs such as farming, cooking, many different types of artistry, engineering, construction, smithing, and sales despite there not being a currency here. These districts include the market, the entertainment district where concerts and plays are held, the foundry where all metal is worked into a new shape where it is promptly sent to either the workshop where it is used as machine parts, or the ones made into weapons will be sent to the coloseum where the souls who yearn for battle can relive their glory and have crowds of adoring fans cheer them on for it, and then there are the self explanatory farmlands and restaurants.

(Y/N): That's, um, a lot.

Warden: Quite, and there's still more. There are also the springs and gardens for those seeking a moment of peace, the banquet hall often used by the warrior spirits after a thrilling match as they revel in each other's glory, then there is the central plaza which the souls have taken to calling Festival Street as all of the realms festivities are held there, the archives where those who seek to learn can go to hone their craft. Also, since many people seem to ask, yes, the souls of animals are sent to paradise as, while a lot of animals do kill, it is most often during a hunt or defense, and they are not all malicious. Pets will often wait outside this gate for their owner or one of them if they had multiple, wild and farm animals are led to separate biomes that are suited to them. These biomes are also popular spots to take a trip. Ahem, sorry, I'm just so used to being interrupted by that question that going so long without answering it felt weird. Anyway, back on topic, there is also the museum, along with the archives it is used to preserve the truth of this world's history, not the glorified mess they teach in schools. There are many more human desires that I can list districts and buildings for, but I feel you and your friend would like to make it home before the end of the season, so this will be the last of what I say provided you don't have anymore questions. It may not surprise you that many of the souls within this realm are quite religious, so much so that there is a statue of you, er, your former self in the central plaza, with many smaller shrines to you and other deities scattered throughout the numerous districts.

Hu Tao thanks the warden before turning to leave.

(Y/N): Just one more question, I promise this will be quick. As I've stated before, immotality can be costly on one's soul. This holds true even to those born with it. My question is, would I be able to give others the ability to visit?

Warden: If that is what you desire. I take it this means I will be seeing a few of the archons soon?

You nod and thank him for his time before finally leaving with an extra spring in your step. Once outside, Hu Tao stretches rather loudly.

Hu Tao: Mmmmh. Man, that took forever, but I think we both got something out of that. You got peace of mind and i got a new appreciation for my work.

(Y/N): A "new" appreciation? You enjoyed your work well enough before, I dread to think of what you'll do now.

Hu Tao: Oh you. Don't some archons to visit?

(Y/N): Maybe later, we were in there for quite a while, and all that listening made me rather hungry.

Hu Tao was about to comment before her stomach growled, causing you both to laugh as you made your way back to the harbor.

___________________________________________

Well, that was a massive info dump, definitely longer than I anticipated. I haven't seen anyone tackle the subject of the reader's lack of mortality, and the idea of a creator who can willingly traverse both the realms of living and dead has been rotting my brain, I also wanted the ability to give the archons a bit of closure, at least the ones who lost someone dear to them. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that rather lengthy info dump

#genshin impact #sagau #sagau headcanons #sagau imagines #sagau brainrot

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charmedreincarnation · 1 year

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Hi Charmᵕ̈,

I wanted to dm and ask but then thought more people could benefit from your answer so my question is...

How do you feel in your day to day life knowing something your peers don't? Or rather, having done something most people will die without ever experiencing (getting into the void and waking up somewhere completely different)

I'm just really curious what it must feel like! Seeing people struggle in day to day activities when you know, experientially, you could change your life just like that 🫰🏻; I'm imagining there must be a general ease with which you live now that wasn't there prior void?

PS. Your blog is lovely, thank you so much for all the involvement and the fact that you're still here to give advice 🕊🏹🤍💌

Hi bb ty for this ask, bc this is something I struggled with for a while. I used to feel so bad and it was so unhealthy for me. I felt like I was some beholding omnipotent being and I could help so many people and that was my job. But the truth is even if you spoke the law from the rooftops in every city and home , no one would care unless they had the will to.

1. I talk about the law to everyone who meets me tbh. It’s not a secret trust me. Maybe not the same way I talk to people here but everyone knows me as the manifesting astrology delulu girl. When people ask me how I have straight As without studying, I straight up tell them I manifest it. I tell people I use to practice driving while lucid dreaming and that’s how I overcame my fear. When people ask how I don’t have a job in college, but spend a lot, I tell them money always come into my account and it never hits 0, so I don’t worry about that. I straight up tell tell them how I write all my desires down and they come to life just because I say so. Most people either don’t care, don’t believe me, or assume i was just born privileged even if I explain I wasn’t.

2.you’re not special. And not the way you think. You are a special bright star, as a person and I love you of course, but you’re not special about knowing the law. Most people know about the law whether they know what it’s called or not. Some people even know about the law and still don’t care or apply it differently to their lives than now we do, and that’s okay.

3. Some people know the law and don’t care, simply because they don’t. Maybe they already like their life, maybe they don’t believe it, maybe they prefer to follow their religious practices. Idk but a lot of time I tell friends about the manifesting practice I’ve been using and it’s not like they make fun of me.. but they’re just not into that stuff like I am, and they don’t care. I will go on rambles about how we can have whatever we want in this life, and they’re just like “okay nice .. anyways I hate matthew so much” That’s okay! it doesn’t make you special or enlightened nor does it make them dull and ignorant. Just makes them, them, and you, you. We are god. If they wanted to utilize the law like you have, they would have already. Maybe not today or tomorrow, maybe in another life time, or maybe never idk but that’s not my reality or problem.

4.we as a community gotta drop the hero complex. Trust me I had to work through this in therapy. (Void/manifesting or not, therapy has benefited me in so many ways guys! Get therapy no matter how good your life is. If I were president therapy would be mandated for everyone that’s how hard I ride for it!) but anyways, you’re not going to save the world. Accept that now, it’ll save you the trouble, guilt, and doubt later. Just trust me I could elaborate all day but we all know it’s not realistic or mentally healthy for us. Btw anon this is a shot at myself. not you or anyone else who feels the same 💗

But thank you for your kind words. The point Is don’t compare yourself to other people or try to see your past self in them! It’s not healthy and most people given the chance won’t care or want your delulu advice. In fact most people will make fun of you, it’s just the life we’re in. But I believe the law finds.. well Moreso your will find whatever you need, given who you are. Which is even more of a reason to not give up. Not only did you find the law, you’re still here even with your trials and tribulations, even with the doubt and uncertainty you know it’s real, so that’s really the only thing you should take from the given situation you asked!

But yes life is on easy mode for the most part. But generally it feels the same because I keep myself fulfilled even here! Especially as a shifter it’s easy to feel more grounded here remembering it’s also a reality with amazing people, foods and things to explore. And I will make the most out of it otherwise what’s the point.

*also I use delulu as a positive adjective towards myself everyday. I have reclaimed it in a cute slay way. Being delulu has gotten me my dream life, so yea I’m gonna use that word happily contrary to societies perception of that world <3! Just clarifying bc I know how people get with that word

#law of assumption #manifesation #void state #manifesting #reality shifting #law of attraction

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lumine-no-hikari · 8 days

Text

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #119

…I didn't have the energy to make the thing today.

This morning, I maybe got out of bed later than I should have, given that I'm supposed to go to talk therapy on Tuesdays. I'm supposed to leave the house by 9:30, but I didn't even get out of bed until 9:20. I regret nothing that occurred, but nonetheless, I somehow had to squeeze both a shower and getting dressed and out the door in only 10 minutes. I was successful, but I have zero clues as to how. Perhaps it's best not to look gift horses in mouths…

OH. Right. You don't know that phrase because… well. Your world doesn't have horses. Uhh… So, a long time ago, when people bought horses, they used to look at the horse's teeth as an indicator of its age; longer teeth means an older horse, I guess. And back when horses were more commonplace (it's mostly only fabulously wealthy people who can afford to keep them now), I guess it was seen as rude to try to evaluate the age of a horse that was given as a gift by looking into its mouth. So now the phrase means, "it's best to just accept good things without thinking too much about it." Or it can also be taken to mean, "it's impolite to criticize a gift." This phrase has a few interpretations, actually… I imagine it'd be easier for you to understand it if you spent a while in my world. If you do that, lemme know; you can stay at my house, and no one is gonna ogle you or get weird at you or bother you if you don't wanna be bothered. We'll just make you sandwiches and tea. We are an introverted and neurodivergent house; we know how it goes.

Had a lot to say at therapy today. Suppose I'm having a bit of an existential crisis, regarding myself and my role in my home and how much I mean to the people around me. It's likely all just baseless anxiety and insecurity - growing pains as a result of the various changes in my immediate social circle. Old memories and wounds from the past that I've not yet had a compelling reason to resolve are now coming to the forefront, calling, "yo, what up, homie!" and dancing around my periphery. I suppose it's just as well; this is what happens when we pretend like our various hurts don't exist. If we don't take care of the self-effacing beliefs that we pick up during childhood, they bite us in the ass later. I just gotta remember that the fact that they're in the forefront means that I can actually observe them, and if they're observable, then they're resolvable, with enough time and effort.

Essentially, it's like this: We get knocked down. We yell, "FUCK!" really loudly. We reassemble ourselves if we break from the fall. Then we get back up. We brush ourselves off. And we move forward, stronger than before.

…I have thoughts of you that give me the strength to withstand this process over and over again. No matter how many times I get knocked down, I will get back up, because by your influence, I am unbreakable, no matter how many times I must shatter and be reassembled. It's just like the bowl I repaired some number of letters ago; remember? So don't worry. I've got this. I've done this lots of times before, with much more difficult stuff, and with less support than what I have now. All I have to do is learn to love and appreciate myself in the same way that I can love and appreciate literally anyone else who isn't me. Compared to the various horrors I've lived through, this should be a piece of cake. Easy peasy. Barely even an inconvenience. And in my mind, it sounds like this:

youtube

On the way home from therapy, I came across a very beautiful tree. I thought for sure that you'd like it, so I made it a point to stop and take pictures. Here's how they turned out:

I was surprised by how docile the bees were, and by how closely they allowed me to put my cell phone camera. Also, I laid down under the tree and looked up to get some of these. I wish you could have been next to me to see the view of the sky through the petals for yourself. Alas...

J and I were out and about, doing separate activities today. Even he saw pictures he thought you might like, so he took them for you, and then sent them to me so that I could put them here. Here's how they turned out:

While J was out and about, I hung out with my best friend B and her fiancé, N. In preparation for their wedding, we went and tried the available foods. I can't give you the tasty snacks, but I can take pictures...

This is a Caesar salad. It's supposed to be pronounced, "Kai-sarr", but everyone says "Seezer" for reasons I don't understand. Caesar was a leader of a place called Greece in my world, hundreds of years ago. He, like most leaders, was a giant asshole, and now he's a stinky dead guy, so I have no idea why a salad is named after him. It's made of romaine lettuce, croutons, parmesan cheese, and a creamy dressing flavored with anchovies and other spices.

Here are some long slices of eggplant rolled around melted cheese and covered in marinara sauce:

This is steak, caramelized onions, mashed potatoes, and some carrots and broccoli. I just took a picture of my plate, because the main plate was cut into before I could snap a photo:

This was some kind of chicken seasoned with rosemary and lemons, with rice and veggies:

This one was lobster ravioli with mushrooms in some kind of sherry cream sauce. It's certainly not pasta pescatore, but I wonder if you might have liked this:

Finally, this is lamb with roasted tomatoes and garlic, along with veggies and mashed taters.

...This one was probably my favorite. I especially liked the part where I got to try to gnaw the cartilage from the ends of the bones, because my body craves sources of collagen literally all the time (thanks, Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome... 🙄). I'm really lucky that B and N don't seem to mind my various weird quirks; they've been friends of mine long enough to have a general understanding of how I roll, and they just let me do my thing. Today, the fact that I will generally "do my thing" in a variety of respects was pointed out as one of the reasons they like me so much, I guess; that was a nice thing to hear...

There were four available spaces for trying the foods, but it was just the three of us; it is immensely painful that the best I can do for you from here is show you these pictures and wish that you could have been in the empty seat, with us…

Sephiroth. Regardless of what your brain tries to tell you about what you're worth, you are VERY loved. You're not a monster. You were modified against your will, used like a tool and viciously abused, and you made mistakes in the throes of that, yes, but SO WHAT? You're here now, and you can do amazing things, and you NEVER have to go back to being with people who will abuse you ever again, because not everyone is like the people you were raised by. Yes, you're different from the standard definition of "normal", but you can belong anyway, because the world is absolutely BRIMMING with people who don't fit the definition of "normal"! Just take a look at me! Or if you don't wanna look at me, then take a look at anyone who lives with a genetic difference, or anyone who lives with a different number of limbs, or anyone with a non-standard life story, or any number of things that make a human being not "normal". Normal is overrated! Diversity is in! Lives that exist outside of the bell curve are still beautiful, meaningful, and worth living!

…And so I show you my life, because I am trying desperately to prove these things to you. I've spent the bulk of my life being viciously abused because the people who brought me into living didn't want me. I was brought into a physical vessel that is genetically defective in a variety of respects. My neurodivergence practically guarantees that I will NEVER fit into ordinary social circles. I struggle every single day with the weight of the memories I carry from having been used, abused, exploited, and generally mistreated. And yet here I stand, thriving and flourishing in a way that works for me, even if it does not fit the typical definition of those words. My version of "normal" is just as beautiful as the typical version. "Different" does not have to mean "less" if YOU become strong enough to decide for yourself that those two words are not the same, no matter who tries to tell you otherwise!

So please look at the beauty of my existence - the beauty of taking joy in small things, the beauty of rising up from one's knees even if it's on shaky legs, the beauty of finally using one's voice again after years of being forced to believe that silence is safer, the beauty of loving yourself and the people around you enough to refuse to let fear get the better of you when you interact with yourself and the world, the beauty of failing down, getting up, and trying again, the beauty of learning, growing, changing, and walking away from destructive ideals that serve no one, no matter for how long you might have been forced in the past to choke them down. Please look at it, and understand that you can have this for yourself - ALL of it - if you decide to take steps towards it! Your whole scenery can change if you want it to, and all you have to do is take a single step in a different direction.

There is still life after trauma. There is still life after mistakes. There is still life for those who are different. The pain doesn't have to be permanent. So come on; my hand is outstretched to you. And if you don't want to take mine, then there are countless other hands outstretched to you that maybe you'd like a little better. You don't have to do it alone.

Anyhoot. I've probably prattled on for long enough. I hope somehow you can see what I've written. I hope that if you do get a chance to see it, you might take some of my words seriously.

I love you. I'll write again tomorrow. Please be kind to yourself and keep yourself safe.

Your friend, Lumine

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aspd-culture · 7 months

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Hello, I hope you’re doing okay and great! I have some serious questions on ASPD and therapy I need your opinion on it.

-what do you think of the therapy with pwASPD? also have you been in therapy? how was it for you (if that’s okay to answer)

-do you think therapy works for pwASPD?

( I personally have aspd i’m diagnosed by psychiatrist)

I really need an answer. I’m giving up on therapy. which i don’t mind anymore.

I have been in therapy with 3 therapists so far, and have talked to a few pwASPD who have been in therapy as well. For me, so far, I don't think I've found a therapist I click well with ASPD-wise, so we tend to stick to talking about PTSD. I am protective of my mask, and letting it slip enough to discuss my ASPD symptoms is hard because I learned I *have* to keep this mask up at all times or be in danger.

That said, my therapists have not been specialists in any form. They are all your basic therapist without any specialization at all and have openly told me this. Most are much more used to basic depression, anxiety, and one was used to OCD as well. Even so, therapy has still been very helpful for my ASPD, if only because it gives me a place to work through trauma which enables me to handle my ASPD responses from said trauma by myself.

My friends with ASPD have directly benefited from therapy, however, as they had therapists who were more open to talking about those symptoms. Someone I knew went from being stuck in a loop of self-destructive behaviors (including sh and alcoholism, amongst others) and very violent outbursts that caused hospital visits and many, many cop calls to being able to function well enough that they actually were able to adjust (under the care of a psychiatrist) their meds down significantly and functioned far better than before. They went from having cops called on them at least once a month to going a couple months at a time without even having the urge to do anything violent, and only acted on it in ways that hurt no one (such as stepping away from the situation and breaking their own unused computer parts in a controlled manner, then returning to the interaction when they were calm). Cases like theirs aren't uncommon, and of course pwASPD symptoms that don't manifest the same way theirs did still find benefit from therapy. Not everyone will, but I think overall there is nothing about ASPD that would stop therapy from being effective if you find the right person and type.

I do think some research has to be done into the right specialist (I prefer trauma specialists vs cluster b specialists because trauma specialists have much less stigma about us in my experience). Also, as with anyone with any disorder going into therapy, you will have to try it out and do research to find the best types of therapy for you.

There is some research suggesting that MBT/Mentalization therapy may be beneficial to pwASPD, as it has shown to be very helpful for pwBPD. As I (a non-professional) understand it, MBT focuses on teaching you (very slowly) to reflect on your thoughts, feelings, actions, etc. and that of other people's. Especially for pwASPD who are not willing to open up about their past (very common as that makes us feel vulnerable), MBT can be a great option, as it does not address the past at all. Instead it focuses on how things are going for you right now, in the moment using the interactions with your therapist as a guide. So if you show signs of anxiety while talking to your therapist, they would point that out to you and help you recognize it and adjust for it in the moment. Over time, this can help train your brain to do this outside of the therapy session as well.

Schema therapy is another one that is commonly thought to be helpful for pwASPD, as it focuses on the behavioral and thought patterns taught to us in childhood and works to identify ones that basically aren't helping us anymore. It seems very Marie Kondo to me, but for mental health. If that process isn't serving you anymore, then it should be gotten rid of (which takes time and effort and is part of what the therapist helps with) to make room for new, healthier responses that make more sense in the context of your current life.

For example, if, as a child, you had to steal to get the things you needed because you were being neglected, your brain may have taken in that that is what one does to survive. However, if you are an adult who is capable of taking care of themselves and can get what they need without stealing to do so, schema therapy would help to address the emotions and trauma that led to the former belief and help to replace it with the understanding that you can support yourself without it.

Both of these, actually, are commonly recommended for pwBPD, which is why they are being researched for ASPD. I haven't been to anyone who specifically uses these forms, but they sound similar to the ways I taught myself to avoid destructive behaviors and I can see how they may help keep pwASPD from feeling unsafe in therapy and quitting.

No type of therapy works for everyone, nor everyone with a specific disorder, but if these sound like they might help I would advise you to research them and speak to a therapist who specializes in one of them. If not, I would research other kinds. Yes, therapy does not work for everyone, but there are so many methods and approaches that I would say a vast majority of people can find a method that works for them. The process of trying new methods and therapists out is usually where people give up.

If you're able, I'd advise you to keep trying. At the end of the day, though, I am just someone on the internet who does not know your situation anywhere near as well as you and/or your professionals and/or your loved ones do. I can't say for sure that it will work.

What I can say is that I do believe there is a solid chance therapy can help if you're willing to keep trying.

Plain text below the cut:

What I can say is that I do believe there is a solid chance therapy can help if you're willing to keep trying.

#tw alcohol mention #tw sh mention #cw therapy #aspd-culture-is #aspd culture is #aspd culture #actually aspd #aspd #aspd awareness #actually antisocial #antisocial personality disorder #aspd traits #anons welcome

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scooobies · 28 days

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I'm a year clean and sober today. It's a weird feeling because not a moment has gone by that I haven't wanted to relapse or have a drink. But that girl feels so foreign compared to the woman I am now. The way I move through life the relationships I have the things I love have all shifted and changed.

I've said this a thousand times over but Nesta is so incredibly intertwined in that. Her book saved me.

I have had substance-abuse issues since I was 12 years old. I didn't have an education past sixth grade. I tried to get sober over and over again but never got more than a couple of days if that. Withdrawals are a bitch. I've overdosed more times than I can count I've looked death in the face and somehow survived. I've lost so many friends to the same addictions and wonder why it was me that got to make it out. I've spent a good portion of my life either in jail or in a hospital.

A year and a half ago was the worst overdose by far. I was found by chance practically dead. It was the closest call I have had. But unfortunately it wasn't what sparked that need to get sober. I was bedridden for a long time because of it. Had lots of surgeries and therapy for my body and my mind. And even though I was still abusing substances, I knew I needed to change my routine.

Other than fanfiction I was never really a reader. The hunger games series was the only set of books I ever opened without a gun to my head. A friend of mine one of the few that I would use with thats still around and is a piece of light in my life decided we needed hobbies that didn't involve a bottle of vodka and enough drugs to kill an elephant. I said that we should start a sober book club. I told her that I had been hearing about a series called acotar and that it was really popular. So we bought the books and the audiobooks to match and she read the books and I didn't. But she fell in love with it so deeply and never stopped hounding me about it that I finally gave in.

The world was so beautiful and some thing we all clearly fell in love with. A world that was so enveloping it was so easy to fall into. Maladaptive daydreaming or not it got me out of my head it was some thing that I was craving for once that wasn't harmful. And there was some thing about Nesta that pissed me off....but I liked it. She was cold and she was a bitch and she didn't give a fuck about anyone's feelings she said what everyone was thinking not necessarily in a way that was easy to take... but honest nonetheless. And then I got to silver flames.

My heart shattered for Nesta and I couldn't figure out why it was affecting me so much. And my therapist pointed out that our trauma presents in the same way. That our patterns of self deprecation and self harm were eerily similar. That our trauma wasn't palatable in the way that it was displayed which made it hard for people to empathize and help. That even if we got help we would reject it. That we both made so many mistakes and cannot change the fact that we have hurt the people around us. But that we are still humans (well one of us) who deserve love who deserve healing and cannot change what we've done and the hurt that we've caused but can decide that it will not happen again.

My body will never be the same. I'll never walk quite right I'm losing my hearing more and more every year and eventually I will be deaf. My hands are basically paralyzed and in constant pain. My memory is horrible and it seems that I can only recall the things that cause me pain a lot of the time. Half of my face is paralyzed. And my vision is severely affected. And I will never be able to speak properly again. I have had every reason to give in. I have had every reason to give up. But, I am the rock against which the surf crashes, nothing can break me. I owe nesta everything.

Celebrating life 🤍 sorry for the trauma dump

#ACOTAR #nesta is so precious to me #nesta #nesta archeron #a court of silver flames #acosf #nesta acosf #sobriety #sober #soberlife #clean and sober #one year sober #one year clean #pro nesta

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angelofthenight · 1 year

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The Monster You Created Pt.7

(Sam Fortner x Reader)

Warnings: Yandere!Sam, Dark themes, Swearing, Kidnapping situation, Unreciprocated love, Manipulation, “I could fix her” syndrome, Daddy issues, Mental breakdown, Hurt-comfort(?), Male rage, YN kind of has ptsd, Physical aggression kinda

Word Count: 4.7k

Table of Contents

( So sorry this took so long but I did warn y’all that Game of Thrones has me locked and bound and gagged in it’s basement )

You and Sam sat while eating lunch as the T.V. played a Halloween movie. Yeah, it was already nearing Halloween. You’ve been in Sam’s basement for a little over four weeks now, although you swore it felt more like four months.

You knew you have slowly been gaining Sam’s trust more and more each day as you remained on your best behavior. Maybe suspiciously a little too good of behavior but Sam was probably too delusional and blinded by his own happiness to notice; a fool too enchanted by the possibilities your potential love provided to even see that you were manipulating him by his own unhealthy infatuation with you every time you spoke.

You sometimes feared you would get too caught up in pretending and you wouldn’t even notice the stockholm syndrome if it hit you in the face. But your stubborn willpower was still far too strong to let that happen. Especially since Sam’s occasional prying about your childhood and relationship with your dad, along with your self-destructive phase after he left, aggravated you far too much.

In fact, he was a little too curious about that part of your life. He talked about it so carefully as if he was walking on eggshells with you, as if the two of you were in a therapy session about your dad.

You glanced over to Sam who was finishing up his lunch, a suspicious glare set in your eyes. “There’s another reason why you brought me here, isn’t there?” You spoke out and by the way his eyes widened and shot to the floor you knew you were onto something. “What is it? And be honest.” You sternly said, your eyes analyzing his every move of body language.

Sam poked and mixed his food with his plastic fork as he bit his bottom lip with a tight jaw. “This…” he started then sighed, “this wasn’t just about you helping me… I want to help you too.”

Your brows pinched together. “Help me? Help me with what?” Sam sighed loudly again, like he was hoping you wouldn’t ask him that. He tossed his plate to the table before throwing his head back, taking another heavy, loud breath. All in another breath, he snapped his head back up to look straight at you. “Your boyfriend’s a shit-eating asshole. And who else was a shit-eating asshole in your life? Your dad.”

Your eyes twitched wider.

“You’re only with your boyfriend because he reminds you of your dad and-and you wanna heal your pain of not having a dad in your life for so long.” Sam said in a jittery tone as his eyes casted down to his lap, struggling to find the right words. “I… I thought if I separated you from him it would give you time to like… reflect on yourself.” A long string of silence rolled by before he nervously looked over to you to see why you weren’t responding.

He was met with your stone glare, eyebrows so furrowed they enveloped your eyelids, and parted lips. “So what?” You said loudly. “You thought you could “fix” me? You thought the only thing keeping me from falling for you was because of some bullshit “daddy issues”?” You barked out.

“I’m fine now! All that “pain” you’re talking about, it’s all in the past now. I am healed. I have done my self-reflection. You and I are not the same. My dad did not fuck me up.” You hadn’t realized the tears piling up in your eyes until you found it harder to speak through your tightening throat from just simply talking about it. You sharply inhaled and darted your pupils up to prevent those drops of salt water from pouring over your bottom lash lines. Your exhale came out shaky.

“You can cry. It’s alright.” Sam’s voice reached your ears softly. You harshly sniffled, desperately holding in your tears and the sob that you were trapping in your own throat. You didn’t want to expose yourself in such a vulnerable way in front of him. He was the last person you’d want to let your guard down around, you feared it would give him too big of an ego boost and motive to touch you.

You took a hard gulp as an attempt to swallow the heavy lump in your throat, your lips tightly shut. “I know you need to let it out.” Sam said again, his eyes on you sad and pained. “You can let it out here. You’re safe and would never be judged here.” Sam practically begged, hating to see you trying so hard to remain strong.

You abruptly stood up. “I need a nap.” You said extremely hoarsely and breathy. Your stiff body turned around and only made it two steps before your knees locked and you fell to the floor, knees first and landing on your elbows and forearms. Your sob finally spilled out of your throat and came out in an anguished rip, your red cracked eyes squeezing shut as tears gushed out like an open, fatal wound. Your face twisted in heartbreaking agony with your forehead pressed to the floor as your chest was in painful torture. You choked and wheezed on your own sobs and wails while burning fresh tear trails constantly replaced the ones before it down your red cheeks.

Sam was up on his feet the millisecond you hit the floor. He was frozen for a moment, not really knowing what to do even though he fantasized himself comforting you through crying breakdowns hundreds of times. He hesitantly took steps over to your hunched form to take a knee and steadily placed a hand on your convulsing back. You didn’t seem to physically mind or realize his touch so he began rubbing circles on your back as you finally let out years worth of pent up pain through ugly sobs.

He didn’t dare hush you in a comforting manner, instead just whispering encouragement. “Let it out. Let it all out.” He quietly said before you gasped in a breath to scream out another long wail.

Your tearful meltdown lasted two whole hours with you slowing down and your breathing returning to normal before your thoughts would rewind and flash you back to your child and teenhood memories so your bawling howls would start all over again. When you were fairly certain you had burned yourself out, you silently lifted your numb and dizzy body up to the bed to lay down.

Sam assisted you as much as you let him and once you were laid down he carefully said, “I’ll go get you some water and ibuprofen.” He turned around before he heard you weakly say, “Can you wake me up when it’s dinner.” He turned back around, lips parted and brows curving up. “Um… y-yeah. Yeah, I’ll wake you when it’s dinnertime.” He redirected himself to instead head for his room but before he pushed his door open he heard your delicate voice once again.

“Thank you, Sam.”

Sam felt himself smile and his chest warmly fluttered, softly inhaling as if in a dream. “Yeah… it’s-it’s no problem. I’d do anything for you.” He said as he stared at his door, euphoric ecstasy fogging up his mind and he knew by just your gentle voice of gratitude that he would forever be doomed as your slave. But what bliss that was.

Once you heard Sam go into his room, your numb face somehow let out a hushed scoff. Who knew that actually letting go of your dignity momentarily would get him wrapped around your finger so simply. You honestly didn’t plan on your dramatic sobbing mess, you truly did try to fight it. But after your painful cries died down you realized how much of a perfect opportunity it was to reel in Sam’s ignorant trust.

What. A. Fool.

But what man wasn’t?

It was Halloween night, four nights after your breakdown with tears of trauma and you used those four nights to pretend to slowly warm up to Sam and give him just breadcrumbs of what he wanted from you; gratitude, obedience, vulnerability, attention, and domestication. And with dangling all of that in front of him it only left him as a mess of desperation and longing; a blind fool too lovesick to even see the manipulation right in front of his eyes. Sometimes, you felt as if you were the free one and he was the one on a leash you were holding.

So with all of this on your side, you finally felt it was safe enough to get that shower privilege.

“Hey Sam?” You asked casually, trying to make yourself seem like you were getting too used to your predicament. Sam hummed as he looked up from his dinner to look up at you through starry eyes. You purposely bit your lip. “I know you’re gonna say no, and I won’t blame you if you do, but I was wondering if I could maybe get that shower I’ve been wanting for awhile now?”

Sam halted his eating, looking to the ground as he went into thought. Your heart anxiously pounded as you begged in your mind for him to approve, you’ve sacrificed too much of your self respect to be denied.

He swallowed his food and glanced over to stare at you. “I think you’ve been behaving enough to earn it.” The sight of the burst of a wide smile on your tired face brought a small one to Sam’s. It felt good to reward you.

“You could hold the chain if it makes you feel better.” You offered, trying to make it sound like you were putting him first. Sam paused to think before shaking his head and returning to his food. “No, I don’t think you need that.”

He was even stupider than you were hoping. You were honestly surprised of how perfect that went since of how hugely controlling he was.

“You can take it after dinner.” Sam added but meant it more as a question. You nodded with a lively smile. “Yeah, that’d be great. Thank you.” Sam pressed his lips together as he felt an energized smile attack his face once again.

Dusk had crept over the sky much too delayed for your taste as you had been counting the minutes till dinnertime, eyes glued to the sliding door as you waited for Sam to return home. You scarfed down the takeout food in between buttering Sam up in the most casual ways possible. Just the little things that you knew would stand out to him like letting your gaze linger on him long enough until he looked up to catch you quickly looking away or slipping small smiles over little things he did. All just breadcrumbs of affectionate attention to leave Sam desperate for more.

You waited until Sam was finished with his scraps before you reminded him of your agreement. Sam’s cheerful demeanor seemed to slip a bit, perhaps his doubts and worries started to cling back onto him now that it started to hit him what exactly he was agreeing to. But all those feelings of distrust vanished with a ‘poof’ once he locked eyes with your hopeful and patient ones. You’ve been behaving so well lately and he knew that if he wanted that to continue he would have to reward you.

He stood up and looked down at your big eyes that you casted up at him, so full of patience and compliance; waiting for his instructions. Sam’s breath in his throat grew chopped and heavy, a warmth spreading down his insides. When you looked up at him like that he couldn’t restrain his thoughts from reimagining this scenario with a much different outcome. And a part of him couldn’t help but wonder how far your good behavior and obedience would go…

“You alright?” You asked with an eyebrow raise, an uncomfortable sting setting on your back as he looked down at you with fogged eyes and bated breath. Sam almost choked on his pant as he shook his head to rid of the realization that he was fantasizing lewd acts with you right in front of you. “Y-yeah. I-um… let’s get you that shower.” He stuttered around before quickly taking a knee in front of you to hastily unlock your chain while hiding his reddening face.

Once freed from the chain locked around your ankle, you gathered the small pile of clothes you had chosen earlier on your bed into your arms. You rose to your feet and let Sam, all but quick yet cautious, lead you to his bedroom door. He positioned himself next to you so that you couldn’t run for the door and once he opened the door to his bedroom he switched sides to almost block your view of his room, hurrying you through it to the bathroom and shutting the door with an accidental slam.

You transitioned rooms so quickly you barely had time to register it even happened. But the sight of a new surrounding brought satisfying relief to your mentality. You looked up every wall and took in every crook and cranny, no window though, basking in the joy of something new after being stuck in the same area for weeks straight. You slowly spun around to view the whole room and ended with facing Sam just silently staring at you, not a thought behind those empty eyes.

“Can you… you know.” You awkwardly said, spinning your finger to send the non-verbal message that you wanted some privacy to strip out of your clothes. Sam flinched but flusteredly stuttered nonetheless. “Y-y-yeah! No problem.” He shuffled around so that his back was now facing you.

You eyed his back as you slowly lifted your top over your head. Once it was off you tore your eyes off him and finished off your shedding of clothes to quickly slip into the shower, spreading the curtain hurriedly to hide your bare naked form just in case he wanted to try to sneak a glance.

You exhaled in pure bliss when the first couple of water splashes fell upon your body. You nearly cried tears of joy as the water soon drenched you like a warm embrace. You couldn’t stop your thrilled smile as you spread the water with your hands all over your body, rubbing and massaging the warm water into your tense muscles and dry skin. It was heaven. Even when your fingertips pruned and you began to feel light dizziness from the steam, you still happily bathed.

You honestly didn’t want to leave, you haven’t felt this happy and safe for so long. You wanted to soak it up for as long as you possibly could. But unfortunately all good things must come to an end. You knew that since now you had Sam’s delicate trust you could rejoin with the shower at any time you wished, you had to remind yourself of that.

So with a deep, defeated, sad sigh you twisted the knob until the shower rain slowed down to a stop. You peeked out the curtain to find Sam in the same place you had left him. You stepped out of the small shower to instantly begin drying your dripping body and squeezing the droplets out of your drenched hair. As you kept glancing to check on Sam, you began to tug your clothes back on and convinced yourself to not be sad that your shower ended but instead be happy it even happened in the first place.

But in that moment, you recognized a chance; an opportunity.

It was Halloween night. People were out of their houses, teenagers and college kids were replacing children on the streets, this was a lively night. A once in a lifetime opportunity.

You couldn’t stop your own scheming even when you kept telling yourself that one of the reasons you worked so hard for this was so that you could build a sturdier trust with Sam that would eventually lead to more privileges. But now that you were up and free, you didn’t want to go back to that chain. Not when freedom was so close that you could taste it!

You kept telling yourself not to, the longer you waited the better of a chance would come for your escape. But you also couldn’t bear to pass up this opportunity.

You stared at the top of the toilet tank. It had to have been heavy enough to make a good weapon. You could use it to knock out Sam who still had his loyal eyes stuck to the door and make a run for it. It was that easy. This was the perfect chance.

You carefully held your breath as you reached for the top of the toilet tank, quietly taking it in your hands and testing its weight. It was perfect. You didn’t underestimate your strength, at work you mashed fruit every single day and surprisingly gained quite a bit of muscle from it. You turned to Sam and steadied your breath, lifting the tank lid and readying your swing as you stalked towards your kidnapper.

You pulled back and swung high, aiming for the back of his head.

But your strength had failed you.

You hadn’t realized that not consistently working your arms affected your strength especially after weeks of constant tiredness and not moving around as much. Your muscles gave out as soon as you swung the lid high and your aim and lunge had weakened to only do as much as getting him to the floor with a pained groan and hands holding the back of his head.

Your steady breathing fell apart into wheezes of high adrenaline. You had done it. And if you wanted to live to be proud of it you had to leave now. While he was still hunched on the ground.

A part of you wanted to stay and use this to your advantage. To grab the tank lid and fucking smash his brains in. But you chose your freedom over revenge in that second of debating contemplation, mixed with knowing deep down you didn’t have it in you.

You dropped the lid to the ground and swung the door open, sprinting out of the bathroom, through his room you paid no attention to, and all the way to the sliding door. You threw yourself against the glass door through an unhealthily high adrenaline rush from the stressed hurry and desperation for that breath of fresh air. You tugged the handle to the side to exhale a panicked breath of failure. But as quickly as your hope had been shattered, the fragments seemed to reassemble themselves to create the broken aftermath of what was once whole. All it took was a second, more harsher, tug to slide it open.

That cold October air rushed into the room, hitting you in the face and if you weren’t in a hurry you would’ve stood there for a minute longer to embrace and enjoy that nighttime breeze to wash away that imprisoned stench of mental rot; a funk of a decaying carcass of the woman you were the first night you had been trapped. You wanted that woman back. And she was so close to being yours again. And so as soon as the door slid open you wasted no time in dashing out into the yard, your feet nearly slipping on the scattered fallen autumn leaves that coated the dead grass.

You’ve analyzed the yard weeks ago, already noting the tall fence that surrounded the open area like you were a caged zoo animal. You remember pressing your face against the glass to see further around the area to note the lock on the fence door. But that was no problem to you, you’ve done quite a bit of fence hopping in your life, especially in your rebellious youth.

As your fingers curled and gripped against the chain fence, lifting one of your feet to shove into one of the openings, a weight shoved itself against you, forcing your body to slam against the fence, painfully.

Your blood ran cold just like the night wind; turning to ice at the realization of your reality. You were too slow.

You hissed in a quick breath to blow it out as a, “HEEEEEEL-” Sam’s calloused hands wrapped over and around your body with one firmly gripping over your mouth to cut your scream short whilst the other wrapped around your waist to squeeze your hips against him. His hot breath paired with grunts fanned over your ear and you became much too focused on the painfully audible fluctuation of your heart.

And with that he pitilessly ripped you off the fence and dragged you backwards in pursuit of the open sliding door like the two of you were recreating a scene from Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Ever-so hopeful, you continued to thrash; fighting against his bludgeoning grip as you sobbed an onset of pleas through his hand for the possibility of persuasion. But the endeavor of humanistic covetousness could not be reasoned with. Especially after the betrayal of trust and heartbroken awareness of the trickery you had snuck past his attentive eyes.

‘No, no, no, no.’ You repeated in your head as the tendrils of terror squeezed and suffocated your mind, terrified of what was to come due to your failure. You were so close.

You clawed at the air and his firm hands, drumming your heels into the ground only for them to slide into the direction Sam was dragging you. Warm tears flowed down your face and neck and as the foreboding anxiety pricked at your delicate heart, you cried in anguish. Once you were halfway through the door you made one last pathetic attempt of escape or at least a delay to your demise by grabbing the frame like a child refusing to go to the doctor. But Sam had mercilessly thrashed you from your hold, his hand parting from the lower half of your face to slide it shut with a lock.

“Please.” Your voice was hoarse from the endless amounts of crying and screaming for release from his captivity but your pitiful mewls only fell deaf upon disillusioned ears. He was still huffing breaths of fury and groans of pain from your previous hit and run on him. He hauled you against the carpet as you continued to kick and resist and whimper and sob. “Sam, please!” You didn’t exactly know what you were begging for; mercy, forgiveness, another chance? Maybe all three.

Sam threw you down onto the bed, face first, and before you could push yourself up Sam forced your face back into the mattress as he placed a knee on your lower back as you still thrashed around. He roughly grabbed onto your squirming leg and relocked your chain, but not without struggle and a sharp scowl on his face. You continued to pour out sobs from your throat as shiny wet trails populated your cheeks, feeling the pain in your back from his pressured knee. “Sa-am!”

Sam roughly pushed himself off of you to stomp into his room to search for something before coming back out, transitioning into a straddle on your back. He snatched both your arms and crossed them behind your back. It wasn’t until you heard the sound of duct tape unrolling where you panicked and squirmed underneath him, howling out more pleas. “Sam, no! Please!”

“Stop complaining! You did this to yourself!” Sam savagely snapped back at you. It held such a carnivorous bite that you almost didn’t even recognize him by his voice. As he duct taped your forearms together behind your back, you still choked on your own sobs until he suddenly wrapped a dull bandana over your mouth and tied its ends into a tight knot behind your head. Your screaming sobs came out as only muffled hums now, your eyes overflowing and drowning with burning tears which made your iris’ appear as puddles.

Sam got off you once again only to unkindly jerk you around so that you were facing him and sitting up. You came face to face with Sam’s animalistic expression, his breathing drowning in malevolent growls as anger burned him from the inside. It frightened you to your paralyzed bones.

“So what?! This whole time you were just putting on a little “good girl” act?! Faking everything?! Fucking tricking me into actually trusting you only for you to try to run away?!” He lunged forward to ruthlessly grab your shoulders, shaking your trembling form as his ferocious mannerisms only made your tears worse. “Why are you trying to run away?! Run away from me, run away from my love?! All I want to do is love you and care for you and you try to fucking run away from that?! Why the fuck do you wanna leave so bad?!”

He leaned his face closer to continue to yell, his tone holding a feral, barbarous cut; a predatorial rage clawing an implode out of his composure. “I know you need time to adjust and get used to everything but jesus fucking christ how much time do you need?! I’ve been so patient with you and you would be so much happier if you just stopped FUCKING resisting me and fighting me!”

Your brows held the shape of an upside down ‘V’ as you remained bawling your wide bloodshot eyes out, feeling as if the whole world was shaking and that you would pass out from how your inhales for breath got more desperate from the hyperventilation and broke down into wheezes.

“I thought this was going so well! But was that all you could think of the whole time?! Was escaping the only thing on your mind all the time?! Why?! You’re so much safer here with me!” Sam’s own eyes filled up with hot tears as his expression shifted into one of heartbroken desperation. It gave you whiplash how quickly the switch could flip on his emotions. “You can’t leave me, (Y/n)! I don’t know what I’d do without you! If you left me now I’ll die!” His lips quivered, his hand reaching up to grip onto his chest as if he could feel his heart failing.

“I can’t survive without you. You’re the only reason worth living for, you’re my whole world! I need you more than I need air to breathe! I-I’ll do anything you ask me to!! But please don’t ever try to leave me!”

He was sick. There was something wrong with him. He needed help, professional help. You uselessly took note of all this as you grew to loathe your predicament even more, watching the image of the man you once knew crumble away like he was never there to begin with. What was wrong with him?

Your throat felt so heavy that you couldn’t even gulp yet your eyes never stopped leaking that salty substance, your lips shuddering in front of trapped sobs from the tight cloth around your face. Sam finally took notice of how many fresh tears continuously streamed down your cheeks and reached back towards your trembling shoulders. “Sh… don’t cry. I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” He softly said, giving you another mental whiplash from another significant attitude change.

When you didn’t nod to his question it instantly awoken another brutish bark. “RIGHT?!” You squeezed your eyes closed and flinched away from him, not moving far as his iron grip kept you close to him so that you could feel his huffing, foaming breaths on your wet face. “I love you so fucking much that I could never hurt you! Why don’t you understand that?!”

Sam forced himself off you and off the bed to only stand for a few seconds before leaning back down to lowly say to your face with a gripped jaw, “I don’t care how many times it takes to get through to you, I’ll make you realize how much I love you.”

Then he stomped away from your frozen-in-fear composure and into his room, loudly slamming the door and a scream ripped through the walls, “FUUUCK!!” Which was followed by a few crashing sounds and roars of violent frustration.

You huddled into the corner of your bed, pressing your knees to your chest as you instantaneously weeped away with sobs scratching your throat raw.

If you weren’t chained and duct taped and mouth bound, you’d say you’ve been in this exact situation before… with two other men in your life.

Taglist: @alices-halcyon @katlover63 @valareina @kaitcreatesart

#the patient #the patient hulu #the patient fx #yandere sam fortner #sam fortner #yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #sam fortner x reader #sam fortner imagine #dark fic #domhnall gleeson #Domhnall Gleeson x reader

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