#got really upset thinking about this during therapy yesterday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sea-lilli · 2 years

Text

Jax is upset right now because he was criticizing me having feelings around Jane. I had a trauma moment yesterday bc I found a gray hair and it triggered a ptsd moment for me, afraid of turning into my mom. Then, I came home and was still thrown off bc… ptsd moment. And we were talking all about how Jane was acting up last night trying to pick a fight. And jax is always like “oh I don’t think you realize your emotions have an effect on other people. I got anxious bc I knew you were in a bad mood and was on defensive looking for something with Jane and you. So I could shut it down.” Like it’s my fault for having any sort of negative emotion around Jane. Like seriously? Wtf? I’m supposed to just be happy all the time around her even if I’m not?

Then jax was saying about how he had feelings too that came up when I have feelings. But like, and I said this to him, those are HIS feelings to manage. And he’ll just start talking about how I’m a shitty person for having feelings bc it’s impacting him and he doesn’t know how to calm himself down. Like he needs support from me on his feelings so he thinks that I’m not giving him that support. But then he’ll tell me he doesn’t want me to do anything. It’s very passive aggressive. He’s not happy with something but doesn’t know what he wants me to change.

Honestly? I appreciate him comforting me when I’m sad etc but it’s never really that much. I don’t turn him into a therapist ever. And I feel that he wants me to do that with him. He does have feelings and I do dismiss them sometimes. But it’s like the same feelings over & over & over again. Ie. With his anxiety around illness /pills. It’s the same conversation over & over. I get bored doing it. These topics are things that he needs more than what I can provide. He needs a therapist. It shouldn’t be in depth emotional support helping him get to the bottom of all his issues. That should not be my expectation. So I don’t do it. I am his gf, not his therapist, and it wears me down for him to constantly put me in that role. Also, even if I were to offer more therapeutic support to him, he doesn’t listen to it. He doesn’t put it into action. So just… why? That feeling of frustration is why I don’t provide that level of support to him.

Also, I am tired of him constantly criticizing my behavior around jane. It is constant. He always says I bicker with her a lot, or that she tries to compete with me, etc. but he is sorta just now seeing that his child has problems too. Like he always wants to put it on me that something is wrong. He wants ME to make the perspective changes, me to change my behavior, but the thing is, I went to therapy for a long time. I might be wrong on some parts but I spent a lot of time learning to self reflect and analyze behaviors. I am amazing at it at my job. My actions are statistically less likely to be unhealthy than the person who didn’t do as deep work on themselves.

I’m just honestly exhausted. I feel like I’m pulling the family healthy and that’s great, so much progress, etc. but it’s exhausting. Esp when I’m doing all this work & jax is still like, “do more.” Like sometimes i wonder if we are fundamentally just incompatible. I wonder if we just have way too different views on parenting / self work. It’s coming out too lately in intimacy. I’m not wanting sex as much. I don’t always want to be vulnerable with him, bc I don’t always feel safe emotionally. And that is bc he criticizes my feelings a lot when I am sensitive.

Ie yesterday. He did give me a good passionate speech on how I’m not my mom, but he also was critical. WHY do you feel this way. You SHOULDNT feel this way. I was just playfully teasing. Etc.

How am I supposed to feel safe when he criticizes. Esp with him, I have these intense, powerful orgasms. Sometimes they bring up intense feelings and I want to cry. Or like I’ll get triggered during sex and have to stop and be held type of thing. And I don’t want to be criticized in that deep moment of intense feeling. So I just don’t want to. It doesn’t feel supportive.

I’ve also gotten to the point in our relationship where certain arguments I no longer want to have with him. Like around rayne, parenting, money. We’ve had them so much and it’s so much for me to break down for him that I don’t want to do it anymore. I don’t want want to talk about it with him bc it’s the same ass loop. He has to be separate and just learn on his own. When he’s ready and wants to, he will change. I don’t want to put effort into it.

And like, the gift thing today. He said he was going to stick to practical gifts with me. Like gift cards. No jewelry. No pjs. Bc he said I don’t wear them. And that’s cool but it’s like he’s no longer putting so much effort into the relationship. He doesn’t care to find great presents for me bc ? Idk? He’s tired too?

I don’t think he could do it all on his own tho. Like with Jane. I think the transition would have been too much. I think he’s not used to having her so much. I think if I left, he’d prolly flail a little bc I do a lot of helping her with behaviors.

I’m like, I want to stay with him and work stuff out. But I also think it’s a lot of therapeutic effort I put out & that the effort isn’t always matched. I appreciate having a space I can have feelings in & the growth that comes from this relationship. But I also am just exhausted from the growth. Esp that first year. It was hard to adjust to having a kid in my life, living half time with her, not getting triggered so much, different parenting philosophies, different money ideas, and living on grid again. It was hard. I just want to rest a little and not worry anymore.

0 notes

melodyofmbaku · 3 years

Text

There Will Be No Tears (Chapter 1)

⚠️Warning: I won’t be continuing this series, just placing it here for posterity.🙏🏾 Thanks for understanding.

Prompt: “Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me.” Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: So Much ANGST The boy squirmed slightly as you deftly lifted his sleeping form from his crib and nestled him in your arms. You smiled softly as you stared at the carbon copy of your husband swaddled in your arms. You couldn’t deny it, he was handsome. You placed a soft kiss to his cheek, and whispered sweet words of praise in his ears. You noticed a tear sliding down your cheek and quickly lifted your hand to wipe it away, swallowing deeply and repeating the mantra you had created to comfort you during trying times – there will be no tears. You turned and lifted the large baby bag you had packed earlier in the evening, hoisting it over your shoulder. It was full with supplies that would last a few days as you journeyed outside of your husband’s kingdom to a quiet and unsuspecting location, until you had found a place and settled down. You had decided that you and your son would live away from the palace, and have nothing to do with royalty. You’d live a quiet life, the way you used to before you met him. Maybe settle in the River Tribe, somewhere discreet, where you could find peace. You didn’t want any trouble. You took one last look around your 1 and a half year old son’s room, noticing the large rocking chair T’challa had bought for you the moment you he had discovered you were pregnant. You smiled at the memory – a small smile. The mantra played on repeat in your head. there will be no tears. You hurried out of the room closing the door quietly and began your walk to the west wing of the palace, where you would make your exit. Your eyes took in the architecture of the palace that had been your home for close to 3 years, you would miss it. It was where you had met T’challa. You had loved him, married him, and conceived your beloved son together in the walls of this building. How could you not miss it? Unfortunately, it was also the place that witnessed the breakdown of your marriage, the walls had heard every argument, saw every push, heard every insult, but worst of all it had heard your cries. The cries that had emitted from your lips as you realized that your beloved husband, the king had a lover. A lover who wasn’t you. You remembered the day you found out like it was yesterday, and you probably would for the rest of your life. __ You had woken up in the middle of the night and he wasn’t there. It wasn’t surprising for you to wake up with him gone in the middle of the night, He was king after all. He had a duty to his country and it was a job that did not give him the privilege of getting his 8-10 hours of sleep. Often times he would work through the night. You would always feel him slip back into bed as the sun rose, to kiss your cheeks and pull you close to him once again, returning just in time to spend a few minutes with you as you woke up. If you woke in the middle of the night and missed his presence he could be found in his office, huddled over a stack of papers, with a steaming cup of herbal tea to his side and his glasses on the tip of his nose. Sometimes you would watch him through a crack in the door and go back to bed, your heart content that he was fine. Other times you would give a little knock on the door and let your presence be known. He’d always welcome you in with a smile and pull you into his lap, leaving you with a kiss on your forehead. If you were really adamant, you’d manage to convince him to come back to bed, and he’d oblige. Every now and then you got comfortable in his lap and let him work as you slept for the duration of the night. This time was different. You had left your bed with a peace offering of herbal tea in hopes of resolving the quarrel that had you both going to bed with your backs facing each other. Instead of seeing T’challa huddled over a stack of papers you were met with a sight that would change the course of your relationship and Wakanda forever. You saw your husband, with his back facing you as a woman had her hands planted on his desk and her figure arching into his body. “You are my peace.” He said into the woman’s hair, as his arms rested loosely around her waist and his nose was buried in her hair. It was those words that broke you the most. He littered her neck with kisses as she reached back and ran her fingers through his coarse hair. Your husband’s hair. The whole scene made you sick to your stomach and you couldn’t help yourself as the saucer and teacup that held his favourite herbal tea slid out of your hands and crashed onto the polished marble floors of the palace. You were stunned for a second before you turned your back and walked hastily back to your quarters. “Y/N!” he called frantically. He murmured a few words to the woman in his office, took a few hurried strides across the room and closed the mahogany door of his office quietly. He then started his sprint towards you and grabbed your wrist pulling your body to him. “Y/N…” he said as his voice trailed off. He ran his fingers through the coils that sat atop his head – something he did when he was frustrated. “I’ve been going through a lot, it’s been hard on me you know?” He expected you to say something, but words couldn’t escape your lips. there will be no tears. You had thought that the increasing number of fights you had been having could be resolved by couples therapy, or communication, anything. You were wrong. This moment made you realize that nothing would solve this broken marriage, it was bigger than you. What you did know is that you wouldn’t have your son growing up in a loveless family, with puppets as parents. Finally, your found your voice. It was wobbly, and you didn’t know how he would take it but you tried anyways. “T’Challa?” A beat. “ I think we should… I don’t think we should… I can’t –“ you couldn’t finish your thoughts as he interrupted you. “Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me.” He whispered as the grip on your wrist tightened. His head hung low, and he couldn’t look at you and instead chose to focus his sight on the floor. You took note of the pressure on your wrist, nodded and composed yourself. You pulled your wrist from his grip, smoothing the front of your night dress, and made you way back to your chambers. This time, he didn’t return. But you knew. You couldn’t stay. Your upbringing and dignity wouldn’t allow you to. You wouldn’t be a puppet queen. You couldn’t. It wasn’t in your nature. __ Weeks had passed since that night and you still operated on auto-pilot. You bathed, burped and played with your son as if nothing was wrong. You went to all your scheduled meetings as the queen, you picked out the linens for the dinners that were to be held in that quarter, you had lunches with T’Challa’s mother, you painted your nails, and braided your hair like you usually would. You spoke to your husband as if nothing was wrong. Replying when he asked you questions that he already knew the answer to just to get you to speak to him. “Y/N? Are we attending the Festival of Harvest this year?” he asked while looking at you expectantly looking for anything – something to indicate your anger. You busied yourself with the laundry you were folding and replied in an even tone “Of course, we attend every year don’t we? Why would this year be any different?” This year would be different. By the time the Festival of Harvest rolled around you and Kweku would have left the palace, never to attend another festival again. Prior to the discovery of his infidelity your interactions had been very different. You were bickering back and forth about almost everything. He would spend a few hours a day playing with his son but ignoring his wife. Often times he’d find you and plop Kweku on your lap and say “He needs his diaper changed, you can return him to me when you’re done.” When you questioned why he couldn’t change his diaper, he’d say “It’s the least you could do Y/N, you’re his mother.” In a condescending tone that you’d never thought would leave the mouth of your husband, your Challa. He would wait for you outside his nursery, and swoop him out of your arms when you exited the room without a word of thanks, and hurry along his way. When you expressed your tiredness while dealing with Kweku, juggling your palace duties, and trying to be a good wife at the same time, he’d simply ask “Y/N, could it be that you’re just not trying hard enough? You must learn to manage it.” T’Challa was never physical with you. Just dismissive, and condescending, and cold. This wasn’t the man you married. Whenever you expressed your concerns about his behavior he’d roll his eyes at you and try to placate you like a child. “If you’d just do what I suggest, you wouldn’t be getting yourself upset over nothing Y/N. Honestly, I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy hormones still swirling about in your system but I’m sure Shuri can help you out if you need it.” With these comments you’d just get more and more heated, which would result in many slammed doors, and a lot of raised voices. You could put up with the arguments, you could fix that, but giving himself to another woman? You couldn’t forgive. You knew you had to be objective with your exit. Though T’Challa had always been sweet to you until recently, he had the capacity to be cruel, he was the Black Panther after all. You wouldn’t put it past him to keep you in the palace as a captive if you made any attempts to leave him, especially with his son. During sex he’d let you know it was he who was dominating your body with skill that made you cry out wantonly every time. “You’re mine Y/N, say it!” he’d growl into your ear, and you would say it, because it was true. __ Your sons whining took you from your thoughts, and you remembered you had to be swift. There was only a small window that would allow you to leave undetected. You had been planning this for weeks. Waiting for the perfect moment. T’challa was gone on an annual hunting trip where many of the Dora Milaje would accompany him as he wouldn’t be in communication with the palace for 3 days. A lot could happen in 3 days. Today was day one, and you had planned to leave today as it would give you the most amount of time to get as far away from the palace as possible and leave undetected. The palace was still guarded, but loosely, and you knew all the blind spots. Perks of hanging out with Shuri in your down time. You snuck out the side door in the west wing, which led to an unsuspecting dirt road, spotting the cab you had arranged for idling in the shadows. Having already placed your small luggage in the cab before going back to retrieve your son it only took you a moment to settle yourself and a sleeping Kweku in the car. “What’s your destination?” the cab driver asked you curiously looking at your cloaked figure in the rear-view mirror. You took a deep breath and steadied your voice “Take us North, I’ll tell you where to stop.” The driver nodded his head and began the journey turning on a shitty American station that played pop music and country. You’d never forget this day. To you, it was monumental because you had managed to pull it off but it was also the day when you turned your back on your duty, your kingdom, your husband and your crown. When that realization struck you, the tears slid down your face disobediently. No matter what, you vowed to never look back

200 notes · View notes

beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

Text

While You Sleep

Chapter 18

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: angst Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

A/N: so sorry I’ve been slow with updating Tumblr - my blog was shadowbanned (basically Tumblr hid my blog in searches, notifications, tags, etc.) and it just got fixed so I’m working to update here!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“You’re back,” Dr. G smiled as you plopped down in the seat across from her.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and instead forced a tight smile. “I’m back,” you confirmed with a dramatic nod for emphasis. You didn’t know why you were feeling so hostile. You had shown up here willingly this time.

Bucky didn’t even know you were seeing your therapist again. But it wasn’t exactly like he was around to find out. He had left for his mission yesterday in the very early morning and you were now on constant edge. You didn’t know what he would encounter. You knew none of it was at your clearance level seeing as you had no government clearance level to begin with but still… You didn’t like that anything that went wrong would come back to you in the depths of your sleep. Even if Bucky had shared everything step-by-step, any mishap was another blow. Even if everything went right, you feared you were bound to see something.

“Would you like to share anything?” Your therapist asked, disrupting your spiraling thoughts. It was like she knew and, well, maybe she did. You really did kind of suck at hiding your emotions. You could practically feel your face darkening with worry.

“Bucky and I learned something about us recently,” you said a bit nervously but Dr. G nodded in encouragement. You tried to steady your breathing and continued, “Our soulmate bond has been disrupted. It happened when he was part of Hydra — I mean, not like part of. That makes it sound like he joined willingly which he absolutely did not—,”

Your therapist said your name sharply, cutting off your words. “I know what you meant,” she said.

You nodded briefly, recomposing yourself, and began again, “While under Hydra, he was brainwashed and in that process, they thought they had rid him of his soulmate. But, turns out, all they were doing was tampering with the transmission lines. This means any sort of trauma or… or really emotional occurrences in Bucky’s life gets passed along to me, intercepting any, well, normal dreams. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Nothing?”

You glanced away. “Well, I’ve asked him to retire to maybe… minimize the damage.”

Dr. G nodded as she scribbled something on her notepad. She let out an interesting hum. “How did Bucky respond to that?”

You fought back the urge to roll your eyes. You weren’t really upset with him, more angered by the situation. “It took him a second to come around to the idea and, sure, eventually he did but then he was given another mission. A mission he couldn’t turn down.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

Another feeling of annoyance flashed across you at the cliche therapist speak but you could also recognize the question for its worth. Someone was actually asking you how you felt about the new, and last, mission. Lord knows Bucky hadn’t.

You bit your lip, feeling tears already threatening to run down your cheeks. “It made me feel bad, to put it simply. I just felt horrible and scared. I know that with time it’ll go away and maybe we’ll find some peace but I’m just really hurt it has to be this way.”

More notes were scribbled. “How did Bucky react to hearing that?” Dr. G asked without looking up. You shifted awkwardly in your seat, fiddling with your fingers out of habit. Your therapist glanced up once her writing has finished. Her brows raised as you struggled to find an answer.

“He doesn’t really know.”

Your therapist placed her pen on her notepad and leaned forward in her chair, eyeing you a bit upsettingly. “Do you remember what I told you during your last session?”

Talking. Talking, talking, talking. Just let it out. How could you forget? That’s exactly what you had done and while it made some kind of progress, you were still stuck at this godforsaken dead end for the time being.

You picked at the chair cushion. “He didn’t ask,” you sighed. “Besides, what good was it going to do? I couldn’t have stopped the mission.”

Dr. G shrugged. “No, I doubt you could’ve, but that’s not the point. The point is you’re hurting and your soulmate needs to know this, especially when it involves him. You can’t beat around the bush or try to sidestep this kind of stuff. Be gentle, yes, but little progress can be made if everything is bottled in.”

“Well, doc, I’m sorry to break it to you, but I’m sure he knows very well how I feel about all of this,” you snapped back. “Think I made myself super clear during our first conversation about retirement.”

“Fine,” she shrugged. “Assume he did. Assume Bucky knew everything that was going through your mind. Did it open any conversation?”

Your shoulders slumped. You looked away.

Dr. G continued, “My point exactly. Of course, you don’t want to hurt him but you can’t hurt yourself in the process. How many people actually knew about the nightmares to begin with?”

“None,” you mumbled. And it was, sadly, the truth. Your coworker was the first to know. You hadn’t even had the guts to tell your parents.

“I’m sure I make it sound easier than it really is but there are some benefits to it over time,” your therapist said after a moment.

You let out a dramatic sigh. “You’re kind of annoying, you know that?”

Your therapist laughed. “You’ve been wanting to bite back for a while, haven’t you?” You didn’t answer. She shrugged. “Already testing out those communication skills I see.”

You let yourself roll your eyes this time.

***

It was nearing midnight when your cell phone rang. You jumped, suddenly disturbed by the ringtone as you laid on your couch watching some sitcom reruns. You frowned in confusion as you stretched to reach your phone on the coffee table. You weren’t expecting any calls.

You turned the screen around and were greeted by one name: Bucky. You just about yelped when it registered he was calling you -- and from his mission, amazingly. You sat up quickly and answered.

“Hi, Buck,” you greeted, hopefully sounding a bit more cheerful than you felt. Your therapy session from the morning still had you a bit shaken.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky responded, his voice a bit hoarse. He sounded exhausted and...defeated.

You sink into the couch. “Is everything going okay?” You guessed it wasn’t too weird he was reaching out while away but something was off in his voice. You thought you had already mentally prepared for the worst.

“For the most part,” he mumbled. “I have to tell you, sweetheart, it wasn’t smooth sailing. We… We all had to do some things we aren’t proud of.”

You shut your eyes, trying to reel in your panicked brain before you said something you’d regret. This couldn’t all fall on Bucky, it wasn’t fair. He had a job, one final job, and you were going to have to accept that.

Regaining your voice, you said, “What… What things, Bucky?”

He fell silent on the other end. All you could hear was some soft breathing and others talking in the background. The rest of the team you could guess. You said his name into the receiver again.

“Just know I didn’t like what I had to do and I can’t wait to put this life behind me.”

If that was all you were getting from him, you’d have to accept it. “Okay,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “I-I understand.” You didn’t really but you knew after tonight you definitely would.

Bucky took another pause. “You deserve so much better than this.”

“Bucky-,”

“You really do, sweetheart.”

“Bucky, please, listen,” you sighed. “While this isn’t ideal and I was very upset you just jumped on this assignment without speaking to me, I know it won’t be like this forever, right?

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about the assignment before leaving,” Bucky responded. “I-I knew I couldn’t do anything about it but that’s still not fair to you. You deserve to be heard.”

“It’s okay, honey,” you said, fighting back some tears getting ready to start again. “You’re almost done, you’re almost back home.”

Bucky hummed. “I am,” he confirmed. “And when I get back I’m going to make up for all of this, I promise.”

You let out a weak laugh through the tears. “You can make it up to me by getting home safely.”

Bucky was about to say something else but was then cut off by someone yelling at him in the background. He gave a curt response before turning his attention back to you. “Sorry, doll, but I have to go. We have some debriefing to do.”

“Of course,” you said, waving a hand in the air like he could see you. “I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“See you soon, sweetheart,” he said. “Love you.”

The line cut before you had the chance to say the words back. You held your phone out in front of you, staring at your lit homescreen, shocked and overwhelmed. He loved you. And he had said it.

***

You were dreading getting ready to go to sleep but, at the same time, your body was practically begging for it. You were finally getting back into the swing of working and now with therapy sessions on top, you couldn’t believe how exhausting life was. As if you had forgotten at some point.

But with that craved moment of relaxation, an unnerving threat lurked.

You practically moved with caution when it came to your nighttime routine now. You washed your face carefully and precisely. You scrubbed every tooth again and again for a good minute. Even combing out your hair seemed to be tedious.

It was all sad attempts at procrastination and you knew it but what could you do? It wasn’t like you were jumping into bed happily no matter how much your body screamed.

When there was no more to do in your routine, you had to accept it. You had to finally lay down in your bed, let your head hit the pillow, curl up under the duvet, and welcome whatever kind of sleep was going to greet you.

Almost immediately, you were hit with everything.

As always, you’re seeing it in glimpses from Bucky’s eyes, from his mind. In this instance, he appears to be located in some kind of warehouse. It almost reminded you of where you had been taken to but abandoned.

At first, Bucky seems pretty calm and collected. He’s assessing his surroundings and mapping out a plan. He says something to the person next to them. You can’t see them and possibly you don’t want to.

They agree with whatever Bucky has suggested but before their plan can commence, they’re both attacked. Guns blazing, doors busting, a whole goddamn ambush. You’re panicking, you feel Bucky panicking. But it doesn’t last long for him. No, within seconds he’s in destruction mode, stomping towards the pop-up army - you don’t even know what they’re part of - dodging bullets and taking them down one by one.

Some others are helping out it seems but you’re only allowed to be consumed with Bucky’s take on the situation. Despite how much you don’t want to be, especially when he… You see the glint of his metal arm rush past. They’re dying. Being killed. These soldiers or whatever are dropping left and right around him. You feel Bucky’s pulsing anger. He has no plans of slowing down. You feel the tension in his arm as he strangles another and another and another. At one point, he even throws some across the room.

They’re finished. No more men pour in. The rest of the team has stopped. They’re all looking at Bucky, wide-eyed and nervous. You feel his fury turn to shame. You didn’t know the mission’s expectations but you could guess they didn’t exactly involve this much death. No one says anything as they move on.

The images fade but the feelings don’t. You suddenly want to cry in your sleep feeling Bucky’s distraught and embarrassment.

Unable to deal with it anymore, you force yourself awake, everything vanishing as your eyes open. You look around your dark room. The clock beside your bed reads just past three a.m.

You curl back into your blanket and face the wall. You stare at it for the rest of the night, heart pounding and hands shaking.

79 notes · View notes

genderisareligion · 2 years

Note

I hate my father tbh

Yesterday we went to a trip in the huge mall to get me new jackets and he noted how much I have changed since I got calmer I guess (I used to be easily upset and angry)

I mean he was kind, we spend nice time together in the mall, he supports me in my study.

But it made me think today how the truth is that I just started to put a better act of being respectful around him like honestly if I could be like how I truly feel towards him he'd surely beat me up or threaten to beat me up again, what a piece of shit.

It's just sooo sad I think he truly believes just because we spent some good time together we are all good now, fat chance the dynamic I have towards him isn't really different from the dynamic I have towards anyone I meet in context of work etc., the same dynamic I wouldn't miss if we were to part ways tbh.

He belongs to the "other men are worse" "you should have only positif feelingz or do you want me go mad??" moids that he puts a feminist facade in sense of what status it would bring if his daughters had higher education too to be independent to not marry an abusive moid (even though he is one but he is one of the GOOD ones right??)

when in truth is he is casually misogynistic whenever it suits him I genuinly hate how fucking lazy he is at home after work despite once having a "I go for walk for three hours" phase, not even during summer holidays he once bothered making anything in the household while my pick me mother who should finally regret having wasted her life unlike her younger sisters was on vacation. I think I adressed this twice or so and he just put a "I once did it, I do repair shittt" card. Guess who had to play cook as a fucking teen.

He went to therapy once and in the past everytime he demanded to know why I was pissy and I explained he'd just put a but but but just downplaying or dismissing my feelings, I felt like he only demanded to know so that he could "since to him it was a normal day when I was harmed by him" rationalize it away "look at me I don't care about that and let me tell you why" were the vibes I got.

I remember how he offered me to beat him while I was an angry teen which I did with a fist once and he acted all pained, piece of shit asked me if I did not feel sorry for him even though he never once felt sorry for me for the same thing when I was a kid who didn't know better. Funny how he had displayed extreme rage in public even towards his own boss yet never beat them up, as if he feared a thing called legal consequences.

I genuinly think once I'm independent and break contact with him that he will belong to one of the old fucks who ask on quora or yahoo why their children don't want to talk to them anymore, but never reflect on what kind of role their abusive actions against them played and even if they did they'd say it wasn't that bad, you deserved it, stop whining about it "my mom beat me up too" yeah your widow mom with 6 sons in a backwater muslim village with only income being neighbour donations.

Yeah anyways piece of shit was married before my mom and apparently he beat his first wife so hard that she had a miscarriage because of him.

And my mother knew her but didn't know she used to be married to him and when she announced her that she is going to get married to pos, his ex-wife warned her and told her not to.

Of course my dumb as shit pick me ma believed sHe wAs jUsT jEalOus, and I think she doesn't regret her worst decision in her wasted live enough.

His ex wife remarried years ago and I genuinly wish that she is married to some hvm but I bet she is either married to another physically abusive moid and gave it up or to a lvm who is perfect because he doesn't beat her up.

Jfc I'm so sorry you went through this anon. What kind of grown man looks at his own daughter and is like "I'm gonna ask her to beat me"?? Fathers are capable of the most deranged shit

I can relate to being told "others have it worse" with my dad, who wasn't nearly as bad as yours but definitely did the whole "my daughters will be highly educated and too independent for an abuser" despite being an abuser to my mom himself. He would act nicely (sometimes, depending on his sobriety I guess) to us and then treat her like he was a monster and say the most vile shit about her to us, yet we were supposed to believe that he thought women were smart and capable humans worthy of respect. Like bro you can't even treat the woman you "love most" that way, so...

Anyway daughters with shit fathers who survived deserve reparations

#shadow.txt #ask.txt

4 notes · View notes

kaimelia · 3 years

Text

enough for you (ch 7)

———————————

"How was he?"

"He was fine, we went to the park yesterday, and he scraped his knee, but it's all cleaned up now." Amelia took Scout from him, kissing the side of her son's head. "I went out and bought another car seat. We should've done it a while ago anyway; we just only used one car during the pandemic," he muttered, taking one of the car seats out. "Anyway. I'll put this one in your car."

"Thank you," she whispered, watching as he walked over to the other car in the driveway. "So, do you want to come and get him on Monday? And then, drop him off on Thursday, so we can start doing the three-two-two?" Link sighed.

"Amelia, I don't want to do this." She raised her eyebrows. "I don't want to be switching Scout back and forth and only talking to each other in the five minutes it takes me to switch the car seat," he muttered, setting the diaper bag down on the pavement. "You could come back home. You can have the bedroom, I'll sleep in the guest room while we figure things out, and we can work it out together without acting like we're divorced parents." Amelia glanced down at the pavement, flinching as Scout poked at her cheek and giggled.

"Link, I'm not ready. I need time to figure things out and get myself in a better place." She set Scout down on the ground, grabbing his hand to make sure he didn't run away from her.

"How much time? Because I don't want this to turn into something that we can't fix because we ignored it for so long, Amelia, I want to fix this."

"I can't give you a timeline on how long it's going to take me to feel okay again because I don't know." Amelia looked up to see his shoulders slump slightly, and she sighed. "He's getting restless," she motioned down to Scout, who was bouncing up and down in place, "I'm gonna get him settled inside; Ellis was wanting to show him her new bike," Amelia muttered.

"Should I stay or go?"

"Stay. I want to explain something without him stepping on my toes." Link watched as she brought Scout inside, the boy's steps eager and clumsy as they walked onto the porch and into the house, his cousins happily greeting him in the doorway. Amelia turned around and headed back towards Link. She returned to her place across from him, her stance tense and her hands moving nervously.

"Do you wanna sit down?" He asked, seeing as her hands were shaking slightly. Amelia nodded gratefully and lead him towards the steps of the porch. She sighed.

"I told you about the therapist I started seeing, right? Well, uh, she thinks I have some form of postpartum depression. And, it just went untreated for a really long time with the pandemic and everything, so I never actually dealt with what I was feeling until it all got to be too much, and all of that makes it harder to stay sober." Link's eyes widened.

"Are you-"

"Yeah, I'm sober, I mean, barely at this point," she laughed nervously and squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm going to meetings every day and seeing my therapist way more than I probably need to, but I think it's helping? And having the diagnosis gives me some peace of mind because now I know what's wrong, and we can do something about it." He clasped his hands together and nodded slowly, staring straight ahead.

"So, what, you're taking antidepressants?"

"No, I don't want to take any medication, I mean, I know the meds are non-addictive, but I don't think downing some pills every day is the best choice when I'm trying to stay sober. Just therapy right now, although my therapist did mention something about sound baths which brought back some memories." She cracked a smile and looked over to see him shaking his head in amusement as a slight grin played on his face. "Uh, but I know this doesn't absolve everything that happened, but it's what's going on." On instinct, Link reached over and grabbed her hand, stopping her from picking at her nails. She looked at his hand over hers, looking up to make eye contact with him after.

"Sorry," he muttered, pulling his hand back. "Habit, I guess." He shook his head. "Thank you for telling me."

"Yeah," she whispered, clasping her hands together in her lap and exhaling. "I think it's best for me to stay with Mer for a little longer. I know you don't want to keep switching Scout back and forth, but I need to be somewhere stable right now, and staying here is that." He pursed his lips into a tight line. "You're upset."

"No, it's just, I don't want Scout to grow up like I did. I know he's not aware of what's happening now, and he won't remember it when he's older, but having to switch back and forth between my parents every other week and everything that came along with that, it was terrible. I don't want that for him. And, I'm worried that the longer we put things off, the worse it'll get until we can't fix it."

"Scout's never going to grow up like you did. I mean, we're still able to be civil with each other now. I think we're both a little too conscious of screwing him up that we'll stop it from happening."

"Yeah," he laughed softly, looking over at her. Her face was softer than before, and even though the bags under her eyes were just as present as the last time they met, the corners of her lips were turned up into the smallest smile, which brought him some relief. "So, I'll see you on Monday?"

"Yeah, Monday," she pushed herself off the porch steps, straightening out her sweater and brushing a hand through her hair. She followed him to his car, her arms crossed over her chest as they walked in silence. "Thank you for listening." He smiled gently and opened the car door.

"Of course. And if there's anything I can do, drive you to a sound bath or stick some needles in you and call it acupuncture, let me know." Matching grins spread across both of their faces, and Amelia breathed out a laugh.

"I will let you know." He closed the car door, glancing over at her one last time and offering a small wave. She waved back and smiled, watching as he pulled out of the driveway and left her standing there with a grin on her face.

#amelink #amelia shepherd #atticus lincoln #amelia x link #amelink fanfiction #grey's anatomy #amelink fanfic #greys abc #greys fanfic #scout lincoln #scout shepherd lincoln #my fics

37 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years

Text

You’re Not Alone

heartwitchhouse request: Hey uh.. can I get Logan introducing Thomas to neurodivergent communities online?

Sure you can, babe! Thanks for the prompt!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: none

Warnings: also...none? there’s some discussion on having anxiety, depresion, and ADHD with some self-doubt but it’s not that bad

Word Count: 2899

It’s just a little off.

It’s not like it’s some big obvious thing that his parents immediately took notice of. It’s not something his doctor noted on his sheet and made sure to talk about. It’s not even something one of his teachers gently pulled him aside for.

It’s just…not quite right.

He knows that his classmates don’t struggle to stare at the board or their work for like…three minutes at a time, but he also knows one of his classmates who can’t do it for three seconds. He knows the others don’t lapse into gray hazes where doing literally anything feels like an insurmountable force, but he also knows the kids that can’t even come to school on certain days.

He knows people who are better, but he also knows people who are worse.

He has good days. Great days. Great weeks, even. It’s just…sometimes he’ll have a bad day and he can’t help but look at everybody else who’s having a worse day.

And here’s the thing. He knows how to work through it.

He can put his head down and just get things done. It doesn’t matter that he can’t focus for more than three minutes, he’ll do the work he can in those three minutes and then move onto something else. Maybe he’ll get to cycle back and pick it up again later. He can shake his head to clear it and squint at his work again, just to finish this one page through the haze. He can make it.

But it’s just that; making it.

He can’t deny the way the polite smile from his teachers settles heavily in the pit of his stomach saying that yeah, he did fine, but he could’ve done better. The way the list of things he needs to do gets checked off by just the bare minimum, something he’s going to have to redo in just a few days, makes his hands itch. The insecurities over all the things he could have done, could have done better, all the things he’s missed, pile up in his brain until he has to shove them all away just to breathe on bad days. But doesn’t everyone struggle with insecurity now and then? This is normal, right?

Or is it just a little off?

“Oh, I’m sure you’d feel better if you just exercised more! Get yourself a workout schedule, there’s no better free therapy!”

Running makes his chest feel like it’s going to explode. His arms and legs ache after the first round of whatever ‘beginner’ program he decides to try once. The gray haze only flourishes, steady as ever on bad days.

“Just focus on your studies, I’m sure once you’ve got more structure in your life it’ll help you feel better, sweetie.”

Work pounds into his head and he gets it done. All the things he could’ve done better stay there too, bold and bright on the page next to red slashes of ink. He puts his head down and goes, goes, goes. That doesn’t help the bad days, it just pushes them off. Then they get worse.

“Maybe you just need to go outside more often, sunlight can do wonders for you!”

Listen. He and the sun have an agreement. The sun doesn’t like him. He doesn’t like the sun. It’s better if they just…stay out of each other’s way. He could do without the achy headaches the bright light gives him.

“Are you sure you’re drinking enough water? Are you eating the right stuff?”

His budget quickly becomes strained with the amount of ‘healthy food’ he’s supposed to buy. The piles of ‘proper ingredients’ sit in his cabinet, unused, taunting him with how difficult it’ll be to figure out how to eat them. The guilt over not using them worries at his throat as he’s forced to toss them out as they go bad. He gets raised eyebrows from everyone with how often he has to go to the bathroom. The ensuing doctor’s visit is one he’d rather not repeat any time soon, even though at that point it’s just…you know those days where you’re like ‘this might as well happen? Adult life is already so goddamn weird?’

“At least you can get out of bed most days. You seemed fine yesterday!”

…yesterday was yesterday. And just because he got out of bed doesn’t mean anything. It wasn’t really a conscious choice, he just…had to do it.

“You’re not nearly as bad as—“

You know, it doesn’t really matter who they put at the end of that. The point is he’s not as bad as other people. So he doesn’t get the support that they get.

He doesn’t get the polite nods from professors when he needs an extension. He doesn’t get the medication prescribed to him for something that he shouldn’t need because he’s ‘healthy.’ When he finally tries therapy, the therapist compliments him on how easily he’s able to hold a conversation, maintain eye contact, and asks him if he’s tried keeping a diary.

During the nights when he can’t sleep, when the blankets feel way too rough, like sleeping on sandpaper that rubs persistently at his skin, he tosses and turns and thinks…would it be better if…

Would it be better if it were worse?

If it were more obvious, if he actually had depression, anxiety, ADHD, something with a name that people could recognize, or even just the freedom to say he had something…would that be better?

He doesn’t cry every day. He can still feel things most of the time. He eats. He drinks water. He sleeps. He goes outside. He doesn’t get high or drink or do anything to try and numb the pain or escape it. He doesn’t have suicidal thoughts.

But it still feels like he’s not quite right.

If he were worse…people would be more sympathetic. He wouldn’t be accused of milking anything for attention. He wouldn’t get scolded for making light of other people’s problems. He wouldn’t be faking it. Is he faking it? Is he blowing it up out of proportion?

Is it really as bad as he thinks it is?

He finds the perfect metaphor almost by accident. He’s over at a friend’s house one day and they’re in the kitchen, getting hot chocolate to drink before starting their movie night. He opens the cupboard and pulls out a mug with flowers all over it. As he turns to give it to his friend, he notices a chip in the rim.

“Oh, oh gosh, I, um, I’m sorry—“

“What? What’s wrong?” His friend takes the mug from his stuttering hands and squints at it. Her brow smooths out and she laughs. “Oh, are you worried about the chip?”

“…yeah. I don’t—I don’t think I did it?”

“You didn’t,” she says easily, filling it with hot milk, “it’s always been like that.”

“Oh, okay.” The black fuzzy things buzzing about his head settle at that as he leans back against the counter, ready to accept the mug of hot chocolate. It’s warm, pleasantly so, sending a rush of contentment up his arms as he cups his palms around it. “Where’s yours?”

“I’m almost done!”

He looks back down at the hot chocolate, shimmering brown with the kitchen light’s reflection. Tilting his head, he examines the chip in the ceramic. It’s not that big, barely noticeable, but there’s a sharp edge on the inside. He’ll have to be careful he doesn’t drink from that side. Wouldn’t do to burn his tongue and accidentally cut his lip.

“Alright! I’m ready, let’s—ah!”

Her yelp startles him out of whatever hot-chocolate-drinking-planning haze he’d been in, only to see his friend staring at the floor with her hands over her mouth.

“Hey, whoa, are you okay? What happened?”

“I, um—“ oh, no, she sounds so upset, let’s help her!— “I dropped my mug.”

Sure enough, as he hustles around the counter, he sees the broken mug, lying on the floor, hot chocolate spilling mockingly from the remains. He sets his mug—carefully!—on the counter, looking around for the paper towels.

“Did you get hurt?”

“What?” Her gaze doesn’t leave the floor. “No, no, it’s just…that was my favorite mug.”

A horrible sadness settles in his chest as he looks at her and he gently knocks their elbows. “It looks like it’s still got some pretty big pieces, we could…maybe we could fix it?”

“You came over here to watch movies, not to fix my mug.”

“We can do both, can’t we?”

So there they end up, with the lights on, newspaper spread on the floor, hot glue gun, superglue, carefully piecing together broken ceramic as Finding Nemo plays in the background. By the time the seagulls are all racing around the screen, frantically yelling ‘mine!’ they’ve set the now-fixed mug gingerly on the counter, out of harm’s way, and cleaned up all the spilled hot chocolate. As the night creeps on, their eyes growing heavier and heavier, they make it through Mulan, The Princess and the Frog, and The Nightmare Before Christmas. Just before they start The Black Cauldron, his friend gently taps the side of the mug.

“…I think it’s fixed!”

“Wait, really? That was fast!”

“Dude, it was like…at least six hours ago.”

“Is that how fast superglue sets?”

“Have you never used superglue before?”

“Hey!”

The sight of his friend with her favorite mug cradled in her lap makes him smile as he turns his attention back to the screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her talking softly to herself, saying how she promises to be more careful next time, how she’s so happy the mug is fixed, it’ll be better now, stronger this time. And yet she still cradles the cracked, seamed thing with the same tenderness she did when they first picked up the pieces.

He looks back down at the chipped mug in his lap. The chip is so small. It’s barely noticeable. It doesn’t make the mug leak or anything. The mug still works as a mug.

He runs his thumb over the rim, feeling just the slightest pressure when he runs over the chip. If he tried to drink from that side, it would hurt.

She’s had this mug for…years?

He looks back over at the mug in his friend’s lap.

The broken mug gets fixed.

The chipped mug stays chipped forever.

“Thomas?”

Thomas blinks, looking up from his lap to see Logan standing next to him. Logan adjusts his tie.

“You took a moment to respond.”

“Sorry. Did we, uh, are we late for something? Did I miss a deadline?”

There’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it expression that flitters across Logan’s face. Then he adjusts his glasses and it’s gone. Thomas frowns.

“…you okay, bud? What was that?”

“What was what, Thomas?”

“You, uh, you made a face.”

“I have a face, Thomas, we all have faces.”

“But you made an expression.”

“…I believe I am…incapable of not making an expression.”

“Logan,” Thomas sighs, “please tell me what’s wrong.”

Well, he certainly takes him by surprise at any rate. Logan glances around—is he worried the others are going to show up?—and adjusts his glasses again.

“I suppose I was…perturbed,” he settles on finally, “that your immediate assumption when I appeared was that I was going to…reprimand you in some way.”

Oh. “Jeez, um, sorry, Logan, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Logan waves him off. “It’s quite alright.”

“But…no, it’s not.” Thomas shakes his head. “You…we gotta talk about this…more, but that’s not the only thing you’re important for. You know that, right?”

…well, Logan’s certainly making a face now. It’s the same one he made after Remus first appeared, after Thomas called him ‘cool.’ After a moment of savoring Logan looking a little flustered, he prompts him gently.

“Did you wanna talk about something?”

“Right,” Logan says quickly, shaking himself, “do you remember our conversation about neurodivergent communities?”

Right. They’d been talking about trying to find therapists during COVID and how it would be difficult since, y’know…going outside is more than kind of a no-no. Virgil had brought up how it’s almost impossible to get a good read on whether or not a therapist would be appropriate for them without a proper appointment, which…kind of led to everyone agreeing that maybe it would be better to try just the texting one first. Logan had mentioned trying to find a group of people to talk to, not just a single person, until Janus said something about not knowing how to navigate something like that.

Not one of their more productive conversations.

“Since your desire to try and see a therapist seems to have stagnated,” Logan says as Thomas nods, “I have found an alternative solution that I believe might be more suited to your current approach to your mental health problems.”

“I don’t—Logan, I don’t have—“

The look Logan levels at him is enough to get him to shush.

“What’s the solution?”

“One of the main obstacles for finding a therapist or seeking help in a group setting was an unawareness of how to properly navigate those dynamics, correct?” Thomas nods. “Then it seems that a solution would be to simply find a group where you do understand the dynamics, yes?”

“…how do I do that?” Thomas scruffs a hand through his hair. “I—look, I…I get that I should talk to someone, we made that clear but it’s just—I don’t—“

Logan waits patiently, his head tilted slightly, as Thomas struggles for words.

“…it’s not that bad,” Thomas says lamely.

“But we’ve established that—“

“I know, I know,” Thomas groans, burying his head in his hands, “but it’s just like—I don’t think I belong there.”

“Why not?”

“Isn’t that for people who have it worse?”

There must be some note of hysteria in that last word because Logan blinks and eases himself down onto the couch next to him, folding his hands in his lap and waiting patiently. When it’s clear Thomas isn’t going to be able to make words go for a while, he clears his throat.

“You don’t want to join a space in which you are not welcome, correct?”

Thomas nods miserably.

“This idea that you will not be welcome stems from the idea that your problems are not…severe enough?”

“Aren’t they?”

“Why must they be more severe for you to seek help?”

“I don’t know, I just—what if they think I’m faking?”

“Are you?”

That’s the kicker, isn’t it? When Thomas looks helplessly at Logan, uncertainty probably written plainly all over his face, Logan tilts his head.

“If you have to ask whether or not you’re faking,” he says in a soft voice Thomas rarely hears, “it’s almost certain that you are not.”

Thomas just nods dumbly.

“Mental illnesses can manifest in a variety of ways,” Logan continues in that same soft voice—and anyone who says Logan doesn’t understand emotion can get out—“and you do not have to fulfill a certain standard of ‘bad’ in order to seek help.”

“But then how do I find people to—who will—who are gonna—“

“…understand?”

“Yeah.”

Logan’s mouth quirks up. “When was the last time you were on Tumblr?”

Thomas blinks. “Excuse me? Also don’t you know that?”

“I do.” Logan gestures to Thomas’s phone. “You wanted a space where you understand how to interact with people and where talking about these types of things will not be a drastic breach of boundaries, yes?”

“…yeah?”

“You would be surprised at the amount of neurodivergent communities online.”

“So why’re you asking me about Tumblr?” The second it comes out of his mouth Thomas’s eyes widen. “Logan—“

“I am not suggesting that be your only source of help, by any means,” Logan says quickly, “but it might serve as a good starting point. You know what is to be expected from Tumblr—relatively speaking,” he corrects when Thomas makes a face, “and it will help you see that, despite what you may think, you’re not alone.”

Logan stands, giving Thomas one last look before he sinks out.

“…and you don’t have to be grateful it isn’t worse, Thomas.”

Thomas looks down at his phone. He opens the app and types something into the search bar.

Logan was right. People…people talk about stuff on Tumblr. Admittedly, it’s Tumblr, so it’s an absolute hellsite, but there is something a little reassuring about being able to just…word vomit into a post and see other people doing the same.

Friendly reminder that people’s symptoms are gonna manifest in different ways and you’re not allowed to judge someone who experiences something different than you

REMINDED THAT YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GRATEFUL THAT THINGS AREN’T WORSE WE DO NOT PLAY THE PAIN OLYMPICS IN THIS HOUSE

You’re not alone.

He’s still gonna have to figure out how to find a therapist. He’s still gonna have to figure out how to talk about this kind of stuff.

But for now, he can sit here and scroll and realize that there are words he can use to describe these things and it finally might start feeling right.

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @marshmallow-fluffy @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thefingergunsgirl @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @such-a-dumbass

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist let me know ^_^

#sanders sides #character thomas #logan sanders #dragonbabbles #fic

191 notes · View notes

novantinuum · 4 years

Text

Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)

Words: 2500~

Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Tides of Renewal

Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.

As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.

Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.

The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.

He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.

As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.

Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:

“Happy birthday to you~!”

Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.

“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”

“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”

Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“

“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?

“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”

“Oh? The taffy shop one?”

“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”

“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”

Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.

“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“

“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”

The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.

“Dad...?”

“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”

He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”

“What is?”

“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”

Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.

“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“

There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.

“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”

With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”

“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”

Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.

“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”

“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”

Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.

His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.

The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.

All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.

“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.

He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, I, uh...”

“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”

“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’

“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”

He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”

“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”

“Buh-bye.”

Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.

He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.

#su #su future #steven universe #greg universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

95 notes · View notes

thecoleopterawithana · 4 years

Text

Songwriting is like psychiatry

[Dear @eppysboys, your wish is my command.]

There are bound to be thickheads who will wonder why some of it doesn't make sense, and others who will search for hidden meanings.

'What's a Brummer?'

‘There's more to "dubb owld boot" than meets the eye.'

None of it has to make sense and if it seems funny then that's enough.

— Paul McCartney, in the Introduction to John Lennon's In His Own Write (1964).

When we had a party in the States to celebrate having finished the album, someone came up to us and said 'Hello, Venus. Hello, Mars.' I thought, 'Oh. no.'' When I write songs, I'm not necessarily talking about me, although psychoanalysts would say "Yes, you are, mate." But as far as I'm concerned, I'm not.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed for the promotion of Venus and Mars (1975). In Paul Gambaccini's Paul McCartney: In His Own Words (1976).

I don’t examine myself that way. I just am. I just go through it. I just wake in the morning and go to bed at night and whatever happens during the day just happens. I don’t really know how I am.

— Paul McCartney, in Music Express: ‘Paul McCartney Wings It Alone’ (April/May 1982).

I’m not a great reader into moods: I don’t naturally say that if I wrote a sad song then I was sad that day, or if I wrote a happy song I was happy. I compose songs like playwrights write a play. They don’t have to know everyone in the play, they don’t have to know anyone in the play, it’s just a product of their imagination.

— Paul McCartney, speaking of ‘Somedays’, interviewed for Club Sandwich n°82 (Summer of 1997).

“There are a lot of mindsets when you’re writing a song – and one of them is commercial,” he admits. “It’s like any job, where if you do a certain thing you’ll progress in that job. In songwriting it’s an unspoken thing, but I recognise it. I remember hearing somewhere that people like sad songs, so I thought, ‘OK, I’ll write a sad song.’ I knew what I was getting into…” So, in a way, you were acting when you wrote [Yesterday]? “Yes. I wrote from the point of view of someone who was sad. But when you’re taking on a part, it’s usually you you’re writing about. Your psychiatrist would say it’s you.” Later, someone suggested that lyrics such as, “Why she had to go, I don’t know” were about McCartney’s mother who’d died when he was 14. “I certainly felt that way when she died. So when I sing Yesterday now, it does make me think about my mum. It’s more personal than I realised it was.” You sense that the older he gets, perhaps the more McCartney is prone to analysing his gift.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by Mark Blake for Q: Songs in the key of Paul (May 2015).

This series – I just woke up one morning and I had a germ of an idea, which is all I want really. I don’t want too formed an idea, it’s just not who I am. [...] I woke up with this thing and I thought it would be just a black canvas and these three-fingered scratches, like someone in prison and they’re either trying to get out or they’re trying to mark the dates. [...] But then a shape emerged with this blue, and I still don’t know what it is. It looks vaguely phallic, or somebody’s ass bending away from you. But that’s what started to fascinate me. It’s probably an accident, but also what I like about that is the inner content, that I have no idea what my dreams are about. I’ve no idea, yet they’re every bit as real as sitting here with you. But my interior world, I think it’s not a bad idea to try and tap it.

My view is that these things are there whether you want them or not, in your interior. You don’t call up dreams, they happen, often the exact opposite of what you want. You can be heterosexual and be having a homosexual dream and wake up, and think, “Shit, am I gay?” I like that you don’t have control over it. But there is some control – it is you dreaming, it is your mind it’s all happening in. In a way my equation would be that my computer is fully loaded by now. Maybe in younger people there’s a little bit of loading to go, but mine’s loaded pretty much, so what I try and do is allow it to print out unbeknown to me. And I’m interested to hear what it’s got in there.

I think we must be interested as musicians as often our music arrives that way. I dreamed the song Yesterday. It was just in a dream, I woke up one morning and had a melody in my head. So I have to believe in that.

— Paul McCartney, in “Luigi’s Alcove” by Karen Wright, for Modern Painters (August 2000).

I think a lot of these songs like 'Tell Me Why’ may have been based in real experiences or affairs John was having or arguments with Cynthia or whatever, but it never occurred to us until later to put that slant on it all.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Mile’s Paul McCartney: Many Years From Now (1997).

I was standing at the door and he was in bed, and we were talking about the lyrics of 'I Am the Walrus’, and I remember feeling he was a little frail at that time, maybe not going through one of the best periods in life, probably breaking up with his wife. He was going through a very fragile period. You’ve only got to look at his lyrics - 'sitting on a cornflake waiting for the van to come’. They were very disturbed lyrics.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

I remember giggling with John as we wrote the lines ‘What do you see when you turn out the light? I can’t tell you but I know it’s mine.’ It could have been him playing with his willie under the covers, or it could have been taken on a deeper level; this was what it meant but it was a nice way to say it, a very non-specific way to say it. I always liked that.

— Paul McCartney, in Barry Miles’ Many Years From Now (1997).

"Sex is something I prefer to do, rather than sing about. Hi Hi Hi was from a period when everybody was getting stoned and having sex… I suppose singing about sex is not really in my genre. [...] It’s the same with trying to write angry songs,” he continues. “I can’t do it.” Really? “Yes. I wrote a song called Angry. Recorded it here with Phil Collins and Pete Townshend. At the time I thought, ‘Wow, we’ve really slammed this…’ I can be angry but I can’t find a natural way to put it into a song. It’s the same with sex."

— Paul McCartney, interview w/ Mark Blake for Q: Songs in the key of Paul. (May, 2015)

McCartney has written some of the world’s most famous love songs, but has he ever worried about revealing too much of himself? “Yes, but you’ve got to get over that feeling quickly, because that’s the game.”

— Paul McCartney, interviewed by Mark Blake for Q: Songs in the key of Paul (May 2015).

It’s funny because just in real life, I find that a challenge. I like to sort of, not give too much away. Like you said, I’m quite private. Why should people, know my innermost thoughts? That’s for me, their innermost. But in a song, that’s where you can do it. That’s the place to put them. You can start to reveal truths and feelings. You know, like in ‘Here Today’ where I’m saying to John “I love you”. I couldn’t have said that, really, to him. But you find, I think, that you can put these emotions and these deeper truths – and sometimes awkward truths; I was scared to say “I love you”. So that’s one of the things that I like about songs.

— Paul McCartney, on the challenge of giving too much of himself away when writing meaningful and truthful songs. Asked by Simon Pegg and interviewed by John Wilson for BBC 4’s Mastertapes (24 May 2016).

Songwriting is like psychiatry; you sit down and dredge up something that’s inside, bring it out front. And I just had to be real and say, John, I love you. I think being able to say things like that in songs can keep you sane.

— Paul McCartney, interview with Robert Palmer for the New York Times (25 April 1982).

[McCartney (1970)] was kind of… therapy through hell.

— Paul McCartney, interviewed for the Q magazine (2007).

GILBERT: Do you find it easier to write good records in a darker period of your life than in happier periods? You’ve lived through more than a few bad episodes…

PAUL: That’s a good question, I’m not sure. I think the answer is neither and both. I think it’s good when you’re in a dark period, the good is [the song’s] your psychiatrist, it’s your therapy, and you know we have many tales – anyone who writes has. Going away when you’re really upset about something and putting it in your song – you come out of that cupboard, toilet or basement and go, “I really feel better.” You’ve actually exorcised the demon. So it is one of the great joys of songwriting.

GILBERT: What would be an example of a song you wrote in a very angry or dark mood?

PAUL: I think the words of ‘Yesterday’, when I see them now I think there were quite a few of my songs like that, you know, bad moods made better. More recently ‘Calico Skies’ [evoking memories of Linda]; ‘Little Willow’ [for Maureen Starkey] was one I wrote about a friend when she was dying and, in fact, she did die, so those kind of things can help. With ‘Yesterday’, singing it now, I think without realising it I was singing about my mum who died five or six years previously, or whatever the timing was. Because I think now, “Why she had to go, I don’t know, she wouldn’t say, I said something wrong…” I think the psychiatrist would have a field day with that one. (Sings) “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away / Now it looks as though they’re here to say” – there’s a lot of those songs, that’s just three where I can remember going into a hiding place with a guitar, purposely to exorcise your demons. It’s like writing your dream out or something, and it’s a physical effect where you come back out and you’ve created that magic again, pulling the rabbit out of the hat. “Where did that come from? Wahey!” It’s a great feeling.

— Paul McCartney, interview w/ Pat Gilbert for MOJO: Don’t look back in anger. (November, 2013)

Q: Do you have a song that you put on if you’re ever having a hard time or a bad day, and it instantly makes you feel better?

PAUL: There’s a track [’I Don’t Know’] on Egypt Station that came out of a hard time I think would fit the bill now! […] it’s funny what inspires you to write songs. For instance, John started writing ‘Help!’during a crisis at that time in his life, which is often a good motivator ‘cause there’s a therapy aspect to writing songs sometimes - but not all songs! It’s almost as if you’re telling your guitar your troubles and a lot of composure can be found through that. So you sort of say what you might say to a therapist, but you put it into a song and you might feel better afterwards. You don’t have to be going through terrible times, just something that’s frustrating.

— Paul McCartney, in You Gave Me The Answer (28 March 2019)

Q: ‘I Don’t Know’ opens with the lyric, “Crows at my window, dogs at my door, I don’t think I can take it anymore.” This imagery does seem pretty bleak for a comeback.

PAUL: Well, I was in a bleak mood. It’s a well-known fact, you talk to a lot of songwriters, that they write good songs from being in a bad mood. It can often be a really good motivating factor, because you don’t care. You can’t just go out to your friends or your relatives, and just start going, 'I’ve got crows on my window.’ You don’t necessarily want to just go and complain about everything, but you can complain to your piano, in this case, or your guitar… It’s a great therapy.

Q: Doubt and regret [hardly] seem to be things that people associate with you.

PAUL: It’s funny, isn’t it? People think that about me, that well, when you reach my position… you end up with no problems at all. But that’s unrealistic, because you’re in life. And if like me you’ve got a big family, there’s gonna be some sort of problem, even if it’s just someone’s ill. So realistically speaking, you have to think that it’s very likely that most people you know can have problems. Even President Obama. Even John Lennon. Even Taylor Swift. We’ve all got problems, and that’s what makes us all so human.

— Paul McCartney, interview for BBC 6 (20 June 2018).

The idea is that what I’ll leave behind me will be music, and I may not be able to tell you everything I feel, but you’ll be able to feel it when you listen to my music. I won’t have the time or the articulation to be able to say it all, but if you enjoy composing you say it through the notes.

— Paul McCartney, regarding Ecce Cor Meum, which premiered in 2001.

I have to leave And when I'm gone I'll leave my message In my song

Tangents

The Walrus | A case study for John’s struggles with meaning in song

The Surrealist | Meaning and Magritte

I Can’t Tell You How I Feel | Expressing emotions and feelings [statements in songs]

This One | A case study for Paul’s struggles with expressing feelings

I’m Scared To Say I Love You | Paul’s struggle with saying ‘I love you’

#Paul McCartney #John Lennon #the beatles #songwriting is like psychiatry #I don't examine myself that way #The Surrealist #A very non-specific way to say it. I always liked that.#Did I ever open up my heart and let you look inside?#I'll leave my message in my song #but the saving grace was as usual music #compilation #macca #johnny #linda #my stuff

174 notes · View notes

freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

Just Like a Woman - Part 4

A Roger Taylor x Reader Fic

Summary: You and Roger were once in love when you were young. Only, he went on to be a rock star, and you went on to be a lawyer. Now, quite against your will, you’re representing him in his divorce.

Word Count: 3.7k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @moon-stars-soul, @im-an-adult-ish, @ixchel-9275, @jennyggggrrr, @zyanmaik, @mypassionfortrash, @a19103, @madeinheavxn, @beepbeephardy, @lizawritesthings, @qweenly, @blisshemmings, @seasidecrowbar, @internationalkpoplova, @ellystone, @takemetoneverland420, @coffeexcigarette, @lookuptotheskiesandsee, @thatpunkmaximoff, @angelkissys, @rocknroll-stolemyass, @simonedk, @anotheronebitesrogertaylor, @peterquillzblog, @mrfahrenhcit, @joseph-mozzerella, @theprettyandthereckless, @flick-ofthe-wrist, @johndeaconshands, @rogerandhiscar, @queenmaracasandlove, @sunflower-ben, @cubetriangle, @amy-brooklyn99, @scorpiogemini If you’d like to be added, let me know! Also, I’m sorry the tags aren’t working for everyone? Tumblr is dumb and idk how to fix it :(

A/N: Okay, time for the full story of Y/N and Rog :) Also. I realize I posted the previous chapter yesterday, but I was in a MOOD today so I hope y’all enjoy!

Warning(s): mentions of abuse

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Part 4 here we go!!!

“So, tell me about Roger Taylor,” said Dr. Tracy.

You scowled at her. “Why, what does he have to do with anything?”

“From what Mark tells me, it has a great deal to do with your relationship,” she said. “I want the whole story.”

It was only your second therapy session, and you were already annoyed. It mostly felt like a way for Mark to spill his feelings about you to someone other than you, and have that person validate him to your face so you couldn’t argue.

You were also annoyed because you felt like the more people brought Roger up, the harder it would be to move on. It had been two weeks since you had confronted him outside the bar, and even though you showed a cool exterior during your meetings with him, your heart was still breaking over what you had learned.

“Y/N?” said Dr. Tracy. “Can you begin please?”

“Fine,” you sighed. “I met Roger when we were six. His father was an abusive and terrifying man, and before my family lived in the house next door, Roger would go to the shed and hide in there. After my family and I moved in, I found him in there on a rainy evening looking for a tool my father needed...”

The skinny blonde boy was sopping wet and quaking behind a large bag of fertilizer. He glared fiercely at you. It was almost frightening, especially with the blood dribbling from his lip. But, his own fear - so evident in those wide eyes - eased your own.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

A large drop of water leaked from the roof and onto his face. He shook his head.

“D’you need some help?” you wondered. “You’re bleeding. My mum’s a nurse so she’s got plenty of bandages.”

“P-please,” he shivered.

“Well, come on, then,” you said, offering your hand.

He took it. It was frigid compared to your warm one, but you felt his need in his grip. Forgoing the errand for your father, you led the boy inside. You came into the kitchen, where your mother was making dinner and your father was reading quietly. They both looked up and saw you with the strange, helpless boy and they looked at each other.

“Who’s this, Y/N?” your father asked.

You faced the boy. “Oh! I forgot to ask your name!”

“It’s Roger,” he said with a sniffle.

Your mother disappeared into the sitting room and returned with a blanket, wrapping it tightly around Roger’s shoulders. He shot her a grateful glance but then looked resolutely at the floor.

“How’d you find Roger, dear?” you mother wondered.

“He was in the shed,” you said simply. “He’s hurt.”

Your mother knelt down in front of him. She took his chin between her thumb and forefinger and lifted his face to inspect it. She saw his split lip. In the light, she also saw the bruise forming along his cheekbone.

“Have you been fighting, Roger?” she asked gently.

“No, ma’am,” he told her. “My dad got angry at me because I didn’t pick up a toy, so he…”

His lower lip trembled as his eyes filled up with tears.

“Oh, you poor darling,” your mother cooed. “Stay right here, love, we’ll fix you up.”

She bustled upstairs to retrieve her things. Roger sniffled. Your father looked at him.

“Come here, Roger,” he said.

For the first time, Roger released your hand. He stepped warily over to your father. Your dad lifted the boy up and placed him in his lap, caring nothing about the wet clothes dampening his work pants.

“There’s a good lad,” your father said gently, rubbing Roger’s cold arms. “Are you bad hurt?”

Roger shook his head. “S’just my lip, sir. I’m alright.”

“That’s not what I mean,” you father said. “Bad hurt isn’t something you feel on your skin. It’s something you feel in here.”

He pointed to Roger’s chest. His heart.

“Are you bad hurt, Roger?”

Tears spilling out of his eyes, Roger nodded.

“You father scares you?” your dad continued.

Roger nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

Your father nodded. “You may call me Felix, if you like.”

Just then, your mother re-entered the room, fresh clothes and first aid kit in hand.

“And that lovely lady is my wife, Vivian,” he went on. “And of course you’ve met my daughter, Y/N.” He paused thoughtfully. “Roger, I don’t know how you found your way to our shed, but you’re welcome to come to the front door.”

“Can’t,” Roger said. “I live next door, he’ll see where I went. If I go through the back fence, he doesn’t follow me.”

“Come to the back door, then,” your father said. “I promise I’ll never lock it.”

“Really?” Roger returned, eyes wide with wonder which had replaced his fear.

“Really,” you father assured him. “So the next time something like this happens, or you’re feeling bad hurt, you can come here. We’ll do what we can to make it better for you.”

Gently, your father reached up and wiped the tears from Roger’s cheeks.

“There we go, there’s a handsome chap,” he said. “Ready to let Viv clean you up?”

You mother smiled warmly at Roger. He nodded. Your father eased him off his lap and then Roger took your mother’s hand and followed her into the bathroom so he could change and she could treat him. You looked at your dad.

“Is there anything we can do, Daddy?” you asked. “To make his daddy be nicer to him?”

“I’m afraid there isn’t much that would be effective, sweetheart,” he replied. “But what we can do is show him that there are good and kind people in this world. And we can remind him that he is deserving of kindness. That will have to be enough for now.”

He stood up, patted your head, and went into the sitting room to the piano. Your dad was a banker, but he was also an incredibly talented musician. He always said he played piano and did a little banking on the side as a joke.

Roger emerged, looking much happier. He drew close to your father and looked at the shiny white keys.

“Do you play?” your father asked.

Roger shook his head.

“Would you like to learn?”

Roger nodded and grinned.

“Well, climb on the bench, I’ll teach you some,” your father said.

Roger hastily obeyed and clamored onto the bench as your father took a seat beside him. Your mother sat on the couch and you went and crawled into her lap. The two of you watched as your father showed Roger the basics. He learned quickly. Music came easily to Roger, and you thought then that he would one day amount to something great.

Your father then let you take his place and you taught Roger a few little diddies you knew. Felix and his wife started back toward the kitchen so they could finish dinner and fix a plate for Roger as well.

“What can we do, Felix?” Vivian asked. “Can’t we call someone?”

“We can try, but I’m afraid that will only come back to hurt Roger,” Felix replied. “Let’s wait for now. If things get drastic, we’ll step in. Until then, all we can do is show him as much love as possible.”

She sighed. “Alright, then. Oh, the poor, poor dear.”

They departed to the kitchen. You and Roger stopped playing the piano and looked at each other. Unbeknownst to your parents, you had both heard what they said.

“Roger,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” he wondered.

“I’m sorry is what people say to someone when they’re upset,” you said. “So, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “For the sorry.”

“Wanna learn a real song?” you asked. “Then every time you come over, we can practice it.”

He brightened at that and nodded. Thus began your journey together.

“I see,” Dr. Tracy said as you wrapped up. “And at what point did you two progress from childhood friends to sweethearts?”

“We were fifteen,” you said. “Roger was starting to sort of realize his appeal to girls and that boys were also interested in me. It actually started from a fight because he had asked another girl to a party…”

“I’m not mad!” you insisted, storming through your front door. “You are perfectly welcome to ask whomever you like!”

“Well, something’s wrong because you’ve ignored me all day!” he returned.

“What’s going on out here?” your mother wondered, bursting into the living room.

“Y/N’s upset with me,” Roger blurted out.

“I am not!” you cried, stamping your foot. “Mother, tell him I’m not upset!”

“I think I’d be hard pressed to convince him of it if you can’t,” she teased, nodding at your posture and deep frown. “Now, what’s this all about?”

“I asked Pam Davis to Mary Key’s party, and now Y/N isn’t speaking to me,” he explained.

“Y/N, is that true?” she asked.

You huffed. “I was just under the impression he and I would...never mind, I was clearly mistaken.”

Your face was bright pink and you looked resolutely at the carpet, toeing it with your shoe. Your mother looked knowingly between you and Roger, who looked equally embarrassed.

“Well, I don’t think I can settle this one,” she said. “You two will just have to work it out on your own.”

You turned on your heel and swept into the kitchen. Roger looked at your mother.

“Better go and fix it, Rog,” she said.

“On it,” he sighed, and followed you.

You yanked the fridge open and reached for a Coke. You tugged the cap off and took a swig, letting it cool you down.

“Y/N, are you upset because you don’t have a date?” Roger asked. “Because I can get you a date. There’s plenty of blokes who’d be glad to take you.”

“I don’t want just any bloke!” you cried, exasperated. “Can’t you see?!”

“Oh, there’s someone you like?” he wondered, perking up. “Tell me!”

“God, you’re such an idiot!”

“Why am I an idiot?!”

“Because you are!”

“Tell me the reason!”

“I like you, you idiot!” you shouted.

You stared at each other, out of breath and both shocked at the words that had just come out of your mouth. You inhaled deeply, collecting yourself.

“I like you, Roger,” you said calmly. “And I don’t know how you don’t know it.”

“Well, Y/N, we…” he trailed off. “We’ve always been best friends. How was I supposed to know things had changed?”

“I dunno,” you said. “I’m just as new to this as you are. But when you asked Pam to be your date, I was hurt. Bad hurt.”

“Y/N, I had no idea,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. If I had known, I...well, I wouldn’t have asked Pam.”

“Y - you wouldn’t?” you questioned.

He shook his head. “No. The truth is, I was afraid to change things between us because I don’t think I could stand to lose you. But, I like you too.”

“Really?!” you gasped.

“Really,” he said.

He stepped closer to you. You observed suddenly that he was much taller than you remembered. You looked up into his eyes. His hand moved to caress your cheek. Your heart pounded in your chest.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathed.

“Yeah,” you sighed back.

He pressed his lips tenderly against yours. It was a little unsteady and light, giving you the opportunity to stop him. You didn’t. You just kept right on kissing him. Your lips moved with his as gracefully as dancers moved through a waltz. Neither of you really knew what you were doing, but you didn’t care. It was the way you showed what you were both feeling.

“Y/N,” said Roger, pulling away for air. “Come with me to Mary’s party. As my girlfriend.”

“O-okay,” you agreed, a smile blooming across your face.

Not only did you just have your first kiss, but you got your first boyfriend. And it was someone you cared for more than anyone else in the world.

“Now, how long was it before the two of you made love?” Dr. Tracy asked.

“Oh, I’m not telling you that!” you returned indignantly. “That’s private!”

“How long?” she insisted.

“Why is that important?” you demanded.

“Your first experience with intimacy can be a contributing factor in issues in new relationships,” she said. “When did you do it and what was it like?”

You briefly imagined yourself opening your mouth and breathing fire onto this woman until she burned to a crisp. You cleared your throat.

“We were seventeen, and it was wonderful,” you said. “Of course it was awkward and unsure since neither of us knew what we were doing, but we eventually got the hang of it and we were happy.”

“So the sex was good?” she asked.

“It was great,” you said.

“How is the sex with Mark?” she went on.

“Oh, come on!” you cried. “He’s right here!”

“Ah, so not good,” she observed.

“That’s not what I said!” you protested.

“Well, if it was good, you would have just said so,” she said. “And your resistance to talking about it in front of him implies that your opinion would insult him. So, I must assume it’s not good sex.”

“Let’s move on,” Mark interjected. “We can have that conversation at another time.”

“Alright,” Dr. Tracy agreed. “Y/N, tell me how things with Roger ended.”

You sighed. “Well, that was tough. I was still in uni. He had already dropped out and was becoming successful with the band…”

Your dingy little London flat reeked with the food you just burned. How your mother managed to make perfect meals, work, and raise a child was beyond you. Your only responsibilities were studying and work, so why was it so difficult to cook? With an aggravated groan, you tossed it in the bin and started debating what you wanted to get for take out. That was when Roger came in.

“Hello, darling!” you greeted warmly. “How’s recording going?”

“Fine,” he said shortly.

You looked him over. He seemed agitated and nervous.

“You alright, Rog?” you asked.

“I’m fine,” he replied. He scrunched up his nose. “What did you burn this time?”

“Chicken,” you chuckled. “I’m gonna go for some Chinese. Wanna come?”

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” he said.

His tone made your heart skip a beat. You had a feeling that Roger might be about to propose. You had discussed marriage before, but you both agreed now wasn’t the time. But you had also told him you were not opposed to a long engagement.

“What is it?” you wondered.

He sighed heavily and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Do you ever feel like you’re missing out?” he wondered. “On other people?”

“How do you mean?” you questioned, brow furrowing as the panic set in.

“Well, it’s just that our whole lives, we’ve only ever been with each other,” he said. “Don’t you ever wonder what it’d be like to...I dunno, kiss someone else?”

“No,” you said. “I love you, Roger.”

“I love you too, Y/N, but I feel like there’s more out there,” he said. “Now that I’ve gone on tour and seen other places I feel like there’s so much to be explored. And...I want to explore it. Don’t you?”

“No,” you repeated, darkly. “I love you, Roger.”

He sighed again. “I love you, Y/N.”

“What are you getting at, then?” you demanded.

“As much as I love you, I don’t want to be tied down anymore,” he said. “I know we’ve discussed getting married, so I’m sorry if this comes as a shock to you, but I’ve been thinking it for a while. The band’s getting bigger, and it’s only going to progress. And I’m not ready to settle down with just one person.”

“So...you want to break up?”

The question hung between you. You weren’t sure how you even managed to ask it with a lump in your throat the size of an ostrich egg. Your heart was cracking inside your chest.

“Yes,” he said.

With that one word, you felt your heart shatter completely. Your whole world was collapsing on top of you. The assurance you had always placed in Roger was an illusion.

“Well,” you choked out. “At least you’re telling me now.”

“That’s all you have to say?” he questioned.

You met his eyes and saw they were just as teary as yours.

“What else can I say?” you returned. “You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?”

“I have,” he said.

“Well, what do you want me to do?” you questioned. “Beg for you to stay?”

“You don’t want to fight for it?”

“Why should I? If I’m not enough for you, Roger, then that’s it. I won’t guilt you or force you to be with me.”

“I feel like you’re giving up,” he said.

“I’m not the one leaving,” you reminded him.

A moment passed where neither of you said anything. It was so heavy your knees almost buckled beneath the weight of it.

Roger sniffled and quickly wiped his eyes.

“I don’t even know how to say goodbye to you,” he struggled to say.

“Maybe it’s best if you don’t say anything,” you told him. You felt a tear slide down your cheek. “That way we make it easier on both of us.”

“Y/N…”

“Go, Roger,” you ordered him.

“Y/N, please.”

“Go.”

He took one last look at you. You were scowling, tears flowing down your cheeks, eyes red and puffy. Even then, he thought you were beautiful and he began to doubt his decision. Suddenly, he realized that he would no longer have his best friend, and it made him hesitate.

“Roger,” you said, drawing in a deep breath. “I really need you to go.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, resigning himself to the damage done. “I...I am sorry, Y/N.”

“Okay,” you said shortly.

He held your gaze again. Your bottom lip began to tremble as the reality struck you. Roger was leaving you. Roger, who you had given everything too, including your heart, was going to walk out of the door and out of your life.

He broke away, crossed the room, and opened the door. You heard it squeak as he hesitated again. Then he sighed and left. The door fell closed with a soft click. That was it. No hug, no dramatic kiss, no screaming, no fight.

When the door closed, you broke down with a wail. This was not the Roger you knew. Ever since the band became successful, you had seen glimpses of his desire for more, but you’d ignored it. You thought surely he loved you more than he craved that lifestyle. And yet, he proved to you he didn’t. It seemed impossible that time moved on when your heart was breaking so badly. If there were any justice, everything would have frozen so you could properly nurse it. But all you could do was crumple into a heap and feel the pain.

“Life went on,” you said. “He became a successful drummer. I became a successful attorney, and I’m mostly happy.”

It was a lie. Just remembering the day Roger left you made you emotional.

“Mostly?” Dr. Tracy questioned.

“Well, I had hoped to be married and have children at this point, but Rog - I mean, I just never met the right person,” you said.

“Let me ask you this -” she began, but Mark cut across her.

“I think I’ve heard enough,” he said, getting angrily to his feet. “I can see now that you really aren’t over Roger Taylor and I don’t think you ever will be.”

“Mark, don’t be ridiculous,” you said. “Obviously, he was a big part of my life, but I -”

“Don’t, Y/N!” he shouted snatching away the hand you had reached for. “I can’t do this anymore!”

You stood up as well. “What? Are you serious? Just because Roger was part of my past! That’s crazy! I’ve found somebody else, and -”

“No!” he cried. “I’m a placeholder, Y/N, and I won’t stand for it!”

“You are not!” you argued.

“Okay, then answer me this,” he challenged. “Do you love me?”

“I - well, I don’t know yet!” you insisted.

“Well, I love you,” he said. “And I know that because we’ve been together long enough for anyone else in the world to know! The problem is, Y/N, that love is wasted on you as long as Roger Taylor walks this Earth!”

It was like all the air was sucked out of the room. You felt yourself harden against the hurt of his words. His face fell, regretting them.

“Love is wasted on me?”

“I didn’t mean -”

“No, I think you did, Mark,” you interrupted. “That was the cruelest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“Y/N -”

“No, I think you’re right,” you said, grabbing your things from the back of your chair. “Let’s say our goodbyes. After all, I wouldn’t want you to waste anymore love on the likes of me.”

You said nothing else, but swept out of the office. Hot tears stung your eyes. You never thought Mark capable of saying something so hurtful.

As you walked, heading back to your firm, you looked at the ground, deep in thought about what had transpired. You paid little attention to your surroundings, and therefore, ran smack into a man who was emerging from a building you were passing.

The collision nearly knocked you off your feet, but the man was quick to react and steadied you. You looked up to meet the eyes of the very man that started all this.

“Roger?” you questioned. “What are you doing here?”

“I work here,” he said, pointing to the building he had just walked out of. “This is the studio.”

“Oh,” you said.

You bit your lip to keep your emotions in check. You really needed to cry right now so you were eager to get back to your office.

“Y/N?” Roger asked, noticing your eyes welling up. “Are you okay?”

Too upset to bother with your pride, you shook your head.

“No.”

“Bad hurt?” he wondered.

You nodded. You weren’t sure if it was that you’d talked about him for an hour or the sting from Mark’s statement, but suddenly you couldn’t contain the overwhelming feelings swirling around in your heart. You let out a sob and fell into Roger’s arms.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #Queen #queen imagine #queen x reader #queen x you #BoRhap #borhap imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagine #just like a woman series

241 notes · View notes

softer-ua · 4 years

Text

Two Left Feet, And One In The Mouth

Pt. 1

Lying there catching his breath seething Katsuki became suddenly aware of the feeling of melting iceberg quickly soaking his back, every drop replacing his already spread thin patients

Katsuki knew he need to hurry up and fix things with Deku, that he should go change into the spare clothes he kept in his office, that he had a much better chance of winning Deku over if he played nice with his friends, and he knew Shoto was only turning his hoodie into a impromptu sponge to piss him off and distract him from actually accomplishing any of that.

He also knew that it was fucken working.

Jumping up he felt his hoodie’s new weight pulling on him, the bastard had soaked him all the way through and the hoodie's fluffy inside was only making it worse, gross dirty floor water was fast spreading all the way down his pants and even through to his front.

Kasuki was seeing red, the only thought in his head was a vision of the Icyhot bastards head on a pike.

And that's how 15 minutes later he found himself standing in the meeting room sporting a few new bruises and dripping a puddle onto the floor, as he argued with ‘Lightning Mcqueen in glasses’ that he shouldn’t have to take the sole blame for ‘blowing up half the lobby’ or the charring on the lower branches of the lobby’s new ‘just set up yesterday, took all day to decorate, Sato ate half a snickers cheesecake just to get it in here, Tamaki and Ochako were so excited to put the star on, blah blah blah’ Christmas tree.

Those were clearly fire singe marks, not explosive blowback, and he told Mirio as much as he turned to blatantly ignore Iida. He also told him it was absolutely bullshit they had a tree up in the first week of fucken November!

Katsuki didn’t care to admit most of this blustering was to avoid admitting the main reason ‘a little bit of water set off a top ranking pro’ was because his brand Fucken new, curently one of a fucken kind, limited edition Hero Deku tee was hidden under his hoodie.

It was supposed to be part of the nerds Christmas present. His dad had just given it to him last night for a trial wear before they made the actual order to have enough made in time to be advertised and auctioned off to raise funds for the nerds favorite holiday charities.

Katsuki had planned to show up to dance practice in it after patrol and then do some photos together to boost the word about the dance and the auction.

Now not only was Deku not talking to him, but if he showed Deku this gross wrinkled mess he’d probably never speak to him again. Today officially sucked and all because ChargeDolt and RedRot couldn’t keep their fucken mouths shut... and some other things that were definitely not his fault either.

Eventually Mirio and Iida seem to tire themselves out and let the group go with a warning to expect their already packed schedules to be slammed with several hours of community service and outreach.

And of course Mirio asked Katsuki had to hang back because the universe hated him today. And of course he was given some more bad news because why would anything ever be easy?

Deku had been switched to evening patrol for today with Tokoyami, and Amajiki had agreed to take his place for the first half of the morning and Uraraka would join him after lunch

Katsuki wanted to bitch that they couldn’t reschedule because they had stupid dance practice, but between Deku not wanting to talk to him, no ‘don’t stay mad at me’ surprise, not wanting to explain to Deku what happened to the lobby, and not even a half baked explanation or apology in mind for why he said what he did Katsuki just grunted his acknowledgement and went to change into his costume. If anything he was getting off easier like this. At least Amajiki was on of the few extras he could stand.

_______________________________________________

If Mirios plan for punishment was to guilt him to the core by saddling him with a semi sulking SunEater, then he was an evil genius. Cause it was working, Katsuki hadn’t felt this all around ashamed since.… well probably only like a year but still.

Amajiki was one of the few people who Katsuki actually respected as a hero and a person, not only did the fellow pro have a kick ass quirk that he used creatively but Katsuki had grown to (begrudgingly) admire the hero for how up front he was with his anxiety and how hard he worked through it. It kinda reminded him of Deku and his oddballness and how the nerd used it to his advantage to become the symbol of hope.

Katsuki had been expecting a half mumbled lecture and a maybe even prodding about therapy. The nervous nellies' unusually strong(for them) vendetta with the hero world was it's slacking in mental healthcare or whatever.

So after struggling through about four hours of sullen silence, (that was also infuriatingly familiar, apparently heroing wasn’t all the nerd had learn from his senpais), Katsuki snapped with a screech like an overly taunt fiddle string.

“I’m sorry about the fucken tree! If it’s not replaced by the time we get back I’ll do it my goddamn self, happy?!” Katsuki had been expecting Tamki to give a quiet nod or retreat into himself more, depending on how he took his offer. He definitely didn’t expect to be glared at

“You think I’m upset about the tree?” Amajiki tilted his head in confusion. Maybe they should talk about Katsuki seeing the team's therapist more. Monthly was the minimum everyone on the newly forged Heros Union of Honor had to attend but Katsuki was clearly needing more support right now. Maybe it was the holidays? A good portion of them were going biweekly now for that reason.

HUH was more than an agency. It was a newly emerging code of ethics board. You were expected to be worth the honor of being called a hero when partnered with HUH, and that meant getting your mental health to its peak was a priority.

That didn’t mean everyone (or really anyone) was perfectly mentally fit, just that mental health was a priority. Other agencies had taken notice of how differently they operated even within their first year, and since then a few had even sent their heroes through the HUH program to learn how to operate more like them. They were quickly taking up the void the Hero's Commission had left.

“I’m not upset about the tree, I’m upset because you hurt my friends and fellow hero partners-“ Amajiki was rudely cut off as he caught a gauntlet to the chest, thank god they’d gotten smaller over the years.

“He’s your business partner, he’s MY hero partner, has been since before we agreed to join this agency.” Katsuki thundered.

Why everyone on the board had to call each other partners was something Katsuki didn’t understand, but he refused to let them slip up and start tossing around the phrase Hero Partner. They were all business partners,something anyone could become. A Hero Partner was a major commitment, and Katsuki had the signed legal waivers to prove it.

Amajiki stopped and looked at Katsuki fully, really taking in his teammates' rattled appearance.

Katsuki had been doing well, dare say even flourishing within HUH, so today’s outbreak was nearly out of character at this point and still Katsuki didn’t appear to be calming down any. If anything he was only growing more tightly wound.

Yes, Amajiki was upset with Katsuki but he’d remained silent during their patrol more so the blonde could have some time to think, but it didn’t seem to have done him any good. Amajiki fought through the nervousness that crawled under his skin and begged him to just let the explosive guy be.

Mirio had asked him to talk with Katsuki, under some false impression that Katsuki respected him more, but before this moment he’d figured it was better to not butt in. He hadn’t been around when this morning’s incident happened but he could see another one brewing.

Amajiki shuffled side to side for a second considering his options. He could just send Katsuki home early, even put him on leave until he got cleared by the teams therapist. Or he could do what Mirio suggested and reach out to a struggling teammate.

Therapy was good, but therapy with a support network was better.

“GroundZero, let’s take lunch. I think we need to have a talk-“ Amajiki put up a slightly trembling hand to silence the blonde. Straightening his back and furthering his resolve he pushed forward. “-This isn’t really optional, we neeeed to have a talk, and about more than this morning's incident. I wanna talk about your hero partner.”

Katsuki’s argument died on his tongue. He shoved his hands in his pockets with a grunt and jerked his head to signal to Amajiki to take the lead.

Katsuki knew he wasn’t gonna like what came next but he tried to reminded himself that he trusted and respected Amajiki, and that meant hearing him out when asked. It’s what Deku would do, so it’s what Katsuki would try to do.

#my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #kacchan #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #dekubaku #bakudeku #bnha fanfiction #I’m sticking with GroundZero cause that’s who was envisioned when I first wrote this lol #I struggled keeping the same vibe as part one #but like I wrote it a forever and half ago and just posted it so I wouldn’t have to look at it in my drafts anymore lol #I hope those of you who liked the first part aren’t to disappoint #I have the next part written but I might change it depending on the reaction

13 notes · View notes

didntwanderstillgotlost · 4 years

Text

Winchesters and Angels (and God)

I’m gonna apologize in advance for the absolute trainwreck that is this fic. @malvenue and I spent 3 hours yesterday morning texting each other this mess and I decided I had to turn it into a fic and inflict it on the rest of you. So, here’s some Destiel and Sabriel crack. Enjoy!

Gabriel popped into the bunker and found Sam sitting at one of the tables in the library. He sat down in the chair across from him.

“Hey, Sammy. Did you know I have PTSD?” He couldn’t hide the shit eating grin on his face, but it didn’t matter because, without looking up from the book he was reading, Sam said,

“Don’t we all.” Gabriel’s face fell.

“Oh. Are you okay? Do you wanna talk about it? Do you need a hug?” He grinned again. “I could probably cure it with some CBT.” That got Sam to look up.

“Cognitive behavioral therapy?”

“Cock and ball torture.” Sam coughed.

“I’M NOT EVEN INTO THAT, GABE!”

“I’m just saying things until you say yes to something.”

“JUST GIVE ME A HUG YOU FREAK!”

“Oh. Okay, sure, we can do that.” Gabriel stood up and wrapped himself around Sam. “So, you want me to suck you off now or--.”

“GABE, I SWEAR TO GOD!”

“You called?” Jack asked, causing both of them to jump. Gabriel was grinning again.

“Yeah, I was just telling Sammy that--.”

“GABRIEL, HE IS THREE!” Across the room, Dean leaned closer to Cas and said,

“How come you know exactly what I want, but Gabe can’t figure Sammy out?”

“He didn’t get to fondle Sam’s soul like I did with yours,” Cas responded matter of factly. Dean choked.

“YOU WHAT!?”

“I just hugged your soul with my whole true form to protect it from Hell’s flames and demons. I did try to just grip your shoulder but I was afraid I’d drop you.”

“CAN EVERYONE PLEASE LEAVE!?” Sam shouted. Dean stood up and took Cas’s hand, leading him out of the room.

“Did you really scream that loudly when you saved me that you woke Anna up from her angel coma?”

“I was very happy. You were so pretty. You still are butIi never got to cuddle a human soul before and the first one was the most beautiful one.” Dean felt a blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Yeah, okay, buddy.”

“I can still hear you!” Sam complained. “Go away! Gabe, stop touching me!”

“Sammy, you make it sound bad. I was just gently caressing your cheek.”

“MY ASSCHEEK!”

“Still a cheek!”

“How did this become my life?” Jack tilted his head, much like Cas.

“Is that something norm--.” Cas pulled away from Dean’s grip and stormed back into the library.

“No, son, cover your eyes.”

“GABE, I TOLD YOU, HE’S THREE!” Sam cried.

“Sammy, just give the guy a chance,” Dean said. “Also, he was two when he wanted to fuck that crazy chick on that one case.”

“Yeah, you still didn’t tell me about se--.”

“THIS HOUSE IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!” Sam was sounding more and more distressed by the second. Gabriel grinned.

“I can teach you about sex! Come on, Jack!”

“Gabriel, I don’t think that’s appropriate,” Cas said.

“Babe, relax, it can’t be that bad.”

“Dean, I’ve seen Gabriel do some very disturbing things involving various plastic objects and--.”

“ENOUGH!” Sam snapped. “Jack, I’ll tell you, okay? Just please stop guys.” Gabriel smirked.

“Come on Sam! I thought you liked when I--.”

“STOP!” Dean grinned.

“Wow, Sammy, you really--.”

“NO!” Jack looked between all of them, utter confusion written all over his face.

“You totally do!” Dean crowed. San narrowed his eyes.

“Oh yeah? Well have you told Cas about that time in the backseat of the Impala?” Dean stopped laughing immediately.

“Do. Not.”

“I am a celestial being, Sam, and I used to watch over Dean almost all the time,” Cas said and Dean’s eyes widened. “Which time are you referring to?” Sam mirrored Dean’s expression.

“I WAS MORE THAN ONCE?”

“Well, it was--.”

“CAS, NO!” Dean interrupted. “Don’t. And what do you mean almost all the time?” Cas shrugged.

“I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“What could happen to me during sex, Cas?”

“Heart failure? Muscle cramps?” Dean had to admit, that was a point.

“Okay, but you didn’t have to watch.”

“I didn’t want you with Anna.”

“CAS!” Cas looked at him and Dean’s heart almost broke at the pain in his eyes.

“That was very painful for me.” Dean swallowed.

“Fuck, Cas, I--. You know I love you, right? I didn't realize back then. I'm so sorry. I'm a complete asshole. I promise I love you.” Cas smiled softly.

“It’s okay, Dean, I know.”

“I am GOING TO BE SICK!” Sam said. Gabriel pretended to wipe his eyes with a tissue from a box he pulled out of nowhere.

“My little brother has grown up so much.” Jack spoke up, clearly still confused.

“Dean and Cas weren’t always together?” Everyone turned to look at him. Dean frowned slightly.

“Why would you think we were?”

“BECAUSE WE ALL HAVE EYES!” Sam yelled. “Oh, here we go again. YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE SO SNEAKY DIDN’T YOU DEAN? With all the longing looks and careful touches and mixtapes and--.”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean muttered.

“AND THE PRAYERS, OH MY GOD!”

“Yes, Sam?” Jack said. “I’m right here. Anyway I could always see Cas’s wings around Dean when they were in the same room.”

“WHAT?” Dean turned to Cas, who only shrugged.

“It’s not my fault you can’t see my true form. I had to make sure you were comfortable and safe.”

“Even now?” Jack asked. Sam turned to Gabriel.

“Keep your wings away from me, Gabe.”

“Actually, he--,” Jack started.

“OF COURSE, SAMMY!” Gabriel interrupted loudly.

“Someone please just kill me,” Sam said. “Just end this.”

“Sammy, come on a little wing petting never killed anyone,” Dean said.

“I WISH IT DID!”

“If you died, you’d go to Heaven,” Jack stated.

“No one really dies in this family anyway,” Dean pointed out.

“Fuck you,” Sam grumbled.

“Me?” Gabriel asked.

“You know what?” Sam snapped. “If it shuts you up, YES!” Gabriel grinned.

“FUCK YEAH, I WIN!”

“Sound proof your damn room, Sammy,” Dean said.

“Gabriel can do that for him like I did for--.”

“CAS!” Cas frowned.

“What? You said “Don’t break the walls with your angel voice and don’t let Sam hear me wh--.”

“CAS, DAMMIT!” Sam smirked

“You whimper? Awe, Dean, that’s kinda sweet.”

“That’s NOT what he was going to say. Right, Cas?” Dean shot Cas a desperate look.

“No. Of course not. He, uh, whines?” Dean hung his head.

“On second thought, kill me, too.”

“Sorry, Dean, no one really dies in this family,” Sam said with a grin. “Come on, Gabe.” Gabriel’s eyes glowed a little as he followed Sam down the hall. Jack looked at Dean and Cas.

“So…it’s all okay here?”

“Of course, Jack, why do you ask?” Cas asked.

“You all call me at least 56 times every day,” Jack said. Cas chuckled.

“Abuse of human language.”

“Cas, I cannot BELIEVE--,” Dean started.

“Sounds like conflict,” Jack said. “Bye, Dad!” He waved at Cas and disappeared.

“Dean, why are you upset?

“YOU DON’T TELL PEOPLE, ESPECIALLY NOT SAM, WHAT I DO DURING SEX! Unless it’s something absolutely awesome.”

“But you sound beautiful to me so that must mean that it’s awesome too.”

“Buddy…” Dean could feel himself blushing again. “Just don’t talk about that with anyone else, okay?” Cas paused a little too long.

“Okay.”

“WHO ELSE DID YOU TELL?”

“No one, I just…” Cas faltered.

“WHAT?” Dean watched a few tears slip down Cas’s cheeks.

“You’re just so loving that you sometimes can’t speak so you whimper and it’s just…it’s so beautiful, Dean.” Before Dean could even begin to process how to respond to that, Sam shouted from across the bunker,

“GABE, DON’T DO THAT!” Dean paled.

“Cas, please soundproof their room.”

“GABE, HOLY FUCK!” That was followed by some incomprehensible yelling.

“CAS, NOW!” Cas frowned slightly.

“They’re not in a room.”

“WHAT?”

“They’re…in the hallway.”

“SAMMY, I WILL KICK YOUR ASS IF YOU DON’T GO THE FUCK TO YOUR DAMN ROOM!” Dean yelled. Across the bunker, Sam looked at Gabriel.

“Does he think we're having sex?”

“I mean, I could make you sound like that if you let me,” Gabriel said with a wink.

“GABE NO!”

“SAMMY, I SWEAR TO GOD!” Dean shouted and Sam dragged Gabriel back to the library. Jack popped up in the middle of the room.

“I just left, what now?

“Abuse of language, it’s okay,” Cas said. “We’ll say Jack if we need you, okay?”

“Oh, okay.” Jack disappeared again.

“Your kid takes things too literally doesn’t he?” Gabriel said.

“He did say Cas is his dad first thing,” Sam agreed. Dean studied his brother.

“Sammy, the FUCK were you yelling about? Are you hurt or something?”

“I can’t seem to find any injury,” Cas said. “I just get the sense that--.” Sam cleared his throat loudly.

“No, Cas, please continue,” Dean said.

“No, actually, I should go to my--,” Sam tried to deflect.

“Sam seems to be extremely aroused,” Cas said.

“I’m an angel, Sammy, I told you I can tell,” Gabriel said. Dean smirked.

“Awe, Sammy, that’s kinda sweet.”

“GABE, CAN YOU WAIT TILL WE GET TO MY ROOM THEN?”

“I didn’t do anything, Sam,” Gabriel said with a wink

“Gabriel did you just use your grace to--.”

“Shut UP, DEAN!” Sam yelled as Dean started laughing.

“Gabriel, it’s actually very nice of Sam to let you do that because Dean doe--.” Dean stopped laughing abruptly.

“CAS!”

“What?”

“What did we just talk about?”

“This wasn’t related to your s-.”

“NO TALK ABOUT ANYTHING WE DO ALONE, OKAY!”

“Come on, Dean, a little grace never killed anyone,” Sam teased.

“Sam, I will kick your ass.”

“Don’t bruise it,” Gabriel said. “He has a nice ass.”

“Gabe, I swear to--,” Sam started

“Stop calling Jack,” Cas said.

“You know, Gabe, I think Sammy here would love you to bruise him a little.”

“DEAN!” Dean grinned.

“And I’m sure he would absolutely melt if you bite him a bit too.”

“DEAN, I WILL MURDER YOU!”

“I don’t hear you denying it,” Gabriel pointed out.

“No you won’t, Sam,” Cas said.

“Dean, continue, I’m memorizing,” Gabriel said.

“If I remember correctly, he also really loves when people lick his-.”

“DEAN WEARS PANTIES!” Sam yelled. Dean rolled his eyes. That wasn’t much of a secret anymore. So, of course, Cas had to open his mouth.

“Well, actually--.”

“CAS!”

“What now?”

“No talk about my underwe--.”

“No, no, Cas, please continue,” Sam interrupted.

“Since you didn’t let Dean finish I’ll just lick all of Sam till I figure out what he wanted to say,” Gabriel said.

“NO ONE IS LICKING ME!”

“Sam is aroused again,” Cas commented.

“CAS!” Sam whined.

“Why is everyone yelling at me?”

“Not me little bro. Not me,” Gabriel said.

“Yeah, but you never yell,” Dean pointed out.

“Yes, I do,” Cas said.

“NOT YOU, CAS!”

“I bet Sammy could make me scream,” Gabriel said with a wink.

“Just make sure to protect the room,” Cas said. “You will break everything if you--.”

“If you break ANYTHING with you weird angel shit I SWEAR TO--.”

“Don’t call Jack. Please,” Cas begged. “He doesn’t like conflicts.”

“I wonder where he gets it from,” Dean teased. Cas tilted his head.

“Me, of course.” Dean just shook his head with a fond smile. They stared at each other and Dean could feel himself getting lost in the endless sea of blue.

“Here we go again,” Sam muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I thought they’d stop doing that once they--.”

“Well, no such luck apparently.” Gabriel shrugged.

“Guess eye fucking is easier.”

“GABE!”

“I am not having any kind of intercourse with my eyes,” Cas said, breaking eye contact. “I just stare deep into Dean’s soul and--.”

“Cas, please, not now,” Dean said, blushing furiously. Cas squinted at him.

“You know what, Dean? Why don’t you just tell me when I’m allowed to speak.”

“Wow, Dean, I knew you were an asshole but really?” Sam said. Dean ignored his brother.

“Wait, no, Cas I’m sorry.” Cas just stared at him, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Damn, bro, you really fucked up,” Sam said.

“Sam, shut up! Cas, look, let’s just go to our room and--.”

“‘Our room’. Wow, congrats guys!”

“Sam, SHUT UP!”

“Sammy, does that mean your room is our room now?” Gabriel asked.

“No, Gabe! We are not a couple!” Gabriel mirrored Cas’s expression.

“Damn, bro, you really fucked up,” Dean smirked. Sam rolled his eyes.

“That won’t work on me, Gabe. We are not a couple.” Gabriel shed a single tear. “Not gonna work. You’re not my type.” Gabriel turned to his brother.

“Cassie, come on! How do you do it?”

“Well, you’re at the beginning, so you could try showing the shadow of your wings and breaking some glass. Maybe let him stab you.”

“THAT WAS NOT FLIRTING!” Dean insisted

“Of course it was,” Cas said.

“I was trying to kill you!

“Well, I was trying to prove I was strong because I know you want to be protec--.”

“CAS!”

“Right. I forgot I’m not allowed to talk unless you tell me to.”

“Awe, Dean, are you a little spoon?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Cas answered.

“CAS!”

“So, you don’t want to be anymore?” Cas asked. Dean closed his eyes for a moment.

“Cas, please stop.”

“Sammy, you can be whatever spoon you want,” Gabriel said.

“Still not into you.”

“I bet Sammy’s a big spoon because he’s a control freak,” Dean said.

“Also, even Cas said you’re aroused when I talk to you so you’re lying, Sammy,” Gabriel pointed out. He turned to Dean. “Also, Dean, that’s sizest. I can be a big spoon!”

“Gabriel’s true form is quite large indeed,” Cas said.

“It’s not sizest! Cas is shorter than me!”

“SO YOU ADMIT IT!” Sam yelled.

“YEAH, I ADMIT THAT YOU’RE A LITTLE BITCH!” Dean shot back.

“Sam is not a female dog,” Cas said. Dean sighed.

“Cas, don’t do that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to shut up.”

“The only one who should shut up is SAM!”

“Now listen here you jerk--.”

“Oh, Sammy, you’re so cute when you’re angry,” Gabriel said.

“Gabriel, I swear I will fucking gag you.”

“Oh, PLEASE DO!” Sam groaned

“Sam, I don’t think you’re gonna win here,” Dean said.

“Sam is aroused again,” Cas stated. Dean grinned.

“Cas, did I tell you how much I love to hear you speak?” He turned to Gabe. “I told you Sam is a control freak.”

“I have no problem with that.”

“You can all go straight to hell,” Sam muttered.

“We’ve all been there, Sam,” everyone else said at once.

“Hey, Sammy, what were you planning on gagging me with?” Gabriel asked.

“Keep talking and you’ll find out,” Sam threatened.

“If I can choose, please gag me with your--.”

“Gross, Gabe!” Dean complained.

“But, Dean--,” Cas started.

“CAS, NO!”

“One moment I’m not allowed to talk, then you love it when I speak. Make up your mind please.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You know what? I'm done with this. I'm going to bed.” He turned to leave. Cas, you’re coming with.”

“It’s 4:30 in the afternoon,” Sam said.

“Never said we were gonna sleep, Sammy,” Dean said with a grin and a wink. Cas’s eyes started glowing a little. Dean grabbed his arm. “Come on, buddy.” They left the room and Gabriel looked at Sam.

“So, big guy, how much do I have to talk to get to choke on your--.” Sam grabbed Gabriel’s arm.

“COME ON THEN!” Gabriel grinned.

“Yay, I win!”

#Destiel #Sabriel #crack fic #Jack is God

8 notes · View notes

odd-birds-and-booksellers · 4 years

Note

15 for the jolex prompts? 💖

Wide awake waitin' on a goodnight kiss

“You okay? You look tired.” Alex’s voice was croaky as it came through the screen, cracking slightly as Jo manoeuvred the laptop around to see him better. He looked tired, he hadn’t shaved since leaving around two weeks ago and his growing facial hair made him look much older than he truly was.

“Wow thanks, how did I get so lucky to be married to a charmer like you?” Jo laughs forcing a smile on her face, hoping that with 10,000 miles between them and a crappy internet connection he wouldn’t be able to see how worn down she really was.

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” Alex growls, rolling his eyes, relaxing a little bit as Jo’s smile came through the grainy screen, something was wrong that much he could tell but he was worried to push her any further, he was concerned if he did she’d retreat away from him and he’d be too far away from her to help. He knew it was a bad idea to go, ever since the opportunity came across his lap he’d had an uneasy feeling about it, it was just bad timing, as a resident Alex would’ve jumped at the opportunity to set up a clinic in Zimbabwe for underprivileged kids and while he was still very passionate about the cause he didn’t feel comfortable up and living his life anymore. It was Jo that had convinced him to go, assuring him she’d be fine, that a month was no time, reminding him it was now or never because he certainly wouldn't have another chance to spend a month away from home anytime soon with a baby on the way. Her insistence in him going was exactly why he hadn’t told her, it’s why the leaflets were stuffed inside his nightstand and not on the counter because he knew she was all for championing his dreams, she’d push him to do it even if it cost her. Which clearly it had he thought while staring at her forlorn face through the screen, the guilt of leaving her alone weighing heavy on Alex’s chest.

Jo however simply shrugged, avoiding his gaze as she looks down at her pyjama pants pulling at a loose thread hoping the dodgy wifi connection in Zimbabwe wouldn’t show her watery eyes, she wasn’t upset it was just these stupid bloody hormones that had her crying every five minutes. “I’m a surgeon, I'm always tired.” She mutters, even through the screen she could feel Alex's intense gaze making her sink lower into the chair.

“I mean more tired than usual.” Alex clarifies, narrowing his eyes to get a better look at Jo, even in the darkness of the loft he could see the reflection of her tears against the screen light.

“I didn’t sleep that well.” Jo shrugs, finding more interest in her Pajama pants as the thread finally comes loose revealing a gaping hole in her trousers that she continues to pick at. She hated this, she just wanted to check he was alive, maybe hear about his day, she didn’t want his constant questioning over skype, she already felt shitty enough.

“You said that yesterday.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.” Alex deadpans, he knows all Jo’s tricks, knows his wife better then she thinks he does and he knows that this cold quiet nature she’s got going on currently is not from a lack of sleep. “Is there something going on Jo? You know you can tell me whatever it is.”

Jo frowns, her eyebrows creasing as she shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “It’s nothing, Alex...I’m fine.”

“How stupid do you think I am?”

Sighing Jo finally meets his eyes, his face is closer to the screen but it’s not close enough for her, she needs him here and she regrets telling him to go, logically she knew this was his last chance do something so amazing and she wanted that for him, she wanted him to have these opportunities, she loved watching him shine, he always supported her and she wanted to do the same for him, she just hadn’t expected it to be this hard. “I don’t like sleeping in the bed without you.” She admits, a loan tear slipping down her cheek as he fingers trace across his face on the screen.

“What?”

“That’s it, okay? I hate sleeping without you. The bed's too cold, there's too much space and I wake up every time I hear the door creak, which is a lot because I’m pretty sure our neighbour is a drug dealer exclusively operating from 9 pm to 6 am.” Jo rambles off, her face scrunching up as deflates in the chair, her eyes stinging with more tears as she watches Alex grimace. She felt immediately sick, she knew Alex would wanna come home now, at the very least he’d have Meredith or Link over within the hour to check on her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He sighs, rubbing his eyebrow.

“Because I didn’t want you to feel bad about working away. I know how excited you are to be out there and I didn’t wanna worry you.”

“Jo we’ve been through this you have to tell me these things, good or bad, you know that,” Alex mutters, they’d been through this, Jo had been doing so well since her breakdown but one of the main things they’d got out of their joint therapy session was that they’d have to keep being open with her feelings no matter what they were if they wanted their marriage to work, and god never had either one of them wanted something to work more.

“But I can see that look in your eyes, you feel bad.”

“Because you’re not sleeping.”

“But it’s not your fault.”

“But it is...I didn’t have to take this job.” Alex growls, he didn’t even want this job, sure it was there was a huge call for his expertise, and there were so many surgeries he’d been able to do in the last two weeks that back home felt like gold dust but it wasn’t worth the price of his wife not sleeping while she was carrying their baby.

“But you wanted to and I wanted you too. I didn’t know I was gonna react like this.” Jo sighs, resting her head in her hands, she rubs her eyes furiously, it was one month, they were already two weeks in she could last another two weeks, there were children who needed him, who was she to demand his attention. “I should be used to sleeping on my own, I’ve slept in far worse places than our stupidly expensive bed. Alex...are you even listening to me? Alex, what are you doing?” Jo frowns, watching as Alex disappears off-screen, she can hear him shuffling about before he plops down back on the chair, his phone in hand.

“Looking up the next flight to Seattle,” Alex mutters, not meeting her gaze as he begins to type furiously away, he was coming home, there was no way he could watch his wife cry over facetime for the next two weeks, there was no way he could focus on his patients wondering if Jo was okay or if shes passed out from exhaustion in the middle of the ER.

“No Alex...Alex I’m fine seriously.” Jo cries, leaning in closer to the screen as if it will make any difference.

“You’re not sleeping, it's not good for you or the baby and I can’t sit by and accept that…” Alex mumbles looking up he nods towards the growing bump, he can’t really see it but he knows it's there, she’d had a slight curve when he left, a little sign of what he had waiting for him when he came home.

Jo bites her lip, her hand curling around her tiny bump, the tiny flutters under her fingertips the only reason she’s trying so hard to keep it together. “Alex stop...I’m getting sleep just not a lot and I’m napping in the day anyway.” She’s been forcing herself to sleep, desperate to do what's best for their baby, she was already feeling like she’s a failure as a mother.

“That’s not good enough. You need proper sleep, Jo. You heard Carina after you fainted, you need to take care of yourself properly.” Alex growls, shaking his head.

Jo jerks back, folding her arms over her chest, she glowers down at the screen. “I am Alex do you not think I can take care of my own kid.” She was trying her hardest here, she hated depending on people and even more so she hated admitting that she needed Alex to sleep.

“I never said that…-”

“I have to go...Love you.” Jo cuts him off, already rising from her chair as she reaches towards the laptop. She’s not angry at him, not really, she’s just angry that he can see right through even from 10,000 miles away.

“Jo wait…” Alex grumbles, as the screen goes black, it’s just the hormones he knows but somehow they seem far more intense here then they did at home, sighing, he pulls out his phone shooting her quick text before heading back to work.

I love you more...stay safe

It's a two days letter when Jo returns home after what was one of the most excruciatingly busy shifts she's ever had, she feels like she could drop at any minute. She hadn’t been able to get hold of Alex during her lunch break and the lack of contact didn’t help to settle her anxious heart but she was just hoping she was exhausted enough to sleep. Flopping down on the bed, she cries out when her head smacks against something hard.

Wincing, Jo squeezes her eyes shut, hearing a voice she knows all to good grumbling in pain, slowly she peels one eye open to see Alex, stupid beard and all, tucked under the covers rubbing his forehead.

“What are you doing here?” Jo mumbles, throwing her arms around him, instantly forgetting the searing pain in her head as Alex's scent washes over her.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Alex grumbles, his face scrunched up as he nestles his face into her neck, his arms wrapping around her waist.

Jo pulls back her eyes, scanning him over making sure he is really here and not just a sleep-deprived hallucination, suddenly it dawns on her that if he’s here, then he’s not in Africa saving the tiny humans he’d promised to save. “But the tiny humans who need life-saving treatment?”

“There's plenty of doctors out there to help. It’s up and running now. I've trained plenty of idiots, now they can train the next lot of idiots.” Alex grumbles, leaning back against the bed, pulling Jo down with him. He’d got his affairs in order pretty much the minute Jo had ended their call, it had taken him a few hours to sort his replacement but less than 24 hours after she’d hung up he was on a flight home.

“You shouldn’t have come home.”

“I wanted to be here, My work is important but nothing is more important than you and the baby. I wanna be here, I need to be here.” Alex mutters, nestling closer into her neck, pulling her closer into his arms, his eyes fluttering shut as he guides her down to lay against the pillows.

“If you’re sure,” Jo mumbles, Alex presence having an immediate effect on her tired state, she couldn��t even bring herself to change clothes, the warmth and safety he provided making her eyes flutter shut

“I am.” He mumbles sleepily, pressing a row of kisses down Jo’s neck, his beard scratching against her skin, a reminder that he’s here, home in their bed. “My dad missed everything growing up. I don’t wanna be like him.” That was Alex’s biggest fear, becoming his father the main reason he’d said no to setting up the clinic, it was time he could never get back but Jo had been adamant now was the time to go, he’d never be able to take this much time away from home once the baby arrived.

“You’re nothing like him, Alex.” Jo sighs, one hand running through his messy curls as he hums in content. “Setting up a medical clinic for underprivileged children abroad is not the same as walking out on your family,” Jo mutters, humming as he snuggles closer, his head resting on her chest. “You are a good man Alex Karev and you’re gonna be a wonderful father,” Jo mumbles pressing a kiss to his head, she feels her body finally relaxing for the first time in two months as Alex’s body warmth envelops her.

“You’re going to be an amazing mother, and I never meant to insinuate that you weren’t looking out for our baby.” His hand drifts down the edges of Jo’s top in search of the tiny curve that had been there when he left two weeks ago. “The way you look after peo- What the hell is this?” Alex exclaims just as Jo was drifting off, sitting up immediately his eyes scanning across her body, his forehead creased as he pointed towards her torso, pulling at the oversized sweatshirt she had on.

“Mhmm your sweatshirt?” Jo mumbles meekly giving him a half-smile as she sheepishly tries to twist away from his glance, he never really cared if she wore his clothes if anything he liked it but he had one rule, wear anything but his Iowa wrestling shirt, it was fading fast and he loved it but then again so did Jo. It wasn’t her fault then one thing she couldn’t wear was also her favourite.

“No, I mean this….what the heck I SAID NO GROWING WITHOUT ME.” Alex grumbles, dipping down to address Jo’s burgeoning bump, rolling up his sweatshirt, his hands trace across her skin, marvelling at how much had changed since he’d been away.

Jo grins sitting up, so he could see how pronounced her stomach had become, she laughs, reaching out to cup his cheek. “Erm Alex...you know it's a good thing that he or she is growing right...that's what we want a nice healthy baby.” She mumbles, resting one hand on his as she smiles down at the bump, she may have been having a bit of rough time lately but she’d been making sure their baby had the best, she’d even forced herself to drink a few kale smoothies.

“Yeah but they didn’t have to grow this much...what did you eat? Everything you could find?” Alex exclaims, still talking at the bump when he feels a light smack against the back of his head, leaning up he gives Jo a cheeky smile while she pouts at him. “Ow….I was kidding you look great.” He smiles leaning to give her light peck, savouring the feeling. It was good to be home.

“Mhmm nice save…..oh oh.” Jo smiles against his lips as he begins to pepper tiny kisses all over her face making her squeal.

“Is that?” Alex's eyes widen as he pulls back, he feels another light tap against his hand that was still pressed against Jo’s stomach.

“Yeah...yeah...here move your hand.” Jo smiles brightly, taking his hand she tracks their little one's movements as more excited kicks spread out across her stomach. “Looks like someone is glad to have you home.”

“Not half as glad as I am.” Alex beams, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he leans down pressing a light kiss against Jo’s bump. “I love you and I love you” he whispers tenderly as his eyes meet Jo’s again.

“I love you more.” Jo hums softly, a sparkle in her eyes as she settles back against the pillows.

“Jo…” Alex whispers, moving up so he’s face to face with Jo, his hand trailing across her cheek, moving the hair that’s fallen across her face to behind her ear. A small smile gracing his face as she mumbles something incoherent, her eyes fluttering shut as she drifts off, the exhaustion hitting her full force now she was wrapped in the safety of Alex's arms. “The truth is I can’t sleep when you’re not beside me either.”

Whoops, I dropped the ball with how long it took me to post this, I’m so sorry but I do hope you enjoy it. Also if you like my one-shots you can find my prompt lists at the bottom of my master post.

#jolex #alex karev #jo karev #jo wilson #greys anatomy #greys abc #greysanatony #greys #justin chambers #camilla luddington #jolex fanfiction #jolex fanfic

15 notes · View notes

chimswae · 4 years

Text

BTS Caretaker CH37

Summary: She may think she has Bangtan Sonyeondan wrapped around her fingers. She may think it is easy to love the members equally without hurting any soul. She may think the boys wont fall head over heels for her. She assumes it is okay to show a little love and affection towards the boys, what if she gets it all wrong? What if it only brings more complication to her already complicated life? Can she survive their charms? Will she be able to resist them? What if they just wont let her go?

- Pairing: BTS x Oc ( Yoongi x OC, Jungkook x OC)

- Genre: Fluff, Slight Angst, Romance, Idol!au

- Word Count: 2,655

- Author Note: Gukie is my soft baby :(( sorry baby<3

Previous | Next

Chapter 37

The next morning, like routine, the boys will be having their practice at the company. Yoongi’s absence was noted by the members and they assumed he pulled an all-nighter like he usually did during promotional month. That was the only legit answers to his absence. Jin on the other hand was extremely upset that the rapper didn’t get back home last night and chose to sleep in his studio instead. He seemed to ignore the rule that has been set by Jin, which annoyed the older guy.

Meanwhile, Seul spent her night there, cuddling with Yoongi on the couch until they fall asleep. The good thing about yesterday was she finally found a way to reopen her old wound and agreed to heal it with Yoongi’s help.

“Tae hyung, I don’t think Yoongi hyung will be happy to see you breaking into his studio” the maknae bit his lower lips nervously, watching Taehyung entering the passcode to Yoongi’s studio.

The latter only shook his head with his signature boxy grin “Hyung and I are best friend now, so don’t worry. We will only peek okay?” he noted earning dissatisfied grunt from Jungkook.

“Hyung how did you even know the password to his studio? No one has access to it after the robbery incident” the young man blinked in bafflement trying to make sense out of this.

“Yoongi hyung gave it to me a month ago when he needed my help to find his missing demos, so I kinda memorised it even though he told me to wipe it off completely from my memory” his lips broke into an innocent smile.

“Hyung! That is an invasion of privacy. You should not be memorising the passcode! We are not doing this” he swatted Taehyung hand, pulling it away from touching the door again.

Pouting in protest, Taehyung shot the young man a meaningful glare “Arent you curious whether hyung is with someone inside?”

“Like who?”

“A nice young lady or it could be a nice young man!” grinning like an idiot, he attempted to poison Jungkook’s innocent mind with his weird imagination.

“That doesn’t sound Yoongi hyung. He likes Seul” Jungkook cringed at the idea of catching the older guy with some random strangers.

“It could be Seul, Jeon”

“What?” he looked at Taehyung in sheer horror. It could be possible if there’s Seul beyond that door with Yoongi, however why on earth they spent their night together alone here? Jungkook shrugged off the thought refused to get sway by a mere assumption from Taehyung.

Jungkook’s reluctance to pull the prank on Yoongi annoyed him, “Like I said, it could be Seul. Man, do you think Yoongi hyung would just sit down and wait for Seul to give her answers? You gotta do something if you want to win the girl” he teased.

Pressing his lips together, Jungkook sighed deeply digesting Taehyung’s words in his head. Nothing is impossible as they already agreed on winning Seul’s heart, it was really up to them when it came to their ways to be with Seul. They had been busy with their comeback this month making it hard for him to get in touch with Seul though as much as he wanted to run to her workplace and bring her out for a date. His time was limited.

“Do you want to do it or not?” Taehyung’s deep voice brought him out of his trance. Jungkook nodded slowly, unsure whether it was right to invade Yoongi’s personal space. Cheering like a hyper kid, Taehyung entered the passcode one more time and the door clicked open.

He placed his slender fingers over his lips signalling Jungkook to keep his voice low before pushing the door slightly and poked his head halfway inside. Scanning the room, his eyes landed on Yoongi’s leather sofa right beside the entrance. It was a clear image of Seul and Yoongi under the blanket, holding onto each other leaving them only a small space to move.

Gawking at the sight before him, he rubbed his eyes while putting a little pressure on it. He never thought that his joke with Jungkook few minutes ago came into reality.

“Gukie, it is Seul..Oh my god”

“Seul?” the maknae was getting impatient, and he decided to have a look after a long battle with his own conscience.

His eyes enlarged watching the two familiar figures in their deep slumber. Just when he thought everything would be alright to see Seul with one of the members one day, Jungkook couldn’t help but to feel the pain. His heart stung with the ache of rejection.

Undeniably, Yoongi and Seul looked good together as if they are match made from heaven. That was the thing that he feared the most, to get hurt by his first love. However, it was only logical if his life turned out to be this way. It is life. It takes one to have his heart crush into million pieces first before they find their true love.

Seul is his first love. In all honesty, Jungkook didn’t put much expectation on this love that he had for Seul. He’s mentally ready to face the worst pain in his life. It was a matter of time to realize that Seul wouldn’t be his.

Jungkook clenched his fist, fighting with his own tears. He couldn’t be upset over this, it might be cruel but nothing he could do to change the fact that Seul was in love with Min Yoongi.

A pair of small hand grabbing his wrist diverting Jungkook’s attention to the owner. “Stop before you hurt yourself even more” said the blonde guy with a frown evident on his forehead.

Jungkook looked down bellowing the frustration inside him, feeling his whole body limped in process “I am sorry Jungkook. I didn’t mean to- Damn it. If I knew Seul is really inside I won’t trick you to-“ “It is not your fault hyung. I can handle it at least it will hurt less when she tells me the truth later on” he smiled bitterly.

Taehyung straightened up, closing the door to Yoongi’s studio carefully as he felt Jimin’s hard gaze was on him. The small guy seemed to be very disappointed with Taehyung even though he didn’t mean to cause any harm to Jungkook.

“It is not the end of the world Kkuk-ah. You have us. In fact, you and Seul can remain friends. A good friend. I know how much you admire her and look up to her, being in love is not a mistake. Your feelings are real and pure, never ever compare yourself with Yoongi hyung.” Jimin patted his back, leading the heartbroken guy to their practice room. As though Jimin could read his mind, Jungkook sighed sadly swallowing the lumps on his throat.

Trailing the two from behind was Taehyung, he felt deeply guilty for becoming the reason of Jungkook’s bad day. How could he do that to his own bandmates?

“We will talk about this later. For now, get your head in the practice. We don’t want to mess it up” he whispered lowly, leaving the sullen boy alone at the corner and make his way to Hoseok and Namjoon.

Gathering his sense together, Jungkook assured himself that everything would be alright, and he only needed to hear the answer from Seul to help him easing this pain in him. Yes, he will act normally and pretend everything is fine.

‘Whatever happen, Yoongi hyung is my brother and Seul is my friend. Do not loathe them’ Jungkook expelled a long sigh.

-----------------

“Sit here mom. Let me take care of the bills so we can go” Seul helped her mother to sit down in the waiting area before she went to the counter to settle the hospital bills. Mrs Hwang rested her back against the seat, wincing softly due to the pain from earlier therapy session.

It was her routine to visit the hospital at least twice a week, but it didn’t make it easier for her to handle the pain. Each day the pain from the session was unbearable for her weak body to comprehend. Seeing how her children stayed by her side throughout the session, at least it gave her the strength to endure it a bit.

“Hwang Jihyun” as she heard her name being summoned, Mrs Hwang looked up searching for the voice. “Hwang Jihyun, am I right?” her eyes scrutinized the familiar face with uneasy heart.

She looked directly at him, frozen in shock and disbelief “I am right. It is you. Nice to see you again Jihyun” her eyes were wide opened in recognition. Mrs Hwang remained silent in her seat as she scanned the hallway to find any sign of Seul coming.

There’s no way she would let Seul meet him. He’s as wicked as Lee Wonsuk.

“I am sorry, you got the wrong person” she stood up hoping to escape from this heavy atmosphere. She couldn’t risk being seen with him by Seul. Not like this.

“I get the exact person that I am looking for, it is about time”

“W-hat” she responded, feeling a panicky jump in her stomach. She moved her arms from his grip, taking few steps back until she was sure there were a huge gap between them. His clothing was dishevelled, and this image petrified her. What if he was drunk as hell and did something extraordinary?

“I don’t know you are that scared of me. Good” he marked followed by his disgusting smile.

“What do you want? We don’t have anything to talk about” Mrs Hwang gave him a cold shoulder not letting his presence destroyed the wall that she built all these years.

“Really? So, let’s talk about your daughter or more accurately, our daughter”

Her breath hitched “She is not your daughter, do not claim her as yours. You are not his father” scowling in anger, she gathered her strength to fight this evil man without backing away. She wouldn’t let anyone take Seul away from her, not to the man who destroyed her life years ago.

“Persistent. I heard it from Wonsuk. You really hate the idea of having me or Wonsuk as your daughter’s father, aren’t you? Well, we can’t do anything about that” he smirked.

“She is my daughter, I will hold onto the fact that she is my husband’s daughter. Now, please excuse me, this talk is over” she was about as his presence was suffocating her.

He grabbed her arms once again this time tighter to keep her still “If she is your ex-husband’s daughter, he would not sell her off to me just to be free from his own mistake” she snapped.

“Wha-t? What the hell are you saying now?”

“Surprise? Oh, I bet he forgot to mention that he sealed a deal with me. Too bad, that nephew of mine, hurm.. that stupid rascal helped your daughter to escape. He even helped your family to hide. In all honesty, it was beautiful. I should have get rid of him” his face darkened recalling the awful memories which made him lose his mind over their disappearance.

She gasped and did a double take, to reconfirm whether what she heard a minute ago was the truth. Staring in horror and confusion, the older woman clutched onto her chest feeling the pang of guilt “Son of a bitch! Look, what have you done to her?! You, dirty old man!” her angry voice echoing across the hall.

He laughed half-heartedly “When I took her in I had no idea that she could be my daughter until, I discovered the truth about your marriage. If and only I found out about it sooner, she could be useful now for my business. Again, that idiot rascal. I can’t do anything to him now, since he is a renowned celebrity. Just too bad” the heartless hissed.

“Don’t you ever dare do anything to him. Stay away from my family and Hyunbin, or I will expose you”

“Touche. I can feel the special bond that you have with him. That is beautiful. I assume that you are still in contact with him. That ungrateful bastard..Hurm..I won’t touch him if you agree to return Seul to me” he proposed.

“NO! DON’T YOU EVER TRY TO INVOLVE SEUL IN THIS. Like I said, she is not your daughter, stop drawing your own conclusion” Mrs Hwang was clearly angered by his rude proposition. There’s no way she would give in this time.

“I am not convinced that she isn’t mine. Why do I feel like you are hiding something from me? Do you think she is Wonsuk’s? That asshole, he was not doing it properly and was a real mess that night. What makes you think that the child is his?”

Her mind froze momentarily, it numbed her system. That night was hazy even for her to recall the memories back, she couldn’t actually get the clear idea what happened to her. She was unconscious whole night only to see herself without any clothes the next morning.

Frustrated, she looked at him in the eyes “Whatever happen that night, it will stay that way. I will not let you ruin my family after what you’ve done to me. Seul, Ji Seul, she will only be my daughter not yours, not Wonsuk, not even my husband. I gave birth to her and I raised her with love. Do not come near to my family or Hyunbin. I will ruin you, I swear” she warned sternly with a hint of disgust and resentment towards the man.

“Mom..” her eyes searched for Seul’s voice and it broke her heart to see the girl whom already had tears staining her rosy cheeks, standing stiffly not far from them looking confused as ever.

“Seul-ah…” she dragged her pained body to her daughter, holding the girl by arms with a worried look. “Is it true? That.. he is my father.. The man who bought me from dad?” she was shaking uncontrollably, whilst bellowing the resentment in her.

Mr Kwon looked at their way watching how the drama unfold in front of him. He never cared of Seul’s wellbeing. Her existence was insignificant to him until he realized the benefits she could get from his alleged daughter if he kept her by his side.

“No. He is not, don’t let him fool you. I won’t acknowledge his existence” she said in between her tears, holding onto her daughter’s hand tight.

“He is the other man, right? The one who assaulted you.. I cant believe this…” she wasn’t only losing her words when she heard the news but as well as her mind. This whole situation was so fucked up. She had a long history with this old man who supposed to be his biological father, and she couldn’t fathom why he had to be her father out of all the men in this world.

Seul loathed him to death. The thing that he did to her was unforgiveable, let alone admitting him as her father, it was inadmissible.

They shared the same blood. His blood run in hers.

This screwed up big time.

“Seul he is no-“ “I..will book a ride for you. I need to go” disgusted by the news, she tore her gaze from the man.

“My dear, please..let me explain”

“Mom I will not do anything stupid. I promise but give me time to process this” Seul sighed heavily, embracing her mother briefly leaving the two adults alone in the empty hallway. Just few days ago, she learnt about her mother past and it already pained her, however this time this revelation stabbed her deeper than before.

Yoongi, I need you. Seul walked aimlessly along the street finding the right path to find Yoongi though she knew it was impossible knowing they were having their live broadcast performance today.

Her jaw clenched tightly, as she continued her walk to wherever her legs brought her.

#btscaretaker #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook fanfic #yoongi fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #yoongi x oc #jungkook x oc #bts x oc #bts fluff #yoongi romance #jungkook fluff #bts series #bts idolau

4 notes · View notes