#i remember like 5 or 6 years ago i tried telling a therapist about it and she just didnt say anything to this even tho its my main problem | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aftgficrec · 1 year

Note

Hey! I love your page and getting fic recs! Do you have any fics where Neil goes or agrees to go to therapy? I’m good with Bee or someone else as the therapist too. It can be canon or an au. Thanks so much! :))

I was pleasantly surprised by how much we found for you! -A

previous recs:

‘another life to live’ here

‘Oakland’ here (completed)

‘you’ve been locked in here forever (and you just can’t say goodbye)’ here (updated)

‘If it means protecting you (I’ll pay my dues)’ here (updated)

‘Interlaced’ here (updated)

‘Regrowth,’ ‘To Be Close With You Is To Be Close With Myself,’ ‘I took a breath and took the knife,’ and ‘flashes of intimacy’ ch 4 here

‘call me in the afternoon’ here

‘The Wild Fox Den’ and ‘Roses Grow Between Bone’ here

‘(My Heart) Pierced By a Pin’ here (completed)

‘The Sun Still Rises’ here (updated)

‘day by day’ here

‘the shuffling of cards’ here

‘Ain’t it fun’ here

‘Breathe, idiot’ here

‘Healing’ series part 1 here, part 3 here (completed)

‘The Fear of Being Known’ here

‘That one party’ series and ‘keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)’ here

‘Affection can be shown in so many ways’ here

‘Ghost of You’ here

‘Make This Leap (Geronimo)’ here

‘Tenuous’ here

‘There is Nothing You Can Say’ here (completed)

‘of ice blue eyes & twisted veins’ here

‘don't break the glass’ (completed) here

‘Bad Apple’ here

‘Phantom Pains’ here

‘Therapy’ here

‘Birds of a Feather’ here (updated)

‘In which Neil had Aspergers and Andrew finds out.’ here

‘For You I'd Bleed Myself Dry’ here (updated)

‘I Wanna Get Better’ here

‘on the tip of my tongue (say something)’ parts 6 & 8 here

and more:

‘Ember’ here (completed)

‘leave the room (with a little dignity)’ here

‘Art Hoe’ here

‘Blame It On My Youth’ here (updated)

‘Black as is the Raven, He’ll Get a Partner’ (here)

‘Our body’ series, part 1 here, part 3 here, part 5 here

‘and all the roads will disappear’ here

‘crossed out’ here

‘Double Trouble’ series here

‘i had a dream (where you couldn't hear me screaming)’ and ‘hold me close, in fact bury me’ here

‘Just closed eyes with nothing behind’ here

‘doubt thou the stars be fire’ here

‘SCAR TISSUE’ here

‘Lighter Fluid’ here

you may also like:

‘The Sound’ here

historians by cielalune [Rated M, 21508 Words, Complete, 2023]

He remembers when she didn’t smell of ash, but perfume. The times they’d play the radio to fill the quiet of the car, and she’d hum along. How she never missed a single exy practice, and cheered for him each time. She wasn’t all too different from Cass in the end. Just because she was dead didn’t mean she was buried. Five times Neil tries to come to closure about the person Mary Hatford was, and the one time he accepts who she came to be.

tw: heavily referenced child abuse, tw: heavily referenced rape/noncon, tw: heavily referenced csa, tw: heavily referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: sleep paralysis, tw: depressive episode, tw: flashbacks with blood & gore, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation, tw: victim blaming

Mommy Dearest by chronically_peach [Rated G, 915 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil doesn’t talk about his mother much but Andrew knows it’s a touchy subject for the redhead. After a session with Betsy Neil admits he’s been thinking about his mother and allows Andrew a glimpse into who Mary Hatford really was.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Pain of a Forgotten Face series by Rose_vine [Collection, 2 complete works, Updated 2021]

Part 1: Pain of a Forgotten Face [M, 3086 Words] Neil Josten is awoken by a face in his nightmares from twelve years ago, a face he barely remembers. When he tries to brush it off and go to practice, he realizes too late that some memories refuse to let themselves be forgotten.

tw: ptsd, tw: panic attacks, tw: nightmares, tw: hallucinations, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: blood/gore

Part 2: A Hand to Hold Me Back From The Cliff [Not Rated, 2132 Words] After Neil collapses on the court from a flashback from when he was younger, Andrew convinces him to go to therapy. This is his first session with Bee, and it is only Andrew at his side that gives him the strength to walk through the door.

tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

After the Beep by kanekei [Rated T, 1030 Words, Incomplete, Updated Sept 2023]

Neil works through his relationship with his dead mother by leaving her voice messages that she'll never hear. It’s healthy, Bee says. He can’t help but think having the Minyards as patients has skewed her perception of what that word means. The number you have reached is not available. Please leave your message after the beep.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced violence

The Foxes by akaashisramen [Not Rated, 3386 Words, Incomplete, Updated July 2023]

Trans Neil is on the run from his father and goes to his uncles house. His uncle promises him protection and allows him to play Exy as long as he goes to group therapy to process his mothers death.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: graphic nightmares, tw: implied/referenced torture

someday, we'll grow by nopunintended [Rated G, 2078 Words, Complete, 2021]

Andrew and Neil see Betsy for a couple's therapy session per Andrew's request.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Couples Therapy by P0tatonoah [Rated T, 2014 Words, Complete 2020]

I got a lot of comments (like 3 or 4) on my breakup fic asking for a part 2 where Neil and Andrew patch things up and live happily ever after… This is not it. But you can read it as an alternative ending if you want.

tw: implied/referenced nonconsensual touch, tw: implied/referenced violence

NB: find P0tatonoah’s andreil break up fic ‘Home...?’ here

They sicken of the calm, they who know the storm by EdgySpaghetti [Not Rated, 3162 Words, Complete, 2023]

After storm there always comes the sun. People born into the storm, who growing up sees only black clouds and lightnings striking everywhere, just learn how to live with it, how to protect themselves from cold, wind and rain. They recognize the pattern, know that lightning will struck sooner or later and are prepared for it. What are those people to do when there is no more dark clouds? They don't know how to live in this environment, how to dress to not get too hot and how to prevent potential sunburnt. They never had to do that before. They're still expecting the lightnings.

tw: ptsd, tw: anxiety, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: anger issues

Can I finally stop running now? by gracefromspace [Rated T, 12110 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil is intrigued by a blonde baker with piercings, two therapy cats and strong arms.

tw: heavily referenced torture, tw: flashbacks with blood/gore, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: anxiety, tw: negative self image

can't blame it on my youth by PoolToast22 [Rated G, 2650 Words, Complete, 2022]

The one where Neil Josten is Fine TM. But he's also in therapy. And today Bee decided to ask him that question.

hold on to happiness by minyarday [Rated T, 551 Words, Complete, 2020]

"self esteem had never been something Neil cared about. when you are a runaway that don't even have a place to call home, you learn to prioritize certain things and forget others" only that now he has the time to think about it

I'll Come Back To You by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, 6900 Words, Complete, 2022]

Some of the things he’s learned today feel like stories about someone else: Neil switched to playing striker at a tiny high school in Arizona. Aaron lives in Chicago with his wife. Andrew’s cousin calls Neil every Tuesday, because Andrew is too stubborn to pick up the phone himself. But other things are clear truths, even if they’re more abstract: Neil’s mother died. Andrew is safe. Neil was supposed to stay, but part of him is gone. - - - - It's about dreams, reality, trust, patience, and determination. It's about making promises and keeping them. You'll figure out the rest.

tw: car accidents, tw: major character injury, tw: implied/referenced violence

I will help you swim by unojonex [Rated E, 11699 Words, Incomplete, Updated Oct 2022]

He’s slowed down, stayed in one place for more than a few months and it's all caught up with him. In his sleep, ghosts of his past haunt him. And they have no mercy. Dreams and imagination swirl together in a confusing mix of nightmares that don't go away, even when he's awake. -- basically Neil and Andrew getting together while also dealing with a lot of trauma

tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/refererenced torture, tw: heavily referenced child abuse, tw: suicide ideation, tw: graphic nightmares with blood/gore, tw: dissociation, tw: hallucinations, tw: panic attacks

But Touch My Tears with Your Lips by transjorts [Rated M, 4070 Words, Complete, AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2022]

Andrew is sitting across from him, expression neutral, fork in hand. He’d dragged the tinnes across the plate—purposefully, if Neil had to guess. Andrew has already cut the burrito up into tiny pieces and spears one morsel on the fork, lifting it to his mouth. “Hi,” Neil says. Andrew chews, very deliberately. “Do you feel better?” Neil frowns. “What?” Andrew eats another bite. “Did all that running make you feel better?” Neil sighs and glances down, noticing that his water has been refilled. He takes a sip. “No.”

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced sexual assault, tw: nightmares, tw: dissociation

let's just sit awhile by artiest [Rated M, 17291 Words, Complete. 2022, Locked]

Neil and Andrew don't have to keep fighting for their survival. They can settle now. It's hard, but they're trying. OR: During Neil's second year in Palmetto State, him and Andrew learn to take care of each other.

tw: severe mental health issues, tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: nightmares with blood/gore, tw: flashbacks, tw: dissociation, tw: violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: vomit, tw: alcohol abuse/alcholism

I could never give you peace by freshtaylorswiftduck [Rated T, 3407 Words, Complete. 2022]

Neil has both bad and good days. Today is a bad day.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: panic attacks

10 tips to stress less, without the tips by lumos_max [Rated T, 5404 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange Fall 2020]

A lonely Neil lets his therapist bully him into checking out the clinic's support group without too much fuss, but little did he know he wouldn't be checking out the group that day, instead meeting a dramatic hunk of a man who drives a fancy car and forgets to wipe the cream off the corner of his lip. It's only fair that Neil tries to do it for him, right?

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

“God, I have my father’s eyes.” by perks_of_being_a_writer [Rated T, 673 Words, Complete, 2022]

This is based on Family Line by Conan Gray. In this short story, Neil is at a therapy appointment where he and Betsy dive into his parental issues. This covers Neil’s abuse from both parents (because, yes, Mary was abusive and a bad mother). This is Neil learning that it's not his fault his parents hurt him and accepting that he is loved.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

"There's blood on my/your hands." by markonasurface (idwir) [Rated T, 4667 Words, Complete, 2018]

The year after his 19th birthday, the other team decides to recreate the bloody locker scene complete with a ‘Happy Birthday, Jr.’ Instead of stuffing everything down, Neil has a complete freak out and sinks into a depression.

tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks, tw: ptsd, tw: major depressive episode, tw: homophobia, tw: disordered eating, tw: vomit

Nothing is Safe series by hismiley16 [Rated T/M/E, Collection, 7 complete works, Updated July 2023]

Parts 3 and 7 recced here

Part 4: Written On His Skin [Not Rated, 11344 Words] The Foxes face the Ravens for the first time since Riko's death and things go as well as expected. Andrew is mildly injured on the court and isn't there to protect Neil when the new Evermore captain comes for him after the game. The team sees more than Neil ever wanted them to, including the ghost of Nathaniel he thought he'd buried in Baltimore.

tw: vomit, tw: bullying, tw: nonconsensual touch/assault tw: dissociation, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced animal death, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

The Josten Anxiety Method by orphan_account [Rated M, 1721 Words, Complete, 2022]

Neil talks to Bee about his anxiety.

tw: anxiety, tw: hallucinations, tw: dissociation, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Looking in the Mirror Never Felt so Good by Trimorphia [Rated T, 8693 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil Josten's journey to becoming a real person.

tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Achilles Come Down by infernalstars [Rated M, 5017 Words, Complete, 2020]

Neil Josten was a liar before he was anything else. In the nest, sometimes his choices were between lying and dying. He’d had a decent amount of self preservation that he’d chosen the former. But now, being free, the world felt so heavy. He wished he’d chosen dying.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: graphic suicide attempt, tw: self harm, tw: blood, tw: eating disorders focus, tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: vomit, tw: depression

prompt: Neil x therapy bullet fic by @sadboyayeron [Tumblr, 2020]

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thatmindfulmorena · 2 years

Text

Things I wish I knew before starting (psycho) therapy

[T/W brief mentions of suicide]

About a year ago, I remember feeling so low and lost in my life that I wanted to do that thing. But a little voice somehow resonated through my head and told me to google up the suicide hotline number. As soon as the numbers appeared on the screen, my heavy thoughts began to pause.

“What was I going to say? Are they going to judge me if I just cried? What if no one was on the other line and its just some unavailable number?”

I ended up calming myself down and took a good hold of myself. I couldn’t call, because I wouldn’t know what to tell them.

I did not proceed with the call, and I did not do any harm on myself, thankfully. But I did wonder, how the hell do you start ‘(psycho)therapy’?

I’ve contemplated for years when was the perfect time to get therapy. While I had researched on psychological and psychiatric therapy as the best option to treat depression, I had my reservations. I didn’t know where to begin and knowing that if I asked help from my parents, they’d be critical of me, and would rather tell me that “I’m not praying enough”. I knew from then on that I was pretty much on my own in terms of discovering a solution for my depression.

Here's a few things I wish I knew before starting psychotherapy. Please do note that this may not work for you, but I hope you’d gain a little confidence boost to starting your therapy journey.

It doesn’t need to take a grave situation before you can start pulling yourself out from anxiety or depression.

I took the step to psychotherapy after I had been to several doctors about physical ailments that didn't seem to go away for months. I did not like the thought of taking medication either for my brain, so I tried psychotherapy instead. I needed to know whether it was really all in my head or not; as I was sick and tired of feeling lost in general.

2. Its okay to switch therapists or clinics when you don’t feel like it.

The first time I tried therapy was through an online chat consultation. I didn't have the courage to face a psychologist, because I wouldn't know where to actually start. I figured online chat messages would allow me to have time to carefully explain what I want to say (or I'd say its my most comfortable way of explaining: writing). But after a couple of sessions, I didn't feel like I was heading towards a direction that I really wanted to go through.

I gained a little confidence from there, and figured that I need to have a virtual consultation (this was during the height of the pandemic) and express myself verbally so my psychologist would be able to assess me better.

3. Seeking help when you’re mentally ill is the same as seeking medical consultation when you have a cold that won’t go away.

Growing up in a traditional household that mental illness or depression is something that could just be "prayed away", gave me a lot of hesitation to start seeking help. I came to realize that mental illness is a body ailment that needs to be treated like any other physical ailment.

4. Seeking help for depression is a huge step that your future self will thank you for.

It was obviously scary for me, knowing that I don't know anyone personally who has had experience with therapy. Everybody else were either strong enough, or didn't have the knowledge and courage either to start.

5. Search engines like Facebook are your friends in searching for clinics.

In my country, there have been a lot of clinics on Facebook that provide online psychotherapy, due to the pandemic. Some offer trial sessions, and when you're comfortable enough with them, you can pursue the next consultations at original rates. I just had to make sure that the doctors in those clinics were completely licensed.

6. It shouldn’t take a huge fortune to start therapy, but it will cost you.

While I have yet to search for a list of clinics that offer affordable sessions, I was a bit desperate to get started on my road to recovery. Unfortunately, most HMOs does not include mental health consultations, and it does require money if you want to continue your sessions. The length of the sessions varies (depending on your case), and will depend on you and your therapist's evaluation.

7. Psychotherapy is not an overnight solution.

After seeing and reading things about how beneficial therapy was to people, I had thought that after one consultation, my mental health issue will be resolved, just like how internal medicine doctors give you medicine for your flu and you have the option to go or not to go back if you feel better.

It takes a lot of patience with yourself, and with your therapist's guidance--to reach the goal of healing.

8. Not every therapy session will make you feel good.

I always thought that once I ranted out my woes in every session, I'd feel good after. My therapist had this strategy of letting me realize the resolutions to some concerns myself; by making me discuss deep seated emotions that I have been hiding myself, either consciously or not. A lot of the times, it will be heavy, or tiring to show up the next session, but if you're really determined to heal, you will put your best effort for yourself.

9. Therapists are not meant to be your friend, nor should they be named as 'paid listeners'.

Being a born introvert myself, I don't share a lot of secrets, especially emotions to other people; even to my closest friends. When I managed to really speak up about my dark secrets and deep seated emotions, I felt like I've gained a friend. For I have never felt so validated in my life for feeling certain things.

And as much as they do have a clear interest in my life, at the end of the day, they are just doctors doing their noble jobs of helping their patients heal. They are to be treated with as much respect.

10. Its better if you can set a 'goal' before you start your therapy.

I was asked initially this question, and I felt like I didn't have any specific goal, other than to 'feel better'. Therapists would prefer if you can provide them a direction so they can anticipate what kind of strategies they'll need for you to go into the direction that you want to.

But if you don't have a specific goal either, don't be disheartened. They are meant to help and guide us; as long as we consciously help ourselves.

And that's pretty much it. No matter how small or huge your worries are, they are valid reasons to get checked at. Remember that seeking help is not a sign of weakness, but a sign of strength.

#mental health #self help #mental health aware #depression #self improvement #self growth #tw self destruction #turning point #self healing #self help blog #self care #things i wish i learned #things i wish i knew #things i wish i knew before starting therapy #therapy #psychotherapy #mentalwellness #mental health support

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falcqns · 3 years

Note

Please don’t block me this is my opinion 💙

I don’t know what the last anon was talking about but I think abortion is wrong

okay let me make one thing clear, especially about me and my blog before y'all get your panties in a fucking twist.

I AM NOT AGAINST ABORTION. it is a topic that i will not write about, but if you want to write about a character having an abortion, go for it.

now, anon. abortion is not wrong. in any way. the majority of people who get abortions are not able to take care of a baby, whether that be health wise, financial wise, or any other reason.

one of my high school friends had an abortion, and let me tell you, it tore her apart. i went with her to the appointment, and she was a wreck after. i wasn't in the room while it happened, but i could hear her crying the entire time. she had a multitude of health problems, and by carrying the baby to term, she would have died. not to mention, the baby had barely any amniotic fluid surrounding, and would have been born with severe birth defects, and likely would have only survived minutes. making the decision to have an abortion broke her fucking heart, and it broke mine, especially since i got pregnant less than 3 months after she lost her baby. (my daughters middle name is the name she was going to give her baby if it was a girl, and she is her godmother)

there is NOTHING wrong with having an abortion. and who are you to judge whether or not it is wrong?? its MY body, MY choice.

i was given the option to abort when i found out i was pregnant. i was almost forced into it by Andrews father (which is why we don't associate w him) and i decided against it. not because im against abortion, but because i could never go through with it.

that being said, there was a few days a few months ago, where my period was severely late, and Andrew and I thought i was pregnant. while we can comfortably support Lavender and ourselves, we are NOT in the position to support another baby, nor do we want one. we talked, and said that if i was pregnant, i would have an abortion. that doesn't make me a bad person, and that doesn't make me a killer.

if i had been pregnant, having that abortion would have still broken my heart. a good reference song for this topic is Lucy by Skillet. the singer of the song had a girlfriend in high school who he got pregnant. they couldn't take care of the baby, and had an abortion. a few years later, they were struggling coming to terms with it, and went to a therapist, who recommended giving the baby a name, which they did. the song is insanely real, and insanely sad. go listen to it, and then come back and still say you're against abortion.

you can be against abortion for yourself, but you will NOT come onto my blog and spew this shit over a post about a fucking tv show.

if you seen Murdoch Mysteries, here's some context.

Julia, Williams wife, had an abortion years before she met William. i do not remember the reason, but i believe it was because she was young. her and William have always struggled to get pregnant, but eventually, Julia tried a VERY EARLY form of IVF (this show takes places in early 1900's Toronto) and it was successful. she was 5 or 6 months pregnant, when she miscarried, and both her and William were severely traumatized, and in his hurt, William blamed her, and told her that she was to blame. to quote him exactly:

Julia: "you think God is punishing us for Isabel's abortion?" (talking about the case William is working)

William: "you're getting worked up."

Julia: "you think he's punishing us for the abortion i had years ago?"

William: *says nothing, but his face shows that that is what he believes.*

Julia was NOT in the wrong. there is NOTHING wrong with having an abortion. you are entitled to your beliefs, but DO NOT come to my page with your beliefs, and expect me not to block you.

#tw abortion #tw unwanted pregnancy #william murdoch #murdoch mysteries #dr julia ogden #julia ogden #skillet #lucy by skillet

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melanielocke · 3 years

Text

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 8

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Taglist @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

CW for discussion of abuse and description of PTSD related flashback

Helping Gideon Lightwood visit old memories from his childhood was much harder than Alastair could have anticipated. Gideon did not know exactly where they would find the information they needed, so they had been visiting several memories where he thought he might have overheard something to do with his father’s dealings in the occult. There were several instances where Gideon had seen or heard something he hadn’t understood back then but did now. References to supernatural woman he was interested in mostly, it seemed like Benedict Lightwood had had an interest in sex with supernatural women.

So far nothing that might relate to what was happening to Thomas, though. There was an instant where Benedict Lightwood said something about a rival in business falling ill with an unsettling smile, where Gideon now realized that had been his doing, but they hadn’t yet figured out what creatures Benedict had made deals with beyond the women he’d bargained with for sexual favors. Alastair suspected the creature that might claim Thomas’ life had bargained for much more than sex. He couldn’t imagine giving up someone’s life for sex, whereas Alastair could picture a cold and heartless person such as Benedict Lightwood offering up someone’s life in exchange for money and power.

Part of the problem was that there were only so many of these memories Alastair could take and he was surprised Gideon was doing so well. It was a long time ago, of course, but Alastair couldn’t imagine ever being able to show someone else memories of his father. Not even those where he wasn’t drunk. He could talk about it, perhaps, but he could never show, he never wanted anyone to see just how defenseless he’d been.

Even seeing the memories of someone else’s neglectful father was difficult for him and the occasional racist comment brought back memories from school. Gideon surely didn’t agree with any of that, did he? Still, Alastair pushed through. This was important. This was for Thomas. He didn’t know if Thomas was right, if he was in danger, but Alastair knew he wasn’t going to let him die.

Gideon noticed after a while, it was getting difficult for him. ‘We can continue tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I can tell it’s not easy for you.’

‘I’m not used to visiting other people’s memory,’ Alastair said as an excuse. ‘That’s why I’m getting tired.’

He didn’t want Gideon Lightwood to think he was weak and he couldn’t take this. Entering other people’s memories being exhausting was at least believable.

Over the next week, he easily fell into this new routine. Mornings he would go with Thomas and take a walk. They explored the different trails in the forest, and talked about books, music, history, art. Alastair felt like he was getting to know Thomas better, and the more he did, the more he fell in love. Thomas had grown up handsome, tall and muscular, yes, but he was also kind, empathetic, and conversation with him was so easy. He had many interests, and could easily talk about them for a long time. Alastair had never liked small talk much, but neither did Thomas, so instead they soon found topics they were both interested in to discuss.

He would eat lunch with Thomas and his parents, and then continue with Gideon’s memory, always careful not to take it too far. It had to be difficult for Gideon as well, to go over memories of his father, but he didn’t show it. Perhaps he was just very good at concealing his struggle for his son’s sake. Alastair could respect that.

‘Alastair, maybe we should take a break,’ Gideon said after visiting a particularly difficult memory of Benedict yelling at Gideon and his younger brother when they’d interrupted him in some occult ritual. They’d been going over memories for a week now, but so far they hadn’t found the answers they were looking for. Hints, yes, and this ritual could point them into the right direction but right now neither knew what exactly Benedict had been summoning.

They copied everything they remembered about the ritual and wrote it down, and Alastair suspected Benedict Lightwood had been summoning some creature. It was very uncommon for humans to be able to do magic, the ability Alastair had was a rare exception. He imagined Lucie’s ability was a similar exception, whereas Thomas’ sight was a little more common, but still rare. But humans could make deals with benefactors for power, something that rarely ended well. So far, it seemed Benedict Lightwood had made deals with multiple beings, some less consequential and mainly about sex, whereas others had given him the power to make opponents fall sick which must have cost. He suspected there were multiple benefactors involved, something Alastair didn’t think was common. For some people, enough was never enough.

‘Are you alright?’ Alastair asked. ‘Those memories must be difficult for you.’

Alastair was still doing the best he could to conceal how distressed it was. It wasn’t his father, it wasn’t his memory, but he’d been looking through the eyes of Gideon Lightwood with his father yelling at him, experiencing it as if he was Gideon himself. He tried his best to push back his feelings, to breathe. He narrated to himself, describing the room and its contents in a desperate attempt to not lose control. That was something his therapist had taught him, a method to ground himself in reality and assure himself he was safe.

‘I’m fine,’ Gideon said with a small smile. ‘But I can tell using your ability is difficult for you, and I don’t think it’s just because using the ability is tiring. I noticed you tensed up a bit more with every memory we visited. And the last one… I did not realize how bad that one really was before reliving it and I’m sorry for exposing you to that.’

Alastair guessed he now knew why Thomas was so annoyingly observant. It ran in the family.

The memory didn’t really take him by surprise. Nowadays, Alastair could often tell when it was coming even if he hadn’t learnt how to control it. He was thirteen years old and had come home after a particularly bad day at school and all he’d wanted was some time alone to cry and listen to some very loud music. He’d been badly bullied at the time, but he hadn’t dared tell his parents about that. Cordelia hadn’t been at home, fortunately, playing with a friend, Lucie perhaps. But his father had, and he’d noticed Alastair shaking, the tears in the corners of his eyes he’d tried to conceal. His father had been drunk, as he was always drunk, but he’d still noticed how upset Alastair was. He’d started yelling at him, calling him weak and pathetic. At the time, Alastair had still hoped he would carry cortana someday and fight monsters with it, before the sword had chosen Cordelia and Alastair had realized he’d never really wanted it anyway. His father had yelled at him that he would never be worthy of cortana, that he was weak and would run away crying at the first sight of danger, that he’d never be anything but worthless.

‘Alastair!’

Deep down, Alastair realized it wasn’t real, it was a memory and his father wasn’t here. It felt real though. He could hear Gideon Lightwood’s voice, even if all he saw was his father, stumbling drunk.

‘Alastair, I need you to breathe, alright?’

Alastair tried to take a deep breathe, in and out, like he’d practiced many times before. He always struggled with this, purposely breathing tended to make him light in the head. Still, it was better than not breathing at all.

‘Tell me what you can see,’ Gideon Lightwood said.

‘I see my father, bottle in his hand,’ Alastair said with a trembling voice. ‘But that’s not real. It’s a memory. I am in the cottage, and my father isn’t here. You are here, and you’re talking to me.’

Slowly, the cottage’s living room returned and he was sitting on the couch next to Gideon Lightwood again, carefully breathing in and out in an attempt to maintain a sense of control.

‘I took it too far,’ Gideon said. ‘I am terribly sorry, Alastair. I truly didn’t realize how bad the last memory was.’

He felt his cheeks warm, ashamed to let Gideon see him like this. Most of the time, he’d been alone when such a flashback happened, or he’d had enough time to run to his bedroom or a bathroom or anywhere he would be alone. He knew rationally there was a good chance Gideon Lightwood wouldn’t think lesser of him, but a voice inside screamed at him that now everyone knew how weak he really was.

‘Do you want some tea?’

Alastair nodded, still focused on his breathing. ‘Not the English kind,’ he added.

He focused on his surroundings, told himself over and over that he was safe, that he was far away from his father and nothing bad would happen here.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said when Gideon returned with two cups of hot water and a selection of tea bags. It wasn’t his mother’s tea, but it would do.

‘This is not your fault,’ Gideon said. ‘It’s mine, and I’m sorry. I don’t think we should continue looking through my memories.’

‘But Thomas’ life might depend on it. And not all of them are as bad as that one.’

‘I do not remember enough to be sure a memory is safe for you and I cannot in good conscious expose you to more memories like that. We’ll find another way. Thomas wouldn’t want you to trigger your symptoms for his sake,’ Gideon said. ‘We got some information I still need to work out. I take it you haven’t often visited other people’s memories?’

‘I’ve known for some time I can enter other people’s memories as well as my own, but apart from with my family I’ve never done it,’ Alastair said. ‘It is very invasive. I can’t imagine how you could show your memories of you father to someone else.’

Sometimes he and Cordelia would watch movies in Cordelia’s memory, but beyond that he rarely visited other people’s memories.

‘It was a long time ago, and I can tell it hurt you much more than it hurt me,’ Gideon said. ‘It’s not easy, but for Thomas I can do this. I won’t ask more of you.’

‘I’m the only one I know of with this ability though,’ Alastair.

‘That’s not your fault, is it? Did you always have this ability? It was not given to you by something?’ Gideon asked.

‘As far as I know I’ve always had. I think I was seven, maybe even eight when I realized other people couldn’t revisit their own memories the way I do.’

The ability had always come natural to him even as a child, and he’d freely talked about it with classmates in primary school, leading to some very confused reactions. One time when he was five or six he’d tried to teach Cordelia how to do it, which had ended with her throwing a toy tea kettle at his head because she couldn’t do it and they were both getting frustrated. Back then his father had been very interested in his ability when he wasn’t drunk, and when he was eight he and his father had visited a memory of his father killing something monstrous in a forest in the United States, a horrifying deer like creature that had eaten a hiker. He still remembered the way it had gotten up on its hind legs, limbs all bending and twisting in the wrong way. How it had howled, the most horrifying sound Alastair had heard in his life. Alastair had had nightmares for weeks and his mother had been very angry with his father for showing him something like that when she found out.

In the years to come, his mother would yell at his father more often, but that never made him change, and she didn’t leave until Alastair was diagnosed with PTSD. She’d yell at him, beg him to go to a clinic. But his father had always refused, denied the problem, and Alastair had done the best he could to protect both his sister and his mother from him when he was drunk. He suspected even his mother had not truly seen how awful he could become when he was drunk, Alastair had made sure of that.. His diagnosis had been a wake up call for her. But at least she was safe now.

‘We need to know what being my father dealt with.’ Gideon sighed. ‘This would be much easier with his journals, but so far Tatiana ignored my calls.’

‘Perhaps if we look again,’ Alastair said. ‘Sometimes it helps to go over the same memory again, see if there’s something we missed. The details can make all the difference.’

‘No,’ Gideon said. ‘You just had a panic attack from my memories . It’s because of my father’s abuse, isn’t it? He brings up your bad memories of your own father. I won’t take you back into my memories, I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I… I know what it is like to grow up in a broken home. So if you want to talk, I’m here and I promise I’ll keep your secrets.’

Alastair was tempted to retreat in his shell, to refuse to talk about it as he always did, but he felt oddly comfortable around Thomas’ father. He was kind and empathetic, like his son, and he’d helped him through a flashback. He suspected Gideon Lightwood understood that being told his father was a hero and being a hero came at a price wasn’t kind, even if it wasn’t the same for him. It was very clear that Benedict Lightwood was not and had never been a good person, whereas even Alastair acknowledged his father had done good things once.

‘It seems unfair,’ Alastair said after a silence. ‘To complain about my father to you. From what I’ve seen, yours was worse.’

‘It is not a competition of who has it worse, Alastair,’ Gideon said. ‘My brother and I have both found our way to move on from everything that happened. We had each other, we had friends, a support system that could help us through it. I think that until recently, you have been very alone, and that makes it much harder.’

‘Thomas has been kind to me,’ Alastair said. ‘During our morning walks the past week, but he was also kind when we went to school together. I appreciate that.’

He hated to admit it even to himself, but he didn’t think he’d ever had friends beyond Thomas. In his childhood they’d moved around often and he’d gone to so many different primary schools that he’d never been able to make friends, and when he’d gone to secondary school he’d first been bullied badly, then turned to bullying others in a desperate and hopeless attempt to protect himself. The other bullies at that school might have considered him a friend, but Alastair did not. He knew these boys would have picked him as a target if he hadn’t shown how vicious he could be with his words. And at his last school, he’d simply stopped caring and kept to himself, just cruel enough to make sure the bullies knew better than to bother him.

‘I’m glad to hear you’re getting along with my son,’ Gideon said. ‘Do you have any other friends?’

‘My sister, Lucie occasionally although we’re not close,’ Alastair said. ‘That is all. I never knew how to make friends, and it didn’t help that other children always thought I was weird.’

Alastair had always been one of the smartest children in his class, and other children could be jealous. Some thought it was impossible that a brown boy was doing better than them. Others simply didn’t understand the things he was interested in. Then there had always been children who made fun of the weird food his mother had made for lunch until he’d resigned to eat school lunches even if those were usually terrible.

Alastair considered for a moment, but then continued. ‘I did have one other friend, from when I was fourteen until recently. We mostly wrote emails to each other, texted after a while. He was about six years older than me, and at the time he was the one person I thought I could trust. But I was wrong about trusting him.’

He wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal his relationship with Charles, but at least this would give enough context on why he’d been so unwilling to trust anyone. Charles had done the best he could to isolate him, positioning himself as the one person he could trust. Charles had discouraged him from coming out to aunt Risa, which he’d considered at the time, citing that Iran was very homophobic as a reason. But just because the laws in Iran were homophobic, didn’t mean all Iranian people were and both his mother and aunt Risa had been open to learn more. And because Charles had seemed so trustworthy, so caring, Alastair no longer knew how to be sure he could trust someone. Even now he was wary, there was a voice inside screaming to run, to get away before this ended badly. It also felt nice though, talking to someone who had grown up in an abusive household and had survived. If Gideon had, maybe he could too.

‘What happened?’ Gideon asked gently.

‘I’m not sure…’ Alastair began.

‘You don’t have to tell,’ Gideon said. ‘I know it can be hard to trust someone after having your trust broken so many times.’

Alastair took a deep breath. He wanted to trust Gideon, he really did. It must be so nice to have father like him. ‘He wasn’t just a friend, we were in a relationship. I thought it was everything I could want, and for a time the illusion of being loved was enough to push away the pain. I thought that just what love was like. I left him some time ago when I finally realized what he did wasn’t alright.’

‘You said he was six years older than you?’ Gideon asked.

‘Yes,’ Alastair said. ‘I was sixteen when I entered a relationship with him. I didn’t realize at the time that it was creepy that such an older man was interested in me. I thought it meant I was mature and was so flattered by his attention.’

‘It can’t have been easy to leave him,’ Gideon said.

Alastair stared for a moment. He didn’t expect people to understand that. Cordelia was sweet and caring but he didn’t think she really understood why it had taken him so long to leave. She had a point, why keep going back when every dismissal was like being struck with a dagger? Why keep falling for his praise when Charles would mock him only moments later? Alastair didn’t understand it himself either, only that he’d genuinely loved and worshipped Charles.

‘I had help,’ Alastair admitted. ‘Cordelia spent some time trying to convince me to leave. But even when I started recognizing just how bad he was treating me, I think part of me still longed for his praise.’

‘I think you are very strong, Alastair, that you could choose what was right for you and leave him.’

They were interrupted by Thomas, who entered the room carrying a bag of groceries. Alastair was once again struck by how beautiful he was. In school, Thomas had still been small and skinny and Alastair simply hadn’t noticed him that way. But he’d grown up tall and muscular. Yet his features were still refined and handsome for someone so tall. And he was so different from Charles. Kind, empathetic, a little insecure. Thomas didn’t think emotions were a weakness that needed to be concealed, Thomas would not mock him for feeling. Back at school he’d thought Thomas must have it so easy, to be so kind, but perhaps he was kind because that was what his parents had taught him. Alastair had learnt later that sometimes, the worst people were the ones who had it easy, the ones who had everything yet wanted more. People like Charles, or like Benedict Lightwood.

He wondered sometimes if Thomas liked men as well. So far Thomas hadn’t mentioned it, but he hadn’t mentioned any past or current relationships with girls either. He wondered if he could have a chance with him, with someone who genuinely seemed to care about him in a way Charles never had. To Charles he had simply been convenient, broken and isolated and very much willing to do whatever it took to keep his lover happy and satisfied, scared he might be abandoned if he did not. He imagined it would be different with Thomas, who was closer to his age. A relationship with him would probably feel more equal, exploring both their desires and needs, and not just his partner’s. Thomas was interested in what he had to say, in his opinions, his interests. Thomas could make him laugh, something he’d rarely done the past years.

‘Did something happen, Tom?’ Gideon asked.

Alastair had to agree Thomas looked a little distressed.

‘Yes, but perhaps it’s better if I show you,’ Thomas said. ‘Alastair, would you be able to help? If you’re not too tired, that is. I know it can be exhausting.’

Alastair had used his ability much more than he was used to, but suspected he could do this. However, he preferred to know what he was getting into. He didn’t want to see something that would trigger another flashback and definitely not in front of Thomas.

‘I can do it, but since I’m tired it would be easier if you told me what you saw before diving in.’

He wasn’t sure why he kept pretending it was just his ability. It was easier somehow, a more acceptable excuse. He doubted it was believable though.

Thomas nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I saw someone, and I thought I recognized aunt Tatiana. But now I’m not complete sure, and since dad will be much more likely to recognize her I think it’s best to show. And there was someone with her I don’t know. It’s not the first time either, I think I saw her a week ago but she turned away too quickly then and I didn’t realize… It’s probably best if I show the rest.’

Alastair nodded, and he concentrated to bring both himself and Gideon into Thomas’ memory. He saw the town’s grocery store through Thomas’ eyes, and he tried to slow down the memory.

When Thomas exited the grocery store, he saw a woman enter, a girl behind her. He didn’t think either of them noticed Thomas, whose gaze was fixated on the pair. The first woman was around forty, he guessed, long brown hair and light eyes. Alastair didn’t recognize her, but had to admit she resembled Gideon. The girl behind her didn’t look anything like the Lightwoods. She was unearthly pretty with long silver blonde hair and she wore a long white summer dress that left her shoulders bare. She had to be in her late teens, a daughter? So far Gideon had mentioned Tatiana had had a son, Jesse, who died, but he’d never mentioned her having any other children, nor had Thomas mentioned anyone else. And he’d just said he didn’t know who the girl was.

‘I’m not sure it was really Tatiana, I thought maybe I was just jumpy from everything,’ Thomas said. ‘And I have no idea who that girl could be.’

Thomas turned around and took the car back to the cottage and Alastair reversed the memory, focusing on the part where Thomas had looked at the pair. Gideon has turned pale.

‘That’s her. That’s Tatiana.’

‘But who is that girl with her?’ Alastair asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Gideon said. ‘As far as I know she had no children beside Jesse.’

Alastair took a good look at the girl, but couldn’t see anything unusual about her. Very pale blonde hair, a rosy pale skin, light eyes. She looked around sixteen, but had a perfect clear skin most girls that age didn’t have.

‘She looks kind of helpless,’ Alastair said. ‘The girl, I mean.’

‘I guess so,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you think she’s human?’

‘I’m not sure a supernatural creature could look so helpless next to a regular human woman,’ Alastair said. ‘If she was scared of something far more powerful than her, she’d probably look for another powerful being to protect her, not Tatiana. At the same time, there is something unearthly about how she looks.’

Alastair wasn’t sure what to make of her, but tried to take in as many details as he could. She was dressed in a white summer dress, wearing spotless white ballerina shoes and it occurred to Alastair that if she walked around on these shoes often, they shouldn’t be so white. Alastair was glad he wore mostly black as it didn’t stain as easily.

‘I’m not so sure she’s human,’ Gideon said. ‘I’ve seen a succubus visit my father, she reminds me of her. She’s younger though, but maybe succubae and the likes were children once too.’

They left the memory, returning to the living room of the cottage the Lightwoods had rented. Gideon added some things to his notes, describing the girl.

‘At least we are sure now it was Tatiana,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you think we should go talk to her, now that she’s here?’

‘If I can find out where she’s staying, yes,’ Gideon said. ‘But I think it would be best if I go see her alone, see if I can reason with her.’

Gideon left for the town to see if he could find his sister, promising he’d be back in time for dinner. Alastair hoped he would be safe, he didn’t trust Tatiana in the slightest. He understood why Gideon might want to give her a chance, he’d do the same if Cordelia turned against him. Not that he could picture that happening. She could be annoying, frustrated with him, but she’d never betray him.

Alastair decided to stay a little longer. Thomas wasn’t motivated to play chess anymore after a week of losing every game they’d played. Alastair guessed he made it too difficult, and instead opted for a game of ludo which led to much frustration on Alastair’s part. The dice seemed to favor Thomas.

‘I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re cheating,’ Alastair insisted.

Thomas threw his hands up. ‘How am I supposed to cheat. We both use the same die.’

Thomas threw the die and rolled another six. Unbelievable.

‘I’m done with this game,’ Alastair announced when Thomas had won.

‘You won at chess lots of times the past week,’ Thomas said. ‘I only won at this once.’

‘This game is stupid. You’re either cheating, or it’s just luck.’

Thomas smiled, and Alastair was very annoyed that his smile was so attractive. His lips looked soft, and Alastair very much wanted to know if they felt as soft.

‘I think you’re just a sore loser,’ Thomas said.

‘No I’m not,’ Alastair said indignantly. ‘I just don’t like it when games are solely luck based like this one.’

‘You didn’t dislike it before you lost,’ Thomas pointed out.

‘You really have to rub it in, do you?’

‘My sister Eugenia is worse,’ Thomas said. ‘Do not ever play monopoly with Eugenia, it will end in murder if she doesn’t win and she usually doesn’t.’

‘I never liked monopoly,’ Alastair said. ‘You know, the original monopoly was supposed to criticize capitalism. The modern version still does a pretty good job of showing why capitalism is terrible. Unfortunately, it goes over most people’s heads.’

‘In what sense?’ Thomas asked, and Alastair fell into a lecture on why capitalism was terrible.

Charles had been one of those people who insisted that capitalism wasn’t perfect, but it was the best system out there and modern society was only possible because of capitalism, which Alastair thought was stupid. Why assume any modern inventions were only possible because of capitalism and colonialism? When they were still together, Alastair had been very insecure in his own ideas and thoughts. Charles was so much older and wiser, he had to know better. After the break up, Alastair had realized that Charles’ ideas were stupid and mostly convenient to rich white men. He’d grown more confident in his own ideas since then, even if people tended to think he was radical.

‘You’re really passionate about this,’ Thomas said. ‘I like the way you light up when you talk.’

‘I hope you listened to what I said as well as how I said it,’ Alastair said.

‘I did, and you make some very good points,’ Thomas admitted. ‘I always thought we have to work within the system for change, but I admit I’m not expert.’

‘I’ve always been fascinated by political theory,’ Alastair said.

‘But you quit studying politics, right?’ Thomas asked.

‘Most other students didn’t take my ideas seriously,’ Alastair said. ‘Including my ex boyfriend. He wasn’t a student though, he’d already graduated by the time I started. And I’m fairly certain I don’t want to be a politician myself, having to deal with white right wingers all day is exhausting. I don’t know how to explain to them that you should care about other people.

But I spoke to some other students in the university’s multicultural association, and figured sociology might be a better fit for me, and I think doing research, figuring out new solutions and writing about them might be nicer. I’m not great at getting people to like me, let the people with better charm try to convince others I’m right.’

Alastair hadn’t socialized much, but he’d attended a couple of events hosted by the multicultural student association. Since many of the members of that association were Muslim, Alastair could be fairly certain there would be no alcohol there.

‘If it’s any consolation, I like you,’ Thomas said with another sweet smile that definitely made Alastair want to kiss him.

Charles had said the same thing at some point. With his habit of looking through memories, he tended to remember what people said word for word. But Thomas was so genuine in what he said, so open and honest, it wasn’t the same at all.

‘Really?’

‘Of course. You’re clever and passionate and you never make me feel weird or stupid for my interests. And I’m glad you decided to come here this summer, even if the circumstances aren’t as great as we’d hoped. If I’m going to die, I’m glad I had the chance to know you.’

Alastair took Thomas’ hand. ‘You’re not going to die,’ he said. ‘I won’t let you.’

#Alastair Carstairs #Thomas Lightwood #Lucie Herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #Gideon Lightwood #Thomastair #Lucelia #fic #fanfiction #the last hours #tlh

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echo-of-sounds · 4 years

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i don’t know

Okay, I don’t know where else to put this, so you can ignore it if you want, but I just need to get some thoughts, feelings, and anxieties out before I breakdown because of them. This’ll probably get long. And I’ll probably cry from frustration while writing this.

Two summers ago, when I was 21, my therapist said it was a possibility that I had Asperger's, mainly because of the social and cognitive symptoms. I have a horrible time understanding abstract information. In school, I cold never do a project unless I had concrete details. I just couldn’t grasp what they were asking of me. Teachers would narrow it down a bit, but it never helped. I need a clear outline. I legitimately could not do it otherwise. I froze and panicked and ended up nearly failing projects because of the lack of concrete direction.

I have a hard time understanding, what should be, simple sentences. I ask people to reword what they said or explain it in more depth. Some do. Some get angry and accuse me of not paying proper attention. I completely am. But I genuinely cannot make sense of their words and feel left out because they refuse to repeat themselves. It’s so frustrating. I loose track of the conversation, stop contributing, then they get angry again because I’m not responding to them.

My memory pertaining to certain things, is beyond amazing. I can recite the seating arrangements from all of my high school class. That was five years ago. But outside of that, it’s terrible (I know ADHD plays a role in this too). I always focus on the smaller details even if they weren’t important. I focused so much on them, I failed to see the larger picture. This also impacted so much of my schoolwork.

When I talk, I have no inflection. My voice is low and I often mumble. So many people have gotten angry at me for it. Then when I try to speak louder, to the point I’m genuinely strain myself and feel like I’m yelling, they still say I’m too quite. So I give up talking.

I had to go to speech therapy when I was younger (around 5 and 6 years old) because I still had trouble learning how to speak. My mom said I wouldn’t properly pronounce anything, use words wrong, and ‘babble’ a lot.

I’m so fucking clumsy. I bruise myself regularly because I just run into everything, even though they’ve been in the same place for years. I hit my hands off of things, nearly run into walls, and kick things often.

And my sensitivities are off the charts. It’s honestly ridiculous (I know ADHD also plays a role in this, but sometimes I feel like it’s much more than that). People tell me to stop being a picky eater when the smell of fish makes me want to vomit and feeling beans in my mouth is just plain wrong. The only smell I can tolerate is vanilla. Anything else and I want to cry. Clothing is horrible. I’m so rarely comfortable. And noises are the worst. My dad says it’s quite, but I can hear the Tv, the Tv in the other room, the sink running, that beeping, the AC going, someone clicking, the sizzling on the stove, and it’s all too much.

When I was younger, I used to have temper tantrums. A lot. They were bad. I’d hit myself, scratch myself with pens, and bang my head off the floor. I barely remember them, but I do remember it being more than just a ‘temper tantrum.’ The world was just too much and I didn’t know how to handle it, so I had a meltdown.

The severe self-harm eventually stopped, but the meltdown’s still happen to this day. My mom tries to get me to talk about it so she can help. But I can’t even explain why it happened half the time. It just did.

I’ve had so few close friends throughout my life. The ones I do make, don’t last. It’s hard for me to keep them as a friend. They don’t do anything wrong or bad. I just can never keep that connection. I barely interact with people. Even when they’re around, I just don’t talk. I abhor looking people in the eyes. It makes me uncomfortable and I don’t even know why! People get angry at me. They think I’m ignoring them when I’m not. I’m just not looking directly at them.

Communicating my feelings and expressing empathy is something I just cannot do. So I fake it. I feel worse about not feeling bad about someone’s trouble than I do actually feeling bad for them (I don’t know if that makes sense). I fake it so I don’t sound rude. I don’t want them to be angry at me.

I’d get in trouble at school when I did something ‘wrong,’ but I didn’t understand what I did wrong. I still don’t to some point. Teachers just told me I broke a rule and was in trouble. When I would ask why, they said I should be able to know that by myself. But I couldn’t. No matter how hard I thought about it.

I have a morning routine. I do it daily. If it ever gets interrupted, stopped, or I can’t complete it for whatever reason, my entire day is off. I try to continue normally, but I can’t focus. I just now my morning was messed up and I spend the rest of the day obsessing over it. It doesn’t go away until the next day when I can complete it properly.

I’ve always had hyperfocuses. ADHD affects this. I know. Some come and go, like a certain video game will consume my life or I’m suddenly preoccupied with writing poems for a week. But those go away. All my life, I’ve loved reading and learning about dinosaurs/megafauna/evolution, plants, and psychology. They’re easy for me to learn about. I retain so much information without trying. I never had to study for my psych. exams. Never. And I always aced them. I just obsessed about the subject and they remained in my memory so well.

As for stimming, I’ve done a lot of different things throughout my life, but I was always told to stop, told they were annoying, or questioned about them. So I stopped doing each one because I was scared people would get angry with me. Because some have.

I used to rub my fingers together. It kept my hands busy, but it also helped me focus and relieved some anxious energy. I didn’t know why. It just made me feel better. I’d be on the computer, using the mouse with my right hand, rubbing my fingers together with my left. My dad questioned why I did it. I didn’t have an answer so I did it less. I did it in school, while taking a test, and the teacher told me to stop because it was disruptive. I eventually stopped doing it all together because people would constantly make me feel bad for it.

I also used to babble. It was one of the reasons I was sent to speech therapy. Instead of helping me learn how to talk properly, because I did need help with that, the workers there just forced me to stop babbling/humming/repeating a word because it wasn’t proper behavior for the situation I was in.

Though I don’t babble anymore, as that was basically forced out of my behavior, I still hum and repeat lines (whether from a Tv show or a book) to myself, sometimes for days at a time. I also move my head and neck around and twist my wrists while I’m focusing on something. Half the time, I don’t realize I’m doing it. It takes another person to point it out.

My therapists said it was a possibility that I had Asperger’s. My psychiatrist said she didn’t believe so because I was able to connect with her. She felt I didn’t ‘align’ with the social troubles. I can talk to her, share feelings, look her in the eye, smile ate jokes (though sometimes I fake smile- I see another person smile so I match it), and I don’t have trouble going off topic and rambling about specific subjects.

I said okay at the time. She’s a smart woman and I trust her. But ever since, it’s been on my mind. I’ve always felt different. I don’t mean that in like ‘I’m special’ kind of way. I mean it like, ‘There’s something wrong with me and I don’t understand what it is. I don’t understand why others can do X while that takes me longer/more effort to understand. I genuinely felt ostracized. But I just accepted it.’

I don’t know how to bring it up to my mom and/or dad. I know my mom will be supportive, but I’m scared about other people. My younger brother makes jokes about autism. My siblings, dad, and stepmom don’t do anything. It pisses me off to no end. I’ve yelled and sworn at him for what he says. But he keeps doing it. My other siblings say it’s just a joke and I need to relax, but I can’t. They aren’t jokes. They’re rude, ableist, and most of them are making fun of things I do. He, nor none of family, just don’t that because I keep them hidden.

And I don’t know how to bring it back up to my psychiatrist. I feel connected to many of the symptoms and like it explains so much of my life, especially when I was young, but I don’t know how to explain all my thoughts on the subject. When she asks me a question, I often freeze and undercut my own troubles and downplay it. I’ve been obsessing over this the past few months. It’s partly why my depression got bad for a time. I don’t know it I’m making a mountain out of a mole or if I should actually seek professional help to help me, especially since I’ve applied for disability benefits because my mental health has been so bad the past couple of years.

Anyway, I’m done my ranting. Thanks for listening if you did. And I’m open to advice. I’ve just felt so stuck recently and I feel like it’ll only get worse.

#neurodivergent #autism support #autistic spectrum #mental health #personal?#it's definitely personal #personal rant #ignore my rambling #tw ableism

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petri808 · 4 years

Text

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30-Epilogue

*TW: cutting, therapy, break down. a little longer then usual at 2500 words

The therapist greeted the couple as they walked in and sat down on the couch. “Thank you for allowing Natsu to sit in today, Lucy. I don’t want you to think of this as a couples counseling per se, because you’re still my primary client. But I feel that him being here to understand your struggles, as well as his, and being able to express them in a safe environment, will help in your healing process. And thank you Natsu for agreeing to this.”

He sat forward a bit, ready to engage. “Anything to help Lucy.”

“I’d like to start with your homework Lucy, has there been any progress in trying to write out your feelings? Remember, it’s okay if you’re still struggling with that, there’s no judgment here.”

“Not... really...” Lucy fidgeted with the hem of her sweatshirt. “Every time I try to, I-I get too... I start to cry, and the panic rises— I fail at it every single damn time and that makes me feel even worse.”

“You’re not failing. Let’s reword that to struggling and recognize that simply making an attempt is the first step, a very important one to be proud of.”

“Maybe I was just kidding myself all along about writing. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t any good in the first place. It was all in my head.” Lucy could see the frown on Natsu’s face from her words, but that’s how she feels now. There was a time she thought she was a decent writer, maybe not publishing quality yet, but she truly enjoyed it regardless and now, a blank page is all she could muster.

“Natsu,” the therapist directs her question to the man. “It seems you’re unhappy with her statement. Would you say that Lucy’s a good writer? Honest answer.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “I mean I’m no expert, but the stuff I’ve seen is pretty good. I definitely couldn’t pull them off.”

“Lucy would you call Natsu a liar?”

The blonde paused, annoyed and offended. She wanted to say yes, only because she didn’t want to agree, but then it wouldn’t be true. Natsu was giving his honest opinion and she couldn’t deny it. “No,” Lucy breathed out. “Look I get it. You’re trying to tell me it’s all in my head, right? It’s just the pain talking, and I’ll get better, and I’ll get back into writing just like before.” Anger had slowly begun to prickle the hairs on the back of her neck the longer she clung to the dissociation. “I-I’m not an idiot! I know this is all stupid shit in my brain! I just can’t stop it!”

“I’m sorry, I pushed you too hard, let’s go back a step here. No one is saying you’re an idiot. On the contrary, you’re very intelligent. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be recognizing that it’s all in your head, and that recognition is how the healing starts. My role, today with Natsu’s help, is to bring that to the forefront. Bring it out into the open, because sometimes hearing it out loud has a different effect on how we process the information.”

“I don’t get it...”

The woman sat back in her chair in thought for a brief second. “When we think about things just in our head, versus saying it out loud, it triggers different parts of our brain. What studies have found is that talking out loud stimulates... rational... erm, reality I guess is a better term. It becomes more real to us.”

“Huh.” So, what, Lucy rolled her eyes at the suggestion. True or not, she didn’t want to agree, because her mind was still in such a strong state of denial. “I still don’t accept it. It sounds stupid.” Maybe it was just her annoyance talking, but the therapist was getting on her nerves. Lucy knew the woman was just trying to help, but her irrational side didn’t want to deal with any of this. The pain sucked, but so did the treatment. She just wanted to stay in her room, in the dark, away from prying eyes. Surprisingly to Lucy, the therapist didn’t even flinch and the gleam in the woman’s eyes almost looked sadistic in that moment.

“Lucy, I know you know it’s not stupid. That’s just your mind imagining the wrong things, which is why you need to talk about it out loud, so you can hear yourself and how wrong it all sounds.”

Ugh! She was so tired of being told what she is, what she should be thinking, and the condescending tone she wrongly assumed from the therapist triggered an explosion. All the anger she felt about herself was transferred to the therapist in an instant. “I’m wrong?!” Lucy jumped to her feet, her anger crackling through. “No shit! Lady, I’m fucked up!! You want me to talk? Fine! I hate this! I hate everything! It’s all falling the fuck apart and I feel like I’ve been tied to the damn train tracks! Everything I’ve worked so hard for is slipping away! Three years of college being washed down the drain! How the fuck do I catch up now?! I’m so behind! AARRRGHH!!! I-I don’t even wanna get out of bed anymore! I hate myself— hate what I’ve become a-and that makes me even more fucking depressed! And my friends...” Lucy dropped back onto the couch as her shaking hands flew up to cover her face and the dam of tears finally broke loose in a cascade down her cheeks. She cried long, and deep for several minutes, chest heaving and inconsolable.

In that moment, Natsu sat frozen, his eyes swinging back and forth to the therapist and his girlfriend unsure of what to do. Should he move to comfort Lucy? The therapists inaction seemed to suggest the answer was no. It made him furious, yet... she was the professional... before he could make a decision, Lucy finally uncovered her face and look dead at her therapist. Almost forgetting him all together.

“My friends, seeing the looks on their faces...” Lucy dug her fingers into the fabric of her pants in an effort to ground her unraveling mind. “It hurts so fucking much! I must be getting on Levy’s nerves, she didn’t sign up to be my nurse, a-and Natsu, he’ll surely get tired of a basket-case of a girlfriend. I can’t blame him if he left me, I’d leave me too. It’s all just falling apart—” Her chest heaved in a heavy sigh. “I can’t see a way out anymore.”

Seeing the whites of Lucy’s knuckles the harder she clenched onto her leg and seeing the heavy breathing similar to that night in the ambulance. Natsu feared that Lucy was heading towards a panic attack. Wanting to reassure her, Natsu reacted this time and reached up from his seat, quickly grabbing her arm to gain her attention. “Lucy, I’m not—.”

But Lucy screamed and yanked her arm back, face grimacing in pain. “Tsss—Owww!!”

“leavi—” Natsu pulled back immediately. “Oh, shit! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to! Did I grab you too hard?!” He didn’t think so, but based on her reaction, maybe he had.

“N-No,” she cradled her arm, turning to shield it from him. “You didn’t, I’m fine, it just caught me by surprise.” Lucy quickly brushed it off for fear of requiring an explanation. “Really. S-Sorry, I-I’m probably just too flustered.”

But that explanation didn’t satisfy Natsu. Lucy’s yelp was clearly pain related if buttressed by the fact she continued to hide it. “You’re lying to me,” he reached out, “I’m not mad, just please tell me the truth because it’s obvious there’s something wrong with your arm.”

“N-No, I’m not,” she tried to act like it was true. “See,” she waved it as if showing it was fine. “Nothing’s wrong...” till she accidentally hit it again and flinched, biting her lip just in time to stifle a scream. But she knew in an instant that she’d been caught.

His eyes and tone softened in an effort to lower her inhibitions. “Yes, there is.” Natsu took her arm and started to pull up on the sleeve of her sweater.

Lucy instinctively turned her head away. She didn’t want to see his reaction to the bandage around her arm. Even when he continued to speak, questioned what was underneath it, she answered in one worded responses without looking. But at his gasping sound, her eyes closed in shame. She could see what he saw all from behind her eyelids, all the horizontal cuts running across her left arm. The red, angry lines in varying stages of healing. She kept most of it grouped around the middle of her arm between the wrist and elbow crook. At first, she’d tried what that EMT had done, merely jabbing her arm with a pen or digging her nails into the skin. But it wasn’t enough, so she’d moved onto cutting. It had started out small, just a couple of lines were enough to silence the horrid voices in her head, but like a junky’s tolerance, Lucy had to keep cutting, more and more, deeper, just to feel the same numbing results.

“Is this what I think it is?” Natsu’s shaky voice questioned with moisture filling his eyes. “Oh, Lucy, why didn’t you tell me it was this bad.” Now he knew why she’d started wearing long sleeves even when the weather was warm.

“I’m sorry... I didn’t want anyone to know... but it was the only thing making the voices stop.”

Without another word, Natsu pulled a surprised Lucy into a tight hug, tears of his own spilling. “No, I’m sorry, it’s my fault this is happening to you. I should have dealt with Touka long ago. I should have protected you better. This is on me, but Lucy I’m never gonna let you go, I won’t ever leave you because of this. We’re gonna get through this together. I swear on my life, we’re gonna get through this together. Do you believe me?? Please, tell me you believe me?”

“I do...” she did. The man wore his heart on his sleeve. It was a trait Lucy found most endearing, so how could her heart not accept his words? They sat there in an embrace while time stood still, and a small measure of relief fell over her. It wasn’t much, but it was a glimmer of hope, an ember, and one she hadn’t felt in a long time. This man who’d caged her on that train and captured her heart, she could easily pin all of her pain onto him, but he could also be her salvation. His strong arms wrapped around her broken frame made the scary world fall away, to remind her how much more she yearned to stay within it.

Once he felt Lucy’s body relax, Natsu pulled back, wiping away her tears as well as his own. “Is this the only area?” He gestured at her arm without judgment. And when she nodded, he let out a sigh of relief.

Now that the moment was waning, the therapist who’d been waiting patiently and observing spoke up. She offered the anxiety medications again to Lucy and with Natsu’s gentle coaxing, the blonde finally agreed to it. It couldn’t hurt right? If they didn’t work, she’ll just stop taking them. She didn’t want to see the anguish in Natsu’s eyes anymore, especially now that she realized how much he was internalizing and struggling alone with. He was in just as much pain as she was, so it was time they both do what they could to heal, together.

As they were about to leave, Natsu paused and questioned the doctor. “I have a question. I just realized, even though today was a big episode... Lucy didn’t have a panic attack. Why is that?”

The blonde looked at her boyfriend before her eyes landed on the therapist with an expectancy of an answer. She hadn’t realized that either. Shouldn’t her outburst have triggered one?

“I’m glad you asked,” the woman smiled. “Panic attacks are often triggered by suppression. When you’re trying to hold in your emotions, refusing to let it go, and not show it, but today Lucy let it out. She didn’t hold back so there was no need for her body to react physiologically.” She reached out and placed a gentle hand on Lucy’s shoulder. “Sometimes a good cry and scream goes a long way. Please remember that.”

It was quiet on the taxi ride back to Lucy’s apartment. Not an uncomfortable silence, but maybe just enough had been said in the hour long therapy session that they both still needed time to process it all. Despite her breakthrough, she knew it was still a long battle ahead. The poor coping skills she’d latched onto now needed to be reversed, and frankly she didn’t know if she could do it alone. Of course, she could ask Levy... and the woman did deserve to hear the truth going on... but Lucy really didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on her best friend. Levy had done so much for her already and as much as she appreciated it, it also contributed to her emotional pain. She glanced down at her hand held so tightly by Natsu and wondered... no... The man was struggling as well, so to add hers into his mix, is that really fair? But by that same token, their pain was also a shared one. If there was anything to take away from the session is that perhaps it is together, they’ll better find the end of the rainbow.

Once they arrive at the building and get out of the taxi, Natsu started walking towards it. Lucy tugged back to stop him. “Lucy?”

“Before we go in...” her voice lowers, hesitancy brimming in her tone. “I have a question to ask.”

“Of course, anything.”

“I can’t—, don’t want to do this alone anymore. But I also don’t want to put that kind of burden on Levy.”

“Lucy,” he pulled her hand up, clasped between his palms to his lips where he kissed the fingers gently. “I will do whatever you need me to do.”

She sighed. “Can I move in with you? A-At least until I get control of the panic attacks and the... the thing?” Her eyes flit to her arm rather than say the words aloud. “I know this would intrude on Gray, but I would feel much safer.”

Natsu paused for a second in thought. “I don’t think Gray will mind. I certainly don’t.” He smiled. “We’ll be there for each other.”

“Are you sure? Because there’s still a few things I haven’t mentioned like nightmares. I-I don’t wanna freak you guys out.”

“A promise is a promise, and when I said I’ll do anything, I meant it. Will it be scary, probably, I’m not gonna lie, but I’m willing to do whatever I need to get us through this.”

Lucy’s eyes gloss over, but a tiny smile ticks up at the corners of her lips. “Thank you, Natsu.”

He smiled back, “I’m the one who should be thankful.”

“For what?”

“For not dumping me. As much you’d worried, I’d leave you, I was deathly afraid you’d leave me. I brought this on us, so I wouldn’t blame you from running away.”

“Oh, Natsu.” This time a true smile finally graced Lucy’s face. “I’m not going anywhere either.”

#nalu #nalu au #nalu fan fiction #nalu fan fic #Natsu dragneel #Lucy heartfilia #Natsu x lucy #strangers on a train #ch 26 #tw cutting

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allie1804-fan · 3 years

Text

Kerensa

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 , Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

Chapter 9

The Griefcast Record

Keanu got out of the taxi at Whistledown Studios and headed in. Cariad and the recoding team greeted him and they got set up with teas, biscuits and a box of tissues on the table

“God, it’s just like a therapist’s room!” he joked

“Best to be prepared! They might be for me anyhow” she laughed.

Before we start though, can I just spend a moment being a fangirl and just say how amazing it is for me to meet you. There are so many films of yours I love – and my kids adore Duke Caboom!”

“ahh yes, Canada’s Greatest Stuntman” he boomed - “that was a fun role”

“and so perfectly cast right?”

“Yeah yeah I guess. I’m glad they picked me from the roster of Canadians they had lined up!”

“Ok, so thanks for letting me just gush for a moment! Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be!”

“First tell me the story of how we managed to get you as a guest.”

“Ok so right, so errm my friend Kerry is the link. I was filming in Cornwall this past year and uh, after we wrapped I was so charmed by the place that I decided to stay and rent a place for a couple of months down there. Kerry was my landlady and one day I came across her walking along the beach, tears streaming down her face and she was listening to your show which she highly recommended to me. I admit it took a bit of persuading to listen, given the crying thing!, but she told me it was more reassuring and uplifting than upsetting. Anyway, so sorry, this is turning into a shaggy dog tale!, so I did give it a go, really loved it

“Oh thank you”

“So then one day we were discussing an episode about baby loss, something we had in common and had talked about before and she said I should do the show. Now THAT took a lot more thought and persuasion, but she said it would do me good and there would be the angle of the man’s perspective and being someone with a public profile going through loss and you know yada, yada yada so here I am, finally!

“That’s amazing and thank you so much to Kerry for listening to the show and for your persuasive talents in getting this lovely man here today. So Keanu, as you know we always start with this question. Who are we remembering today?”

“Today we’re remembering my daughter Ava who was stillborn 23 years ago this year.”

“Ok so would you mind telling me a little bit about what happened.”

“So, ahh, it was in the spring of 1999. The Matrix had just come out and my life was pretty full on. My girlfriend Jennifer became pregnant around that time. It was unplanned and I’ll be honest, I wasn’t super happy about it at first, but she wanted to keep the baby and I said I’d support her, you know, and as time went on I was more excited than worried about becoming a dad.”

“And how was the pregnancy? How far along was Jennifer when Ava died?”

“Everything seemed fine, she, Ava was growing and developing normally. Jen was healthy. Then I was away filming, a god awful project as well! And, Um, ahh, give me a minute” Keanu cleared his throat and took a drink of water.

“I swore I wouldn’t do this” he said gesturing at himself tearing up, his voice cracking slightly “but sometimes, the memories can be, uhhh, very powerful, very vivid”

“Yes you can be taken right back like it just happened can’t you, however long ago - you know I’m 20 plus years out now and still very occasionally I can be catapulted back there. So, everything looked good but you were away, filming - and I’m sure it can’t have been an awful film”

Keanu snorted

“I assure you it was!, yes anyway, Jen went for a last check up at a little over 8 months and uh, there was no heartbeat. Ava had died and so I flew home and she had to, you know, give birth in a maternity unit, hearing all the other babies being born - I mean they have to do it there because you still might need, you know, that expertise and they tried to keep us private but those places they get busy and she had to go through all that with those sounds sometimes breaking through”

“Yes I hear that that is a common experience here in the UK too and one that SANDS, the still birth charity is trying to address. It’s interesting your choice of words: “she went through that”, presumably you were there so didn’t you go through it too?”

“Yeah, yeah - I guess, I just meant that it was worse, more traumatic mentally for her and obviously physically too”

“Sure sure, but awful for both of you nonetheless”

“Indeed, it was” Keanu paused a moment as though something important had just occurred to him “and she was beautiful too you know”

“awwwww” Cariad moaned sympathetically

“she was beautiful, perfect and warm, just silent, still”

Keanu looked up at Cariad, his eyes filled with tears once more and they both just sat for a moment, taking in the pain of his loss. Eventually, Cariad started the conversation again.

“And did you both hold her? Did the hospital staff help you, you know, to say goodbye to her?”

Yeah yeah, we did hold her. They left us be for a good amount of time, they took prints of her hands and feet and a photograph. You know they were supportive in that way, especially as we knew already, you know, that she had died, they were prepared. I don’t think we were, I mean I don’t think you can prepare for that, right? Your brain won’t let you, not really.”

“Yeah yeah, we talk about that a lot on the show, there are people who say it’s better when someone dies of an illness so you know it’s coming whereas with a sudden death you suffer more shock but I still think there’s a degree of shock you experience even when you have some warning.

“Yeah yeah and it’s so stupid, we’re all just so dumb because death is coming man, to us all but we just don’t want to think about it!” He chuckled

“So are you someone who thinks about death a lot?”

“Yeah yeah it’s always there in the back of my mind, spurring me on to do things, make that film, write that script, build that bike!”

“And do you think that’s because of losing Ava?”

“I don’t know, no not really, well maybe a little but that’s come more with getting older I think - I didn’t really have that reaction at the time”

“So what was your reaction, how did you grieve for Ava?”

Another chuckle came from Keanu.

“A more appropriate question might be how didn’t I grieve for her, at the time I mean!”

“Oh?”

“Hee hee you’re like a therapist, leaving the gaps for me to fill!”

“Some of my critics say I interrupt too much and start talking about me so…..”

“We’ll that’s not very nice is it? And also not true!”

“Thanks - Comes with the territory I guess, so please, go on, fill the gap”

“What was the question again?”

“It was about how you did or didn’t grieve for Ava after her birth?”

“Mmmm well we buried her, in the new year, she was born on Christmas Eve, which is uhhh, another tricky thing about it”

“Oh that’s awful, death on high days and holidays just adds another layer right?”

“Yeah yeah. They do - so um after that I went to Georgia to shoot a movie!”

“So you threw yourself into work then?”

“Yup, my trusty friend in times of crisis. In fact I did, let me see, 1, 2, 3, yes 3 movies in the next year and then started training for the Matrix 2 and 3 so I guess the answer is I put my feelings in a tightly locked metaphorical box and didn’t open it for quite some time!”

“And was there intrusion from the press , I guess this is pre the days of the internet being so developed and social media but how was that side of it?”

“Yeah there was some, you know photographers with long lenses at the cemetery”

“God! I can’t imagine”

“Yeah pretty low, right but in a way because of the taboo of stillbirth, people, you know interviewers and stuff, didn’t ask me about it. I mean I would sometimes say “no personal questions” but at other times that hasn’t stopped people.”

“Oh like what?”

“I��m thinking of when River, River Phoenix died, even if I said I wouldn’t answer anything personal they would still ask how I felt, did I miss him. I mean, fuck! Oh sorry I can swear right?”

“Swear away, sure, and god, fuck yeah, that deserved it. I mean obviously that’s a bit of a contradiction coming from me given we’re here and I’m making you talk about private things but”

“But I agreed, that’s the deal here, it’s not the deal to segue from “how was it jumping onto a moving bus to “how do you feel about your best friend dying!”

“Absolutely. So you said you dealt with it, but much later? What about Jennifer, how did she cope?”

“Umm, I don’t know - I mean what’s normal in that situation? She cried, she wailed like a wounded animal. Her mum moved in. I was away and not there to support her like I should have been. We weren’t really a couple either by then. We were going to co-parent but not as a romantic couple you know so it was complicated. To be honest I think a little bit of her died right then - and then she died herself the following April so you know, what you see before you is the last man standing of that family unit that might have been.”

“Woo that’s tough. You’ve really been through the mill as it were.”

“Yeah, yeah but you know I AM still standing. I’m lucky.”

“And how did Jennifer die?”

“Car wreck”

“I’m so sorry”

“Thanks, me too”

“So how is that, being the only one left? Some people talk about losing key people as losing their witness.”

“Yes! That’s it, exactly. Now it’s just me here to remember Ava, to remember her coming in and out of this world”

Yeah yeah that’s hard. So you said you dealt with it later? How did that come about?”

“Midlife crisis I guess - when I turned 40, I had a bit of a meltdown, you know, wondering about my goals, what I had or hadn’t achieved. I basically “ran away” alone to Paris on my 40th birthday, to escape any awful surprise party! And you know, I quietly fell apart in a vat of wine! When I went home my friend Janey was just like “Keanu, it’s time, time for therapy!”

“Ahhh it’s great isn’t it, big fans of that on the show!”

“Yeah I guess, I mean, ahhh I wasn’t that comfortable taking the lid off but yeah it did me a favour and helped sort my shit out. And a lot of the guilt and pain of losing Ava was gone through belatedly during that process”

“And why did you feel guilty?”

“Mmmm well I think I started to think I was a curse - my sister had been sick with leukemia, Ava had died, Jen had died, River, others as well and I felt guilty for that stupid film I was working on when it happened! So yeah, there were lots of rocks to lift up, inspect what lay beneath and deal with my emotions.”

“Well you seem like you have your shit sorted now”

“I’m a work in progress!”

“So now you’re, 23 years on, how do you remember Ava and Jen now.”

“Well it’s hard to forget the day for Ava what with it being Christmas Eve. I sometimes visit their graves - after dark if I can to avoid being hounded”

“What has the world come to when a person can’t be left in peace to visit a loved one’s resting place”

“Yeah it’s fucked up right?”

“Precisely.”

“And what else? , well I do have one little thing that my friend Alex who’s an artist, made for me. It was because of something she said she did to remember her lost loved ones. She would get a Christmas ornament that in some way represented the person and hang it on her tree at Christmas. So she made this beautiful little stained glass bird to hang up on my tree or in the house if I don’t have a tree which sometimes happens. So, uh, Ava’s name in Latin would mean bird or bird like so that’s why she did that, yes so I always think of her then and you know I would think about where she would be at a given point like when my friends kids have started school again after summer break I would think “oh Ava would be starting you know kindergarten or elementary school etc.”

“And do your family share in that?”

“Yeah, yeah - especially my mom. She has no grandchildren so yeah she remembers and we’ll have a moment sometimes yeah but it can be lonely, not having the other parent there who shares the same loss.”

“Yes I’m sure it is. Grief can be very lonely sometimes. Well, Keanu I really can’t thank you enough for coming on my little podcast and sharing your experience of baby loss and loss in the public spotlight with us today. Thank you so much for telling us about your beautiful baby girl Ava and her mum Jen.”

“Thanks for having me - I know this might sound weird, but it’s been a pleasure talking with you and remembering them today so, thank you and thanks to Kerry who suggested it. She said it would be good for my soul and she, as always, was right!”

@fortheloveoffanfic @omg-imagine @iworshipkeanureeves @toomanystoriessolittletime @ladyreapermc @paperplanesandwallflowers @patric9

#keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu #keanu reeves #keanu reeves ofc

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novantinuum · 4 years

Text

Intake (SUF one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences (TW: brief discussion of mental illness related topics like suicide ideation and intrusive thoughts.)

Words: 2800

Summary: Steven fills out an important form.

This is set multiple months pre The Future, and is a small glimpse into Steven’s journey to find a therapist.

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

____

His leg bounces with a restless fervor as he slumps in the waiting room chair, clutching the clipboard and pencil the receptionist gave him with a white knuckled grip. Gaze hardened, he takes a good long look at the other patients spread across the room, a few of them appearing equally as spent and fidgety as him, and hunches over the intake form so his answers will be conclusively obscured from their view.

He grimaces. Ugh. Why would a place like this lay out their chairs so close, anyways? Why even give people the option of being nosey? He may be stuck seeing this therapist Connie’s mom recommended because he’s all messed up in the head, but it’s not like he wants the whole planet to know about it. Goodness knows all of Beach City and Little Homeworld already does thanks to his little ‘incident’ a month back. That’s bad enough.

His chest almost feeling hollow as he sighs, he scrawls in his name, his birthday, his cell number, address, and an emergency contact (Dad, who left for the car to give him privacy after signing a few forms he can’t fill out as a minor) on the lines indicated. He leaves out his many middle names for once, all of them leaving a bitter taste in his mouth at this present moment. Briefly, he wonders if this will be a problem, as these past few weeks Dr. Maheswaran assisted his dad in finally acquiring legal documentation and health insurance for him, and per those records he’s officially ‘Steven Quartz Universe’ in the eyes of the law.

Eventually he shrugs, figuring the likelihood of there being another sixteen-year-old ‘Steven Universe’ here today to confuse him with is nearing zero.

Okay, what’s next?

He briefly skims over the next few passages— a bunch of legalese about the terms of counselor-patient confidentiality and when they might have to breach that for safety reasons— and signs where indicated so they know he looked over it.

Someone sitting two chairs away coughs. He can’t help but flinch at the sudden noise, and folds himself tighter in his own seat as he flips over the first page of the form and continues to read.

In a few words, explain why you’ve chosen to reach out to us today. How can we help you?

Steven frowns, fingers twitching around the shaft of the pencil as he contemplates how to respond. For whatever reason, the question “explain why you’re here” feels very blunt and antagonistic to him in a way he can’t quite ascertain. Like... in a “give the wrong answer, get booted right out the door” sorta way. He lifts his head, peering at all the humans spread across the room, each and every one with their own story, the central character of their own worlds. Some are texting on their phones as they wait for the receptionist to call their names, others are filling out forms as well. What brought these people here, he wonders? Surely there’s plenty of people having a worse time than him right now. Surely there’s people with real problems, people who are literally struggling just to stay alive from day-to-day. He’s not like that, right? Besides that one little wobble a month back, he’s been handling his problems on his own fairly okay. Hasn’t he? So what makes him selfish enough to think that he’s worth anyone’s time?

In his pocket his phone vibrates, knocking him back into reality. He yanks it out and switches it on to look at the new text splashed across the lock screen:

Dad: Hey Schtu-ball, just wanna let you know that I’m proud of you and love you very much. You’ve got this!

He stares at these words for a good minute, the kind sentiment— despite reading as a little hopelessly over-encouraging— filling the hollow space in his chest partway. Even if his dad’s been a bit overbearing in his affections this past month, it’s clear he means well.

So. Why am I here today, he thinks, reading the question over again. He folds his fingers up into a stiff fist, pulling his thumb across his knuckles. After licking his chapped lips and shoving his phone back in his pocket, he scribbles a hasty reply.

I feel really angry and empty and tense and just want to be better.

The teen pauses, allowing those words to echo over and over in his mind, to truly sink in. It’s such a succinct and to-the-point admission that he suddenly wonders why he ever doubted he was less deserving of aid than anyone else in this waiting room.

His countenance a little lighter now and his shoulders growing less stiff, he moves on to the next section.

To aid our counselors in providing you the best possible care, please rate the following statements on a scale from zero to four, zero meaning “not at all like me,” and four meaning “extremely like me.”

Steven’s eyes dart across the length of the massive table below these instructions, his previous anxiety rushing back into his brittle bones as if it’d never left. Each row is host to a short sentence and five blank boxes, numbered zero to four. Read it and rate yourself, right? Should be simple enough. But as his glance flits over these statements and he understands the sort of personal, probing questions they’re asking through them, he begins to mistrust his previous burst of optimism. Dread floods his system, making his cheeks flush bright pink. Heart pounding at the mere thought of people staring, he drops his head lower, successfully hiding most of his face behind the clipboard until he can coax that betraying glow into fading away.

In the end, this goes to prove that it doesn’t matter if everyone says therapy will be ‘helpful’ for him; reflecting on all this junk is still gonna suck.

Quietly, he takes a steadying breath and forces himself to read on, to crack open the hornet’s nest that is the depths of his crap brain.

1. I am shy around others.

He considers this for a moment. Shy. Historically, this has never been a word people would use to describe him. For years he reveled in the thrill of meeting new people, new Gems. His childhood eagerness to engage in fellowship with those around is half the reason Era 3 even exists. And he’s fine around people he knows. Like, on a rare good day he has no problem playing board games or watching cheesy soap operas with his friends. But to be fair... as of late, his eagerness to meet anyone new feels like it’s all but vanished. Is that being shy? Or is that just him failing to care for anyone beyond his inner circle?

With a small shrug he checks the box for one, and moves on.

2. I don’t enjoy being around people as much as I used to.

Hmm. Probably a three. People are unintentionally exhausting these days. He used to be energized by social interaction, and now it just leaves him sucked dry. Most days he’d rather stick to his room.

3. I feel isolated and alone.

The weight of the diamond embedded in his belly— something he normally barely notices— grows ever more apparent as he marks off a four.

4. My heart often races for no good reason.

Uh, yeah. What happened just a minute ago is a pretty good tell. Four.

5. I have spells of terror or panic.

Another four.

6. I am anxious that I might have a panic attack while in public.

Four once more. He holds his pencil tighter, squirming in his seat as he tries (and fails) not to think about the pale scars spread across his back, hidden in his hairline, and on the underside of his arms, indentations that once marked the base of the crystalline spines that jut out from between his scales.

7. I think about food more than I’d like to.

Steven pauses at this one. For once, he’s not sure he can say this statement applies to him. Truth be told, he only started caring about what he put in his mouth earlier this year, when he cut meat and fish out of his diet. And that’s not... a bad thing? It’s not bad to want to consider the impact your food choices have on the environment? He definitely didn’t choose to do so for self-denying reasons, and that’s probably what they’re asking about. He checks zero, and moves on.

8. I feel out of control when I eat.

He almost checks another zero, but then he remembers that day after the proposal... and the week after his incident. And he decides that even if he doesn’t consciously obsess over the food he eats, there’s still a few occasions where once he starts snacking he finds it difficult to stop. A one it is, then.

9. I have sleep difficulties.

This statement nearly makes him laugh. Does he have sleep difficulties. Hah. He doesn’t think he’s gotten a truly restful night of sleep since he sacrificed himself to Homeworld at fourteen.

A solid four. No question.

10. My thoughts are racing.

Four.

11. I feel uncomfortable around people I don’t know.

Hmm. Two.

12. I drink alcohol frequently.

The only alcohol he’s ever had is a tiny sip of his dad’s with permission at Garnet’s wedding reception, and it tasted terrible. He has no interest in drinking again. Zero.

13. When I drink alcohol I can’t remember what happened.

Zero.

14. I drink more than I should.

Zero again.

15. I have done something I have regretted because of drinking.

Another zero. It almost makes him feel better, just knowing there’s a decent number of lines on this paper that aren’t a carbon copy of his lived experience.

16. I feel sad all the time.

Aaaand back to “the story of his life.” Briefly, he wonders if ‘feeling sad’ is the same thing as feeling nothing at all. But then again, does the difference really matter? He checks the box for three.

17. I am concerned that other people don’t like me.

Three. Although honestly, he’s even more concerned that people continue to like him after everything he’s done.

18. I feel worthless.

Steven nibbles at the inside of his cheek as he reads this statement, memories automatically flashing through the pathetic events of the last few weeks, through all the days he barely crawled out from under his covers, all the days he didn’t even manage to brush his teeth or run his fingers through his greasy, knotted hair, all those awful days he couldn’t so much as play one of his video games without growing tired of it in minutes and taking a restless nap for the rest of the afternoon instead.

Four.

19. I feel helpless.

Two. Everyday affairs are a drag, but at the very least he knows he can fight his way out of danger in a pinch. He wouldn’t call that helpless.

20. I have thoughts of ending my life.

He freezes. Goes back, reads this line again. Reads it a third time to make sure he’s not horrendously misconstruing the prompt he’s been given.

(Tries not to think too deeply about the graphic images that flood his imagination some nights. It’s just stray thoughts, though. He’s fine.)

One, he marks, although his muscles can’t help but twitch as he shifts his wrist, as if deep down he knows he’s underplaying his answer.

21. I feel tense.

Steven gives a small snort under his breath. Yeah, he outright admitted as much earlier in this form. Four.

22. I get angry easily.

His grip tightens.

Four.

23. I have difficulty controlling my temper.

He swallows hard, his mouth feeling abnormally dry. He’s not sure he likes how blunt and probing this questionnaire is becoming.

Four...

24. I sometimes feel like breaking or smashing things.

His knuckles go white around his pencil, and he only barely resists the temptation to snap it in half as he feels a rush of hard light flow the distance from his gem through the veins of his arm. Geeze, it’s not like he means to break things! It’s just that all of his stupid powers are linked with his emotions, and whenever he gets even marginally upset now things start to splinter, crack in half, and inevitably end up broken. Just another sign he’s fated to ruin everything around him forever, and that his intent doesn’t matter. Why do they have to pry into this? He already feels terrible enough for thinking these things.

Three, he checks, his eyes damp, but mostly because he’s too scared what their response will be otherwise.

25. I am not able to concentrate as well as usual.

He takes a deep breath, coaxing his body to return to a baseline state. Eh. He’ll give this a two.

26. I feel self-conscious around others.

His glance skirts over the edge of the clipboard to monitor the four others currently spread out across the room. One’s rhythmically swinging their legs, another is still filling out a form like him, but sitting criss-cross on the chair, and the other two are quietly typing on their phones. Thankfully none of them are pressing an ounce of attention his way, (at least, not right now), but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like an exposed nerve. Three.

27. I am afraid I may lose control and act violently.

The raw memories hit like lightning before he can even think to prepare.

Flashes of Pink. Orange fragments, cold and slick in his palms. Thunder splits the skies overhead, each cacophonous sound manifesting in perfect synchronicity with his erratic heartbeat, with each tidal wave of thoughts gushing like a maelstrom through his head: SHATTERER, I’m a shatterer, I’m—

Feeling almost dizzy from the intensity of his heart’s pulse, he knows with full certainty that his cheeks are glowing bright pink again. All he can do is clench his fists, suck down whatever amount of fresh air his lungs will allow, and pray to the very stars themselves that it’ll fade away before it garners the attention of every last human in this place.

He checks the box for four, pencil marking so hard that slivers of graphite splinter off onto the page, and moves on before he can be cowardly enough to change his answer.

28. I have thoughts of hurting others.

His fingernails claw into the thin denim at his knee, limbs outright quivering as he stews in his seat, as he’s forced to reflect upon all the ugly, ugly thoughts that have flit across his awareness over the past weeks. Thoughts about one Gem specifically. He’s... always been angry, always harbored deep resentment... but ever since his most recent trip to visit Her, he hasn’t been able to shake this awful idea: a vision of him standing over the remnants of her gemstone, shattered, fragments spilled across the otherwise pristine floors of Homeworld. He... he didn’t do it when he had the chance. He wouldn’t do it, would he?

(Orange fragments, cold and slick...)

Would he??

And yet nevertheless, the thought tortures him with its frequency, makes him feel downright nauseous at every turn. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to feel this way at all.

Four.

29. I am unable to keep up with my schoolwork.

Stop. Sharp inhale. Staccato, shaky exhale. Repeat, deeper this time. Repeat.

(He can no longer see neon pink reflecting in the smooth metal clasp at the top of his clipboard.)

Okay. Schoolwork.

N/A, he writes in one of the boxes, arm still trembling from the last two questions despite his attempt at cool-down exercises. Not applicable. He hasn’t even been to school, and dreads the inevitability of this therapist asking about that mess.

30. It’s hard to stay motivated for my classes.

N/A.

31. I feel confident that I can succeed academically.

N/A, once more.

And like that, the questionnaire is over. Steven is quick to hide his answers behind the front page, and slides the pencil through the length of the metal clip. He glances around him, drinking in his surroundings with pinpoint precision. Despite his earlier concerns, no one is maliciously staring. No one’s whispering. He internally wrestled with a few challenging subjects and what do you know, it didn’t end in an embarrassingly public meltdown. He— he wipes a stray tear from his eye with the butt of his palm— he took a solid step forward today.

Coercing his body to move, he pulls himself out of the cushioned chair and crosses the room.

“I finished,” he says softly, proudly, as he hands the clipboard and pencil to the receptionist. She smiles and accepts his hard-fought offering.

For the first time in a while, the smile he instinctively flashes back almost feels genuine.

I want to be better, he thinks. I will be better.

____

Notes:

This fic is loosely based on my own experience of the intake process, and the questionnaire I had to fill out. No two intake experiences are the same though, of course. This is merely one possibility. I also take personal liberties on the way I depict Steven’s struggle with mental health, and acknowledge and respect that no two fans’ interpretation will be the same.

Additional notes: -Steven’s still a minor, so he can’t actually sign contracts. I figure Greg signed a handful of forms beforehand as his guardian, and then left to allow his son a bit of privacy with filling out the questionnaire stuff. Since he's a teen, they're still giving him the full confidentiality clauses to look over so he's wholly aware how that works, though.

-To expand on a brief comment made in the midst of this, I headcanon that Steven cut both meat and fish out of his diet, and thus actually slipped up on his vegetarian diet when he was training with Jasper. I interpret this as further showcasing how the poor kid— due to being mentally vulnerable at the time and thus liable to coercion/unwise decisions— began to take actions that went against much of his established morality. He ended up sacrificing his dietary choices during those days, just like he briefly sacrificed his pacifistic views to fight Jasper.

-I also headcanon that the therapist Steven is going in to see after this isn’t the one he eventually sticks with and mentions as “my new therapist” in The Future. It’s totally normal and okay to try a few different people to find someone who you click with, after all.

Thank you for reading!

#su #su future #steven universe #su fanfiction #my writing stuff #okay the official crosspost #here you go #i keep switching how i post fics here hhh #i LIKE having the ao3 link in the post itself #but when i do that the fic almost never shows up in tags so *shrugs*

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brooklynboysficrecs · 4 years

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Ria’s Top 10 Shrinkyclinks Fics

I will admit this isn’t my preferred AU -- I won’t immediately jump on a fic just because it’s pre-serum Steve and WS Bucky. I gotta like the plot, or the premise, or be really, really intrigued by the tags, but to be fair, that’s how I am with everything that isn’t Modern Bucky and Cap Steve, so. That being said, I have read some truly fantastic shrinkyclinks stories, and I do very much love Steven “Fight Me” Rogers at his scrappiest. And these fics also tend to feature protective!Bucky which is another personal favorite of mine. Oh, but also: shrinkyclinks generally refers to pre-serum Steve with actual Winter Soldier Bucky, but a lot of people use the tag just to imply body types, and when they say WS Bucky they mean he’s all huge and muscled and sometimes has a metal arm, though that isn’t required. That’s the definition I’m going with as well, so hopefully nothing’s confusing!

1. If Wishing Made It So by leveragehunters. Before I get into anything about the actual fic, let me say this: leveragehunters is probably my favorite stucky writer. Like, hands-down, I read almost everything they write, and they’re big into fantasy stories, which is a great bonus for me personally. So, so, so many good shrinkyclinks fics by them (Even Underneath the Waves, a mermaid AU that features equal amounts of pre- and post-serum Steve, and A-mage-ing Grace with mage Steve are two of my other favorites, and they would’ve been on the list, but I try not to put more than one story per author, ya know? And IWMIS kinda wins out above the others for me, so). This story features jinn!Bucky who finds himself in the baffled hands of Steve Rogers, who is perfectly prickly and stubborn and good. Bucky’s got a terrible past with humans in general (and Hydra in particular, what a shocker) that he and Steve have to overcome as their relationship progresses, but that progression is frankly beautiful to watch unfold. I come back to this story time and time again because of how much I love these versions of Steve and Bucky getting to know one another, learning to trust each other, supporting each other through the worst the world has to throw at them. Plus, there’s a few more stories in this series if you get as hooked as I am, which is always great!!

2. Roots Have Grown by AustinB. I remember reading this and just... completely feeling what Bucky is going through. Not everything -- he’s an agoraphobic veteran, and I can’t relate to either of those, really, but he’s so... awkward about his crush on Steve. And that’s -- that’s relatable to me. But it’s precious, really, how he tries to help Steve even though he’s afraid to actually meet him initially; he becomes Steve’s sort of... anonymous benefactor? Guardian angel with money? Like, it’s definitely a sugar daddy type deal originally but I doubt Bucky would describe it like that. I don’t know, it’s cute, though, and I loved seeing Bucky opening up to Steve as they became closer.

3. Through The Woods by VenusMonstrosa, alby_mangroves. Okay, hear me out: werewolves. I fucking love werewolves in fiction; I mean, not really the romance novels you’ll see in the grocery store, but. Werewolf mythology is one of my favorite things, so seeing it in fanfiction almost always manages to lure me in. And I was so not disappointed with this story! Steve’s living alone in a cabin in the woods, which of course sounds like the opening to a horror movie, but here it leads to love. Werewolf Bucky is both charming and terrifying, to a degree, he’s a wolf, but he and Steve are fantastic together. This is another story that goes in on the trust aspect of their relationship and I for one am a big fan of that. There’s some violence, minor character death and the like, but it’s definitely not undeserved so. If you can handle that (and the sex, because there is sex in this) then I highly recommend this one!

4. The Joy of Little Things by obsessivereader, Sealcat. And so we move from werewolves to dragons. Yup. Dragons. Another of my beloved mythical creatures that I obsessed over when I was kid. Bucky’s capable of shifting into a human in this, but primarily he’s a big ol’ dragon that surprisingly doesn’t want to eat the scrawny sacrifice from the local village. Steve ends up working for Bucky, instead, and from there hilarity ensues. Steve’s obviously wary of Bucky, but Bucky isn’t at all what he’d been expecting, and they grow closer the longer Steve’s staying in Bucky’s caves. There are a couple of stories with Dragon!Bucky, but this is my personal favorite; it’s cute and heart-warming and, well. I just really like it.

5. I Just Want to Love You in My Own Language by agetwellcard, inediblesushi. So this one has Cap!Bucky (Bucky!Cap?) but again, sometimes it’s more about how Bucky looks rather than his role as the Winter Soldier. Anyway, I remember my biggest take away from this story was how adorable Bucky was in his quest to win the affections of sassy Nurse Steve, who patches him up after missions and is probably playing hard to get. Bucky uses terrible pick-up lines, absolutely awful, and he is completely unashamed of that fact. Which is, as I said, adorable. Steve, initially, does not agree with my assessment, but he gets there eventually. After some requisite drama, of course.

6. Tint & Shade by forestofbabel. Oh, god, this one hurt me, I remember that pretty clearly. Bucky is the Winter Soldier in this, and Steve is a 21st century art therapist who just so happens to resemble his late grandfather, Captain Joseph Rogers, who fought in -- you guessed it -- WWII. Like I said in the intro, if I really like the premise of something I’ll usually read it regardless of the configuration of pre-/post-serum Steve and pre-serum/WS Bucky, and this was definitely one of the fics I got into for that reason. Having actual WS Bucky interact with a modern pre-serum Steve is always interesting, given how much they don’t have in common, generally (there isn’t even really the veteran status that modern Bucky sometimes has in fics), and it’s a journey to see how and why they connect. Having Steve resemble his WWII era grandfather caught my attention, and the fic itself made me grateful that I decided to go for it in the first place. This is another one where is trust is key to their relationship, considering the mental/emotional state Bucky is in at the beginning. Very good story overall!

7. Fourth Floor by dirtybinary, mithborien, picoalloe. So dirtybinary has written some amazing stucky fics, which is why I was so excited when I saw this being posted initially (a few years ago, but still). There’s magic! Mystery! Suspense! Some NatSharon! Looking this over, I’m wondering if I should’ve saved it for the Urban Fantasy list I wanna do (and If Wishing Made It So, if I’m being honest) but I do like it for the shrinkyclinks list. The writing is great, the characterization of Steve and Bucky is great, and like, they live in what is essentially a magical apartment complex, so what’s better than that?

8. my heart tells me you are lonely, too by FanGirling. Alright, so I read this one as it was being published, and the slow burn about killed me. You know, in a good way, though. Bucky lives in Steve and his mother’s apartment building, trying to figure out where to go with his life now that he’s broken free of Hydra and gotten his autonomy back. He’s obviously wary, skittish, but he takes a liking to Sarah Rogers when she reaches out to befriend him, surprised anyone wants to be near him let alone take the time to get to know him. Steve... is not so easily sold on Bucky. And I’m not gonna spoil anything here, but the shit these two go through is intense, and I cried a lot during this fic, sometimes out of frustration because they’re both ridiculous about their feelings (of course Bucky’s fears are valid, the man has been through literal hell, but also I was internally screaming a little as Bucky continually talked himself out of getting closer to Steve.) I wanted to wrap the both of them in about thirty blankets for pretty much the entire length of the fic. God. They’re just -- they’re so incredibly sweet in this one, once they work past their issues (Bucky and Steve are both more than a little messed up from their respective circumstances, but they make it work). Mind the tags on this one, also, especially because there is a chapter that deals with attempted sexual assault against Steve (obviously not with Bucky!), but Bucky handles the situation before anything truly nasty happens, that I can promise.

9. Local Raccoon Befriends Angry Chihuahua by charlesdk. This is yet another author I really love; they have a fantastic farmer!Steve/Modern!WS!Bucky story that I love to bits, as well as other great fics. But anyway, this one. The title sold me the second I saw it, honestly, I can’t even pretend that wasn’t the deciding factor in me reading this. I don’t think I can really do any better than the summary in explaining why I recommend it; feisty tiny Steve and lovestruck grumpy Bucky are a winning combination in my book. This one does feature the boys dealing with homophobia and ableism, though I can’t recall how severe it is. So I’d just mind the tags, and if you’re alright with them, thoroughly enjoy this story.

10. The Road to Hell is Paved with Tony’s Good Intentions by pinlilli. Bucky as a mail-order Russian bride. That’s the detail that pretty much demanded I click on this fic, and oh my god, it was even better than I ever could’ve expected. Tony, in a bid to help Steve get over his awful ex-boyfriend (fuck Brock Rumlow in every universe, honestly), literally orders him a husband -- in the form of beefy James Barnes, who is a fucking gem and I will not hear one bad word against him. He does chores, it’s lovely and adorable, and you will definitely fall just as hard as Steve does. There’s some canon-typical violence in this one that relates to James’ past, but nothing super graphic as far as I remember. Again, Rumlow is a dick and should be treated as such, but he’s hardly the most important part of this fic and I urge everyone to take a look at it if they’re as intrigued by Bucky being a mail-order husband as I was.

#stucky #stevebucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #winter soldier #chris evans #sebastian stan #fic rec #shrinkyclinks #top 10

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beanie-beebo-writes · 3 years

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Call for Action

Chapter 6

You rolled over at around 2 AM for what seemed like the millionth time. Despite having no nightmares, you were plagued with hourly panic attacks that tore you from sleep. You didn’t even know what could have caused them; you had been doing so well since your last incident weeks ago. You felt so hopeless, and wondered if it was even worth the effort to sleep. Yet every time you tried to stay awake, your eyes drifted on their own accord. Without thinking too much of the consequences, you reached over and grabbed your phone and called Jensen. You were met with a series of grumbled responses. Before you knew it, he was at your door.

“Jensen, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking and didn’t know what else to do.” You said, half crying at your possible mistake.

“(Y/N), never be sorry for needing someone. C’mon, let’s lay down.” He said, putting an arm around you.

“Could we go on the couch for a bit instead? I kind of need to get away from my bed.” You asked.

“Sure.” Jensen said.

And there the two of you sat for several hours, until the sun broke across the horizon and the birds began to sing. You had both ended up falling asleep in what had looked like not the most comfortable positions, but it couldn’t compare to the restful sleep you had gotten. Your alarm in your bedroom woke you up around 5 AM, causing you to half stumble off the couch as you were intertwined between Jensen’s limbs. The small struggle caused Jensen to come around, waking up a little more when he saw you return from your room. You rubbed at your eyes and let out a large yawn.

“I know you’re gonna protest, but I think you should take the day off. You look like you could use it.” Jensen said, still on the couch.

“I don’t think I can afford that, Jensen. I just started working here.” You said.

“Well, maybe I could pull some strings for you. I could talk to Bob for you. I think he’d understand if I explained it to him briefly.” Jensen said.

“That’s the last thing I need is him knowing what I’m going through. He’ll probably let me go when he finds out.” You said, crossing your arms.

“Alright, I can spare the details. You just need a break, that’s all.” Jensen said.

After some thinking, you realized he was right. The past few weeks had been rough on you. You were basically running nonstop, and it had finally caught up to you. And boy did you feel it.

“You don’t have to call Bob, I’ll do it myself.” You said. “You’re right, I’ve been running myself ragged. I just know as an adult, I have a responsibility to myself and my coworkers. I can’t afford to take time off etcetera etcetera.”

“That may be true but as Jared has told me, you can’t put an oxygen mask on everyone else if you don’t put one on yourself first.” Jensen said.

You sighed. “Damn, you guys are like Buddha.”

“It comes with experience, trust me.” He said.

After you called off for the day, you and Jensen spent the day watching whatever was on daytime TV, Netflix, and napping in between. If you could do this every once in a while, you wouldn’t complain. The refresher was nice and you even got some bonus time with Jensen. The two of you fit together like puzzle pieces; always comfortable around each others’ presence. It was something you hadn’t felt in a while with someone.

Around noon, Jared stopped by with some fresh lunch. You had been snoozing at the time so Jensen took it upon himself to answer the door for you. The two of them had been talking for a little bit before you finally woke up to the steaming aroma and the sound of talking.

“Remember when this was happening with you a long while back? It’s all I can think of.” You heard Jensen say.

“Yeah. She’ll pull through though, just like I did. I haven’t known her for that long, and I can already tell she’s one to reckon with.” Jared said.

You groggily opened your eyes and looked over to Jensen and Jared standing in your kitchen. The TV had still been playing quietly in the background, playing some infomercial on jewelry. You inhaled deeply and sat up, letting out a loud and satisfying stretch. Doing so caused the guys to look over. You clicked off the TV and stood up slowly, your joints cracking as you stiffened them.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Jared asked, still holding a large paper bag.

“Honestly? Like I could still use another nap.” You said humorlessly, still chuckling lightly.

“I bet. I brought you guys some food; figured you could use a nice hot meal.” Jared said while holding up the bag slightly.

“Thank you, maybe you could join us?” You asked, walking over to where he stood.

“Well, I didn’t bring enough for three.. But that’s okay, I just had lunch not long ago. Sure, why not?” He said.

He held the bag out for you to take, and you gladly accepted it. You set it on the counter and looked inside. Inside were two fancy grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, the ones held together with a toothpick and an olive. You smiled up at Jared, grateful to have found another good friend to confide in. Or at least, you hoped.

“Well Jensen, I say we dig in before it gets cold.” You said.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Jensen said.

The three of you sat at your small kitchenette (Jared had to pull up an extra folding chair from whoever knows where you had it stashed), just happy to be in each other’s presence. You giggled as you observed Jared’s large stature cramped to the confines of the small-ish chair.

“Oh like you’ve never seen a giant man sit in a chair half his size before.” Jared snarked playfully.

“Actually no, I haven’t.” You said in between chuckles.

Jared smiled at you alongside Jensen. “It’s good to see you smile.” Jared said.

“I tend to agree.” Jensen said.

“Hard not to.” You said, mouth half-full of sandwich. “I don’t mean to intrude in any way, so let me know if I am. But earlier, I heard you guys talking about Jared going through something a while ago. So you’re telling me you both of you have gone through something similar?”

“Yeah actually-” Jared said, sitting back into his chair. “-And you’re not overstepping at all, don’t worry. We wouldn’t have talked about it with you around if we thought it was something you didn’t need to know.”

“What he said.” Jensen said. “And yeah, Jared went through a bout of depression about five years ago. It happened when we were on set, actually. He has no shame on sharing it with others, but isn’t really ready to let everyone know about it just yet.”

“What got you through it?” You asked, intrigued.

“I know Jensen was talking about therapy before, and how it helped him. I know it’s going to sound like a broken record, but that majorly helped me get through it. That and a great support system.” Jared said.

“You two really are joined at the everything, jeez.” You said. “Jensen and I were actually just talking about therapy last week. I agreed to try it, but I’m just a little scared how it’s going to turn out.”

“It can be scary, especially since it’s new territory for you.” Jared said.

“So, what do you say it’s about time we schedule you for that therapist?” Jensen asked.

---------

One Month Later

You walked down a small hallway until you reached an ajar door that had the name "Mr. Roslin" on it, and knocked lightly. A man in his late forties was sitting at a small desk in a computer chair; he turned around and smiled.

"You must be (Y/N). Please, come in and take a seat." He said.

You walked into the decently sized room and sat on a padded chair several feet from the therapist. Mr. Roslin shuffled a few papers on his desk before turning back around with a notepad and pen in hand.

"So (Y/N), tell me more about why you're here today." He said.

"Well… My friend.. er date.. said I would benefit from seeing you." You said.

"And why would they think that?" He asked.

You sighed. "Well, lately I've been having these.. panic attacks. Quite a lot of them actually."

"Have you had them before?"

"Many times, yes. Just haven't had one out of nowhere in quite a while."

"Hm. I think I have just the thing for that."

Mr. Roslin turns around in his chair and pulls out a sticky note from his desk. On it, he scribbles a few notes before handing it to you. It read: "5 things you can see, 4 things you can feel, 3 things you can hear, 2 things you can smell, 1 thing you can taste."

"Have you heard of grounding exercises before?" He asked.

You shook your head and stayed silent so he would continue.

"Grounding techniques or exercises are coping skills that keep you in the present. Let's say for instance, your thoughts or a panic attack are keeping you from doing a task at work. These exercises help you stay in the moment instead of focusing on those pesky thoughts or feelings." He explained.

"Oh wow, those sound useful.. Thank you." You said.

"Mhm. They are only useful though if you practice. That'll be your homework after this session, until I see you next. He said.

"Sounds easy enough. Thank you Mr. Roslin." You said.

"Don't mention it. By the way, have you ever been formally diagnosed previously?" Mr. Roslin asked.

"No sir, this is actually my first ever appointment to see anyone like this. I assume I have anxiety, as my doctor long ago said I may have it. He was the one who gave me the breathing tips." You admitted.

"I see. Just for your information, I'd like to know if knowing your diagnoses would help you in any way, or would you feel they would set you back?" He inquired.

"I feel the diagnoses could help explain some things, so you can tell me." You said.

"It's only your initial appointment but from what I can tell so far based on our phone conversation and now, you have both anxiety and possibly a smidge of depression. It isn't uncommon in the psychiatric world to have both. They tend to work together to make your life more miserable. The depression tends to be more of the negative thinking (at least in your case), while the anxiety of course is the panic/anxiety attacks." He explained.

"The anxiety I figured; the depression I never thought of though. Will it ever get better?" You asked.

"With a lot of effort and time, you will find it a lot easier to cope with what you have, so yes." He said.

"That's good to know. And for the panic attacks, do you think taking up a new career can enhance them?" You asked.

"Certainly. New environments and added stress are definitely a factor. They should fade after getting adjusted. But if they don't come talk to me and we'll hash it out together." He said.

"Thank you for that, it's very helpful to be in the know." You said.

"Always; knowledge can be very powerful. Is there anything else you would like to discuss today?" He asked.

"Yeah actually, there is. With my.. date. I'm not really sure where we stand. We're moving at quite a fast pace, and I'm scared something is going to go wrong or something. My life usually works that way, and I know our relationship so far isn't exactly normal." You said.

"Well, have you talked with them about it?" He asked.

You paused for a moment; you hadn't thought to ask Jensen about anything besides that one time. It seemed to be a logical thing to do.

"It is okay to communicate these things in a relationship. If anything, the relationship will be stronger if you communicate how you feel and what you expect." Mr. Roslin said.

"You're right. I just.. I don't know. Wouldn't it be awkward to talk about those things?" You asked.

"It's only awkward if you want it to be, remember that. You could always phrase it something like.. 'I wanted to talk about our relationship. Where are you and I right now? Are we still dating, or are we looking for something more?'. Most importantly, let them know how you feel. If you're afraid, let them know." He said.

"Okay, I'll try those things." You agreed.

"Perfect! Unless you have anything else to discuss with me I'll write you in for another two weeks from now. Does that sound good?" He asked.

"That sounds great Mr. Roslin, thanks for everything today." You said.

"No problem, take care (Y/N)." He said.

You walked out of the office and made your way to the curb where Jensen had parked his truck. You hopped inside and exhaled in relief.

"Well? How did it go?" Jensen asked.

"Actually, it wasn't that bad. He's pretty helpful; although I didn't expect homework." You said.

"Hey, taking care of yourself is hard work." He said, cupping your face in his hands. "And you've already taken the first step; you're doing great."

You smiled and glanced at his lips before quickly giving them a peck.

"Hey Jensen?" You asked.

"Yeah hun?" He responded.

"There was actually something I wanted to talk to you about." You said.

"Like what?" He asked, gently pulling away from you.

"Us. I wasn't sure for a bit, but I think I'm scared. Something always goes wrong in my life, and I would hate for it to be us. I'm not breaking up with you or anything, I'm just unsure. I mean, I can tell you like me, but in what way? Where are we taking this? Is it even going to go anywhere?" You asked.

Jensen was taken aback at all this information at once; he raised his eyebrows.

"Wow, uh. I guess we do need to talk." He said. "To repeat what you said: yes, I do like you. Hell, I like you a lot. That part, is never going to change, as far as I can tell. We can go wherever you want with this. If you want it to be a fling, let it be a fling. Although, I would really prefer something more than that." Jensen explained.

"Wait.. you would?" You asked, eyes lighting up.

"Yeah! I mean, if that's okay with you of course." Jensen said.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” You said.

You grabbed Jensen’s face gently and gave him a passionate kiss, pouring all of your emotions into him. He responded gently, meeting the same level of passion without being too rough. In that moment, everything felt good. You knew it wasn’t perfect, but you had faith in both the man in front of you and where he was guiding you.

End

#jensen x reader #Jensen Ackles #Jared Padalecki #spn reader insert #call for action series #call for action

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snowdice · 4 years

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Road Trips and Missing Persons (Part 16)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Virgil, Virgil & Deceit, Logan & Patton, Emile & Remy, Roman & Remus & Janus

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Deceit, Remus, Roman, Logan, Emile, Remy

Summary: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

Notes: Secret Agents AU, knives, carjacking, kidnapping, murder mentioned, guns mentioned, pepper spray, blood mentioned, drugs mentioned, explosions, car crashes (more to be added)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve affectionately named it the Goblin Brain Fic because it’s helping my brain actually get motivated for studying. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 My Master Post

Remy met the beady little eyes outside the car window with a glare. The cow gazed back at him, a challenge in its eyes. “What are you looking at, future minced meat?” Remy asked.

“They’re dairy cows,” Emile said, head on the steering wheel.

“How the hell would you know?” Remy asked.

Emile looked up at him. “The crashed truck says, ‘Robinson’s Family Dairy.’”

Remy pursed his lips. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Emile gave him a droll look.

“Maybe they’re the rejects!” Remy turned back to the cow. “I bet you’re too stupid to make milk, huh?”

The cow let out a breath that fogged the window between them.

“Bastard,” Remy grumbled at it.

“You are talking to a cow,” Emile reminded him.

“Oh, like you don’t talk to stuffed animals,” Remy shot back.

“At least I don’t make enemies with them and insult them.”

“She deserves it!”

“She’s just standing there. You’re taking out your frustrations on a farm animal.”

Remy looked back at the cow, his eyes narrowed. Its eyes peered back at him and they did not need to share a language to understand each other in that moment. “I’ll show you a coward,” Remy growled, taking off his seatbelt.

“No, Remy,” Emile hissed. “Don’t you dare.”

Remy ignored him and opened the door to climb out of the car.

“We are on the interstate!”

“Now, you listen here,” Remy said, staring the cow down. “You’ve already caused enough problems for me today. The least you can do is not stare me down in my own…or well my brother’s own car. You feel me?”

The cow stared at him blankly and made a mooing sound.

“Are you understanding the words that are coming out of my mouth right now?”

“I promise you, she isn’t,” Emile offered from the car.

Remy continued to stare the cow down. Finally, after a moment of staring, the cow turned away.

“Ha!” Remy said. “I win.”

“Get back in the car before you get trampled by a herd of cows,” Emile said.

“I’m not going to get trampled,” Remy insisted. “If anything, I’m establishing myself as their ruler.”

“Is this a productive use of your time?” Emile asked.

“Oh, what?” Remy said turning back to him. “And sitting in the car doing nothing is such a better use of my time? Thank you for your input, doctor.”

“Remington, please.”

“Oh, stop with the full name, bullshit,” he turned to cow nearest to him, “no offence intended,” he assured it before turning back to Emile. “You’re not our mother!”

There was a pause. “Remy,” Emile said calmly. “I know you’re upset about Virgil, but...”

“In fact,” Remy talked over him. “I’m older than you! Do you remember who put you through college so you could get that fancy degree you keep using on me tonight? Because it certainly wasn’t our mother because she was already fucking dead! Don’t act like you’re my parent because here’s the thing, I raised you by myself for three years. So, if I’m a shitty dad, you’re definitely fucked up somewhere under that shining topcoat of head doctor crap.”

“I never at any point said-” Emile started, but Remy cut him off.

“Oh, but we both know you’re thinking it!”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Remy.”

“No, no,” Remy said. “I know exactly what’s going through your head. I never should have been a parent, and I proved that with you when you were a teenager, but I still managed to knock up literally the worst person I could. I’m constantly making horrible parenting decisions and even when I try to be responsible, I mess it up. Virgil’s third word was a curse word and I’m lucky he never developed scurvy because I let him eat whatever he wants. He’s currently on a cross-country road trip with god knows who because I fucked up a covert mission I had no business being on and now he’s being tracked down by the woman who shot me with a poisoned bullet. I’m a horrible person and a worse dad. That’s what you’re thinking.”

There was a second where his brother looked at him with his stupid annoying face. “Have you considered that you’re projecting.”

“Ugh!” Remy threw up his hands and turned to walk away.

“Remy where are you going?” Emile called after him.

“I’m walking to base to go get my kid!” Remy called back.

“It’s over 70 miles away!”

He turned around and spread out his arms. “Then I’ll ride a bloody cow! It’ll be faster at this rate!”

“They’ll be cleared up in a few minutes Remy, come back here!” Emile said. Remy flipped him off. “I am not following you on foot!”

“Good!”

Remy turned back around and strutted off down the interstate, skirting cows and police officers the whole way. He grumbled to himself and refused to turn back even when he was pretty sure by the flow of traffic that the accident must have been cleared 15 minutes later.

This was so stupid. Why was he so stupid and useless? Emile was probably glad he ran off like a petulant toddler so he wouldn’t have to deal with him. He’d probably be more effective finding Virgil without Remy messing it all up anyway. He kept walking.

After a couple minutes a car slowed and stopped next to him on the side of the road. Remy looked up to meet Emile’s eyes through the rolled down window.

“Get,” Emile said firmly, “in the damned car.”

Remy blinked in surprise and then hurried to do so.

Emile didn’t speak again until the car was back at a normal speed. “His first word was ‘dad,’” he said, “and he’s happy. I’m not a parent, but from what I’ve observed, parents are allowed to mess up. As long as they do their best and their kid knows they’re loved, they’re a pretty good parent. If you ask me, you’re a good dad.”

“Yeah, well his second word was ‘pizza,’ so I don’t know if it makes me that special,” Remy grumbled.

Emile glanced at him.

“I mean,” Remy continued. “Thank you and sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Emile said. “You know I love you right?”

“Oh, god don’t get all mushy on me.”

“I’m serious,” Emile said. “I’ve been angry at you this entire trip because if you’d died today, I don’t know how I would have handled it. You were reckless, and it could have easily gotten you killed.”

“Don’t you think I know I’m stupid.”

“Stop that,” Emile snapped. “That’s not what I said.”

“Well then, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, why, Remy?” Emile said. “Are you bored? Do you want to go back in the field?”

“No,” Remy said quietly.

“Are you sure?” Emile asked. Remy didn’t answer. “If you do, that’s fine.”

“It’s not though.”

“You’re the one who made that decision and it was 15 years ago,” Emile reminded. “If you want to change your mind, that’s fine, but if you’re going to do it, you can’t just go do it. You have to talk to Logan first, to me, to your kid. Your actions affect other people.”

“I know that.”

“I know you know that, but you just…You get so involved in your head sometimes and forget to think about the consequences. Or worse you ignore them because they’re too hard to think about.”

Remy reached forward and turned on the radio.

“Really?!” Emile asked.

“Chill,” Remy said, turning the volume down, “I just don’t want to have another cow disaster.”

Emile nodded and seemed content to wait for him a few minutes so he could gather his thoughts.

“I’m trying, Em,” Remy said. “Bless their souls, but I’m trying to not be our parents. It’s like walking a tightrope. Go too far one way, you’re an asshole, go too far the other your kid’s running from his mother’s hired guns and throwing out the tracking device you put on him because he thinks you’re dead.”

“It should have to feel like that for you.”

“Yeah?” Remy asked. “And how do you propose I stop it?” Emile looked over at him and opened his mouth. “Yeah, yeah, see a therapist. Do you have any suggestions that don’t require me to bare my soul and talk about my daddy issues to some random person?”

“No.”

“Rats.” Emile chuckled at him.

“If it’s any consolation, they would have hated how you turned out. I mean they 100% would have still loved you and would have adored Virgil, but you’d get so many side-eyes over the dinner table. I mean, a child out of wedlock, Remy?”

“They’d have tried to get me to marry her,” Remy said. “Then I would have introduced them to her, and they would’ve said ‘fuck that.’ Do you think I could have gotten dad to say, ‘fuck that’?”

Emile giggled. “That would have been weird.”

Remy hummed in agreement. Then they petered off into silence. “I love you too Em.”

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 17

#sanders sides #emile picani #remy sanders #platonic remile #virgil sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #creativitwins #patton sanders #platonic moxiety #logan sanders #adriana writes #road trips and missing persons #road trips and everything in between #guns #murder mentioned #kidnapping

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fandomfanfics12 · 4 years

Text

Home Lives With You-Part 9

Title: Home Lives With You. Pairings: Steve x Tony Part: 9/? Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst, blood, abuse (physical and verbal), ptsd, anxiety, bullying Summary: Peter’s been living with the abusive Thompson family for years, it was the only family in the system that would take him. When Steve and Tony get a phone call from the social worker who introduced them to their daughter Morgan for an emergency placement, they feel like they must pay back the favor. But are Steve and Tony taking on more than they can handle, and will Peter be able to adjust to a warm and welcoming family home? A/N: Sorry for dropping off of the face of the Earth! I had a lot of assignments due and it’s currently exam season for me so i’ve tried to focus my attention on school! Also my laptop broke for a short while so i had to get that fixed. Again sorry for the wait and this is kinda long lol. Hope you enjoy!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Steve bounced his knee up and down, the nerves rattled through his chest. He had always hated this lobby, had hoped he’d never have to come back here. But Tony had taken the morning off to drive Steve to work himself, had insisted that Steve come here even when Steve’s heart was up in his throat.

“I’m sorry sweetie.” Steve whispered and his husband stopped flicking through a magazine to look at Steve.

“Honey we’ve gone over this, I’m not mad. Well I am, but not for the reasons that you’re thinking of.” Tony said softly and Steve inhaled sharply.

“What can I do to fix it?” he whispered and Tony let out a chuckle. Steve’s chest tightened, he didn’t want to worry Tony, didn’t want Tony to be mad.

“I’m mad that you got the Peter hug.” He said and poked his tongue out. And just like that, the knot in Steve’s chest loosened and his internal world calmed down a little. He wasn’t actually angry, it was just his competitive streak. Just like he had been when trying to get Morgan to call him dad first.

“Was there anything else that made you mad?” Steve asked and Tony shook his head, leaning forward and briefly pressing his lips against Steve’s.

“No and I want you to stop worrying alright?” Tony whispered and Steve nodded, pressing his nose against Tony’s and rubbing it gently, Tony’s eyes fluttered closed and Steve grinned.

“Alright.” He whispered and Tony nodded.

“Its you and I against this remember? Not me against you.” Tony whispered and Steve nodded, the sound of heels on the floor approaching letting them know that their time was up.

“I’ll make us some chicken and vegetables for dinner?” Steve asked and Tony nodded, standing with him.

“I’ll be at the office late so put mine in the microwave, tell Pete he can call me if he gets stuck with his work alright?” Steve nodded his head, the words barely registered.

“Alright.” Steve said and then his therapist was in sight, her hair shorter than Steve remembered.

“I’ll see you tonight.” And then Tony’s hand slipped out of Steve, leaving him completely alone to face his demons.

Peter tried to keep his head down low as he headed to the parking lot. His mind was racing with worry-was Steve okay? The question had plagued him all day, and he was looking forward to finally getting the answer. He just had to get to the car.

“Peter!” the car was in sight, Peter sped up, the door opened and Morgan jumped out. She was in a pair of kid-sized overalls and ran straight to him, wrapping her arms around Peter’s legs.

“Are you alright little miss?” Peter asked as he squatted down to her height.

“Can we make chocolate chip cookies today?” she asked, her eyes wide and worried. Peter chuckled, relief washed over him that she was alright. He hoped that he’d still be able to see and talk to Morgan when he moved on to the next foster home. After all, his residence in the Stark-Rogers household really was only temporary. They would be getting rid of Peter as soon as they could, but maybe he could still talk to Morgan after that?

“is that okay with your parents?” Peter asked and she nodded, a grin split open on her face.

“Yes! Daddy said I could as long as you watched!” she giggled, her tiny hands reached for Peter’s.

“Alright little miss, I’ll supervise.” Her eyes lit up and Peter’s heart squeezed, she was too adorable for her own good.

“Peter?” there was that voice again, Peter turned and saw MJ, standing before him and smiling softly at Morgan.

“MJ?” he shot up so he was standing again and a small smile graced her lips.

“I was wondering if I could copy the notes you took today in Chem? I had a doctor’s appointment.” She explained and Peter nodded his head, digging through his pockets for his phone.

“yeah, sure, put your number in and I’ll text them to you. is everything alright?” he glanced back to the car where Steve was patiently waiting and his heart hammered inside of his chest. He shouldn’t take too long, and he really did want to know how Steve was doing.

“oh yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking!” MJ pressed a few buttons on the phone and then handed it back to him, Morgan tugged on Peter’s hand.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Morgan asked and Peter squeezed his eyes shut, MJ just laughed.

“No little Miss, come on.” Peter tugged on Morgan’s hand but she just stared up at MJ.

“Why not? She’s really pretty.” Peter wanted to disappear, how was this happening to him?

“Let’s go make those cookies huh? Plus your dad is waiting.” Morgan finally nodded, moving to follow Peter. He didn’t dare look back at MJ, his heart hammered inside of his chest. How was he ever going to look her in the eye again?

“Hey Pete, how was school?” Steve asked, a smile on his face. Peter searched for any visible signs that something was wrong, but couldn’t find anything. If anything, Steve seemed more relaxed.

“Fine, how was your day Mr Stark-Rogers?” Peter asked, Steve simply shrugged.

“I had a great day Pete, who was that girl?” Steve asked, Peter turned his head towards the window.

“just a girl from class, are you sure it’s alright for Morgan and I to make cookies?” Steve nodded his head.

“Yeah, but I have one condition.” Peter’s head snapped back to Steve and his stomach churned. Steve’s face was serious, the smile gone.

“Yeah?” Peter asked, slowly curling his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms.

“I get to eat some.” Steve said at last and Peter let out a long deep exhale.

“Oh, of course, absolutely.” Morgan giggled from the back and Steve smiled, Peter uncurled his hands. This was fine, this was good. He let out several deep breaths and knew that it didn’t go unnoticed by Steve. Soon enough they were in the driveway and Peter was getting out of the car.

“hey Pete?” Peter froze, hand on the doorhandle.

“Yes Mr Stark-Rogers?” Peter asked, he stared straight ahead.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You seem a little…on edge.” Peter relaxed and looked to Steve. He truly did care, he really was a good parent. But he wasn’t Peter’s parent.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking though.” Steve narrowed his eyes ever so slightly but nodded his head.

“Alright, I’ll be in the living room if someone gets a little too hyper.” Peter smiled and nodded and finally exited the car.

“Come on!” Morgan cried and Peter nodded, following her inside.

Tony was increasingly growing exhausted as the hours grew later and later. He was supposed to have started heading home twenty minutes ago, but he was still nowhere near done with his workload. He glanced at his phone and worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Steve would be mad if he stayed back at the office too late, but Tony couldn’t let Hammer’s numbers beat him. Not after what happened at Fury’s birthday. He needed to remind his boss that Tony was still the best. It was at that moment that the phone rang.

“Tony Stark-Rogers, how may I help you?” Tony said, the words tumbled out automatically.

“Still at the office then?” Steve’s voice murmured and Tony sighed.

“Would you be mad if I stayed back for an extra hour or two?” at that, Steve sighed.

“you’re overdoing it honey.” Tony squeezed his eyes shut.

“I’m fine, seriously Stevie. I’m just a little further behind than I thought.” Tony lied, he drummed his fingers on the desk and counted the seconds between his words and another one of Steve’s prolonged sighs.

“Morgan and Peter made cookies.” Tony smiled, but he didn’t move away from his desk.

“that’s good.” The whole office building was dark except for Tony’s office, everyone else had gone home to their families and partners. Everyone but Tony.

“do you really have to stay back?” Steve asked after a long pause and Tony found himself nodding. It took him a moment too long to realise that he was on the phone and Steve couldn’t actually see him. Tony cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Tony said and Steve chuckled.

“You don’t need to make it up to me, your job is important.” Tony cringed, regretting calling in the first place. Wishing he had just gone home.

“how was therapy?” Tony asked before Steve could hang up the phone.

“Fine.” And then the line went dead.

“Fuck.” Tony groaned, dropping the phone on his desk and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He took several deep breaths and then straightened. He had work to do, he would make it up to Steve later.

Steve didn’t want to be angry with Tony, but he was ninety percent sure that Tony didn’t actually need to stay back at work. But then he wasn’t one to argue with Tony about his job, especially not after what he’d done at his boss’ birthday.

“When’s daddy coming home?” Morgan asked as she tugged on Steve’s sleeve, drawing his attention down to her.

“He’s going to be a while longer.” She frowned.

“Like last year?” she asked and Steve shook his head, pulling her up and into his chest.

“Not like last year, alright? how are those cookies coming along?” Steve carried her to the kitchen where baking pan after baking pan contained dozens of cookies.

“We made a lot Mr Stark-Rogers.” Peter said, his cheeks tinged pink. Steve just grinned, placed Morgan on the ground and picked up a cookie. He bit into it and moaned, they were perfect. Crunchy on the outside but soft and gooey on the inside.

“these are amazing.” Steve said and Peter’s face lit up.

“Really?” Steve nodded and reached for a second one.

“We’ll have to triple check that all the doors are locked from the cookie monster tonight.” Morgan gasped and Steve winked at Peter.

Peter was so relieved that the cookies had turned out well. Relieved that Steve wasn’t made at the amount of cookies that they had made. But he was disappointed that Tony wasn’t going to be coming home anytime soon. Peter also noticed that even though Steve was pretending to be calm and relaxed, his body was tense. Different to how he’d been just twenty minutes earlier. It dawned on Peter that they had had an argument. He looked down at his phone, the screen lit up from a text from MJ.

Thanks Peter.

He drew his attention back to Steve, his brows furrowed together in worry for the older man.

“Pete?” Steve asked softly and Peter forced his eyes down. It was rude to stare.

“You don’t have to answer sir, I was just wondering if everything was alright with your husband?” Peter forced the words out and the room fell silent.

“Princess why don’t you go play with your dolls?” Steve asked and she nodded, took a cookie and then raced out of the room. Peter’s stomach twisted and churned, he shouldn’t have asked. He’d overstepped the boundaries of this house, they would get rid of him now.

“Tony likes to be the best in his field, which I support and encourage. He likes to challenge himself, and feels compelled to do better each month.”

“So he stayed late because he doesn’t think he’s the best?” Peter asked and Steve shook his head.

“I think he knows that his numbers are the best, but he’s paranoid that they aren’t. he’s a bit of a perfectionist.” Steve explained and Peter nodded, picked at a loose thread on his hoodie and then looked back up at Steve.

“should we go get him then?” at that, Steve’s brows rose.

“What do you mean?”

“Well I can tell that you’re really worried about him and Morgan made some comment that tells me this is something your husband struggles with. Does it get really bad?” Steve nodded his head.

“Yeah, it can do. I was going to talk to him about it when he got home.”

“so let’s go get him. Remind him that the numbers aren’t as important as he thinks.” Steve smiled softly.

“Yeah, alright.” And it seemed like a breath of relief for Steve to say those words. Peter couldn’t help but grin, this was good. He knew Steve was worried, really worried.

“Cool, I’ll go get Morgan.” Peter said and walked away, glad that he’d done something right. helped this family rather than hindered it. he’d been useful, not just a burden.

Morgan was propped on Steve’s hip, Peter at his side and Steve watched the numbers light up as the elevator travelled upwards. The building was dark and quiet, eerie. Which was just a sign that it was time for Tony to come home, he shouldn’t work like this. finally the elevator stopped and the doors opened and they stepped out into a well lit hall.

“This place is really fancy Mr Stark-Rogers.” Peter said and Steve nodded his head. Every time Steve came to the office, he was reminded of just how ornate and rich the people that Tony worked with were. Reminded Steve of just how much he didn’t fit in Tony’s life. At the end of the hall they turned left and there was only one office with a light on. Steve reached his hand out, fingers just about ready to grasp the knob when there was a noise.

A giggle.

Steve’s entire arm seized up and he recoiled from the door. Took a step back and stared at the wood.

“Don’t stop.” A voice that was completely unfamiliar to Steve groaned and Peter’s head whipped towards Steve.

“Mr Stark-Rogers?” Peter whispered and Steve’s mind was racing, Tony wouldn’t dare. There was no way, he’d never be so cruel, so callous. Tony loved Steve too much to ever do this, loved their family and their life too much to do this. he was too good a man to ever do such a thing.

“Steve?” Steve turned and walking towards him, not in his office, was Tony. Every muscle in Steve’s body relaxed and relief crashed into him. Thank god. He pulled his husband in with his free arm and brought his lips down to Tony’s. but when Steve pulled back Tony was frowning.

“what are you doing here?” he asked, looking between them all.

“We came to take you home, you’re working too hard.” Steve said and Tony tilted his head.

“This isn’t like last year honey.” Tony promised and Steve shrugged.

“Peter was the one who convinced me to come get you, and I’m glad that he did.” Steve explained and Tony glanced at the kid who suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Alright, you’re right. let’s go home.” Tony said and Steve relaxed, then glanced back at the office door.

“Who’s in there?” Steve asked, unable to quiet the anxieties in his head. Tony scrunched his nose up in disdain as he looked at the door.

“Hammer.” Tony said with a frown.

“Isn’t that your office?” Steve asked and Tony snorted as they began to walk away.

“Stevie my office is at the other end of the hall. You turned left instead of right.” oh. Steve felt like the world’s biggest idiot and felt his cheeks turn red.

“Oh.” Tony let out a giggle that melted Steve’s heart, how did he get so lucky? And how could he have ever doubted Tony?

“so I heard you kids made some cookies?”

Snuggled into Steve’s chest, Tony felt like all was right in the world. Just upstairs were the kids who were sleeping soundlessly. Steve flicked through the channels with a slight frown.

“What are you looking for?” Tony asked, wishing that Steve would just enjoy their quiet evening. But then Steve’s face broke out into a broad grin, and it set Tony’s body on fire. Steve turned his head and brushed his lips against the top of Tony’s head and Tony turned, just as the beginning of one of his all-time favourite movies started to play.

“Pretty Woman?” Tony asked and Steve nodded, his smile slowly faded.

“You still love this movie, right?” Tony nodded, as if he could ever grow tired of this movie.

“Yeah.” He whispered, but he wasn’t looking at the screen. Tony was too busy studying Steve’s profile, all the lines and curves of his face. The slope of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, the crease between his brows.

“Stop staring.” Steve said and a nervous smile spread over his lips, Tony chuckled but didn’t look away. A blush crept over Steve’s cheeks, turning them red and he turned to look at Tony. Steve had the prettiest eyes known to man. Tony felt himself leaning closer and closer, and Steve’s eyes fluttered shut. a mischievous twinge in Tony’s personality forced him to turn last second and licked up the side of Steve’s face. Steve let out a harsh and loud shriek, he jerked back and Tony tilted his head up as laughter bubbled out of him.

“Tony!” Steve cried, but it was swallowed up by his own fit of laughter as he wrapped his arms around Tony, pulling him into Steve’s lap.

“Yes honey?” Tony asked and batted his eyelashes.

It was moment’s like this that reminded Steve why he could never love anyone else ever again. Moments when he looked into Tony’s large and soft brown eyes and his heart was sent into overdrive.

“Your eyes are so pretty.” Steve whispered because Tony needed to be reminded of just how pretty his eyes were. Steve’s husband looked away bashfully, ran a hand through his hair and then looked back to Steve.

“You’re a dork Mr Stark-Rogers.” Tony whispered and Steve cupped the side of Tony’s face.

“We’re okay, right?” he whispered because Steve needed the reassurance that he wasn’t about to lose Tony. Tony truly was Steve’s entire world, and Steve never wanted to live in a world where he couldn’t hold his husband like this.

“Better than okay.” Tony whispered before crashing his lips against Steve’s. Steve’s hands came to rest on Tony’s ass and he squeezed ever so slightly. Tony moaned into his mouth and his fingers fisted in Steve’s hair. Steve began to slide his hands up and down along Tony’s back, tracing his fingers along the bottom of his shirt. Finally Tony pulled back for air and Steve smiled dazedly up at him.

“you okay?” he whispered a little breathlessly and Tony nodded.

“Let’s just watch the movie.” He whispered and Steve nodded but Tony didn’t move.

“Something wrong honey?” Steve asked with a smirk and once again Tony’s lips came against Steve’s, bringing them closer together.

“Thank you for forcing me to come home.” He whispered against Steve’s lips and Steve chuckled.

“We’ve got to start taking better care of ourselves.” At that, Tony tipped his head back and laughed.

“deal.” He said and looked down at Steve with the softest smile. Steve returned it, relief flooded him in knowing that they’d get through this. he brushed his lips against Tony’s once more and then Tony moved off of Steve’s lap and curled up beside him again.

“I love this movie.” He mumbled and Steve chuckled. One day they’d be old and grey and they’d curl up on the couch just like this and watch pretty woman and Steve would still be just as in love with Tony as he was right in this very moment.

@smallnjh @picklepotatoe13 @thatisamericasass @briebriebrieee @aftereveryraincomessunshine @meyamoadriytu @loveliestdisappointment

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anxietysroomsupport · 3 years

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i found out pushing doesn't work. that's what my sister does when she thinks something's wrong, she pushes that she wants to go to the doctor. eventually our parents give in. i think i mentioned it because i sent an ask here recently, but my joints have been giving me grief lately. several months ago my knees kept feeling like my bones were grinding when i put weight on them for a few days. more recently, in january i think, after spending an hour or two outside, my hips did the (1/?)

(2/?) the same, that night and for the next few days. sometimes it was fine, usually better mid morning, but other times i couldn't put wait on them. it felt like they were grinding, or going to give up on me. it's been happening longer where i feel like if i move the wrong way, something will pop out. i try to sit up and swing my legs and my hips yell at me with slight pain, so even though they would probably just pop, i wait till it stops, just in case. because i don't want to see (2/?)

(3/?) what would happen if they didn't. but recently, a week or two after i started these new exercises (my mom thinks it's related to that, which it may be slightly, but i don't think so completely), modified push ups so i could get better core strength and stuff, my joints have started popping. started feeling like they'll go out more often. and i mean popping loudly. i kneeled earlier in the process of sitting up, and my sister, who was talking and a few feet away, asked me if i (3/?)

(4/?) okay. it only hurt a little, it's more just the sensation of the popping, tiny pain. but my right knee sort of buzzed, like my elbow did yesterday. except yesterday, my elbow hurt. it felt, just from a random movement, like it actually popped out for a moment, or tried to, and my elbows are usually fine. if it's the exercises, i don't want to just give up my hopes. i want to be able to one day walk on my hands. i know i'd never get back into it after this, even if it's not the (4/?)

(5/?) problem. anyways, sorry, there's a lot to say, i'll try to hurry this up. recently after reading something they flared, when it started happening nearly every time i move, then went down a little, and have stayed that way for about a week. the exercises have been making me feel a little stronger, and i just don't think they're doing this. but, i kept mentioning it. my pain. asking if people could hear it. only my sister cares to listen. she always cares. always listens. (5/?)

(6/?) mental or physical health she's there for me. she keeps saying that i really should go to the doctor, so i keep asking. i mentioned the knee thing to my mom. she said she kept researching but couldn't find anything narrow enough to be diagnosable. that i should just wear the shoes that i can't stand, stop the exercises, start up again with walking when my body calms down, as if it will. i can't stop now. but i don't think she'll take me. i think i have to wait till something bad (6/?)

(7/?) especially after the thing i read, i don't want to wait. i don't want to ignore the signs. if i could save myself so much pain, why can't i try? just two or three days ago i was getting into school when my hip started to hurt. the hallways are one way, so i have to walk around nearly the entire school to get to my class, and i only had a few minutes to get there. i just told myself to keep walking. ignore the fact that i could barely put weight on my right leg. i had to get to (7/8)

(8/?) class. but pushing doesn't work. i pushed to go to the doctor. i got in an argument. i had stuff to do and i was starting to cry, so i just said i wouldn't bring it up anymore. i'd stop. my sister's an adult. i just realized i can ask her to take me. if another bad thing happens, i will. if they flare up again, i will tell my parents that i need to go to the doctor. if they won't, i'll ask my sister. i don't want to. i know my mom tries. she said normally she would, but covid. (8/?)

(9/?) but i have to go. maybe it's nothing, or maybe i will have to stop doing the exercises, and break my heart a little bit more as i give up on another goal. but i have to. i have to. i can't cripple myself for life because i wouldn't go. i have no idea what could happen to me one day or some day soon even if i don't. maybe i'm just overreacting and i'm fine and it's growing pains but i haven't grown in 1 1/2 years and it hurts. and i'm so so tired. been reading, sorry it's like prose (9/9).

I sent an ask about my joints recently? Yeah, well, this. yesterday I was hesitantly diagnosed with Hypermobility Syndrome, pretty wide across my body but mainly in my lower body. basically the doctor said, that since it's the best guess, I need to go to Physical Therapy and try to strengthen my tendons and joints. so obviously I'm so glad to have a solution, maybe not be in so much pain anymore, but at the same time, I like being a little bendy. I'm not stretchy, not good at gymnastics (1/2)

(2/2) or whatever, but I do like feeling a little different. so I guess it's just like, what if PT makes it so I'm not bendy anymore? is it like those metaphors where you break a stick, then put a bunch together and can't break it? or am I folding the stick in half, forsaking mobility for strength? and I don't think that a diagnosis for an actual chronic illness has hit me yet, I know I'll be more nervous when my first PT comes in 3 days, but I still feel normal.

Hypermobile anon here, I believe I said I wished it was something a little more for some reason? Yeah, well, good news, I don't anymore. My pain is like, I'm in so much pain, but not actually that much, and I know that I both am and aren't, and it doesn't actually feel like that much, but it is? My point is, tonight's been really bad and I'm starting to think it's good the friend I tend to go outside on walks and stuff with was busy. Also, my mom, in complimenting my drive, (1/2)

(2/2) said that while my sibling was told to do physical therapy to keep their hand working and didn't do it as much as they should, I was doing physical therapy regularly and faithfully to stop my joints from aching. I know my family, mostly my parents, has lots of issues and then just powers through, but you'd think that my mom, who has a bunch going on (allergies, diabetes, random undiagnosable stuff), would understand chronic illness. To her, my joints ache. Sorry, it's not actually too bad.

Hi Anon,

First thing, so so sorry for the delay on this one. And it’s great that you have continued writing in with updates!

Thank goodness you did keep pushing and get your diagnosis (even if it may be a hesitant one)! You really could have ended up struggling for a long time. Arthritis would have been another guess if your doctor hadn’t come to Hypermobility Syndrome.

Hopefully your doctor is treating this seriously, but remember that if any doctor is trying to ignore your concerns, you can very clearly say to them, “If you’re not going to do tests I want it noted in my chart.”

From the advice of a lot of chronically ill folks, it is also strongly recommended to get your vitamin levels checked, especially b12, iron, and vitamin d. These can actually cause joint symptoms if they’re low enough and lots of things can affect your absorption of them.

It is definitely still possible to build muscle and continue to be flexible. It takes quite a lot of bulk to start limiting your range of movement, and physical therapy will probably be gradual enough that you can assess your flexibility as you go.

As far as feeling “normal”, having chronic illness actually is really common! In 2012, the National Health Council stated that roughly 133 million people in the U.S. were dealing with some kind of chronic condition.

It is awful that you’re in so much pain. Your doctor should also be helping you manage that, since strengthening your muscles isn’t going to be an immediate solution. That takes time, but you’re in a lot of pain right now. Anti-inflammatory painkillers can help with joint pain, and heat treatments like warm baths, hot water bottles, and heat-rub creams can be useful too. Beyond that, you might need prescription treatments.

Your mom is probably just trying to encourage you, but it’s small comfort compared to the level of pain you’re dealing with. People will often deal with chronic illness in different ways, especially different generations. It might help to find groups online that are dealing with similar issues, or chronic conditions in general. Places like reddit, facebook, etc will have groups or subreddits dedicated to creating a community, so you can share your experiences and find other people dealing with the same issues. You might ask your physical therapist if there are any in-person or online support groups locally.

You’ll have to find a way to manage your chronic illness, your way. If your mom doesn’t understand it, don’t worry about her. You got this. And your sister’s got your back.

-Kai, bun

#chronic illness #pain #diagnosis #doctors #family #sister #parents #mom #joint pain #hypermobility syndrome #treatment #physical therapy #medicine #long post

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fleckcmscott · 5 years

Text

Watch What Happens - Chapter 12

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Angst, Swearing, Smut

Words: 3,526

A/N: Again, special thanks to @rommies for beta-ing this!

Y/N had to do a double-take at the clock when she woke up: 3:40 AM. Normally she stirred around six. Regardless of the early hour, she couldn't stop a wide smile from breaking out across her face. Even if it meant she'd be a little hazy at work, she wouldn't mind having a couple extra hours with Arthur. She rolled over and stretched, reaching out to his side of the bed. It was empty, but his warmth lingered. Closing her eyes and moving to snuggle into his pillow, she thought of his mouth against her neck, the heady feeling of his lithe, surprisingly powerful body rutting into her, his startled look after she'd come. She giggled, hoping he'd hurry back for a second round.

It occurred to her that it'd been a bit foolhardy to sleep with him already. But about eighty-seven percent of her knew she had already fallen for him. That wouldn't have changed if she'd put off propositioning him for another couple of weeks. However, she wasn't sure she would have pressed so soon if she'd known she'd be his first. He'd been so nervous at the beginning - she'd almost felt predatory, with him standing there in his jacket, looking uncomfortable. But once he'd assured her that he wanted it, wanted her, as much as she desired him, she thought it had been wonderful.

But she was left with questions, all of which were related to the same theme. He'd briefly mentioned his acute loneliness during some of their calls - how on earth could he have been alone his whole life? What had happened? There were ten million people in Gotham - surely he must have been noticed by someone. It didn't make sense.

When they'd lain together in the dark, her head next to his, her fingers playing with the sparse hair on his chest, she'd tried to find out. "I really don't understand," she'd said. "I would have snapped you up if I found you a decade ago. Were you hiding from your mother in some dark Gotham subway tunnel?" she'd teased. When she'd sensed his discomfort, she tickled his ribs gently.

He'd snorted and stopped her hand, placed it flat against his stomach. "No." It was silent for a few minutes, then he'd turned to her, boosted up on his arm. In the dim light from the windows, she could see uncertainty in his eyes. "Is it a problem?"

"Not in the slightest." She’d stroked his hair, now completely loose from the gel he’d used to slick it back. "I just want to know you."

Arthur had nodded and let out a soft hum. His voice was tinged with sadness when he finally answered. "Stop worrying about me." The kiss he'd pressed to her forehead had been faint. "Go to sleep. You have work tomorrow." She'd narrowed her eyes at him before agreeing, rolling over and drifting off with his chest against her back, his arm around her waist.

Sitting up, Y/N looked at the clock again. It was just past four and he still hadn't returned. Maybe his bashfulness had gotten the best of him and he'd gone home. She turned on the bedside lamp and looked at the chair. A breath of relief came when she saw his clothes were still there. She got up, grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed, and tied it around herself as she made her way to the bedroom door. Slowly, she cracked it open and peered out.

Arthur was seated on her couch, leaning forward, writing in his joke book. He'd put the lamp on, so she could see him clearly in the soft light. He was muttering to himself as he wrote, words she couldn't make out. A quiet chuckle escaped him; she assumed he was practicing the delivery of his jokes.

Every few seconds he stopped, sometimes putting the pen down, other times fiddling with a piece of his hair before writing again. His cigarettes and lighter were out, but she didn't smell any smoke. That meant he must have been on the fire escape, even though he was only in his trousers, it was the middle of the night, and freezing outside. She smiled at the sight of his toes wiggling in his white socks.

During a particularly long pause, when he looked pensive, she stepped out and towards him. He didn't seem to notice her at first. But when she got closer, he quickly shut the notebook and looked up at her, eyes wide. He cleared his throat and tried to smooth his hair. "Hi."

She sat next to him on the couch and kissed his cheek. "Hi. Working on new material for next time?"

Slowly, he sat back against the cushions. But he didn't turn to her. "Something like that."

Her hand reached to lay on his abdomen, gently stroking the firm muscle there. "When did you wake up?"

"I didn't sleep."

She could tell the usual tension he held in his body had returned. Trying to ease it, she bent her head to his shoulder. "It's hard to sleep in a new place." She let her eyes fall to the notebook. It was close enough for her to read the cover:

City of Gotham Department of Health Case no. 064823 Therapist: Dr. Kane Patient: Fleck, Arthur

She swallowed. Having a case and therapist assigned at the Department of Health meant he'd had problems in the past. That he'd posed a risk to someone else or, more likely, himself. And he'd either been distrusted or too poor to get help on his own. Given his apartment, the nature of his job, and his disabled mother, she assumed it was the second option. But she couldn't ascertain how long ago whatever happened happened. It could have been years. Or months.

His knees started to bounce, and she watched as he started to chew his thumbnail. She nestled against his jaw. "You can talk to me. I'm not planning on going anywhere."

They sat in silence for awhile before Y/N backed away and rested on her legs, looking at his profile. His brows were pinched together, and a glower was on his face. He appeared to be focused on his lap. When she traced his smile line, his skin twitched. "Why did you invite me here?" Arthur breathed.

She flinched. "What?" Frowning, she lowered her hand. "How can you-"

"What is this?" He continued. "I'm a party clown. I live with my mother. I don't even understand what your job is."

The hurt that had initially flashed through her faded as she understood. His ever present self-doubt was back. Her words were spoken kindly but firmly. "I lived with my father when I cared for him. And no, I never would have thought to hire a party clown. I still wouldn't - unless it was you. And, yes, I have a good job and education. They're important to me, but they’re not everything."

A bitter huff left him. "I've lost every job I've ever had. No matter how hard I try to do good, I fuck up." He rubbed his face and sighed. "I'm gonna fuck this up, too."

She scooted closer, kneeling next to him so she could try to pull him into her arms. He remained stiff, apart from nudging his forehead against her when she kissed it.

"I know you saw my medications when you came over." His tone was soft, full of trepidation. "I can imagine what you must think."

"That you take medication." Even as she said it, Y/N knew the answer was too easy, especially with his notebook sitting right there. But, for the moment, she needed it to be. And she thought he needed it, too. "I took medication for a little while. I would have lost it if I hadn't." She winced, remembering all the times she'd failed and how poorly she'd handled the end stages of care giving. She gestured to the joke book. "You're obviously trying. You're driven to follow your crazy, amazing dream of being a comedian. You care for your mother. You do fucking housework."

That got a snort out of him, but he sniffled and wiped his nose nervously. "They weren’t just for my condition." The way his voice trembled made her stomach ache. His hand followed the edge of her coffee table as he bent forward, elbows on his knees. "They were for... Because..." He closed his eyes and laughed softly, shaking his head.

Y/N started caressing his oddly jutting shoulder blade, her touch running down his spine. Her palm lay flat against his ribs. His heart was pounding, and she could feel the slight tremor in his frame as his breath hitched. "Arthur," she started, wanting to protect him, and, if she was honest, part of herself. "Tell me when you're ready. Not because you're afraid of my reaction when I find out." She kissed the top of his bicep. "I trust you," she said.

Even with her reassurance, he was still radiating anxiety minutes later. She nudged his side. “I think we’ve reached some sort of milestone,” she quipped, hoping to see his dimples again. “We’ve both gotten emotional on my sofa. In record time.”

At that, Arthur chuckled and started to relax, eventually leaning back against the arm of the couch and pulling her to him. She snuggled deeper into his embrace, nuzzling his face. "Y/N,” he said, his voice soft and raspy, “until a little while ago, it was like no one ever saw me." His eyes shut as he scoffed. "Even I didn't know if I really existed."

"You do," she said firmly, squeezing him tight around the middle. "You do."

"I do," he confirmed, pulling back to look at her. She smiled as his thumb traced her bottom lip. "You're the best thing in my life. The only good thing. I..."

Y/N froze for a split second, and was glad he didn't seem to notice. Being put on a pedestal was the last thing she wanted.

Though, she thought, he was one of the best things to happen to her, too.

"I'm just me, Arthur. I'm nothing special. And that's fine. I'm good with that."

He looked bewildered. "Why do you keep saying that? You're wrong."

"Psh. You haven't known me long enough." She smirked at him. "I'm eventually going to pester you to the point where you'll answer any questions with a grunt until I leave the room."

He leaned into her. "That won’t happen,” he said before his mouth met hers. It started off tender, but soon it turned hard, his lips groping at her. When he broke their connection, resting his forehead on hers, she noticed how labored his breathing had become. Groaning, he bent to kiss her again, tilting his head as his tongue pressed against her.

Despite his messy eagerness, and perhaps because of it, Y/N’s core started to ache. The memory of him inside her, stretching and searing her with his generous girth, was enough to prompt a whimper. She pulled him to her as she lay down. He followed, hands moving next to her head to hold himself up.

Admiring the toned, slender musculature of his thin frame, she stroked down his chest and over his stomach. When she traced the line of faint hair leading to his groin, he moaned in her mouth. God, he was making her wet again already. “I want you,” she purred, reaching to unbutton his pants.

Gently, Arthur caught her wrist. “Um.” He winced and looked away from her. “I need another hour or two. I’m - I’m sorry.”

The embarrassment on his face tugged at her. They weren’t teenagers. And when she’d taken one medication, her sex drive had gone dormant. Hell, it could happen to anyone. She kissed his temple and resumed her caresses, smiling at him. “It’s all right. Should I take a long lunch break and stop by your apartment?” Her voice dropped. “I promise I can be quiet.”

“No, but…” He swallowed, his eyes flicking to hers. “I don’t know how to ask this.” A blush crossed his face as he moved to kneel in front of her on the floor. He pulled her to him, holding her against his chest. When his mouth met hers, it was hot, bolder than she’d expected.

The bottom of her robe hitched up around her waist as she opened her legs, allowing him to pull her flush against him. Her hips jerked, feeling how close his abdomen was to her vulva. “Arthur, don’t be so damn polite,” she breathed. “God, you make me so horny.” She laughed at herself as she said it. It had been a long time since someone had inspired her to be brazen - it was fun.

“Do I?” he answered playfully, mildly surprising her, as his lips trailed to her neck. He reached for the tie of her robe and pulled slowly, his voice lowering, a little more serious. “How?”

Y/N arched into his hands when he tenderly palmed her breasts, kisses ghosting against her sternum. “By being you.” Her fingertips followed the diagonal lines of muscle starting under his arms, around to his back. The heat of his skin sunk into her. “And it doesn’t hurt that you’re beautiful.”

“Sure,” he said sarcastically, kissing the underside of her breast.

As his lips went lower, across her stomach, she dragged her thumb over his dark brow. “You are.”

When his mouth traversed her abdomen and pressed above her pubic bone, she realized where he was headed. She let out a shuddering breath and stilled, heat pooling in her throbbing center. He stopped, his eyes closed. After a few seconds, she stroked back his hair. “Arthur, you don’t have to-”

“Do you want me to stop?” he interrupted quietly.

“Definitely not.” She giggled. “I’m just surprised you want to do that already.”

“Already?” he scoffed. He looked up at her. The shy determination in his eyes stole her breath. His grip on the outside of her thighs tightened. “I’ve- I’ve wanted you since you saw me at the donut shop.” The bridge of his nose pressed against her hip. “After you touched me. And I knew I didn’t make you up,” he murmured.

That admission, that he’d pined for her after two brief interactions, would have alarmed her if she didn’t know him. Now it made her shiver. Her fingers grazed the plains of his handsome face, sweeping over his cheekbone. It marveled her how he could be simultaneously heartbreaking and arousing.

His left hand moved to her inner thigh and slowly pushed it, spreading her legs further. When he lifted his head to look at her, it stunned her. Then she dared to look, too. Her folds were glistening and swollen, engorged to the point where the hood was peeking out from her labia, and she could see a hint of the edges of her inner lips. She jumped lightly when he opened her with his thumbs, his damp breath hitting her.

A man had never just stared at her before. It was starting to make her uncharacteristically self-conscious. She squirmed a bit. She was about to open her mouth and, probably, ruin the moment when he pressed a kiss to her sex.

Automatically, her hips rolled towards his mouth, her legs twitching. The round tip of his nose brushed against her bundle of nerves as he nuzzled against her. Quickly, he parted his lips and pressed his tongue against her opening, then dragged it up to her sensitive nub. “Arth-Arthur…” The need in her own voice surprised her. At the cry of his name he exhaled sharply, and his hands went back to her thighs, holding them open.

She was trying to control her reactions. As far as she knew, he hadn’t done this before (though judging by how he was doing, he must have at least read up on it). She didn’t want to buck into his face and freak him out. But it was getting harder for her to concentrate on holding back. When they’d started, the tightly wound string inside her had already been on the verge of snapping. As the tip of his tongue swept against her clit, her hand went to his hair, holding gently. Her other went his shoulder and squeezed.

“Fuck, there,” she gasped. His lips were stroking her clitoral hood the way they would seek out her mouth. Leaning back against the sofa cushions, she thrust up against him carefully, pleasure spiking through her. One foot was planted on the floor, while she tried to brace the other on the coffee table. But the table lurched forward unexpectedly and she lost her grip on it, causing her leg to fall onto Arthur’s back.

He let out a slight “oof” and pushed his forehead against her abdomen, chuckling as he shrugged off her leg. “I’m trying to concentrate,” he said, amused.

“Sorry!” In the next second, his tongue was back on her, and her laughter turned to a moan. “Oh, god,” she breathed. He groaned against her, then, and the vibration caused her to roll up harder against him. She thought he must he liked it, because his strong hands went to her hips, pulling her tighter to him.

Gazing down at him, she brushed his loose curls out of his face. The sight of his mouth on her, his jaw moving, his lips and tongue working, forced a whine out of her. He must have felt her stare, because he opened his eyes and met hers, just for a moment. A flush rose up his neck and spread to his face, which charmed her. How could her looking at him cause that reaction when he was laving at her the way he was - and obviously enjoying it? His eyelids shut as he picked-up speed.

He became bolder as his tongue quickened, his lips closing over her hardened clit and gently sucking. Unable to hold herself up any longer, she let her head fall back. Her other hand joined the one in his hair, holding him to her as her hips moved faster, seeking contact. Her whole body was tightening as her movements started stuttering, her cries getting louder and more unintelligible as he licked and sucked her off.

The tension inside her finally broke as she came, pulsing against his mouth. Warmth spread through her as she curled up towards him, her arms coming around his head and shoulders. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. Her breathing stopped every few seconds, followed by deep gasps as she tried to gulp air into her lungs. Arthur was still between her legs, tonguing at her. She had to push him back when it started to hurt.

She saw him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand before he rose and embraced her, holding her to him as she quivered. His lips were on her breasts and neck before pressing, hard, against her mouth. She hissed as he thrust his abdomen against her, pinching her brows together as he ground against her clit. When she steadied her breath and opened her eyes and gazed up at him, he looked pleased. And a little smug. She liked that on him for a change.

Her hands cupped his face, bringing him to her, and she kissed him deeply. “Arthur… God.”

His palm went to her chest, over her heart. “Are you all right?” The corner of his lip went up. “Are you gonna have a heart attack?”

“It’d be worth it.” Thrilled, she leaned her forehead against him. “Should I add this to Dr. Sally’s thank you card?”

Making a non-committal hum, he wrapped his arms around her waist and laid his head on her shoulder. His eyelashes tickled her neck as his eyes fluttered shut.

It was quiet then. The intense rush of emotions she felt, holding him to her, was unexpected. Especially after the easy comfort of last night. She closed her eyes and kissed the top of his head, then rubbed her cheek against it. In this instant, she didn’t have to worry about his troubles or his past. He seemed happy and at peace. Her heart was full. She wrapped her legs around him, trying to extend the moment to forever.

Of course, it didn’t work. Arthur’s voice was soft when he spoke. “I- I should go home. I need to be there before my mother wakes up.”

She bit her lip and nodded. It was obvious he felt bad about leaving. “It’s all right. I understand.” She tightened her thighs’ grip on him before letting him go, though, and smiled when he lifted his head. “I’m having Patricia - a colleague - over tonight. I can call you when she leaves.” His eyebrow lifted. “Then you can come by and I can return the favor,” she said, swatting his bottom lightly.

Blushing, he ducked his head bashfully. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll head over as soon as I hear your voice.” Then he pushed his mouth to hers.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve @clowndaddyfleck @stephieraptorr @rommies @sweet-nothings04 @invisiblewispofwhimsey @let-the-stars-fall-in-the-abyss

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #arthur fleck smut #watchwhathappens

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velvetv0nblack · 4 years

Text

An open letter;

(Possible trigger warning)

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this, maybe because this theme of abuse has be something I’ve been experiencing as a third party, the person removing the victim this time, you know the role many of my friends filled within our tumultuous relationship... maybe it’s because my friends abuser is now threatening and harassing me for helpingher leave... maybe it’s because I’ve finally found my therapeutic dosage of lithium, am in a clear mind and are therefore able to reflect properly for the first time in my life... or maybe it’s because this is not an apology, I mean maybe it is if you had only been a serial cheat, but the truth is you fractured my skull and cut me open with a knife, so this is not a fucking apology. Also I’d rather rip my own eyes out of my skull, smash them with a hammer, and then inject the liquid into my ass than actually engage you in any kind of conversation, so knowing that this is the one platform you can still check for me on, I’m going to post this here... Its about time I had my say without putting myself in physical danger.

You would think I wouldn’t have an essay to correct your 3 lines of a nothing apology, but here we are I guess.

This kind of self deprecating “I wasn’t good enough for you” narrative is truly infuriating, and not because you were actually good enough for me but because of the very reasons you proved yourself not be “not good enough”. You weren’t undeserving of me because you didn’t work, I am physically incapable of doing so myself and I didn’t fall in love with you because you came across mad motivated. You weren’t undeserving of me because you took drugs, drank like a fish or smoked like a chimney, we were both purposefully killing our selves in the same way. You weren’t undeserving of me at all, until you fucked my best friend in the bathroom and collectively gaslit me into wondering if I was imagining the whole thing, and slowly but systematically broke down my confidence and support network away from me. I want this to be very clear; the reason you do not deserve me or any other decent human being is because, you are an abuser, you abuse people.

I was barely a whole person when I met you. I was barely an adult. I had lived through so much already, and had been abused in every area of my existence. I was easy pickings to you. The issue was you were not a pawn to me, a player in any game, or any of that. To me you were this fascinating, beautiful soul, to me you were someone who needed my love who needed someone to support you and I couldn’t believe that you chose me to fill that role. I was freshly 18 that month, and I had just had a flat mate steal £3k and kill my kitten.

I weighed all of 63lbs that night you lost the plot on me because I didn’t want to go to Big Red to watch that actual cunt of a waitress smile at me as she gave you lap dances, it’s not even a dance joint it was a fucking bar. You allowed other people to emotionally abuse me with you for months up until this point and I just didn’t want to go, all I wanted was the keys and I would of gone home alone and gone to bed. Why you feel the need to publicly humiliate me again instead of just leaving it? You couldn’t just go be adulterous without me watching and hurting, so you followed me home, screaming at me the whole time. You told me I was pathetic, you hated me, I should just kill myself- on a bus on a Saturday night, from the bar I worked in, in soho, back to our place near Caledonian Road. I was so unstable anyway, undiagnosed autism, misdiagnosed mental health issues, on the wrong if any medication, deep within the throws of an addiction and eating disorder... you. I couldn’t take you verbally ripping my heart out anymore when I decided that throwing myself from our 3rd story window would hurt less. The fact I could of died isn’t what made you grab me and stop me jumping, no in fact you told me you don’t care if I kill my self as long as it’s not in the flat, you were much more concerned with the amount of drugs in the flat and the prison opposite our window. At that point you threw me full pelt across the other side of the room, all 63lbs of me flew through the air like a paper aeroplane and smashed directly into your guitar. You know your beloved custom Les Paul? The headstock came off, and at that very moment despite the fact you were the one who threw me, my life was the one in danger. You started strangling me and threatening to have men come down to London to gang rape my then 14 year old sister. It gets a little fuzzy, that’s what your brain does when you experience potentially life ending trauma. I do know I ended up with stitches in my lips and hands, that you fractured my right eye socket- that I still suffer issues with to this day- and had black bruising covering my entire body like a bus had hit me.

For a couple of years there my brain completely blocked out important details of that night, and a lot of our relationship. Don’t worry though periodically I have the real type of flashback where I relive these events and I come back to reality remembering more than I ever wanted to. I’m yet to even touch on the fact that whilst I may of been able to escape you in waking life, my dreams are perpetually stuck in this horrific PTSD dream land, a town that is a mash up of all the places I’ve been traumatised in my life, the place you eternally reside inside my head to traumatise me whilst I desperately need to rest. You haven’t really left my life despite the efforts I have made to avoid you (I think I’ve seen you once, from a distance once at Download 2 years ago, my heart fell out my ass, and I dragged Camilla in another direction) I have only 2 dreams in 6 years that haven’t included you chasing me down to finish what you started and kill me or keep me captive. But that’s what trauma does, and oh how you traumatised me.

I really loved you though, that’s why I stayed, and those couple times I tried to leave before I came back. I loved you so unconditionally that it took me realising that everyone else around us was so complicit that they’d help you hide by body. To this very day I cannot believe a man, a male roommate, walked in on you pinning me into a sofa by my neck, with both your planted knees on top of my chest, full weight suffocating me, biting the end of my nose until it was blackened and he had the audacity me I needed to calm down. I have to label the guy the world biggest pussy in my head so I don’t get wound up about it.

I wasn’t perfect, I can never be perfect, I have more imperfections than most. I am severely mentally and physically unwell- I sure as hell am a pain in the ass to love- however I cannot actually think of a damn thing I did to deserve constant unending emotional abuse, threatens and follow through of physical abuse and then after I left stalking and harassment. I am difficult but I am not deserving of abuse and that’s all you gave me in the end... unless of course you “needed your baby girl to suck your dick” - that was the only time you were ever nice to me, and I know because I recently read back a bunch of our texts and you flipped between “I hate you, I’m gonna kill you/kill your self” to “I need my beautiful girl to come and suck my dick I love you so much” is actually fucking insane. - Should I bring up the fact you would bang pathetic girls on the scene and then dicknotise them into stalking and harassing me with you? Because... what I had the audacity to leave a man, of over 6ft tall, who would become violent to my 5ft 63lbs self?

So yeah, you didn’t deserve me, but not because of any self deprecating attention seeking reason but because you’re a sociopath, who seems to take pleasure in fucking with vulnerable women.

Am I happy? Now that’s a fucking difficult one to answer.

I ended up homeless on and off for a year. Despite the homelessness I had suffered before this was worse because of the place I was in mentally.

You caused me to develop complex PTSD.

You caused me to have a 3 year long psychotic break.

You caused me to live in secure supported housing, where I was prayed upon by other residents.

You caused me to fall victim to abuse within the system

Not sure if you know this but our mental health services sucks ass, after leaving you I had a delightful therapist that would text me telling to kill my self and would tell me you were right to abuse me.

But I got one thing from our relationship, I fine tuned my “four Fs” ...I no longer freeze or fight in the face of difficulty... I developed an ability to fawn.

Dead ends are no longer in my eyeline, I will metaphorically straight on walk through someone else’s house to get where I need to be, I will jump the fence, break the locks and out run any guard dog. I may fall down but I’m never out.

When I was diagnosed with multiple chronic illnesses and essentially lived in hospital for 3 years, even when I thought to end my life it was weighed out by the thought of “how do I get to a place we’re I can do even 5% of what I want? What do I have to change, manifest?”.

You see if you could only temporarily break me but not stop me then why the hell would I let my own mind and body do that? That ability to fawn came with an ability to find a middle path, to be diplomatic. That ability to fawn gave me the patience to understand medical text and use that to access the right care. ~ I am actually thinking of starting a medical degree just to prove I can ~ I am now 98lbs and healthy for my size and stature, I now have a home with a housing association who like me so much they have me a lifetime partner agreement, meaning I will never be homeless again. I have been clean 7 whole goddamn years and 2 months. I have the most beautiful empathic cat, 2 foster dogs and an incredibly patient partner, who has known me before you had ever entered my life. I am as healthy as someone in my position can be, I still struggle with the anorexic thoughts but I eat everyday of the fucking week now.

I am not “happy” as happy is an emotion and emotions are fleeting but I am content in living for the simple life I have fought ever so hard for. I am strong, and determined and constantly fucking working on making more for myself. I’m proud of myself.

All I have to say is get therapy. If you’re really sorry work on yourself enough to be able to apologise properly before you fuck my day up by rising your head again for this weakness. I can’t say I don’t have morbid curiosity, because that’s me all over, however I’m much more determined to keep all that I have work for mentally, emotionally, and physically safe. For that reason I would never in my right medicated mind talk it out with you, email you back or seek you out. I’m sorry, it is what it is.

You can not damage someone irreparably both mentally and physically and think “I’m sorry for being a cunt” even close to cuts it. You are mentally unbalanced, in a way not even I can relate to.

#what was the point #open letter to my abuser #its not 2014 anymore buddy

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