#it took years of work from my previous (good) therapist to get me to admit it was okay to be sensitive at all | 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]

52 notes · View notes

barelytolerabled · 1 year

Text

Part 04

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: This chapter delves into your tragic backstory and the impact it has had on your life and your work. We see how your past trauma has affected your mental health and your ability to form personal relationships.

previous | next

You sat on your couch, your eyes fixed on the book in your lap, but your mind elsewhere. You knew you had to face your past, but the thought of it made your chest tighten. You were a woman of secrets, the kind of secrets that weighed heavily on your shoulders. As you sat there, deep in thought, you heard a knock on your door. You got up and opened it. "Hey," you said when you saw your colleague. "Is everything okay?" Reid asked, sensing the unease in your voice.

"I don't know," you admitted. "I just feel like I can't focus on anything lately. My mind keeps wandering, and I'm making stupid mistakes at work."

Reid took a seat next to you back on the couch, his eyes fixed on you. "What's been going on?"

You hesitated, unsure if you were ready to share you deepest secrets with anyone. You had always been good at keeping your emotions in check, but lately, it had been harder and harder to keep up the facade. Finally, you decided to take the plunge.

"I had a difficult childhood," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "My father was abusive, and he died with my mother in a car accident when I was six. After that, I spent a few years in foster care before my grandmother took me in."

Reid listened intently as you opened up about your difficult past and the traumatic events that had shaped your life. You talked about your struggle with depression and anxiety and the way it affected your work. Reid listened patiently, letting you get everything off your chest.

"I'm so sorry, Yn," Reid said softly. "You've been through so much, and it's amazing that you've made it this far."

“But then I met Tom”, you smiled. “I thought I’d never move on when he died, but I did eventually”

You sighed, feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders just by talking about your past with someone who understood.

“Spence?”

Spencer looked at you, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Yeah?"

“The team warned me about your thing with germs, but," you looked up at him, hesitating. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable or anything."

Spencer smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I can hold you," he said softly.

You wrapped your arms around him and placed your head on his neck, closing your eyes. You felt safe in his embrace, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t alone.

But as the days went on, your personal demons continued to affect your work. You made mistakes during interviews, missed important details in case files, and became increasingly distant from your colleagues. One day, after a particularly bad day at work, you found yourself sitting in a therapist's office, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I don't know why I'm here," you said, feeling foolish.

"You're here because you need help," the therapist said gently. "It's okay to ask for help."

Over the next few weeks, you began to confront your past traumas, with the support of your colleagues. You started to see a change in yourself, a sense of clarity you haven’t felt in years. But you knew there was still a long road ahead.

As the team worked on a new case, you found yourself struggling to maintain your focus. You couldn't shake the feeling that the killer was targeting young girls who reminded you of yourself as a child. You felt a sense of responsibility to catch the killer and protect the girls.

But your obsession with the case began to take a toll on your mental health once again. You couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, and your mind raced with every new piece of evidence they found.

It was a humid evening, and you have spent the day cooped up in your apartment, surrounded by piles of case files and empty takeout containers. As a BAU agent working on a high-profile murder case, you were used to long hours and hard work, but tonight felt different. The weight of your past was crushing you, threatening to drown you in a sea of anxiety and despair.

You tried to focus on the task at hand, reviewing the evidence and analyzing the clues, but your mind kept drifting back to the memories that haunted you. The night your parents died, the years of abuse at the foster care, the failed relationships, the death of Tom and missed opportunities. You felt like you were suffocating under the weight of it all.

Just as you were about to give up and crawl into bed, there was a knock on your door. You dragged yourself to your feet and opened it, expecting to see one of your neighbors.

Instead, it was Reid, the quiet and intense young agent of the team. He took one look at your exhausted and tear-stained face and knew that something was wrong.

Without a word, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you sobbed uncontrollably. For a moment, you let yourself be vulnerable, letting out all the pain and fear that you have been holding inside for so long.

Finally, you pulled away, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "I'm sorry," you said, your voice hoarse. "I don't know what came over me."

Reid just looked at you with compassion in his eyes. "It's okay," he said softly. "We all have our breaking points. You don't have to do this alone."

You felt a glimmer of hope stir inside you. For the first time in a long time, you realized that you didn't have to carry the weight of your past all by yourself. There were people who cared about you, who wanted to help you through the darkness.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Reid just smiled and took your hand, leading you to the couch. "Let's talk," he said. "Maybe we can figure out a way to make things a little easier for you."

Over the next few days, you threw yourself into therapy with renewed determination. You knew that it wouldn't be easy to confront your past and seek help, but you also knew that it was the only way you could move forward and catch the killer. You found comfort in the routine of your daily tasks and the sense of purpose you felt in helping to solve the case.

As you dug deeper into the evidence, you personal connection to the victims gave you a unique insight into the killer's motives and methods. You found yourself relying more and more on Reid, who seemed to understand you in a way that no one else did. They worked late into the night, poring over case files and discussing theories, and you felt a sense of electricity between you and him, a connection that went beyond your shared love of literature.

One night, as you sat in her living room, surrounded by books and papers, you found yourself drawn to Reid's quiet intensity. You couldn't help but admire the way he approached the case with a calm and measured approach, never letting his emotions get the best of him.

"I don't know what I would do without you," you said softly.

Reid looked up from his book, meeting your gaze with a gentle smile.

"You don't have to do anything alone," he said. "We're a team, remember?"

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of gratitude and something more. But as Spencer just said they were a team, colleagues, nothing more.

You were left with a sense of hope for the future. You knew that the journey ahead wouldn't be easy, but with the support of your colleagues and the burgeoning romance with Reid, you felt ready to face whatever came your way.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine

80 notes · View notes

currymanganese · 1 year

Text

I did a pre-relationship prequel to my two other Sydcarmy fics, in which Carmy gets some triggering news and Syd helps to take his mind off of it. Songs mentioned within the fic are found below:

It was still early in the morning, Carmy and Syd were the first to come in, as they usually were, and as they gave the kitchen a quick walkthrough and a once-over they were spit-balling ideas for slight changes and additions to the menu for the upcoming Mother's Day weekend. It wasn't too long before Nat arrived, falling into companionable conversation with the two before she made her way to the office.

She caught Carmy's attention just after they'd finished closing and saying goodbye to the rest of the team later that day, and took him aside privately. He and Syd were going to head to her Dad's apartment as Carmy had begun to make a habit of driving her home at night; Nat didn't want Syd to overhear.

"Hey, Bear...Um, Mom's sixty-sixth birthday is coming up next month..She asked me to invite you? She said she wanted to host the dinner herself, if you don't mind...." Carmy's face screwed up in confusion, "Mom?? Donna?" he choked out. Syd sat waiting a little aways in his car, but was still able to make out the sheer bewilderment on his face. "Yes, Donna, that's our Mom's name Carmy." Nat rolled her eyes slightly and went on, "Look, I'd understand if you don't come, that's fine...But, um, she has been doing a lot better lately, a-a-and if you ever wanna see for yourself the door's open, no pressure, Bear, okay?"

"Okay."

"Alright." Glancing over in Syd's direction and nodding, she tacked on, "Mom said you can bring a plus one if you show-"

Carmy cut her off instantly, "Nat, stop. Just stop. I'll think about it okay, but it'll just be me if I do show up." He sounded pained as he refuted what she'd implied, "You know it's not like that between me and Syd, and even if it was..." He sighed and shook his head, he didn't say any of the quiet parts out loud, "I know you love Mom, Nat, and I love her too, but I don't trust her yet..I care about Syd too much to let her have a front row seat to our family shit-show if the dinner goes belly up like it always does."

Nat relented and squeezed his arm reassuringly before saying goodnight and walking towards Pete's car. He waved goodnight to Pete and entered his own vehicle, apologizing to Syd for the delay. "Um, no problem..Is everything okay?" she asked. At his mild grimace she laughed, "I'll take that as a no.....You can talk about it if you want, or not.." she quickly added. Carmy sighed as he pulled away from the curb. "No, I'm okay, thanks..I'm good," he got out eventually, but he didn't sound convinced even to his own ears.

After another deep sigh he finally admitted to what had made his hackles rise, "Mom's birthday dinner is coming up." It wasn't that they were still estranged or anything, his mother had since come in to the restaurant a few times since opening, and had maintained her best behaviour. His 'step-father', 'Uncle Lee', that sack of shit, had died in the previous year, and by some miracle, instead of spiralling further into drink and grief, she'd started AA a few months after Nat's baby boy, Michael, was born. She was supposedly seven months sober, they hadn't managed to prevail upon her yet to begin seeing the therapist that Carmy and Nat had started seeing, but still she'd made respectable progress. Syd knew about said progress so she replied, breaking up the long pause, "Uh, okay...Your Mom's dinner, this is gonna be a problem because?"

"Mom's hosting it."

"Ohhhh." Syd nodded in understanding and whispered, "Shiiit!"

"Yep." Carmy replied. Syd had innocently assumed that Nat had asked him to arrange a dinner for their Mom at The Bear. She had heard enough about Berzatto family dinners by now, to know that Donna stepping into the role of host and homemaker was a whole other 'sensitive' ballgame, to put things mildly.

As Carmy drove they continued on in peaceful silence until he pulled up before her home. She had been sneaking looks at him during the short trip though, and she didn't like the way he clenched his jaw the whole time, and the way he held on to the steering wheel as if he was holding on for dear life. So before she exited she took a gamble and asked, "Uh, Carmy you wanna come upstairs and hang out for a while? My Dad's coming home soon and I can fix you two something to eat, the three of us can have dinner together.."

Carmy fought back the look of surprise on his face and beamed at her, "Uh, okay..Sure. Thank you!" "Very smooth Carmy", he hated on himself internally, but couldn't help smiling all the way up the flight of stairs to the apartment. Although he'd met Syd's father many times by now, either at The Bear, or in the handful of times they'd tried out new recipes at Syd's place instead of his own, Carmy surprised himself at his own lack of nervousness. It'd be the first time he and Syd hung out together this late at night.

At the door, they both shrugged off their jackets and toed off their shoes. There were some slippers under the small table in the hallway that they put on before they ventured further into the house. Syd was feeling every bit as nervous as Carmy was not, but she was glad to she that she'd successfully taken his mind off of things for a while. She washed her hands and bustled about in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for a simple chicken rice pilaf. Carmy contentedly sat on the other side of the kitchen island and watched her set to work as they made small talk and cracked jokes.

They'd been swapping stories about the weirdest meal requests they'd received from customers when there was a quiet lull in their back and forth. Carmy slipped on a slightly far away look on his face. He swiped his hair back from his forehead, carding his fingers through the strands, and suddenly blurted out, "Do you know she threw up on me in a parent-teacher meeting in middle school?" Syd was absolutely aghast, and gently eased the knife she'd been attacking some chicken parts with down to the cutting board. "Your mom?" She began shaking her head and grimaced, "No Carmy, please tell me she didn't do that."

At her horrified expression, and partly because of his own embarrassment at making such a random non-sequitur of a confession, Carmy couldn't help barking out a laugh which also set Syd to some nervous giggling. Her brow was still furrowed in disgust but his heart somehow felt lighter as he continued, "Yes, she did. Um, some older kids had started beating on me after school whenever Mikey couldn't come pick me up...Uh, they'd, um- called her in to talk about it and she was still hungover, I guess."

He said it with a smile, as if it was funny...A wave of sorrow over his fucked up childhood hit Syd directly in the chest, so she turned away so he couldn't see her blink back tears. "Fuck! I'm so sorry.." was all she could manage to say. Carmy soothed her, "It's alright..It's alright-" and it killed her to hear the genuine smile in his voice. In the past she'd agonize over sensitive conversations like this if they ever came up with friends, they somehow always left her feeling like she never knew the right words to say to comfort someone, or had her thinking that maybe God skipped her over when handing out extra emotional intelligence.

She steadied herself though, and turned to him wearing as neutral an expression as she could've mustered up, she didn't want him to think she was pitying him after all...He was still smiling at her when it all suddenly clicked and she spoke her intuition before she thought better of it, "That wasn't even the worst thing she's done to you, is it?" The smile fell away from his eyes immediately before it evaporated from the rest of his face. He pursed his lips, swallowed, and shook his head. There was her answer, no. It wasn't. He began to blink rapidly, as if trying not to cry, and Syd cursed and flayed herself internally for making him feel even worse instead of breaking up the tension with humour like she usually would. She nervously turned back to the kitchen and washed her hands at the sink. "Uh..D-do you want something to drink? I'm sorry, I forgot to ask earlier-"

Carmy cleared his throat and reined in his raw emotions, "Um. No. It's okay, it's fine, really." Sensing the distress that was pouring off of her in waves, although her back was turned, Carmy kicked himself internally for bringing his Mom up again, and struggled to reassure her, "Syd, don't worry...I'm okay, it was a long time ago..I'm fine, really." And they both knew he was lying. Syd's heart was hammering away in her chest as she racked her brain to find a way to cheer him up and change to subject, but her nerves calmed somewhat as she took in his words.

What always made her feel better when she was at her absolute worst? Could she share that part of herself? Fuck it, it was worth a shot, she thought and breathed out, "Uh..Hey, I'm not tryna' be a dick or rub this in your face or anything..But, um, do you wanna maybe meet my mom?" Carmy looked mildly confused for a second and said, "Um, sure?" Syd laughed at his befuddled look and dried her hands on a kitchen towel, "Relax, it doesn't involve a ouija board, I promise. Just give me a minute-" Syd made a mental fist-pump as she heard him burst out laughing as she went to her Dad's room to fetch their family photo album, and to collect her phone from her bag.

Before she set her items down she started to excitedly stammer on about her Mom, "Umm, this sounds kinda pretentious, but my Mom was like an amateur 'world music' collector, although Dad said she hated that term, she said it was too like, white people-y, um I mean Eurocentric, but uh- she left behind a lot of old records from all over the place- they kinda, well not really kinda- they really fucking help me when I'm really stressed out- they're pretty chill actually-so, uh, it doesn't sound as good as vinyl-and some of them were CDs too- So I digitized whatever I couldn't find on streaming and also made a playlist. I could share it with you if you'd like- shit! I'm rambling aren't I-"

Between Syd's concern for him and the adorable way she was sharing something that was so personal about herself, just for him, Carmy was fucking melting. He was smiling at her while blushing profusely, he blinked and interrupted her, "Uh, no. It's fine, I'd love that Syd. Thank you, that'd be great, I mean it." Syd breathed a small sigh of relief and made a dramatic show of placing her Mom's photo album on the counter before him, "Young sir, I present to you, Her Majesty, Hélène Lovell-Adamu." He thanked her as she connected her phone to the living room's bluetooth stereo and placed her Mom's music on shuffle, and he quietly thumbed through the album before she turned back to continue preparing the meal. Her mother was gorgeous, she was also so shockingly young. He felt a pang of regret that she would never get to see the wonderful woman her daughter had become.

He'd never heard the first song that began to play before, he hadn't expected that he would have, and he paused to listen. A woman's soulful voice dispelled the silence,

"Never knew what a fool I was until I met you,

Never knew I'd give my heart and you would be untrue,

The whole world told me I was wrong to be with you,

But my mama told me- I would never fall,

I was born to shine!"

Out of his peripheral vision, Carmy could see Syd had stilled as the second verse began. She turned to face him as the vocalist continued,

"Ever since I was a child, they tried to keep me down,

Everything that I did- it was oh so wrong!

Let me tell you something- I'm gonna do what I wanna do!

Cause my mama told me I would never fall,

I was born to shine!"

Carmy was shocked to see Syd's eyes were watering, she blinked it back and laughed nervously over the chorus,

"Shine, baby, shine!

Let them see where you're going to!

Shine, baby, shine!

Let them follow you!

Shine on!”

"My Dad said- this was one of the choruses my Mom used to sing to me before bed...When they knew that she was getting worse..I don't remember that."

"Fuck!" Carmy's face crumpled and he couldn't help but swear. "Yes, fuck, indeed-" Syd softly agreed. As the music continued, the sound of her Dad's key jangling in the door lock broke the moment, Syd dried her eyes with the fabric of her shirt's sleeve using her forearm and turned back to the stove where the pilaf was already bubbling away. Carmy cleared his throat and stood as Mr. Adamu entered through the front door, and greeted him when he came to investigate the source of the music and the lovely smell wafting from the kitchen.

He greeted Carmy in return and as Carmy sat back down, he looked between him and Syd, his expression giving nothing away, and he sat next to Carmy at the small island countertop as if Carmy lived in the place for just as long as Syd did. "Goodnight baby, what are you making?" Carmy couldn't be sure, but her Dad sounded amused for some reason.

"Chicken pilaf," Syd lowered the heat and spoke over her shoulder, "it should be ready in about 15 minutes."

"Ooh, thank you. I'm looking forward to it," came his easy reply.

"Today was a long day, what was business like for you guys?" he prompted Carmy as he placed his hands on the counter and nodded at Carmy.

Carmy began relating some of the foibles and triumphs of The Bear's kitchen that day and Syd's Dad noticed the photo album that Carmy still gently held in his hands. "Huh," he thought to himself, "she brought out her Mom and her own baby photos for him." He smiled and laughed along to Carmy's choppy recounting of the day's events, and at Syd's interruptions when she supplied moments Carmy had missed. Emmanuel Adamu hadn't known what to make of Carmy and his partnership with his daughter at first, he'd resented him after seeing her hurt and angry after she'd quit because of his foul tempermental outburst at The Beef. To his shock and trepidation they'd patched things up relatively quickly and they plunged into opening the new restaurant together.

It didn't take long for Mr. Adamu to suspect that there was something that the two of them were hiding from him, or at least lying to themselves about, where their relationship was concerned. He had an inkling that there was something between them the first day he met Carmen during lunch at The Bear, both he and Syd came out front to serve his meal, grinning proudly and shushing him when he insisted they didn't have to come out and see him. They didn't stay out front for long, but in the short time that Syd introduced them to each other and they exchanged pleasantries, he saw the way Carmy looked at her when she spoke. Carmy looked at her as if he hung on to her every word, and as if he was memorizing her face to map down every detail.

Later on, to make matters worse, or better, provided that everything worked out between them, when they came over to try new recipes together he saw his 'no-nonsense' little girl, now a young lady really, snorting and laughing at Carmy's dry jokes, his mundane comments, and his shy smiles, as if she was in the audience at a Richard Pryor special. Once, he'd even seen Carmy reach out to smooth Syd's eyebrows with his thumb, after she'd slightly mussed her natural brows after pulling on a sweater over her shirt before they left the apartment after one of their home cooking sessions. Carmy had pulled his hand back quickly at Syd's momentary look of confusion, before motioning to his own brows with his hands, "Um, you kinda messed up your eyebrows." Syd had then yelped and scampered off to fix them. Although she denied everything anytime he brought Carmy up to tease her, he was beginning to hope he might actually see his and Hélène's own grandchildren yet. Despite his approval, however, Mr. Adamu decided to bide his time and not to meddle between the two of them.

By the time Syd was plating up the meal and Mr. Adamu grabbed some drinks from the fridge, the music had segued from K. Frimpong's Hwe Hwe Mu Na Yi Wo Mpena, to Poncho Sanchez's Baila Baila, and Paco de Lucia's Rio Ancho. As they sat down together, Stevie Wonder's With Each Beat of My Heart started up. The food was a delight and the company was even better, although Carmy felt himself flushing at the way the ballad's lyrics eerily reflected his own emotions. Syd and her Dad kept up the flow of conversation between bites, and Carmy was happy to just listen in to them as the playlist glided to Bob Marley's Stir It Up. At one point, he'd clearly missed a turn in the conversation though, he'd been looking at Syd, but Syd was now looking at him wide eyed, was she embarrassed about something? And Mr. Adamu, who sat to his side, turned to face him as well. At Carmy's apparent confusion, Mr. Adamu helpfully supplied what was previously said while Carmy was lost in Syd's eyes, "Sydney was telling you, that she doesn't know if it means much, because she doesn't really remember her-"

"Dad!"

Sydney's father pressed on with a twinkle in his eyes, "-but she thinks that her Mom would have liked you if she'd met you." There was a long pause as Carmy went crustacean red-pink. He chuckled nervously and Syd groaned inwardly, silently berating herself, "Oh my God, why the fuck would I say that aloud?!" Carmy perked up a bit though, actually met Mr. Adamu's eyes and quietly asked, "Um..Would she?" Mr. Adamu teased mildly, "I couldn't say for sure...." He began laughing at the obvious dismay on Carmy's face, "I'm sorry, ha ha! I couldn't say for sure, but Hélène considered anyone who loved her daughter a dear friend."

A happily awkward pause stretched on as Ali Farka Toure and Ry Cooder's Soukora began to play. Mr. Adamu made an obviously bogus claim that he forgot to buy toothpaste before coming home, and excused himself, saying he was heading down to the corner store to pick up a few things, leaving Syd and Carmy to clear the dishes. As the music swept through the apartment, neither of them knew what the lyrics meant, but Carmy could swear that his heart stopped.

Ali Farka Toure sang on,

"My love it is night now,

Wait for me my love.

I love you.

And I love the night.

I like it when it is peaceful at night,

Wait for me my love,

it is night now.

Just wait for me my darling."

Their eyes were locked on each other's faces, they sat stock still during the length of the song, and during the instrumental crescendo Carmy felt as if someone clamped a vise around his heart and SQUEEZED. He didn't know it at the time, but in that moment Syd felt the exact same way. When the song ended Syd awkwardly cleared her throat as Kassav's Wep came on and she began collecting plates and utensils, Carmy stood to help her and they brought the items to the kitchen sink in silence. Syd rinsed them under the tap water and Carmy loaded them into the dishwasher.

They hadn't yet made eye contact since they'd left the table, and the playlist shuffled to The Meter's Love Is For Me. Carmy finally turned and met Syd's eyes, "Syd..thank you for everything tonight, I needed it." Sydney's eyes were soft, and her voice was even softer, "No problem Carmy, it was my pleasure." They looked at each other for a long moment and drifted closer together, until they were a hair's breadth apart, and they eyed each other's lips as the lead singer sang,

"I believe everything about you baby!"

- and the band replied,

"I believe!

I believe!

I believe!"

And at that moment, of all times, Mr. Adamu walked into the living room. The spell was comprehensively broken. Carmy was as red as a cherry and he and Syd practically leapt apart as if someone had dashed a bucket of cold water over them.

"Don't let me stop you two." Mr. Adamu smiled. "Of course Syd's Dad would say something like that!" Carmy thought to himself as he and Syd began sputtering and wheezing out in nervous brays of laughter. Carmen ran his hand through his hair and looked between Syd and Mr. Adamu before he said, "Um, I should get going...Thanks a lot for tonight Syd, thanks for having me Mr. Adamu." He shook hands with Mr. Adamu, grabbed his jacket, put back on his shoes, and left.

"You're not gonna see him off downstairs? Did you get to kiss him?" Syd's Dad asked 'innocently'. "DAD!" Syd felt like an idiot as the first notes of The Funkees' Now I'm A Man began drifting from the stereo. She turned to the kitchen sink and hoped her father didn't see her tearing up in her disappointment. She felt so stupid, after all the denial it had finally hit her like a ton of bricks, of course she loved Carmy. Who else would she love? Her father remained standing where he was, but he didn't give up easily this time, unlike in times past. He pushed, "Sydney baby, I want you to be honest with me, but most importantly, I want you to be honest with yourself. That man who just left is your best friend, right?"

"Yes, Dad." Syd weakly replied, she was sniffling a little. "Do you at least know he's your husband?" Sydney wheeled on her father, "Dad, please! I don't wanna talk about this right now- I haven't. We haven't-! Nobody's even brought that up! He hasn't even told me he likes me, fuck!"

"Watch your language, baby." Her father still had the audacity to be smiling, she hastily apologized and fought back the fierce urge to roll her eyes so strongly that they'd be mistaken for centrifuges. "Alright Sydney, I'll leave you alone, but I didn't bring that up because of anything Carmy did or did not say, you told me what time it is...You brought out your Mom, and had The Meters on and your baby pictures out, what else should I think?" Syd huffed and her father drew closer to her and swiped away her tears with his thumbs. "It'll all work out baby, don't worry. He loves you." Her father kissed her on the cheek and left the kitchen to go wash up before bed. He left Syd standing in a daze, and she gripped the edge of the kitchen sink as Daisy Voisin's grainy voice sang Alegría Alegría.

The next day, Carmy studied Syd's face more closely than he'd ever paid attention to anything, hoping to see in her eyes any flicker of recall of the night before and the 'almost-kiss' they'd shared. Syd was a tough cookie to crack though, she acted like her usual self, although there was a tinge of stiffness to her usual pep and she seemed to avoid his eyes. Carmen was feeling down right miserable, he'd hardly slept when he went home, and he was at risk of gnawing on the pots with the way the urge to get some time alone with Syd, and the need to talk to her, was affecting him.

Therefore it came as a surprise when his phone lit up just before family was served. He was alone in the office at the time, "Hi, Mr. Adamu- how are you?" He was on pins and needles already, the man had almost caught Carmy necking with his daughter, in his own kitchen, he could not feel more embarrassed if he tried. "I'm good Carmy, but would you mind if I saw you for a few minutes? I'm in the area, and I promise it won't take long." Anxiety was clawing at Carmy's throat, he had a good idea what this meeting would be about, but he still spoke up and said, "Uh, sure." Mr. Adamu told him where they would meet up, a small cafe that wasn't too far away, and Carmy found Syd and asked her, "Can you hold down the fort for me, Chef? There's something I need to do for a bit."

"Sure, no problem Chef. Be careful out there, don't talk to strangers." She was gonna be the death of him, she'd given him a small smile as she said it, and he felt as if he was a starving man who'd just finally been given a proper meal. He smiled back at her, at her little comment, and left before he could chicken out of the appointment with her father. When he arrived at the café, Mr. Adamu was already sitting and waiting, browsing a newspaper. He took a seat across from Mr. Adamu in the booth, and nervously flexed his fingers beneath the table, "Hi, Mr. Adamu." Syd's Dad held up his hand palm-forward, "Hey Carmy, please, all my friends call me Manuel, please, call me Manuel."

Carmy seemed taken aback, "Really?" Manuel laughed at Carmy's nonplussed expression and he chuckled as he spoke, "No, not really. My friends call me Elroy, but you can call me Manuel for now." This managed to draw a smile out of Carmy and he seemed a little less jumpy. "So.." Sydney's Dad continued, "You're a bright young man, you know what this conversation's gonna be about." Carmy replied, "Yes, Sir, um, I mean, yes Manuel, I think so." Carmy actually blushed and chuckled a bit. "Well, don't worry, I won't threaten to kill you okay? Sydney could manage it if she ever needs to." Carmy and Manuel both started snickering at the Dad joke, the ice finally broken. Manuel ordered a coffee from the waitress and asked if Carmy wanted anything, his treat? Carmen thanked him and politely declined, he was still so nervous he wasn't so sure he could keep anything down. "All I've asked you here for is to find out one thing, I know who you are to Sydney already, but who do you want to be for her?" Something about the way her father asked his question, not giving the stereotypical, "What are your plans for my daughter?”-spiel , warmed Carmy's heart.

His eyes were wet in an instant and he blinked, her Dad knew he loved her already, didn't he? He ran his hand through his hair, and had on a pained expression on his face before he brought his hand down to touch his fingertips to just below his mouth and almost whispered, "I want to be someone she can trust..I want to be her husband." He looked at Manuel earnestly and added on, "I'd like to be your son-in-law." Manuel nodded and said, "Good. Good.." and then he went in for the kill while he shrugged and smiled, "Okay? Well do something about it." Carmy started cackling immediately. He thought to himself, "God! Between the ribbing sense of humour, and the forthrightness, Syd really is her Dad's mini-me."

An earlier conversation with Syd that seemed ages ago echoed in his mind,

"I, uh, don't wanna be shitty.."

"Okay. So don't be."

Carmy was surprised to find himself actually enjoying the conversation, but he tried to explain himself a little, "Uhh. I would love to, but I-I don't exactly know how to go about that..And I don’t want to hurt her.." Manuel looked as if he was waiting for Carmy to go on, so he did, "Um, growing up..I always thought that my family, t-that my family and I were things to spare- to spare the people that I liked from...not welcome them into. And-uh, shit, I've never had a serious relationship before..." Syd's Dad noticed the way Carmy's hands were twitching above the tabletop now, Carmy realized and began to self-consciously clasp his hands together, feeling like a green fool. Mr. Adamu hadn't stopped smiling at him, but his expression softened at Carmy's disclosure and his blatant discomfort. He sighed, "I understand son, I really do. And maybe someday we'll look back at this and laugh when I tell you about Sydney's mother and what falling for her felt like...But for now- for now all I want you to know is life's too short to worry too much about some things okay, you know what I mean?"

Mr. Adamu had unconsciously began to gently massage his own, now bare, ring-finger with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Carmy glanced down and nodded his understanding, clearly some absences were never filled, and time did not heal all wounds. Manuel sighed and broke the silence, "It's time for me to go, but let me just say this is the only hint I'll give you- she really likes you." Carmy smiled at that and Mr. Adamu laughed at the blush that slowly spread across his face, he was so transparent, no wonder his daughter enjoyed teasing him. He stood and wished Carmen good luck while folding his newspaper and Carmen stood and shook hands with him as they said their goodbyes. After Mr. Adamu had left though, Carmy needed to sit for a few minutes and gather his thoughts. He ordered a donut to go because he was sure he'd make it back to The Bear when family was over. He had so much to say to Syd, and no fucking clue how to say it. He suddenly remembered Syd nervously stammering about her mother's music collection in an effort to make him feel better, and he smiled to himself. Well, no pain, no gain - for her he had no choice but to figure things out.

That night, as he drove Syd home, they were both so uncharacteristically quiet he was sure that there were graveyards that were more sonorous than the way they were acting. He absolutely hated it, and she did too, but he only broke the crypt-like silence when they'd arrived safely to her place, and as Syd was about to say her thanks before cracking open the car door to leave. "Syd...Can I talk with you for a sec?" Carmy pleaded. He was white-knuckling the steering wheel, and Syd was just as nervous as he looked, although she hid it better, so she smiled and said yes. And though the words were difficult at first, in the end they'd talked, and talked, and talked, and talked* until Carmy traipsed slowly alongside her and walked her to her door, they bumped shoulders the entire walk. They kissed each other goodnight, although it was really already 1:26 in the morning. As Syd closed the door and began shrugging off her belongings, she bumped into the small table in the hall. "Baby?" her Dad called to her from behind his bedroom door. "Sorry Dad," she replied, before giddily blurting out, "Carmy asked me out."

"That's nice baby, you two have fun."

"I never said I told him yes." Syd squeaked out.

"Uh-huh, whatever you say, baby. I love you, goodnight now, you hear?"

"I love you too Daddy, goodnight."

Syd and her Dad both heard the amusement in each other's voices, and their eyes shone, just like their smiles.

Notes:

English translation of Soukora's lyrics found here:

https://chocolatnegro.wordpress.com/2012/05/27/soukora-talking-timbuktu/

*had their first kiss

23 notes · View notes

thegirlwhotalksaboutherlife · 9 months

Text

Last week 21/12, I went to Clarity to get help. I couldnt help myself anymore, I keep thinking about my situation. Every single day. So my friend encouraged me to go to Clarity. I’d be lying if I wasn’t nervous cus I was damn nervous. I even thought of myself “is this going to be okay? If i tell everything about my situation, would this be on my medical record? And yada yada” I was overthinking alot and my friend calmed me down. Thank god without him I wouldn’t be so brave to go to Clarity. So while I was having my lunch with him, I tried to call Clarity and texted them. But there were no answers, I wanted to give up and my friend told me to go their office, which we did….. took 2 hours while waiting for them to attend us 😓 heh. After 2 hours, I went to meet the psychiatrist and asked her if she was available today. Sadly, she was fully booked til late night (damn I know). So i asked her if there any psychiatrist available today, she told me most of the therapists were on leave due to Christmas (silly me). Then Alhamdulilah, my other friend recommended me this psychiatrist but different branch. I tried calling her first but she didnt pick up, after few mins, she called me back. So I asked her if she was available today, she said she can meet me at 4:30 pm and I agreed. So I went home to freshen up and dad called me and he was asking me where did I go. So i had to tell him the truth and I cried infront of him. So he agreed and told me to meet my therapist. So yeah, met my therapist and told her everything. My case, my mom, my family, my life and I vented out everything. She told me I have PTSD due to my case and we talked for about 1 hour or more I forgot. She told me to take the depression test and the results were bad. She said she thought I had stress and depression. But sadly, I was diagnosed as Depression, Stress and Anxiety. But it felt good to vent everything from ur shrink. I think it was a good decision of me seeing Clarity but I wonder after the 6 sessions I go through with her, what if it didnt work out? What if I am still the same? Which I am worried about. Of course my siblings didnt agree with me seeing therapist. They said do u even have depression? What kind of counseling are u attending? Sometimes people dont know if ure okay or not. They see us we’re okay but deep down we are not. This is Bruneian’s mindset, they said pray to Allah, I did pray to Him. But it is still the same? So I decided to go on medical treatment. They said meet Ustaz and tell them u want to change and all? This is Malay mindset. Sigh, whatever Fuck them anyway. I just want to get better and new version of myself. So I will be seeing my therapist next week Wednesday and I hope it goes well. I just want to change myself and focus on myself. I hate the old me, the overthinking, pessimistic person. I have to admit, my thoughts are all negative and since I was a kid, my thoughts were all negative. I dont know why but I guess my parents were never supported me when I was kid? I dont know. But anyway, i guess it was a decision meeting my Therapist. InsyaAllah, 2024 will be different and going to better than previous years. Aamiiin.. ❤️

0 notes

extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

scrubs - 7.

PAIRING: doctor!sebastian stan x biomedical scientist!reader

WARNINGS: fluff

A/N: have fun everybody xx

< previous chapter

She was stubborn. She’d always been stubborn from the moment he’d first seen her a few years ago and while he knew so many staff over his very long period at the hospital which had seen him do his own residency, he could not forget the first time he saw her. The first thought that popped into his mind was how cute she was in a clearly oversized lab coat as she followed her supervisor around carrying some stock. He’d offered to help her out yet she merely looked him up and down with a sarcastic smile before telling him she didn’t need his help. The exact same sarcastic smile she was wearing right now.

Time had barely weighed on her, after all, it hadn’t been that long ago and while her hair had changed, her defiance had remained. There weren’t a lot of people who defied doctors or even nurses, they had this sort of mystical tsar like dominance inside hospital walls yet not only she defied him, but she also had almost always the upper hand.

- Why would I do that? - she cocked her head to the side, eyebrow raised up as she taunted him.

- Because ... - he stood close to him, way too close for her to feel his breathe on her face. His finger traced the side of her jaw, slowly and with torturous intent before he leaned down to her ear. - You really get keyed up when I’m not inside you, doll.

Y/N’s cheeks heated up but she remained her composure, studying her opononent as if this was a chess match. Her eyes looked up at him, a small smile on her lips before she leaned in to kiss him. He melted into her kiss, pressing her against the wall as it became more intimate and lustful, yet it wasn’t messy. She was merely pressed against that wall, his lips molding with hers as his hands rested on her waist. Her hands rubbed up and down his chest, one of them resting upon the hard on visible from his scrubs. She squeezed his through his scrubs as her kisses leaned down from his lips to his jaw and neck, leaving enough lipstick marks to have people wonder.

- I guess I’m gonna be keyed up ... - she stopped the kiss before slipping from under him, her hand resting on the knob. - Knock yourself off, Dr. Stan.

Sebastian remained speechless as he watched her leave. Oh, oh she was wanting to be chased? He smirked to himself, grabbing his jacket before looking down at his erection. That was going to be a fun lunch break, he thought to himself. He allowed her to remain in his mind through his whole shift yet not on the way it usually remained. He wasn’t annoyed at her, it was something else. Maybe he did have an idea of what to do.

She on the other hand was busy dealing with her ever rushing thoughts about the doctor. She had a bright smile on her face every once in a while every time she thought about what she’d done. Sure, she knew she’d probably deal with the consequences of it the next time they spoke or when HR found out she kissed him in the middle of the reception hall but that was a future problem. She continued with that little smile even as she grabbed her bag, walking down the stairs down to her car, only to find the same man on her mind sat on the boot.

- Dr. Stan, you do realise you have to enter the car to actually drive it, correct?

- You are the most difficult woman I’ve ever met.

- I didn’t realise we were still fighting over the obvious. - she fished her purse for her keys.

- Let’s go on a date. - he jumped off the car. - Hopefully, you’ll end up in my bed as well.

- A date? Doctor Stan, the only thing I want to do is get takeaway from the little Italian restaurant next to my house and watch Netflix.

- Come on, doll. You gave me blue balls the whole day, least thing you can do is have a bite with me.

She poundered over the question for a little bit. Surely she wouldn’t want this going around the hospital or she would lose the little credibility she had in those halls yet, at the same time, she did enjoy her time with him no matter how much he attempted to get on her last nerve. She lowered her shoulder, letting out a sigh before holding up her keys in her fingers.

- You’re driving.

- I can’t drive such a tiny car. - he pointed at her baby blue Fiat 500, the very first car she’d ever bought and the only car she’ll ever have for all she cared.

- They say men with big cars are compensating for something. Got anything to hide, Dr. Stan? - she smirked as she opened her passenger door.

- You would know, wouldn’t you doll? - he caught the keys from her, pushing the driver’s seat back before closing the door. - Damn, this is a tiny car.

- You’re a tiny car.

- Is that all you have? I expected a better come back from you.

- Like you expected me to make you cum earlier?

He smiled to himself as he started the car. Sebastian honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d driven with someone by his side, much less a woman whom he wasn’t related to. Her car had such an aura to it, the aura of who she was outside of work. He’d never stopped to wonder who she was off work, what she liked, what she disliked; however, her playlist gave a quick peak into a bit of her tastes, a mix between musical theatre, sad pop music, c;assic music and Britney Spears. It made her rounded, more than the woman she was at the laboratory, more than the supervisor Y/N he was so used to have petty fights with. Everything in the car just yelled out who she was, from the little vanilla scent dangling off the mirror, the lipgloss on the side, a few books in the backseat and the car itself. He thought his car was so dull compared to hers, always so unlived in.

- Are we going to sit in silence or ... ? - she leaned against the head rest.

- Oh no, doll. I like not talking to you, you normally end up kissing me out of the blue. I could get used to that.

- That happened because you were a dick to me.

- That happened because you were jealous. Admit it, you like me.

She remained silent, looking at him through the corner of her eye with a childish smile. He drove past her favourite Italian, getting her reserved order before deciding to take them to his apartment. Sebastian was sure she wouldn’t want him in her flat, no one had really been there. She was a quiet person outside of her job, no one really knew what she exactly did or what she liked. He wondered what type of person she was outside of work but he could only imagine she had that same spark. That little thing which just made her the person he knew.She was always too big for that little hospital.

- You passed my street.

- I know. We’re going to my place. I know you’re a private person.

- Oh ... - she bite the inside of her lip, looking out the window. - That’s awfully thoughtful of you.

- Everything ok? - he asked but she merely nodded, leaning on her own hand yet the answer didn’t satisfy him. - You can talk to me, you know? I’m not all bad.

- I didn’t know you were a psychologist.

- Do you even have anyone to talk to? - he questioned, more in a joking manner than in a serious manner yet her face dropped. Her eyes darting to look out the window as she forced laughter. - C’mon people talk on dates.

- I have my parents but they’re not in the country. - she answered, pulling at the edge of her cuffs. - It’s only glamorous to work in a hospital if you’re a white male doctor.

- Something happened?

- Not important. - she changed the topic. - Pay attention to the road before you wreck my car.

Sebastian wanted to ask her, he really did, yet he doubtted she would open up to him. Maybe for good reason, after all, their relationship had been, somewhat, strictly professional for years. Nevertheless, it still tugged at the back of his mind even as he parked. Sebastian existed the car, carrying whatever it was she had ordered before opening the door for her.

Maybe it was the fact she had been extremely drunk the last time or that she was much more focused on getting him to fuck her but the view from his penthouse flat was something breath taking. She took small steps towards the balcony, holding out the rail as she looked up the city from the top. Everything looked so small, like her own personal sky full of stars. She could just look at it for hours and forget everything.

- Do you wanna eat out the packaging or do you want me to plate it? - he spoke to her from the kitchen. - Y/N?

- Whatever’s better for you. - she looked out her shoulder before returning to look at the city. Sebastian dropped the plates onto the marble countertops, abandoning his task to go and join her. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, as if questioning what he was doing by her side.

- What’s bothering you?

- Nothing’s bothering me.

- You haven’t bullied me yet. You’re either really trying to get into my pants which is not hard at all, really just need to ask or you’re upset. Either way, I wanna help.

- You wouldn’t understand. - she leaned her arms on the railing.

- I don’t need to understand, I just wanna be there for you.

- So you wanna be my therapist? - she dryly chuckled. - I’ve just been hating my job.

- Everyone hates their job.

- I was the first in the family to go to university, the smart kid. I always did my best, gave up on a regular growing up because I needed to be the best to merely get the opportunities other people had. I worked hard, graduated top of my class and when I got this job I was so happy. - she shakily sighed. - But now I just hate it. I do everything I can, I do the best and beyond, edit company SOPs and training forms and I’m still treated like scum. I just thought that with a degree I would do what I like but instead I’m stuck in that job, unable to do what I like because it doesn’t pay the bills. I interview all the time and it’s always a no. I’m just unhappy, alone and lonely.

- You’re not alone. You have that friend ... what’s her name?

- Miriam? Try being friends with someone who’s recently engaged.

- I’m sorry. - he scratched the back of his neck. - I didn’t know you felt that way, Y/N. That’s awful.

- Thanks, Dr. Stan. I appreciate it. - she saluted him sarcastically.

- You need to let people in.

- I’ve already let you in.

- Not like that. - he chuckled. - You’re always so uptight. Don’t get me wrong, I love it but other people don’t.

- I don’t really care if people like me. I’m used to it.

- Thank god I like you then. - he kissed her shoulder. - And not just when you’re naked and under me. I like talking to you, baby doll. You should quit that job.

- And you’d pay for my tiny flat?

- No. You’d move here and walk around naked with your glasses talking to me about how dumb I am about microbiology.

- Is that what turns you on?

- You’ll be ok. I promise you. - he pulled her close to him. - Besides, if anyone ever treats you like scum, you let me know and I will make their life very hard. I can be a nuissance.

- I know. - she leaned her head against his shoulder. - It’s a date now.

taglist: @rebekahdawkins

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan au #doctor!sebastian stan

82 notes · View notes

chaotic-archaeologist · 3 years

Note

Hey! I'm in my second year of uni (Archaeology obvs) and as field opportunities start to come up, I'm getting nervous about navigating fieldwork being trans. mainly things like accommodation, bathing, etc, while needing to take off my binder, but also safety on an international level. I don't know how much you've dealt with, but do you have any advice/help/etc?

Hello there dirtling,

For clarity I will begin by stating that I am also a transgender man. I'm going to try and break down your ask into several parts to make sure that I address all of your concerns.

Accommodations: I would start by looking through the syllabi for potential field school programs because those often have details about housing in them. Often students are roomed together, which was something that I personally have been nervous about in the past. I would encourage you to advocate for getting a room for yourself if you feel comfortable doing so, but you are under no obligation to disclose your status as transgender. If you have a therapist or psychiatrist who can write you a letter saying that you need single housing due to mental health conditions, I would suggest you follow that route.

The silver lining of the whole covid situation is that most programs have changed their housing policy to account for single housing for all students. Additionally, if you can find a program that houses students in college/university dorms (providing you're comfortable living there) you might be more likely to secure a single room than if a field school is having students stay in a hotel or house.

Bathrooms:

I think that it would not be unreasonable for you to reach out to the coordinators of whatever dig you end up going to and ask them what the bathroom arrangement will be like. Some places have Porta-Johns, some might be near a facility that has indoor restrooms (although this is very rare), and some might simply have people going in the woods.

I know that bathrooms can be intimidating, but I've found that most people really aren't that interested in scrutinizing other people's restroom behavior. If you're going in the woods, make sure that you have privacy. If it's a porta-potty the good news is that no one is going to be going in there with you. If it's indoor restrooms there might be a gender neutral one you can use, you can find someone you trust to go with you, or you can wait until it's unoccupied.

As for bathing, that might be the most difficult part. I lived for a year in an all boy's dorm that only had gym style bathrooms. There were curtains in front of the shower stalls, but that was pretty much it. I took to showering late at night or at weird times in the afternoon to ensure that I had the most privacy as possible, and I would put on my underwear and a tank top before getting out of the shower.

Personal Safety:

Anthropology tends to be pretty accepting, and there are several trans archaeologists that I know who have all had positive experiences within their anthropology departments. However, I can't speak for the culture in countries outside of the United States. I think that a lot of digs/field schools in the northern part of America or Canada might be good options for you. You mention going abroad, but you could also look at programs within your country of origin where you're most familiar with the social situation.

Binding:

I've had top surgery, and I'll admit that I've been out of the binder game for a while, so if anyone with more current information wants to chime in, feel free to do so.

I haven't done fieldwork in a binder, but I did do a lot of traveling and hiking in pretty hot areas, and that's the experience that I'll be drawing on. You might want to look into lighter weight and breathable binders (the one I used to wear was an Underworks 983). Be cognizant of how much physical activity you're engaging in and take breaks to make sure you're able to catch your breath. I would also invest in a loofa or shower brush to scrub your back with because the sweat, body oils, and skin there can cause acne. You may have to deal with acne anyway, but you definitely don't want stuff building up and clogging pores.

Resources:

You are far from the first trans archaeologist, and there are some amazing professionals from previous generations who have worked really hard to pave the way for people like you and me. One of them, Barbra Voss, wrote three articles that came out in March about gender related harassment in archaeology and what we can do to prevent it. They are:

Documenting Cultures of Harassment in Archaeology: A Review and Analysis of Quantitative and Qualitative Research Studies

Disrupting Cultures of Harassment in Archaeology: Social-Environmental and Trauma-Informed Approaches to Disciplinary Transformation

Using Public Health Interventions to Prevent Harassment in Archaeology

I believe that none of them are behind a paywall, but if they are please let me know and I'll find a way to get you access to them. I would highly suggest you read all of them carefully.

Finally, I want to close by reaffirming that trans people can and should be archaeologists. There is room in this discipline for you, and just because some things might be difficult doesn't mean that there isn't a way to make it work.

Keep your trowel sharp and your heart hopeful,

-Reid

#he speaks #he answers #trans archaeologist #archaeology advice #trans #transgender

71 notes · View notes

jadedxrealityw · 4 years

Text

-Fragile- George Weasley x Female Reader

☼-☪-☼

Kody: I know another George x reader, fight me. This is based around the quote “She was not fragile like a flower, she was fragile like a bomb” -Rahul Singh Rathour.

Summary: George Weasley falls for a Slytherin girl who was an expert at keeping her negative emotions hidden. He was her little light at Hogwarts and kept her sane for the most part. Until one day when she’s pushed over the edge.

House: Slytherin

Possible Triggers / Warnings: mental breakdowns, child neglect, manipulation, shit parents, panic attacks.

☼-☪-☼

She was not fragile like a flower, she was fragile like a bomb

maybe you should have seen a therapist when you were little. Bottling up emotions was considered self destructive by most sane people, but it had become second nature. Growing up with parents who were always fighting, you just learned to keep things to yourself, so you weren’t a burden.

it was odd, despite all the shit you were put through, you were still kind. You were still yourself. You found comfort in fellow housemates like Draco Malfoy. You avoided him since he seemed like a snob, plus he was younger then you, but all that changed once you found him crying in a broom closet.

the school year had only just started and he explained to you that his parents had been bickering with each other the whole time while shopping for new books. You didn’t speak a word of your family to him because you felt like it would take attention from his problem. You didn’t want to be selfish

you and Draco soon became friends after that, but even as you two grew closer you never told him about your problems. You continued to bottle things up, which didn’t make much sense, since you had someone to confide to, maybe you had gotten so used to hiding your inner demons.

you had heard of the Weasleys, pureblood family who had a lot of children. All of them different in so many ways, but exactly the same. The one who had caught your attention was George Weasley. Him and his brother were always up to something that involved a potion.

lucky for you, you were always brewing a potion when you had freetime. Due to all the stress and not having a way to let it go, you would make yourself a draught of peace to keep your emotions in order. it worked for the most bit, it only lasted a couple hours so you only took it during classes.

☼-☪-☼

6th Year

you were stirring your elixir with a utensil when the creaking sound of the door opening caught your attention. You look from the cauldron and towards two ginger haired twins that were giggling and whispering things to each other that you couldn’t hear.

“Alright you grab the stuff we need- oh”

both of them had looked up at you, freezing in there spots. “I’m guessing you're not supposed to be in here?” you spoke, going back to stirring. They both looked at each other before Fred Weasley spoke up “Your not going to say anything are you?”

you simply shrug your shoulders before placing the utensil on the table “I could care less, as long as you don’t say anything either” you say. The both of them grin before Fred goes to the cupboards to gather his needed ingredients, leaving you with George.

he casually steps over to you and leans over your shoulder to look into your cauldron. He didn’t have to lean at all actually, he was much taller then you. “A draught of peace? Feeling stressed lately?” he questions, cocking his head to the side in a curious manner.

stressed was an understatement , but he didn’t know that “Something like that” you respon, figuring if you gave him a vague answer he’d take that as a sign to leave you alone. George only seemed more curious “How mysterious” he mumbles lowly to himself before leaving you to your potion.

eventually you fill up about five vials full of potion and put your cauldron back in it’s respective area. Once you pocket the vials, you leave the twins to there mischievous task and you were on your way. That was your first encounter with George Weasley.

☼-☪-☼

five vials only lasted you a week, so later on a friday night you snuck out of your dorm and into the potions classroom. You had on a grey hoodie, black leggings, and fuzzy white socks, something you wore to sleep in. It was comfortable.

today was especially stressful for you because most of the Slytherin house was irritated, which meant they were short with there words and snappy. The twins had pulled a prank on the Slytherin house by leaving pastries for them inside the dungeon.

the Hufflepuffs would usually leave treats for Slytherins so it wasn’t strange, but it was actually a spiked cauldron cake that turned their hair different colors. You were one of the lucky ones since you had woken up late, never getting the chance to eat one.

once you entered the classroom, you were met with a ginger boy. George Weasley, the twin who kept his orange locks shoulder length. It was how anyone really told the difference between the two. Fred cut his long ago and George had not, pretty simple.

“Oh, you again. Hello” he spoke before going back to chopping up some ingredient. His casual tone ticked you off more than you’d like to admit and you just scoffed, going to collect your items. The wizard seem to notice your behaviour “Bad day?”

you grab the cauldron from the shelf, exhaling deeply “Yes actually. After the stunt you pulled on Slytherin” you reply, irritation seeping into your tone. A very cocky grin made a way onto his freckled face “Oh? Then maybe you shouldn’t have started it”

your grip of the cauldron tightened. Any tighter and you might smash it to pieces. Placing the cauldron down harshly, you turn your head to face him “Look whatever feud you have with a couple Slytherins isn't my damn problem, mess with them not the collective house. It’s rude”

as soon as you finished speaking you put your face in your hands. So much for not stressing out. You shake your head a bit to push away any remaining thoughts then go back to what you were doing, collecting whatever you needed. George on the other hand looked a mix between guilt and confusion.

he felt guilty because it was true, he could have just pranked the two or three Slytherins he was initially after, but he didn’t. He was confused because you had blew up on him so quickly, almost like you were holding it in for so long that it was waiting to be let out?

“i guess i got carried away this time. I apologize- wait what’s your name?” George suddenly asked, realizing he didn’t know who you were exactly. All he could guess was that you were Slytherin by your previous statements, which surprised him a bit since you seemed....nicer.

once you were settled at a table you looked up at the 6′3 boy “Y/n, i accept your apology, George Weasley” you say then look back down at the table. George lets out a small chuckle “I guess i don’t need to tell you my name then. I must be very popular then” You couldn’t help but snicker at his smugness.

“yeah i guess you are”

☼-☪-☼

7th Year

and ever since the beginning of sixth year, you’d meet George and sometimes Fred in the potions classroom to chat while you made potions. You loved the times you could hang out with twins, they always made you laugh when you had a bad day.

but you cherished the times you got George alone. you just connected with him a different way. Whenever you worked on a potion he would push your hair out of your face or stand behind you, looking over you shoulder. The small touch sent ripples through you that you had never felt before.

at first you thought maybe it was because you had thought of him as your friend, but whenever Draco or Fred had touched you you didn’t feel anything. Soon enough he started his casual flirting which included him complimenting your looks or how good you looked in a certain outfit.

it made your face feel hot and your stomach feel all queasy like you had bug or something, but you were never actually sick. After searching the library for possible answers you overheard Hermione Granger talking to Ginny Weasley, they were talking about what they felt when a certain guy talked to them.

increase in heart rate, sweaty palms, queasy stomach, etc. Then they said one thing that changed your perspective “Don’t you hate being in love with someone, it’s so heart wrenching” you spent the rest of that day in your dorm room stressing out like usual, but this time is wasn’t over your parents.

now you had two things on your mind, your parents and George. A weird mix for sure. You were in love with George? How could this of happened? but you knew exactly how this happened, that Weasley twin used his charms and good looks to seduce you.

what a bloody menace.

now you were sitting at the Slytherin table in the great hall. Draco sat next to you, chatting it up with Blaise and his boyfriend Theo. You were just about to take another bite of food when an owl, a familiar owl flew over the table. It had a letter in its claws.

once it passed over you it dropped the letter. You reach up and catch it in your hands “Ooo a letter” Draco comments, wiggling his eyebrows like a dork. You roll your eyes playfully and nudge his shoulder. He chuckles and turns back to face Blaise once again.

you turn the letter in your hands, the wax stamp catching your attention. It was the initial of your last name, which meant it was from your parents. Great. You pop off the wax seal and slip it into your robe pocket before taking the sheet of parchment out of the envelope.

‘Dear Y/n, your father and i have read your recent grades and we are utterly disappointed. You’ve only gotten an Acceptable in all your classes. Do you know how embarrassing it is to have a child who can not excel in anything? your the reason me and your father have been bickering so often. For the upcoming break you will be staying at Hogwarts and studying everyday and night. We also found a journal in your room with all the horrible lies you write about us. Don’t come back until you learn how to be a grateful daughter’

well that killed the mood. Why did they read your diary? What kind of parent does that? Was it really all your fault that your parents fought? “Aw poor Y/n? Do mommy and daddy not love you anymore? How does is feel princess?” you had almost forgotten that you were sitting next to her.

she was a Slytherin girl who didn’t like you because you weren’t a pureblood and because your parents only acted like they cared so much about you in public. You figured out quickly she was jealous of what she thought that you had, loving parents.

you neglected saying anything back to because you heard that her father was locked up in Azkaban a little while ago and admittedly felt bad for her, but for some reason the way she said it. The way she was so smug with her words just rubbed you the wrong way.

your whole life you’ve let every negative thought fester and build up like a disease. It was like a pot of boiling water that was about to bubble over and spill out. You hadn’t taken any draught of peace either in a couple hours because lunch was usually peaceful for you.

this poor girl was going to get the anger you’ve held since you were a child and you would feel guilty for it later, but the lid on your metaphorical bottle had popped off. You stood up from your seat and looked down at her, surprising her and Draco.

“Listen here you stuck up bitch, i can’t fathom a reason as to why you have to fuck with with me constantly?! You think this shit is a one time thing?!” you stop momentarily to throw the letter at her face. She swats it away, her face draining of color from embarrassment.

“Try living with them for 17 years and then you’ll figure out that they only act like your family in public! They send you huge gifts on your birthday to make sure other people see! You have no right to harass me like you do! I wish i had loving parents!”

the girl sat there stunned. What could she say anyway? That she was sorry probably, but you most likely wouldn’t have accepted that answer at the moment. You had caught everyone's attention at this point with your loud, harsh words. Even the bright honey colored eyes of George focused on you.

angry tears had forced their way out your E/c eyes despite your efforts in trying to hold them in. You look around the great hall, looking at all the eyes staring back at you. Without a second thought you rush out the great hall, hearing two distinct voices shout for you to come back.

☼-☪-☼

breathe

breathe!

why was it so hard to breathe? Were your clothes tightening or were the lungs in your chest failing on you. You rush outside into the empty courtyard, gripping your robe to tug it away from your skin almost as if it was choking you. You start to pull at your clothes more.

you remove your arms from the sleeves of your robe and drop it on the grass beneath you. Still couldn’t breathe. Reaching for the bottom of your vest you slip it up and over your head and drop it on top on your robe. Lastly, you tug at your tie to loosen it.

you were still hyperventilating.

“Y/n?”

turning around you saw the familiar honey colored eyes look down at you. A face of confusion and sadness n his freckled face. George Weasley. No, please you would only complicate your emotions more, but you wanted so badly to be his embrace at the moment.

he decided for you, cause as soon as he saw your tears. He felt his heart tug harshly.

“Oh darling” he started, his voice broken and raspy like he was about to break out in tears as well “Come here” he finished and held his arms out for you and that was enough for you. You rush into his embrace and are instantly meant with calming scent of burning wood, and wood from a broomstick.

your wheezing noise worried George and he started to rub your head “Darling you need to breathe okay? Your going to faint if you keep doing that, in and out okay?” he inhales loudly so you could hear and you copy his actions, doing the same when he exhaled.

after a couple minutes you were breathing just fine, but you still felt terrible. “Everything's all my fault. i tried so hard to be a good person, but it’s never good enough. I didn’t burden anyone with my problems and hid them away- i just couldn’t do it anymore”

your voice cracked, the lump in your throat going away. George pulled his head away that was resting on top of your hand and used one of his hands to gently force your chin up to look at him. He used the other hand to reach in his back pocket.

George pulls out the same folded parchment that you had read earlier “This? You believe this rubbish? Y/n you are the most interesting girl i’ve ever met and i wish you had told me about this. I’m your..friend and i want to help you. Listen, you are strong, brave, and anybody would be lucky to just breathe your air”

you cracked a small smile at his words which seemed to make his face light up as well. “Thank you George. I suddenly feel very faint” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Probably from crying so much darling. Let me take care of you for the rest of the day, okay?”

“Do i really have a choice?”

“Not really, no”

☼-☪-☼

George took you to his dorm- oh wait. he actually carried you to his dorm. He didn't want you to actually faint and hit your ‘pretty little head’ on the hard floor. His words exactly. The rest of the day was spent of him feeding and you and making sure you were hydrated.

after asking only once you opened up to him about your parents and there expectations. His face of horror was enough to make you realize that what was happening to you wasn’t normal. After you had finished talking it was almost like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders.

you felt free.

it was towards the evening time and you didn’t want to intrude any longer. “Thank you for helping me, it’s getting pretty late-” “You sound like your leaving?” George cut you off just as you stood up from his bed, looking at you with pleading eyes “Stay? Just for the night?”

“What if a professor sees me when i leave the next morning and where would i sleep?” you question, crossing your arms over your chest. George shrugs his shoulders “It's saturday tomorrow no professors will be checking and you’ll sleep in my bed, with me. I promise not to be to handsy darling”

a cocky smirk grew on his face, making your stomach twist and turn just like all the other times before. You began to stumble on your words “Uh- i- i don’t have anything to wear” you huff. His smirk seems to grow wider, if that was even possible.

“you can wear some of my clothes of course-” a knock cuts him off and he look towards the door “I’ll see who that is and send them away. You get dressed, i won’t peek” George sends you a cheeky wink before going to the door. what a dork.

nonetheless, you go over to his dresser and began to dig through the drawer while he went over to the door. Once he opened it, you couldn’t help but listen in. “Hey Freddie” George says in a sing song voice. Fred Weasley. “Hey, it’s saturday. Potion time”

potion time?- oh for pranks. Was he going to leave you to go make potions? you pick out a burnt orange jumper with a ‘G’ initial and black sweats “Actually i can’t tonight? Maybe tomorrow?” he replies, making Fred’s face twist in confusion before astonishment.

“Oh! You have a girl in there don’t you!” he said quite loudly, making George shush him quickly. You began unbutton your uniform shirt. “Lower your voice, i’m not tryin to get caught because of you” he replies. You place your shirt on a chair next to you and slip the jumper over your head. It was huge on you.

Fred stifles laughter and leans against the doorframe “Who is it” he says, making you freeze for a moment. George raises a brow “and why would i tell you that?” he questions while you push your skirt down your legs, kicking it away with your feet. “Oh because i’m your brother? Your twin brother George”

they were adorable. You pull the sweats on and tie the strings so it was resting snuggly on your hips. “yeah yeah whatever, bye Freddie” George begins to close the door “Aw come on don’t be like that-” he shuts the door on his brother and turns back to look at you.

“Sorry about that-” he froze in place, his eyes taking a mental image of how you looked. He could die at that moment and be content with life. You notice his weird face and looked down at the outfit “I’m sorry, should have i have picked something else?”

he didn’t say anything and just stepped towards you until he stood inches in front of you. He reaches up to grab your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. You also noticed a small smile on his face that was slowly growing into a grin. “George?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

he tilts his head a bit as his golden eyes scan your face “Can i kiss you Y/n?” he asked, catching you off guard. He wanted to kiss you? Did you want to kiss him? He made you laugh, smile, and feel like you were the only witch in the whole wizarding world.

yeah, you definitely wanted to kiss him.

you nodded once and that was enough for him. He dipped down to your height and plants his lips on yours. The calming scent of burning wood invading your nose once again. You respond quickly and kiss him back, feeling his goofy grin, still such a dork.

the kiss was sweet and gentle. George’s heart was beating at a million miles a minute and so was yours. Air, you needed that to live. You both pull away from each other, gripping onto each others clothes. When did that happen? “You are breathtaking darling, literally actually”

you snort at his dorky compliment “Way to kill the mood Weasley” you comment and he chuckles lightly before looking into your eyes “I know today hasn’t been the best for you and this might make it worse, but- i am so in love with you darling. I have been since the first day we met last year”

you couldn’t believe what you were hearing, but at the same time you were waiting for it after that kiss. “I love you too George, you giant dork” he smiles brightly as he scoops you up in his arms for a second to throw you on the bed. you gasp as your back connects with sheets.

he climbs in next you “I take back that promise about being handsy, get ready to be my teddy bear darling”. You feel the fuzzy stomach thing again- or whatever it was called. you watch as he shuts off the lamp and grabs the blanket at the bottom of his bed.

“i think i’ll manage” you reply as he places the sheet over your body and his. George turns his body towards you and grabs your waist “Tonight? yes, in the morning i have you all to myself as well and i don’t plan on letting you leave” he smirk was screaming what his intentions were the following morning.

your face must have been super red. “yeah you wish” you mumble, which makes him snicker. He knew the effect he had on you. “Night darling” he says and kisses your temple sweetly. You smile and lay your head on his chest, falling asleep in his embrace.

☼-☪-☼

Taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @sonbelleame @moonpi3 @dracosathenaeum @pxroxide-prinxcesss

☼-☪-☼

Kody: It’s 5am?! oh shit- well anyways peace lmao.

180 notes · View notes

16woodsequ · 4 years

Note

Can I have some more Steve headcannons please?

Okay! *rubs hands together* Today is a kind of ‘meh’ day for me, so Imma hype myself up with some headcanons ^^

Previous headcanon post, and second one.

TW: discussion of PTSD and panic attacks, and just general angst

Alright *checks notes* first headcanon:

Steve knew about the bugs that SHIELD had in his apartment before Fury told him.

I really like this headcanon, and I put it everywhere. But basically, I think that Steve is smart and observant enough to have found the bugs that SHIELD put into his apartment.

So why would he leave them there? That feeds into another headcanon that I sort of mentioned before, that Steve likes to underestimated. Obviously, SHIELD thought that he either wouldn’t suspect them to bug his home, or he wouldn’t be tech-savvy enough to find the devices. I think Steve wanted to keep it that way. If he removed the bugs, then SHIELD would know he found them, and would react accordingly.

I think Steve would decide it was better to know where the bugs are, rather than remove them and risk having SHIELD put more in that he can’t find. Also, if SHIELD thinks that he doesn’t suspect anything, then they will think whatever they get from his apartment is genuine.

Usually in my mind, SHIELD only implants audio bugs, instead of visual, and they leave his bathroom without bugs.

This is important cuz, for extra angst, now we get to imagine Steve trying to manage his PTSD in an apartment that he knows is bugged.

As you might know with my ‘SHIELD’s A+ Parenting’ headcanon, I fully think Hydra was willing to let Steve struggle with his PTSD, and I doubt they would have done anything if/when they learned about it... but Steve doesn’t know that. So now we have Steve trying to cover for his PTSD in his own home, and the only respite his has is maybe the bathroom.

With audio feeds only at least, he only has to worry about not making a lot of noise during his flashbacks/nightmares etc, but that is still a lot of pressure. (And don’t imagine Steve curled up and panicking on the floor of his bathroom, cuz that’ll just make you sad).

More SHIELD A+ Parenting/ Hydra is terrible

Going along with Hydra-being-inside-SHIELD-didn’t-help-Steve’s-PTSD: If SHIELD gave Steve some kind of counsellor or psychologist after he woke up from the ice, then I headcanon it was a Hydra agent.

That is terrible for several reasons. For one, Steve’s first experience with modern psychology would be with someone - unbeknownst to him - who did not actually want the best for his wellbeing.

Second, and going along with that, if his Hydra-therapist were to be less helpful than would be ideal, Steve wouldn’t know the difference really, and the people at SHIELD would not suspect that there was a problem. They would think he was getting psychological help, when in reality, he was getting anything but.

This would explain why SHIELD dropped the ball so hard with Steve.

Third, after SHIELD, I imagine Steve would be reluctant to get actual help. At some point he is going to have to learn what actual therapy is like. And, maybe, when Natasha puts all of SHIELD’s records onto the internet, he finally learns the his original psychologist was Hydra. That would be extremely violating, and I imagine it would take him a long time afterwards to trust going to a therapist at all— even with encouragement from Sam.

Final headcanon for the day, and going along with the terrible Hydra psychologist: Hydra and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Cabin

This one gets my blood boiling because it is actually canon that SHIELD (/Hydra), sent Steve to “The Retreat” at some point after he woke up from the ice. (This is mentioned in Agents of SHIELD, not in the movies.)

What is The Retreat you asks? Here is the wiki on it, here is the gist:

This safe house retreat is a log cabin that is lined with the same vibranium alloy that is used in "The Cage" on the Bus. The S.H.I.E.L.D. battering ram took a long time to penetrate the door, even though it took very short for them to penetrate the highly armored SUV of Nick Fury. The kitchen was fully equipped with a fridge, sink, and microwave. The living room has a few couches, however, they are very uncomfortable. There is a computer in one corner. A laser fence also lines the perimeter of the property, keeping everything inside contained. Security cameras show everything that happens along the area.

So. A cabin in the middle of nowhere, with security cameras everywhere, and a laser fence around the perimeter.

In other words. A very fancy cell.

*unidentifiable sounds of rage*

Okay. *breathes*. So. We don’t know when, or how long Steve stayed at the cabin (Coulson said ‘after he was defrosted’ and ‘a few weeks’), but, as you can imagine, I have headcanons about those.

Usually I headcanon that Steve is at the cabin for about two weeks, and that SHIELD/Hydra sold it to him as ‘a quiet place were he can catch up on what he missed’. Meaning that they left him there with all the files of the history he missed and told him he could leave once he was finished going through them.

I imagine his (hydra) therapist told him that in order to pass his psych exam for SHIELD, he would need to go to The Retreat. Which is wonderfully manipulative, because it would force Steve to go through all those (probably traumatic) files all by himself if he wants to a) leave the cabin, and b) work for SHIELD (and you can bet that his hydra-therapist made it seem unlikely that he would be able to manage working anywhere else in the 21st century.)

Now, headcanons as to when he did this. I have two separate versions that live side-by-side in my head:

One: SHIELD did this to him before the Battle of New York.

This is just sad because it would mean that Steve spent two+ weeks isolated and alone, reading up on everything he missed, but not really being able to learn about and experience the world he woke up in, before suddenly having to fight aliens and meet his dead-friend’s son (who is 15 years older than him) shortly after finally getting out.

If you want a reason for Steve being high-strung in Avengers, and doing his utmost not to show his PTSD because then he might get sent back to the cabin? Then there you go.

Two: SHIELD sent him to the cabin after the Battle of New York.

I don’t know why, but unlike a lot of people, at the end of Avengers, I didn’t assume that Steve was driving off on his motorcycle to ‘see the world’ or whatever. I instinctively interpreted it as him just driving back to his apartment.

So, if we decide that Steve decides he wants to join SHIELD at the end of Avengers, then that is when SHIELD/Hydra might decide to send him to the cabin.

Which is just great cuz I’m sure fighting aliens and watching people die only a short while after waking up from the ice was just great for Steve and he didn’t need any support or anything during that time. Nah. Isolate him alone in a cabin. Should be fine.

If you want a reason for Steve distrusting therapists and never wanting to admit having problems because he thinks that basically institutionalizing people is still a legitimate technique? There you go.

One day I will write a fic about this bloody cabin, but I haven’t yet.

So yeah. SHIELD/Hydra sucks. And Steve suffered for it.

Apparently we got really angsty headcanons today, but they were fun to share! I hope you enjoyed, and if you want more headcanons let me know!

Headcanon masterpost

#steve rogers #headcanon #asks #SHIELD #SHIELD's A+ Parenting #marvel #mcu #PTSD #panic attacks #steve rogers needs a hug

162 notes · View notes

narrators-journal · 3 years

Text

Catharsis

Here it is! The last part of this little Ango smut-fest. I hope it was enjoyable and I didn’t mess up on keeping the reader gender-neutral!

Content warning: just spicy content, nothing too extreme.

Beginning: Here

Previous: here

After you had hung up on him, Ango just finished himself off and grumpily went to bed, hoping with all of his heart that he'd be sent home tomorrow. Sadly, he got no such luck, instead staying a week or so longer in the chilly nation before he was finally sent home.

Finally, after an extra three hours of filing paperwork and finishing up his last report, Taneada begrudgingly released him to go home for the night. "Hey, look, I'm gonna need you to come in a bit early to file these reports up, alright?" The brunette's boss hummed while he was packing up to go home at long last. Oh yeah, just ignore Tsujimura's ability to file a report. He thought, but instead of voicing that boiling sarcasm he simply nodded and left the building before the balding bastard found some way to work around his doctor's orders. Ango all but ran back to his apartment after that, the nagging sense of guilt for not finishing his work, or not being productive overwhelmed by the childish sense of excitement that reminded him of the way he'd felt leaving school on the last day of the year. It wasn't that he was happy to have the time to go home and do nothing, he had yet to find a hobby to fill his time, so he was likely to just go home and do more work if he did that. No, he was excited for an actual end to his work day for the sheer fact that it meant he could see, talk to, or go on a date with you. Tonight though, his thoughts weren't focused on simply texting you, or going out to dinner with you, though he knew he should probably take you out at some point before he got sent across the world, it was instead recalling all of the stuff you'd said on the phone last time, and how you'd hung up on him at such an inopportune time. Once he was home and showered, Ango flopped onto his bed, finally messaging you to tell you he'd made it home safe. After that, he spent a while just talking with you, trying to formulate a good way to ask if you'd like to come over. Okay, but maybe that's too soon to ask? What if they lost their interest? The anxious voice in his head whispered, Should you really be trying to initiate anything? This could easily go bad, very quickly. It added, squashing all of that earlier excitement he'd felt at finally getting some time where he wasn't working. Maybe you should just go back to work. You've still got reports to file, and it's predictable. He shook his head at the thought, taking a deep breath and laying back on his bed. His therapist had warned him of these types of thoughts, how to identify the anxiety, they'd also taught him how to stop it, so he took a deep breath and thought in retaliation It going wrong doesn't mean it's the end the world. I deserve time to myself, I deserve a social life again.

He repeated that thought to himself until his phone notified him of another message,

(y/n): Hey Ango, are you at your home or at work rn? Ango: I'm currently at home, Taneada isn't allowed to keep me super late after long jobs anymore. (y/n): Well that's awesome! Because I wanted to see if you'd like to come over for a while, have a little movie night! Ango: I don't mind, it sounds nice. (y/n): Awesome! I'll be waiting~ He smiled at that, getting up and getting changed out of his pajamas before heading off to your home. Along the way, he picked up a flower for you and offered it to you when you let him into your home. "Not that you're not very handsome in your work suit, but..." He followed your confused look to his brown suit, only a tie away from him being ready to go back to his work desk, "Uh...I don't actually have any casual clothing beyond my pajamas..." he felt his cheeks beginning to burn a little bit while he rubbed at the back of his neck and you snorted. His cheeks darkened when he noticed you were seemingly sizing him up, that familiar glint of mischief in your (e/c) eyes as you shrugged, "We can go shopping for some not-work clothes tomorrow, for tonight, it doesn't matter." You decided, shooing him off to your couch and going off to put the flower he brought in some water. So, Ango quietly sat on the couch, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to quell the sting of the thorn of anxiety still lodged in his throat. After a moment, you joined him on the couch, having turned the lights off so that he sat with you in the light of the television screen, flashing him a smile and picking up the remote, "Anything in particular you wanna watch?" You hummed, and when he shook his head, not picky, you just put on some show you'd seen a dozen times. After that, things kind of blurred for the government official. One minute he's watching whatever random noise was on the tv, next you're pulling him into a kiss and wiggling into his lap. Just as quickly, he was kissing back, swarmed with a pent up lust that directed his hands to slide beneath your shirt and up your (s/c) sides. Then, you broke the kiss to move to his neck, kissing along his pulse until you found the spot that earned you the first little groan from the brunette. Everything you did seemed to send sparks of fire through Ango's veins, especially when you ground your hips into his quickly forming erection to snatch his breath away until all he could do was moan. In return, he pushed your shirt up until he could finally get it off of you, helping you remove his clothes as well while accepting the heated kisses you snuck into the scramble. The television was completely forgotten once you were sitting naked in his lap, back to hungrily kissing while he wrapped his arms around you and held you against himself greedily, wanting to feel as much of your (s/c) skin against him as possible before you pulled away and grinned, "I-it's been a while," he admitted breathlessly, his cheeks burning more at his inexperience, but you just ran a hand through your (h/l), (h/c) hair to keep it out of your face and spoke with no disappointment or judgement, just pervy playfulness, "You say that like I don't know how to be on top," Any arguments were silenced when he felt your hand beginning to stroke his member, sending him back into the fog of euphoria. Just like that, all of his thoughts were replaced with a simple want for you to continue making him feel good. Thankfully, you didn't tease him too long, only until you were prepped properly, then you were lowering yourself onto him as both of you moaned. Ango gripped your hips to keep himself from slipping away entirely into the waves of desire, panting and moaning along with you while you moved. It had been forever since he had sex with someone, so he feared he might orgasm too early, especially with how eagerly you pressed sloppy kisses to his lips and moved. Sadly, his attempts only held him off for a short time. The storm of euphoria was just too strong, his breath soon hitched and he lost himself for a moment, giving in to the bliss of orgasm with a moaned curse until the high ebbed. Thankfully, you weren't too far behind him, giving him one last kiss and moaning into his mouth as you reached your own end. Afterwards, you pulled away and caught your breath before Ango got sore and you had to get up. Once he was able to get up and able to focus once more, Ango pulled his clothes back on, his cheeks burning, glasses messed up, and his hair mussed from your fingers being tangled in it. However, before he could let his guilt carry him home to hide from you, your arms were pulling him back onto the couch and you were wrapping yourself around him to cuddle. "Hey, we still have a date to get through, remember?" you chuckled, "I-I thought that the date was just a cover to get me here," he muttered, but you just nuzzled into him, "Nope. You're staying the night, Ango." You kissed his cheek and got comfy, leaving him no room to argue about it. Though, he didn't think he could argue that much if you did, because after so much energy was burnt he didn't know if he could make it all the way home. So, he instead pushed his guilt and shame away for later and just laid with you until he inevitably dozed off.

#Ango Sakaguchi #bsd #bungo stray dogs #Ango x reader #x reader #long distance #fanfiction #quotev #not sfw

46 notes · View notes

detectivehannibal · 4 years

Text

Dr. Lecter Will See You Now

Hannibal Lecter x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Language.

A/N: Award for the worst title goes to me. Also, I’m gonna give third person a try. I have a love-hate for second person.

Requested by: @lousyydimwit

Word Count: 1,719

“It is. Do you have an eye for brands, Dr. Lecter?”

She was spoiled. It was as simple as that. She had always had everything handed to her on a silver platter. She knew this, of course. She wasn’t exactly stupid. A little blind to reality maybe, but not stupid. Everyone tended to have a bit of an immediate judgement when it came to her. She was always well put together and never had any part of her that was out of place. She was determined to be at her best all the time, mainly because everyone expected her to be. She never really thought about how exhausting it could be.

Her parents had worked endlessly in their early years of marriage and careers to ensure that she’d have the most stress free life possible. They struck it big and were able to send their little girl to the finest schools possible to assure her success. She had lived a VERY comfortable life.

Still, she enjoyed being given anything she could ever want and/or dream of. She loved her lavish life. At least, until she was told that her time was up. Her parents had always told her that they would always take care of her until she was old enough to handle herself. She was 25 now and well past the age of being able to provide for herself. They weren’t cutting her off so to speak. They would just casually begin sending her less and less money until they were sure she was fine to make it on her own. So, they dropped the bombshell on her.

She was going to have to get a job.

She wasn’t angry or anything. She knew this day would come eventually. She just hated that it came so quickly. At first, it was hard for her to accept that she was finally going to have to become a working adult, but she kind of found it exciting once she began job searching.

But not just any job would do. She would rather be dead than work in a job that required real hard labor. She just wasn’t cut out (or used) to that sort of scene. God forbid that she break a nail while working. She ruled out waitressing, any kind of retail job, or anything that involved intense customer service. Her options were slimming down fast and she was getting discouraged. That’s when she found her golden ticket.

She was skimming through the paper one morning when she saw an ad saying that a psychiatrist in the Baltimore area was in need of a secretary. She wasn’t familiar with the name of the therapist...but he looked oddly familiar. In any event, she saw this as her chance at work. She dialed the number, set up a time for an interview, and she was well on her way.

Here’s a little secret. She didn’t actually expect to get the job. She thought that Dr. Lecter would be interested enough in her to give her a recommendation for another job opening, not actually hire her as his secretary. Which was why she was stunned when he basically hired her on the spot and told her that she would start the following morning. When she realized that this was actually happening, she knew she had to put her absolute best presence forward. At least, until she was comfortable to relax into it. What he didn’t know, however, was just how much of an impact she was going to have on his life.

She arrived on time the next morning, ready to get to work. Her job was pretty simple. Answer the phone, check in his patients as they arrived, take messages for him when he was in a session, get him coffee when requested. The basic assistant kind of job. She sat behind the desk in the lobby of his office, acquainting herself with the new area. He exited his office a little after lunch to check on her. It had really been the first time he had actually interacted with her that day.

“Ms. [Y/L/N],” He said standing in front of the desk. She looked up at him respectfully, but a hint of a smirk on her face; “I presume you are settling in nicely?”

On top of being a privileged lady, she was a fast learner. All her years of extensive schooling had prepared her in ways she never expected. She was acing her first day, much to his surprise. He was extremely observant and he expected her to be...well...kind of an idiot.

“Yes, Dr. Lecter. Everything is just fine.” She replied confidently.

He hadn’t figured it out just yet, but he found her rather interesting. She wasn’t intimidated by him like most people were. As a matter of fact, that was the very reason he had been in need of a new secretary. The last one was so frightened of Hannibal that she took her talents elsewhere. It wasn’t like he had tried to kill her or anything. He had only done that to one of his former secretaries.

“Good. I was hoping you were adjusting well.” He responded, putting his hands in his pockets.

She smiled, returning to her work briefly before realizing he was still standing there. She raised a brow;

“Do you need something?” She asked sweetly.

He was looking at her outfit. A skirt, blouse, and blazer with a pair of heels. He noted that it was a quite expensive getup, something none of his previous assistants had worn.

“No, but I must ask. Is that Alexander McQueen you’re currently wearing?” He asked.

He knew the answer was yes, but he wanted to see if she actually knew herself. He was beginning to get an inkling that she had come from a more than rich lifestyle. Luckily, she did actually know what it was, but she didn’t always know the origins of her clothes. Everything had always been bought for her.

“It is. Do you have an eye for brands, Dr. Lecter?” She questioned.

He gave the slightest smile;

“I tend to, yes.” He answered simply.

He walked back into his office to prepare for his next appointment. She was a little disappointed that the conversation had ended so abruptly, but she knew that wouldn’t be the last time she ever spoke to him. This was a full time gig after all. She was over the moon with how things were going and it looked like she was going to be just fine.

Her first week went by without a hitch and the more conversations she had with Hannibal, the more bold she became. She didn’t know it yet, but she was finally having a say in her life. She was able to make decisions without something popping in to suggest her otherwise. She could be herself. However, her real self caused annoyance to come out of Dr. Lecter. But he was a patient man. He knew she just wanted to impress him. Even though he wouldn’t tell her yet, she was the best secretary he had been able to have in years. That still didn’t stop the twinge of irritation in his chest every time she said something unprofessional.

He entered the office around 7:00 AM, briskly walking by her desk like a man on a mission. She gave a fake offended gasp;

“Well, good morning, Dr. Lecter!” She called after him.

He stopped at his doorway. He would admit, that was rather rude. He turned to face her;

“Good morning, [Y/N].”

That’s when she realized why he had been in such a hurry to get into his office. Coffee had been spilled all down the front of his white collared shirt and his pants. She couldn’t help but laugh lightly;

“Oh, I see you’ve had a great start to the morning,” She said sarcastically; “Would you like me to go get you another outfit?” She asked reaching for her keys.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I keep a spare in my office closet.” He explained.

She paused for a second, then a devious grin spread on her face. He mentally slapped himself, knowing she had found humor in what he had just said.

“Do you now? Is it often that you have to change clothes while at work?” She asked, giving an implication that he wasn’t catching on to yet.

“It’s only for situations like this,” He said referring to his coffee stained outfit; “What are you inferring?”

She stood from her chair, leaning against the desk;

“Well, I’m sure you have to do something in between sessions.” She hinted.

What an insane accusation! He would never...pleasure himself while at work. And even if he did, he surely wouldn’t tell her about it. His posture and expression stayed unchanged, but he was getting agitated.

“I’m not sure I appreciate that statement, [Y/N].” He said honestly.

She was unfazed and pressed on;

“Come on, Dr. Lecter. I know you get bored in there. I’d probably do it too,” She admitted; “Honestly, if I looked like you? I know I would do it.” She flirted.

Now he was taken aback. That was quite the confession coming from his secretary. He was mentally noting to himself that this was probably why he was so intrigued by her. She wasn’t like his previous secretaries in the sense that she wasn’t afraid to say anything to his face. She was extremely honest and forward with her thoughts. He found that refreshing in a way.

“I’m flattered that you think that of me.” He accepted the compliment.

She shrugged, running a hand through her hair;

“I’m just saying.” She replied, sitting back down at her desk.

He pondered her words. Surely, there wasn’t anything wrong with being attracted to his secretary...or anything wrong with his secretary being attracted to him. He was still at his door, deep in thought. She noted the time was now 7:15, and he had his first patient at 7:30.

“Dr. Lecter,” She said snapping him out of his daze; “Paula Wallace’s appointment is in fifteen minutes.”

He nodded, getting back to work;

“Right. Of course.”

He retreated into his office finally to change into a new shirt and pants. A fresh thought entered his mind as he finished buttoning his shirt;

Maybe this new secretary was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #Hannibal TV #hannibal imagine #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter x reader imagine #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal lecter imagines

224 notes · View notes

letsdiscoverkitty · 3 years

Text

Treatment/Recovery Update - May 2021

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

30 notes · View notes

itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

Text

Shadows And Pills - 1

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it. If you have any questions, please feel free to message me or send me an ask.

Thank you to @thoughtslikeaminefield and @glassjacket . I would not have made it through this story and would honestly not be here today with the two of you. I will never be able to tell you how much you mean to me.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all.

Alexa comes away with a shadow.

In the weeks following the disaster, the public equally lauds and decries the Avengers, but while their opinions are divided over the heroes, the villain is universally denounced as nothing short of Satan himself, and the city throws an actual celebration the day Thor takes Loki back to Asgard to face the justice of their people.

Alexa, having not turned on her television since the day she got home from the hospital, ignores the boisterous celebrants and goes about her shopping, earbuds firmly in place, frown lines now permanently etched between her eyes and around her pinched lips.

“Routine will help you through some of the worst days,” her therapist tells her during one session. “Something familiar and safe to retreat to when the flashbacks are the worst. Just give it a try,” he adds at her disbelieving grimace.

And so she sets a routine.

Morning Routine: wake up. Ignore alarm, lie in bed an extra thirty minutes or so. Shower. Pretend to eat breakfast. Take meds (this one she never skips or shirks). Find something to wear. Stare at it for another ten minutes. Eventually get dressed. Contemplate keys for another fifteen minutes. Leave the goddamned apartment already.

Her routine has varying results, although she does admit to her therapist that life is marginally more bearable with the routine than without.

“It’s nice to have something to look forward to for the next day.”

Her therapist can’t quite hide his grimace at her flat, deadened tone, but she’s not being sarcastic or rude. She finds that going to bed at night is a trifle easier when she knows what’s going to happen the next day.

“So, who are we up to today?” the doctor asks, switching the subject with awkward abruptness. It’s been six weeks since Hell came to New York, and during their twice-weekly meetings, her therapist suggests going through each of the people she saw die in front of her that day, to get closure...or say goodbye...or something.

Sometimes Alexa wonders whether he just wants to hear the details for his own perverse pleasure.

“Brenda.”

Alexa robotically begins to list the personal details she knows...knew...about her floor manager. Unlike the mail room intern she discussed at their last meeting, the list for Brenda goes on for a while. She’s worked with Brenda since she started at the company, learning most of what she knows about her current job from the woman.

Brenda was kind, sharply intelligent, and mothering to everyone under her supervision, and yet she did it in a way that didn’t make anyone uncomfortable. She balanced work and a family long and well enough to both receive regular promotions within the company and also, very recently, become a new grandmother.

The backs of Alexa’s eyes sting as she remembers the photo Brenda showed her not twenty minutes before part of the building collapsed on top of half the department. Her jaw locks as the scene plays before her eyes again, the explosions and shrieks of metal drowning out the shrieks of the people only five feet away.

She closes her eyes, but there’s no pause button to freeze the scene, no power button to shut the images off as she turns in her memory and runs, making it to the stairwell and slamming the door open, turning back and screaming for Brenda, straining her eyes through the smoke and dust and mountains of falling debris. Brenda is running, reaching for Alexa even though she seems miles away, and then one of the file cabinets is thrown over, propelled faster and harder than should be possible, and...and…

And then Brenda isn’t running anymore. Her outstretched hand, the only part of her that wasn't crushed by office furniture, spasms against the ruined carpet, as if it thinks it’s reached its destination and is grasping at its savior.

Alexa’s hand tingles, and her fingers lock into her palm, nails fitting easily into the little grooves she dug there weeks ago. No blood, she only dug that deep once, but the furrows remain as permanently etched there as the frown lines on her face.

Alexa struggles to take in a labored breath as her therapist watches her with the appropriate amount of professional, clinical sympathy and detachment.

“Do your counting,” he reminds her.

How could she forget? She counts to three once, letting a breath out at the end. She repeats the process twice more, ignoring her therapist’s brief flash of annoyance at her departure from his “system.” But, for once, he doesn’t ask her why she has to deviate from the standard one-to-ten method and just lets her do the goddamned counting in peace.

Small blessings.

“Have you had any flashbacks since our last session?”

She stares at him, letting her gaze rest heavy and disbelieving as she turns his question over. She’s been averaging about five flashbacks a day, triggered by everything from accidentally brushing a stranger on the sidewalk (Jim knocking past her to get down the stairs just as the door on the stairwell behind her explodes inward; more shrieking, then falling, then dark) to lifting a carton of cold milk from the shelf at the grocery (that impossibly cold hand grasping hers, pulling her up from the rubble, bringing her face to face with...something...something in the...shadows, it was so dark there, and…).

“Yeah. I’ve had some flashbacks since our last session.”

“What sort of coping strategies did you use?”

He’s not even meeting her eyes now, just getting notes down on that damned pad. The scratching of his pen grates into her bones, and Alexa grits her teeth as she glares.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

One, two, three.

Breathe.

She slowly recites the list of strategies he suggested during a previous session, none of which have proven particularly effective at lessening the frequency of the episodes, but most of which she grudgingly admits provide some slight relief afterwards and allow her to refocus her mind on the present rather than dwelling in the memory.

“And the shadows?”

How can he get this wrong every time when he’s taking all those fucking notes?

“Still just the one.”

“Has it manifested in any other way? Asked you to do anything? Do you feel different in any way when you notice it?”

There’s a distasteful eagerness to his words that always turns Alexa’s stomach, and she has to physically bite into her tongue to keep from asking what kind of bonus he gets for each symptom she shows of different mental illnesses.

“It’s just there sometimes. I..” She hesitates, feeling vaguely nauseated from his questions, but she has to be honest, right? Because, ultimately, it’s his job to help her, and she’s never going to get through this by hiding symptoms. He can’t help fix her if he doesn’t know what’s broken, and he did suggest the routine, so, okay, he gets a pass for this one.

“I still mostly only see it before I’m falling asleep. I’ve started seeing it in the late afternoon, as well, not often, but sometimes. Always in shadows that are already there. It doesn’t talk or anything, doesn’t really have any face or form except for vaguely person-shaped, but it...it watches me. And it’s...denser than it was last week. More...it’s thicker than it was, like when you see wispy clouds kind of...gather and turn into storm clouds?”

He nods, his pen whizzing over the legal pad he records their session notes on. “So, you feel threatened by the shadow? Like it’s storm clouds gathering to...what? It feels menacing?”

But, like most of the questions Alexa fences in this office, this one isn’t easily answered.

“It feels like it’s watching me, waiting for something. I don’t know what. I don’t...I don’t know if it’s menacing, exactly. Like, it feels potentially dangerous, but I can’t tell if it’s for me. I don’t know. It’s just...darker and more there this week, but it doesn’t do anything, and I don’t feel different, and it doesn’t speak to me. I. Don’t. Hear. Voices.”

She clips off each word at the end of her rant separately and precisely, repeating her counting in her head, and she forces her breathing to even out. The doctor is just doing his job, he’s just trying to help, he’s supposed to ask these questions, it’s how he helps-

“Hmm. I’ll have to consider that between now and our next meeting. In the meantime, go ahead and move up to the next dosage step with your meds, keep it on the escalating schedule we set.”

You set, she thinks mutinously for a moment before internally shaking her head. She nods, biting her tongue once more. She’s going to have a permanent indentation there as well, at this rate.

“Any side effects? Itching, swelling, difficulty breathing? Any unreasonable lethargy or detachment?”

“I mean...I don’t really have anything to attach to at this point, so…”

He frowns at her again, and she wonders if he’s going to crank up her dosage two notches instead of one.

“Are you having what you feel are typical emotional responses to everyday stimuli? Have you laughed or smiled at anything yet? How long has it been since you emotionally felt anything besides the frustration and panic?”

And, somehow, this question is difficult, too. She struggles through, trying to find a balance between honesty and not making herself look like a complete failure who can't function in life. She doesn’t help her case when she admits she hasn’t followed many of his suggestions beyond establishing a routine.

“Not even exercising?” he asks, his disappointment palpable.

When she silently shakes her head, her lips pinched tight against his disapproval, he shakes his head with a sigh that sings of ultimate betrayal. Instead of berating her as usual, the doctor frowns and looks down at his notes, considering them silently. He clicks his tongue against his teeth for a moment before switching over to end-session mode, robotically delivering his closing remarks, his typical reminders to keep her meds on a strict schedule at the exact time every day, to avoid all alcohol and unprescribed drugs, to keep her diet as clean and unprocessed as possible, and to get plenty of exercise. Even this last bit is delivered with a sharply clinical detachment, as if she has driven him to the brink of her own psychoses by stubbornly refusing to accept his help.

There is a short, silent moment between them where they refuse to look at each other, the doctor perusing his notes once more while Alexa examines the wrinkles creased into her jeans from lack of folding. The doctor flips pages over in his legal pad and slaps the cover shut sharply, breaking the standoff with one last, dismissive comment.

“Routine, Alexa. Stick to the routine. If it’s what brings you comfort, if that's the one thing you’re taking away from these sessions that actually helps, then stick with it. I’ll see you Thursday afternoon.”

….

Her afternoons vary, according to her therapy schedule. Her sessions take roughly an hour and a half, so that’s one block of time she doesn’t have to try and fill. On the days she isn’t having her skull cracked open, she can sometimes force herself to work on the files her company sends her way. Grunt work, brainless stuff that any first-year intern could do, but it keeps her on the payroll and covered by health insurance until the doctor clears her to return to the office.

Not that there’s an office to return to yet.

Grocery shopping for food she’ll pretend to eat later, making excuses to stay out of the apartment a little longer each day, watching the shadows of the buildings grow darker and longer until the sunlight disappears from the streets.

And the other shadow, the darkest of all, thick and solid against the brick and stone, pacing her, keeping track as she wanders through the broken city blocks. Sometimes she walks a little faster, pretends to not notice the black spot. Sometimes she pretends it’s keeping her company. With the most conversation she’s had in weeks taking place in her therapy sessions, she occasionally finds the imaginary company of her shadow stalker to be more pleasant than menacing.

Occasionally.

Eventually, though, she and her chimerical companion head back to the silent, encroaching walls of her apartment to begin the night routine.

…

Night Routine: laundry. Pretend to eat dinner. Shower. Finish laundry. Clean already clean kitchen. Another shower (on the bad days, the ash and debris won’t wash off). Rearrange already arranged closet. Braid hair. Take meds, do not skip, no matter how much they screw up her sleep, because they help. They do. Settle into bed. Stare at the wall. Adjust pillows. Re-settle. Stare at the shadow. Start to drift off, slide into a flashback, scream back to full consciousness. Watch the shadow. Doze. Awaken from a fucked up nightmare she can only partially remember. Repeat ad nauseum.

Really, if Alexa could just skip the nights and go straight into morning, that’d be great. Mornings are tedious but tolerable. Afternoons are blurry and tense, especially therapy days, but nights…

Nights just won't shut down.

The drugs are partially responsible, the doctor has told her multiple times. The medicine can either make sleeping more difficult, or it can act like a sedative, dragging and holding her down. Honestly, she’s getting kind of mixed results. It’s difficult to stay awake, easy to slip under, but then she can’t stay asleep for very long, jerking back to consciousness in something close to full panic, unable to figure out if it’s the drugs or the dreams that’s pushing her to the edge.

Because the fucked up dreams...well, that’s all on her and her broken brain. She stopped bringing up the dreams in therapy after the first couple of weeks of sessions. The doctor seemed hell bent on steering Alexa towards the possibility that she was experiencing waking hallucinations, but there’s no way she could possibly be awake for all this shit. Maybe some of the flashbacks, but not…

Not…

Her brain isn’t that broken.

No. No, she can tell from the way she jerks to consciousness afterwards, she knows she’s asleep. Yeah, she’s unstable and has flashbacks, but she’s not delusional. They’re dreams.

Every night.

About…

Something.

Okay, sometimes she can remember. Sometimes the meds dull her down so much she forgets what day it is, but sometimes she can hold on to a detail or two. Cold, slender fingers, impossibly strong. A flash of bright blue that sends nausea racing through her entire body (who knew your toes could feel nauseated?) or a glimpse of bottle green that, conversely, thrills her to her soul. A smooth, velvet voice that penetrates every layer of her being, down to the deepest recesses. Darkness descending...a sense of dreadful awe…

And sometimes she can remember every unhinged detail with a terrifying clarity that she will never even consider mentioning to the therapist. Not if she likes her jacket sleeves to fit properly.

There’s honesty, and then there’s idiocy.

The shadow is larger tonight. Taller, a little broader, definitely denser. She would say looming, even, but it’s not quite that large.

Not quite.

She stares at it openly, no longer trying to avoid acknowledging its presence. What's the point? The doctor knows about it, and it’s not like she’s talking to it. She’s not that far gone yet. And she hasn't lied to the doctor, either. The shadow does watch her, like it’s waiting, gathering. Convalescing. But it hasn't ever talked to her.

She does not hear voices.

She yawns and rolls her shoulders, left then right, sliding a little lower in bed, searching for a cooler place between the sheets. Movement catches her eye, and she looks up as the shadow shifts, leaning left then right, and seems to…

Grow?

No, it’s never moved before. She’s pretty sure she’s never seen it move, but now it pulses and raises up, stretching-

No. No. Sourceless shadows don’t move. They don’t grow, they don’t shift, they don’t-

The shadow stretches upwards abruptly, definitely looming now, and Alexa hits the wall behind the bed, scrambling backwards in a blind panic as she realizes the shadow isn’t growing.

It’s coming closer.

Her breathing speeds up, but her limbs are heavy and dull with narcotic stupor. The foot of her bed darkens as the shadow creeps even closer, and she opens her mouth to protest, to scream, to say something, but her tongue is numb and stupid with the acrid, coppery tang of fear and pharmaceuticals, and she hates, hates this kind of dream where she can’t speak, can't move and she can barely breathe, and...and…

The shadow reaches out, stretches over her foot and slides up her calf in a clammy, viscous caress that tightens on her knee and pulls her several inches down the bed as her throat closes.

Do not shrink from Me. It is not your fear I crave, but your adoration. Come to Me, allow yourself to move past the fear and embrace what I wish to grant you.

Horror, deep and instinctual, floods her veins. Alexa feels the voice more than hears it, and it awakens an ancient fear that finally, though futilely, awakens her drugged limbs. She claws at her sheets uselessly as the shadow moves over her, a freezing oil slick that oozes against her skin as if her blankets and clothes weren’t even there, sending shivers to the very marrow of her bones as her gorge rises, and she chokes on the bile that singes the back of her throat. She can’t fight, can’t move against this intangible force, but neither will her terror let her sink past the fear to blissful unawareness.

Give over. Let go of your stubborn fear that tethers you to this useless reality. Allow Me entrance, and I will grant you the relief you seek. Release your grip on the world that cares nothing for you, and I shall bestow upon you the peace you so desperately crave.

Her skin raises in gooseflesh everywhere the shadow crosses, and her stomach turns as it squeezes its way up her torso, her chest, her throat, slipping over her lips in a sick parody of a lover’s caress. She opens her mouth - to scream, to breathe, to do something - and the shadow plunges inwards, invading her mouth, her throat, coating her inside and out with a thick, glutinous sensation that leaves her mouth hanging obscenely open, tongue thrashing, while her mind screams useless denials.

Submit to Me what you see I can easily take, give Me My due. Give over, drown in Me, and I will save you from this miserable existence.

And she is drowning, the air pressed from her lungs as a dark heaviness settles solidly over her. Her arms are forced over her head, and she is strung out on her twisted sheets, writhing under the weight of the shadow as it presses over every surface, against every entrance. No matter how she strains, her legs are gradually forced apart. The darkness’s lack of speed is affected, some barely functioning bit of her brain whispers to her; it could take her as swiftly as it cares to and is only moving slowly because it wants her to suffer, wants to taste her anguish. She has no chance against the shadow, she can’t even touch it, really she could just save herself the anxiety and fear and just-

NO.

She twists as hard as she can, but the shadow simply moves with her, flows over her, waits until she takes another breath, and then surges between her thighs, driving her torso off the bed with the force of its thrust. Every cell in her body locks, not in pain, but in complete revulsion. And then again, and again, cruel in the thoroughness of its violation, covering and saturating every crevice of her being, coating and tainting everything it touches.

Wrong, can't...stop, stop, stop, wrong, can’t...God, please…

You cannot rely on yourself, on your own mind for proper guidance. Let Me protect you. Let Me save you from yourself.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just stop, please…please-

The alarm clock shrieks right in her goddamned ear, and she can breathe and move and scream and goddammit, she fucking hates those dreams that send her careening onto the floor, scrambling for cover when she can’t even remember what she's running from.

Her morning routine is already in shambles. There’s no ignoring the alarm clock today. A morning shower maybe, to wash off the sticky aftermath of night sweats, definitely, but no lying about, staring at the walls in a sleep-daze. Definitely washing the sheets tonight, too.

She surveys what she can see of her bed from her crumpled position on the floor in front of the closet and sighs. Must’ve been a hell of a nightmare to tear up the covers that badly. She thinks for a moment of trying a little harder to remember, to recall some piece of the dream, but then her stomach flips over, and she summarily rejects that idea in favor of caffeination and medication.

She allows herself another few minutes on the floor, waiting until her respiratory and heart rates return to a less alarming pace before climbing to her quivering knees. The shadow darkens the far corner of the room, as innocuous as always. Though she doesn’t know why, she can’t help an involuntary flinch when she first sees it. It’s not normally present in the morning, at least, she doesn’t think so...well, she can't remember the shadow being so dark in the mornings, at least. But...

She clears her throat against the thickness that seems to coat it suddenly, and readjusts her plan to include a glass of water before she starts in on the coffee. She realizes after another long moment of staring that her hands are trembling along with her legs. Her jaw clenches, and she knows she’s being ridiculous. It’s a damned shadow. It just sits there. It’s a minor manifestation of a mild psychosis secondary to major psychological trauma. It’s just a damned dark spot; it doesn’t change, doesn't want her to do anything, and it definitely doesn’t fucking talk to her.

She. Does. Not. Hear. Voices.

…

Up Now: 2

36 notes · View notes

caffiend-queen · 4 years

Text

It'll Be Good For You

Chapter 2: A Visit to the Ha-Ha Hotel

My fellow lumberjack lovers, @imanuglywombat has a deliriously tasty feast of lumberjack porn with some of your favorites: Lumberjack Bucky, Lumberjack Thor, Lumberjack Steve... put on your favorite plaid shirt and get to reading!!

PS: thank you to @imanuglywombat for coining the phrase “lumberjack Steve.”

Previous chapter here

In which Aura takes a run. Who knew that fresh air and exercise could create such wild dreams?

It took you the rest of the night to unpack everything and get settled, and the sun was starting to appear over the pines and into your windows when you pulled out the last item, your laptop. You carefully put it on the table you’d dragged into the main room and positioned by the windows. Pulling out pads of paper for notes and extra pencils to put in a cup. Stood back and looked at everything. Rearranged the laptop. Sat down at the table. And put your head in your shaking hands. “What am I going to do?” you whispered, “What if I can’t do this anymore?” Your reflection didn’t have anything to offer you, so you sighed and went to bed.

Your sleep was disturbed and fretful, the way it had been since the letters started a year ago. You woke up at every new creak and squeak in the cabin, including once when it sounded like footsteps ascending the stairs. You tumbled out of bed for that one, crouching by the bed and scrabbling for the handgun you’d stashed in a holster in the bed frame. By the time you had it in your trembling grasp, you felt like an idiot. “Great,” running a hand through your hair, “perfect. If that had been a break-in he would have been in here and stabbed me by the time I fell off the bed. Impressive reaction time, girl. Really.” Carefully pulling out the clip and making sure there wasn’t a round chambered, you replaced the weapon and stood up. It was late afternoon, based on how the light slanted through the trees outside.

"Might as well get moving," you said, in a voice so sulky that it annoyed even you. Still, after an aggressively intense cup of coffee, you were alert and ready to run. You'd started on the advice of a therapist you'd seen twice who was very adamant about the benefits of exercise. While running had definitely been a good idea, her optimistic chirpiness got on your nerves to the point that you decided to keep running but fire her.

The sun was making its leisurely way toward the horizon when your sneakered feet hit the groomed dirt trail leading back to the main road. Until you knew the area better, it seemed like a good idea to stay with what you knew. “Okay,” you admitted, panting, “this could be pretty good here. I could like this. The air was cool, even for July as the evening light threw the ferns and trees into a sharper focus. You heard the occasional rustle from the underbrush and smiled. “Bunnies? I’ll bet it’s bunnies. Do they have rabbits this high up?” To be honest, having lived in sea-level Seattle for so long, the high altitude was forcing you to drag in more air, trying to get more oxygen. To your dismay, you could only run a mile or so before you had to slow to a walk, hands on hips as you breathed deeply. You turned and started heading back to the cabin, it was getting dark enough that you weren’t comfortable with being too far away. “Wait.” You stopped, turning around. “This is the right path, I just turned and came back the same way.” You turned around again. “Right?” You hated that uncertain tone. That weakness. You’d always been proudly independent before the letters started. Your parents gave you that, at least, by ignoring you. “Well, damnit…” You tried to regulate your breathing, pace yourself. “No panic attack, Aura!” Lecturing yourself sometimes worked. “Suck it up! You’re fine!”

“What are you doing here?”

You let out a full-throated scream and whirled around to see… Of course. Of course, it would be that hot-looking dolt of a handyman. “I’m, well damnit I’m lost, Steve!” you snapped, hand on your chest and feeling like a complete idiot. He was standing there, blocking the path with his arms folded - those biceps, they were big enough for their own zip code, you thought mistily - over his broad chest. He was wearing those perfectly-fitting jeans and another plaid shirt. His expression was not welcoming. He was standing by his battered truck, parked in front of a cabin smaller than yours, but still beautifully designed. He even had flowers blooming in the front yard and some fragrant smelling wood burning in his fireplace.

“How did you get three miles from your cabin, cross-country and not be clear about the way back? These cabins may be fancy, but this is still the wilderness. You can get hurt.”

You stepped back, shaking your head. “Three miles cross-country? No, I just … I was on the road, and-”

Steve looked at you briefly and then at the night sky. “It’s too dark to walk back now.” He gave an irritable sigh and you watched, transfixed as that gigantic chest moved up and down. “Get in the truck. I’ll drive you.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” you said, “just point me in the direction of the cabin and-”

“It’s nighttime and you’re going to get lost,” he said crisply. “Get in the truck.”

So, you did.

The ride back to your place was silent, you were trying to memorize the way and wrestle with your confusion at the same time. How could you have possibly gone as far as three miles? And you never left the road. But one side glance at his impassive face told you Steve wouldn’t give a rat’s rectum about your certainty that you weren’t lost. The mist was rising slightly, hovering over the ferns and lower bushes and everything looked a little eerie, unearthly. Pulling up to your cabin, he rested a muscled forearm on his steering wheel. “You have GPS on your phone?” he asked, still not looking at you.

“Yes?”

He extended a hand the size of a dinner plate. “Give it to me.” When you put your phone in his palm, he briskly entered the coordinates of your cabin and dropped a pin. “You’re lucky the mountain has cell coverage,” he said sternly, “the owner put in a cell tower so none of the residents would have to risk being without wifi for a single second.”

“Why Mr. Rogers, you almost sound like you’re capable of sarcasm, this is an exciting development.” You knew the second it was out of your mouth that your relationship with the handyman had not progressed to the stage where lighthearted quips would be appropriate. Actually, there wasn’t a time in your relationship that you could ever imagine that would be welcome.

Steve slapped the phone back into your hand. “Go.”

So, you did.

Back in front of your laptop…

You paced back and forth, staring at it, then plopping down with the intention of genius flying out of the tips of your fingers and onto the monitor, and then… didn’t. “This is it,” you moaned, “I’m screwed. I’m never going to write again and I’m going to die alone, homeless, and in a dumpster and my parents will be right!” Of all these nightmare scenarios, your parents being right was the worst, and you sat down again, determined to write something. Anything. Your phone rang. “Oh, thank god,” you mumbled and seized it eagerly. “Hello?”

“Well you sound cheerful,” your agent said warmly, “that’s great. Settling in already?”

“Oh, hey James,” you struggled to keep the smile on your face because you just knew the next words out of his mouth would be-

“Have you been writing, Aura? Even some practice paragraphs?”

“No, Dad,” you snarled, “I’ve been busy unpacking and getting lost in the middle of the forest and-”

“What?” his voice sharpened, “You got lost?”

“Well,” you shrugged, “that’s what the irascible handyman says, but-”

“Do I hear a hint of interest here?” James teased you, “My assistant did say he looked like a lumberjack model when she video conferenced him last week. Maybe a little inspiration for your new book?”

“What, seriously?” you cried, aghast, “The man is a total dick!”

“Fine.”

You could hear his long-suffering sigh, which of course made you immediately guilty. Even if James was unbearably pushy, he’d taken care of you, and the police, and security when the letters started. “James, have there been any more of… you know. The letters and stuff? Pictures?”

He was silent for a moment and you wished you were Facetiming so you could see his expression. “We don’t have to go there, Aura. Look, you’re safe and in a place that no one on this planet - aside from me well, and my assistant - knows where you are. You don’t even need to think about that psycho. You can concentrate on your writing and do what makes you happy. Are you still running?”

“Yes.” God, you knew you sounded sulky and childish.

“Good! Good,” he said cheerfully, “tell you what. Just send me, I don’t know, a couple of chapters about living in the woods. Like Thoreau in Walden, right?”

You smiled in spite of your … well ... your spite. “Yeah, I can do that.” Hesitating, you blurted, “Thank you James, seriously. You take really good care of me, better than you’re paid for, certainly.”

“Hey,” you could hear his concern, which made you feel both better and needy. “You know that I care about you, right? Not just as a client, but a good person. A talented writer. A-”

“I get it!” you laughed. “Thank you. Have a good night.”

“Don’t forget my paragraphs!” he shouted as you hung up.

Your sleep was fragmented again. You'd stubbornly stayed up until nearly the dawn, a night owl now, just like Steve Rogers, Handyman, Sex God and Kind of a Dick. The dreams were vivid.

You were sitting next to the fire pit in front of your cabin, settled into one of the big, comfortable chairs and enjoying the flames.

“What’s in the letters?” Steve was across from you, shirtless and lounging in a chair like he belonged there, holding a beer. His gaze held yours as he took a sip from the bottle.

“What- how do you know about them?” You cringed, feeling exposed all over again. The Fragile Author. The Nervous Breakdown.

His eyes were glowing again, like reflecting off the moonlight and all you could do was watch them, fascinated. A clear, perfect blue like the lake you’d passed on the way up the mountain. "I know everything," Steve said, his bearded face softening just slightly. “Tell me.”

Why couldn’t you tell him to go to hell? To go fix something? To get out of your fire pit and stop drinking your beer? “There’s a man. He wants to kill me,” you said finally. Reluctant to make someone else look at you like you were a victim.

You watched a muscle tick under his beautiful cheekbone, but his expression stayed calm. “Go on, honey,” Steve’s tone was oddly kind, one you’d definitely never heard before.

“Oh, um…” You were holding a glass of wine in the dream and you took a gulp. Wow, you could feel the tannins and the sweet bite of blackberries from the vintage. This was a vivid dream. “The letters started about a year ago, last May, actually. The first one was just the standard fan mail, ‘I love your books,’ blah, blah, blah.” You took another swallow of wine to give yourself time. “But the thing with the letter? This guy writes, ‘You’re just as pretty as a picture.’ Except…” you drank deeply from your wine glass. “Except he’s attached a picture. A real one.”

Steve’s still watching you, unblinking. God, his eyes really are insanely blue. “Go on, Aura.”

“That’s the first time you’ve said my name,” you add, apropos of nothing. “So, anyway. The picture is of me. From the day before, sitting in a cafe where I used to write a lot. They’d keep my mug full of coffee- it was so big they used to joke and call it the ‘toilet bowl,’ but anyway…” Clearing your throat, you tried to forget all the pictures that came after this one. “He wrote, ‘your coffee cup’s so big I could drown you in it, but I won’t. I’m going to cut you up like a sow and bleed you out like one.”

You didn’t even see him move, but suddenly you were straddling Steve’s legs and his long arms were wrapped around you, rocking slightly as he crooned to you. He would kiss your cheek, or an eyelid, then rock you some more. And he never let go, that tight, comforting embrace. “My poor girl,” he soothed, the sweet words sounding oddly shaped from his stern mouth. “My sweet girl,” Steve purred, “I’ll take care of you. I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

Despite the fact that this was a dream and really, why were you trying to clarify this to a dream guy, you said, “No, I won’t- look. I trained in self-defense and handling guns for this reason. I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me.”

He was running his fingers over the sweep of your shoulder, which was bare, you noticed. The rough pads of his fingertips were from a man who worked with his hands. They felt oddly good, rasping over your smooth skin. “Is this why you stay up all night?” Steve whispered, leaning in to run his tongue along the tight, anxious tendon in your neck that always gave you headaches. His tongue was wonderfully cool and soothing.

“Yes,” you groaned as the sweep of his tongue ended in a little nip, right where your jawline met your neck. “Oh! God, that’s so good…” His hands were moving, one cupping your - surprise! - bare ass and the other gently stroking a line over your collarbones, almost metronomic. Back and forth, back and forth as he sweetly kissed your mouth. “I st- stay up so I can see him coming. He’ll sneak up on me in the dark, you know. For a while… oh…” The giant holding you as gently as a doll was running the tip of his chilly tongue up the long line of your throat. “F- for a while I didn’t sleep at all. I kept drinking coffee and staying awake and then I didn’t even take catnaps any more. I didn’t sleep for like a couple of weeks and I guess I was screaming a lot because my neighbors called the police and I woke up in the Ha-Ha Hotel.”

“The what?” His hand was gently squeezing your bottom and the other slid down to join it, but in the front, dipping into your underwear, which was apparently all your Dream Self had chosen to don for this engagement.

You pulled back, fingers smoothing his neatly trimmed beard. It was much softer than it looked. “The Psych Ward. Well, it was called the Swedish Behavioral Health Center, but since they locked me in my room and all the gardens were surrounded by walls with barbed wire, I’m pretty sure it was a nuthouse.”

“Don’t call it that,” Steve’s mouth was over your own for a long, wonderfully lazy moment as his full, pink lips explored your own, slipping his tongue in and out of your mouth. “You’re not crazy. You had a good reason to be terrified. And you got out. And you’re here.”

“My parents were called, I guess. Some busybody shrink recognized my last name and called them. They wouldn’t come, of course. My mother … oh, god!” The man’s long fingers had found your clit and he was carefully exploring it, pulling back the little flesh covering it and stroking up and down, circling it and then circling the entrance to your passage.

His fingers came up to slip in your mouth. “Make them wet, sweet girl.” Your eyes closed as your suckled them, your tongue exploring along the thick digits pressed between your lips. When he pulled them from you, you whined a little bit, making him chuckle. Which unfortunately pushed the hard length of his jean-covered cock against your embarrassingly wet center. Steve slid one finger inside you, and then another as you yelped, nails digging unconsciously into the golden skin of his shoulders.

“My mother, she uh…” you shivered as his fingers tunneled into you, stroking and searching for sensitive spots, pausing when you stiffened, or moaned. “She told me they were disgusted with me. She told me not to call again until I did something to be proud of.”

Steve's fingers never stopped moving, even when the big hand planted on your ass began gently pushing you against his erection again, the rough denim material rubbing your aching clit so well, your swelling lips parting for the length of him, even covered up. “Your parents are worthless,” he promised, kissing your denials right out of your mouth. “You are brave and perfect, and I’m going to fuck you until you agree with me. But not tonight.” He laughed when you whined in protest, cringing as the noise came out of your mouth. “Oh, you’re still coming, sweetheart. Don’t worry about that.” His fingers were moving faster inside you, his hand on your waist now, moving your hips and driving you into the now-wet crotch of his Levi’s. “Ask me nicely, now. Ask for your orgasm and I’ll give it to you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweet girl? Such a good, good girl, aren’t you.”

“I don’t…” you were moving your hips along with the urging of his hand, scooping low to rub against his cock, then rising up slightly to feel his fingers play inside you. God, they were so long, and thick! It already felt like his cock was inside you, stretching and pulling in a way that burned and stung, but it felt so good. And you hadn’t felt good in a long time.

“Shhh,” Steve’s voice was a bit hoarse, and you felt vaguely pleased with yourself for pulling him out of the stern demeanor he always used on you. “Be my good girl now and come.” His fingers twisted oddly and pushed higher inside you, higher than anything you thought could go inside your cunt but then your back arched and your nails dug deeper into his shoulders and you were coming - oh, my god it was so good and such a relief and you couldn’t think of a single thing but how good he made your feel and… There was a sharp pain on your breast, your nipple actually, and it almost startles you out of your orgasm but it was probably just Steve sucking on you too hard because it made you gasp and come again. You never liked pain. You’d been in pain too many times to find it sexy but this time … you asked for it. You begged him to suckle you harder and wailed like a freaking bobcat when his calloused thumb pressed down hard on your clit…

When you blearily opened your eyes, the light was slanting over the pines again, outside your window. You’d slept through most of the day. A good day’s sleep. Cautiously feeling yourself, you were dressed in your usual tank top and sleep shorts. There was no sticky come or bruises or bites or hickeys. Staring at yourself in the bedroom mirror, looking for evidence of the night before, of that wild dream, you found nothing.

“Maybe I am crazy,” you said.

Next Chapter Here...

@titty-teetee

@mcudarklibrary

@nildespirandum

@imanuglywombat

@sophiria

@myoxisbroken

@vodka-and-some-sass

@pagesoflauren

@threeminutesoflife

@sapphirescrolls

@just-the-hiddles

@archy3001

@jtargaryen18

@shae-annelore

@frostbitten-written

@dangertoozmanykids101

@kimanne723

@marvelfansworld

@chuuulip

@is-it-madness

@imnotrevealingmyname

@wrathkitty

@ lokilvrr

@lokidevotee

@texmexdarling

@cassiopeya81

@sllooney

@societyofbibliophiles

@inkededucatednnerdy

@kimanne723

@navybrat817

@shae-annelore

@devikafernando

@devilish--doll

@alexakeyloveloki

@lokislastlove

@wrappedinlokisarms

@ angrythingstarlight

@void-hoechlin

#dark!steve #dark!bucky #Dark Steve Rogers and reader #Dark Bucky Barnes #vampire landlord #vampire captive #stalker #writer #introvert #kim seokjin #dream smut #Dom/sub #vampire landlord fic frenzy

287 notes · View notes

teaprose · 3 years

Text

cw: anxiety, depression, medication, crappy therapists

I don’t know why I’m writing all this. Perhaps as a bit of a journaling device. This has been a difficult few months for me and due to the situation described below I really haven’t had anyone to talk to about it.

Tl/dr; Don’t suffer in silence. If you are on the same medication for years with no progress: it’s time to change up the medication. And also, you may have multiple therapists that just aren’t the right fit. Don’t be afraid to say so and get a new one.

Just started a new type of anti-depressant. I had been on my last one for over two years with varying doses. I have no idea if this one will work, I only just started it, but at least it’s something new.

Currently having the lovely side effects of extreme drowsiness and dry mouth. Gross.

Anyway... why am I telling you this?

Because please, please, don’t suffer in silence.

I was on my previous medication for over TWO. YEARS. while also going to therapy for the last four. My first therapist I saw for about two years for my anxiety and depression and she was a complete waste of time. She spent more time telling me about her adopted son and his issues than my own. I had never been in therapy before and didn’t realize how wrong this was. I was paying her weekly to help me through trauma and instead I would leave barely getting a word in with no actual treatment plan in place.

My second therapist, we’ll get to in a bit....

The point is... If you’re not seeing improvement after being on a medication for over two years it’s time to try something new. If your therapist isn’t working with your best interests at heart, get a new therapist.

Now medication: Every brain works differently. For some Lexapro will work, for others Prozac, for someone else something else. And then there are the doses! You get 5mg, you get 10mg, we’ll start with 5 and make our way up to 20!

Medication is not one size fits all.

Anyway, since last year I had been trying to get in to see a psychiatrist with the help of my therapist. My medical doctor can only prescribe anxiety and anti-depressant medication up to a certain dosage. For anything else you need to see a psychiatrist. Well, great! So let’s set up an appointment with the clinic psychiatrist. Easy peasy.

That was almost a year ago. Therapist kept saying “oh yeah, I’ll reach out to them” over and over and over. I should have spoken up then. After all, it took me months to get the results of my ADHD and BPD assessments back and she admitted she hadn’t sent them to her supervisor in a timely manner.

(P.S. Assessments are meant to be done with 0 bias. They should not be completed by your main practioner except in extreme cases. My case is that she was the only one licensed to perform these specific assessments at the clinic and it got approved by her clinic supervisor).

Then, in May, roughly eight months since suggesting I see a psychiatrist and that she’d get me an appointment... my therapist ghosted me.

But me, being me, and my mental health, being it, just stayed silent. She said she was going through some things, including a family death, and she needed to take a month off.

Okay. A month. I could go a month without therapy. And so there I sat a month later waiting for her text or her call or her email. Well... one month became two. And then three. And now almost four. I eventually reached out at the end of month three and asked if I’d be seeing her again. She said she was on sabbatical.

She said I could no longer meet with the psychiatrist on staff because I was not actively being seen by someone at the clinic.

She said she’d get me reassigned to a new therapist. That was a month ago. I never heard from her again or anyone at the clinic.

Based on previous experiences I doubt she ever reached out to them.

So.

I lost my chance to see a psychiatrist and be put on proper medication because my therapist “went on sabbatical” and didn’t think to reach out to her clients and get them reassigned. And I didn’t reach out because I didn’t want to be a bother. Because my therapist was going through something and I didn’t want to make things more difficult for her.

I have my MSW. I know that you don’t go into therapy without a reason. But when that reason starts to interfere with your therapeutic work you are supposed to have the training and the supervision to help you. Your personal issues should never effect your clients who are already going through their own personal issues. Issues they are trusting (and paying) you to guide them through.

Now to the good news!

Fortunately my husband is also in therapy and he mentioned to his therapist how I hadn’t been to therapy in about four months. (She works in the same office).

I ended up meeting with her twice and within two weeks I had

a psychiatrist appointment lined up (I met with her this past Saturday)

a new therapist whom I will meet tomorrow

And when I met with my husband’s therapist she told me that there is no need to suffer in silence. I had come to the clinic looking for help and been abandoned. And to have been left on the same medication for over two years when it obviously wasn’t doing anything, was just taking time away from trying something new where I could have been getting better.

I know, I KNOW, how hard it is to find your voice in moments like this. We don’t want to be a bother. We don’t want to cause trouble. We don’t know if they’ll believe us when we’re hurting. We don’t want to hurt their feelings if we want a different therapist. There are so many reasons we don’t speak up.

But please.

Don’t suffer in silence.

Find your voice and advocate for yourself.

You are worth it.

#tea text #please don't reblog #maybe i'll write something more rebloggable if people are interested #anxiety cw #depression cw #medication cw #therapy cw

13 notes · View notes

matchasprouts · 3 years

Text

The Walls - Chapter 5

[ whoa! idk how i got this out but uhhhhhhh enjoy ]

First || Next || Previous || Last

Felix was surprised to be woken up by Greta, three hours after he usually got up no less. Before he could ask why she let him sleep in, she cut him off with the answer. “You looked ready to drop dead yesterday. I figured you needed the extra rest.”

She was right, those extra hours helped dissipate some of the ache in his muscles. “Maybe you should take a break today,” she suggested, readjusting Brahms on her hip. “I know you usually don’t do that, the Heelshires told me that much, but you really need it.”

And then she left, and Felix was left wondering what she meant by that. Until, of course, he caught a look at himself in the vanity mirror.

He looked nothing short of awful. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes from the lack of proper sleep he’d been getting, his eyes themselves were bloodshot, and if he looked closely he could see there was still dirt in his hair.

Not to mention the screaming ache that shot through every muscle in his body, almost making him feel like he was about to collapse.

The last time his body felt and looked like this was in college, and he hated it. He hated looking weak, much less feeling weak. If a break was what it took for him to have the energy to kill someone if needed, then he would take that goddamn break.

Starting with a hot bath to soothe his body and finally get that fucking dirt off of him.

---

He almost died in the bathtub.

Or at least, that’s what he told Greta when he came downstairs with his hair still sopping wet and dripping water everywhere. She seemed concerned for all of two seconds before deciding she simply didn’t care.

What actually happened is that he fell asleep in the bathtub, woke up suddenly to the sound of a child laughing, and freaked himself out. To be fair, he did hit his head on the side of the tub at least twice.

Anyway, Felix wasn’t built for breaks, so instead of relaxing or even just doing something small like playing the piano, he spent his time helping Greta with her chores. Being taller than her, he could reach higher shelves when dusting the bookcase, so he did. When she was occupied with Brahms, he would take over vacuuming or the dishes. He even took to going around and fixing every slightly crooked painting that he was sure had been jostled by the wall thing.

Basically, he was no good at sitting still. Felix was either doing something every second of the day, or he was sleeping. There was just no in between for him.

That is, until there was literally nothing else to be done. It was late afternoon now, the sun was just barely starting to dip past the horizon. Felix was sitting at the piano, playing a soft and somewhat cheerful tune, since Brahms didn’t seem to like the melancholic melodies he knew.

“When did you learn piano?” Greta asked after a while, setting down the book she’d been reading to the doll. The suddenness of the question made Felix’s fingers stutter, hitting a sour note that made him cringe.

“I don’t remember,” he admitted after moving his hands to his lap, so he couldn’t get distracted while playing again. “I imagine it was sometime in my childhood, maybe in highschool? I think I took a class… I’m not sure. My childhood memories are foggy at best.”

At least he was telling the truth. While fresher memories were burned into his head, anything before his freshman year in college was a blank. The only therapist he’d ever seen told him it was repression, due to trauma. Since he couldn’t remember what the trauma was though, they could never work on it.

The only thing he truly remembered was his mother. Soft voiced, a brunette like him, piercing green eyes. She was beautiful. She also had a grip like the devil, and spoke like it too.

To some extent, he was aware that his insecurities came from her. He also knew that she had been… less than supportive when he told her that he was trans, and that it led to probably one of the worst arguments of his life.

Sometimes, when he looked down at his hands, he thought he could still see the bruises her grip had left.

He shook his head, clearing it of the images of her. ‘She’s no longer a concern,’ he reminded himself internally, ‘you took care of that. She’s gone.’

“Oh,” Greta spoke again, snapping him back to reality, “well, that’s too bad. You’re really good at it, you know. You must have been practicing for a long time.”

Right. They were talking about the piano. He mentally scolded himself for getting off track before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I played all through college. Most at frat parties and the like, it’s a great party trick. My hands still cramp up sometimes though. Guess that’ll never stop happening.”

He returned to his playing after that, due to the soft scratching in the wall behind him. Sometimes the thing would let him take a break, but apparently today was not one of those days. He liked that it liked his music, he really did, but it could be so demanding sometimes.

After a little while, it came time for Brahms to be put to bed. After glancing at the clock, Greta stood up with the doll, told Felix good night, and headed upstairs.

Once Felix had finished the song, and confirmed that the thing had taken off, he followed her up.

And, since both were upstairs, neither of them heard the door open. The door they never bothered to lock because no one ever came all the way out here.

Felix had just collapsed face first onto his bed when he heard the thing practically running through the walls, back downstairs. Following that, he heard the familiar sound of the billiard balls hitting each other.

He shot up without a moment’s hesitation, running almost full speed back down the stairs and to the room where the pool table was kept. He almost fell over once there, slamming full force into the doorframe.

There stood a rather greasy looking man with long hair pulled back into a bun, sporting a messy beard. He stared at Felix in confusion, who was glaring so harshly at him that he would be dead if looks could kill.

It wasn’t long before Greta and the doll joined them, interrupting their staring match. “... Cole?” she asked softly, sounding both confused and scared.

Oh? Oh Greta was scared of this man? And he invaded their house?? Oh.

Almost immediately, Felix stood in front of Greta, grabbing one of the pool sticks and holding it up as a make-shift weapon. “You’re not welcome here,” he spat at Cole who, for the most part, seemed unfazed.

Boy was he gonna regret that.

“I don’t even know who you are,” Cole brushed him off, looking around him at Greta again. Felix once again stepped to block him. He accepted this fate, choosing to just speak at Greta. “Greta, babe, you just left without saying anything.”

It was hard to tell, but Felix could feel Greta’s free hand brush up against his back, seemingly grateful to have a shield against the other man. “Getting- getting this job was kind of sudden… and you know we aren’t together anymore…”

Knowing that Cole was an abusive ex made Felix want to kick his ass even more.

Cole took a step toward them, and Felix immediately held the stick up higher, more than ready to take a swing at the bastard. That made him pause, clearly wondering if getting beat up by a gardener was worth it.

“So, where’s the little kid?” Cole asked after a moment of tense silence. Felix glanced back at Greta, silently willing her to ignore him, but she stepped forward anyway and showed him Brahms. Cole laughed, as expected. “No, seriously, where’s the kid?”

“This is Brahms,” Greta said, standing her ground. She and Cole stared at each other for a long moment, before he seemed to accept that she wasn’t joking.

“Well, that makes this easier at least. We’re going home tomorrow. I already bought the plane tickets,” Cole announced, making Greta actually flinch. It was clear she didn’t want to go. Felix’s patience was running thin- he knew he needed to cut this off before he did something rash.

Before either of them could continue their conversation, Felix stepped in. “She’s not going anywhere. She has a job to do, and she will complete it. The Heelshires expect it of her. You’re welcome to stay here for tonight, only because I pity whatever hole you crawled out of, but you will be gone in the morning. Do I make myself clear?”

At least he was smart enough to avoid a confrontation. “Crystal,” Cole replied, putting his hands up in a mock surrender.

“I’ll get him set up. Can you go lay Brahms down?” Greta stepped in again, a hand on Felix’s bicep. He nodded to her, setting down the pool stick and taking Brahms from her. He sent Cole one last glare before heading upstairs.

Normally he’d be able to hear the thing follow him into the bedroom, but not this time. He assumed it was because it was watching over Greta, which he was glad for.

He changed Brahms into his pajamas with shaky hands, trying so hard to contain the rage that threatened to spill over just from Cole’s presence in the house. Another broken fucking rule, and he hadn’t been good enough to stop it.

After tucking Brahms into bed and giving him the obligatory good night kiss, he went back downstairs to check on Greta, only to be stopped by her at the top of the stairs. “Thank you for not doing anything… rash down there,” she told him, looking genuinely grateful.

“Believe me, if there was no consequences in beating him until he was unconscious, I wouldn’t have hesitated,” Felix replied harshly, now turning on his heel and heading back to his room. Greta stood in place for a moment, surprised, before heading into Brahms’s room.

The doll was the only comfort she had at the moment, so she laid down with him, holding him close as she drifted off to sleep.

---

They woke up to Cole yelling downstairs, practically screaming for Greta. When she and Felix got downstairs, the offending asshole grabbed Greta by the arm and yanked her into the room.

“What the fuck is that!?” he yelled, pointing up at something written in red on one of the upper windows,

‘Get Out’. Huh. Clearly the wall thing didn’t like this bitch.

Felix tuned out Cole’s frantic yelling when he noticed Brahms sitting in one of the armchairs, a bag full of dead rats sitting in front of him. Greta noticed it as well, gasping at the sight of the boy and rushing forward to pull him into her arms.

Apparently Cole did not like this.

“Of course all you care about is that fucking doll! He’s not a real boy, Greta!!” he shouted, making both Felix and Greta flinch. “Now you tell me who the hell did this!”

“Brahms did,” Felix cut in, making Cole look sharply at him. He figured he’d rather Cole yell at him over Greta. “He doesn’t like you. You’re an intruder in his home. He was bound to lash out.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me that the fucking DOLL did that?” Cole snapped, taking an aggressive step towards Felix and gaining a low growl in response. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“He’s not,” Greta cut in, her voice shaky. “Brahms… is very creative and- and he doesn’t like you. Not at all.”

Cole glanced between the two of them before letting out a frustrated yell and snatching Brahms from Greta’s arms, despite her protests. “Enough about this stupid doll!”

Before any of them knew it, they were upstairs and in the child’s bedroom. “Put him down Cole!” Greta begged him, staying a safe distance away but clearly wanting to run over to the boy.

Felix, on the other hand, was taking direct action. “Either you put him down, or I make you regret being born,” he threatened, grabbing the closest weapon- a small bat that he jokingly left in Brahms’s room “in case he needed it”.

“You’re not gonna touch me with this fucking thing here,” Cole retorted, holding Brahms up by the leg. He was right, because Felix just stood there, gaze glued on the doll.

Cole began to swing the boy around by the leg when he realized no one was going to do anything, quietly humming to himself. ��Maybe… if this thing wasn’t here…” he mused, glancing at Greta.

Felix moved first, lunging for Cole, but he wasn’t fast enough. Not even close. Brahms’s head shattered on the chair before Felix managed to tackle Cole, sending both of them toppling onto the ground.

And then the walls started to shake, freezing both of them. Felix was up in a matter of seconds, truly panicking now. It had seen what had just happened.

And it wasn’t happy.

#story tag: the walls #s/i: felix shaw #brahms heelshire #self ship fic #self shipping #romantic: 🎭👁#self insert #scrap.writing #scrap.ships #chapter 5

8 notes · View notes