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rommahh · 3 years

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{Harry in sparkly black….Harry lemme **** *** *** for free}

You hadn’t talked to Harry all day. Not that you were mad at him or anything but your therapy this morning left you feeling a little spacey. There was something about talking about your emotions that left you feeling emotionally drained.

You missed Harry terribly and though it’s only been a short week, you felt very lonely. But on another note, your anxiety wasn’t as bad as it was. You were starting to feel like your normal self again but missing something.

You loved the tight knit life you have with Harry. You like being around him most hours of the day. You two were inseparable. If you were in the shower, he was in the bathroom reading a book from the lounger chair in the corner. If he was writing music on the beach, you were somewhere on the shore collecting shells. If you were going to the grocery store the least he could do was go for the drive with you. You two were close and it was something the both of you were ok with.

Some couples don’t like being so close but it worked for you and Harry. Being away from Harry was a weird experience. It’s only been a week but you feel like it’s been a lifetime. You haven’t minded being on your own but you wanted to be with the person you felt most connected to.

So being you, you purchased a ticket to Chicago. You didn’t know how Harry was going to react but you could only assume it would be a positive reaction. You told Jeff that you were coming so he could get you a hotel key and backstage pass.

As you sat in the airport you felt your back pocket buzz- your music pausing for the call. Your hand slipped into the pocket roughly pulling out the small phone. Harry’s icon, him in a fluffy robe looking as grumpy as ever, met your eyes. You cursed because you were quite obviously in the airport and if he saw you, the surprise would be ruined.

You answered anyways but only for audio. You made sure that your airpods were snug in you ear and there was no chance of them falling out.

“My lover!” Harry greets you a in sing song voice. You could hear his humph as he recognizes that you didn’t answer with the FaceTime video on. “Turn your camera on.”

“Can’t, I’m not feeling good.” You fib nervously. Harry frowned, nervous that he may have done something to upset you.

“Oh, alright. What’s wrong then?” He asks. You chew your lip trying to think of an answer.

“Uh, period.” You stammer.

“Your period doesn’t start for another few day…saw it on the tracker.” Harry may have your period tracker on his phone but it was because he wanted to make sure he was able to comfort you the best way he could when he needed to.

“Must be the meds-“ The sound of your boarding attendant sounded over your head cutting you off. “Hey bubs, I’ve actually got to go but we can’t chat later.”

“Sure, that’s fine I guess. Love you.” He mumbles, confused by the phone call. You hang up leaving Harry a little lost in his thoughts.

Later, Harry sang through his rehearsal carelessly, his head clouded with thoughts. He even sang through TBSL and though he was in the worst of moods, fans waiting at the venue thought he never sounded better.

You on the other hand had just sat through the worst flight of your life. There was a woman in the flight who didn’t want to wear her mask causing commotion before the flight could even take off. You had the worst headache halfway through the flight and because of the lack on supplies, the flight couldn’t give you any ginger ale or accommodations.

You didn’t let any of it get to you though as you directed for the chauffeur Jeff sent for you to go to the venue for show.

Harry sat in the common room backstage with the band and Jeff eating dinner grumpily. His fork was stabbing every little piece of lettuce of his salad, everyone watched worried that he may break his bowl.

“HS3 is trending on Twitter today, pretty exciting.” Jeff says to Harry breaking the silence. Jeff just received a text from you saying that you arrived to the venue and were walking towards Harry’s dressing room.

“Mmm great.” Harry grumbles. Jeff rolled his eyes at the diva.

“Someone’s a little pissy this evening. How about you go fix that mood before you greet your fans with a bad attitude.” Jeff scolds him like a child who just got caught doing something they shouldn’t have. Jeff really didn’t care about Harry’s attitude, used to the moods at this point, but he needed a way for Harry to leave the room and see you in the dressing room.

“Fine, didn’t want to be around anyways.” Harry shrugs.

Back in Harry’s dressing room, you rolled your suitcase into a corner where Harry’s outfit for the night resided on a hanger. You smiled at the sparkly black top that you helped pick out. You walked around his dressing room from the hair and makeup table, past the bathroom/ dressing area, and back around to the couch’s and coffee table where you took a seat. You snagged one of his green juices needing the boost of energy from being on the flight.

You heard the door knob jiggle but stayed planted in you seat sipping on the juice. You never made a peep as Harry barged through the room, scowl covering his face. He stormed past the couch not batting an eye at you. He went to the mini fridge where his juices were before letting an exasperated sigh.

“Who fucking took my juice?” He whines. You quietly giggle in your hand at his tone.

“Im sorry, thought I could have it.” You chuckle. Harry leaps from where he stands letting out a yell. He turns to look at you with wide eyes, hand over his chest as if his heart was going to explode from his chest. You stood from the couch waiting for him to react more but he just stood there in shock. When the realization of you actually being there kicked in he let out another yell before bounding over to you.

Before you knew it, you had two strong arms wrapped tightly around you. Your wrapped around his neck, hands and fingers spread through his hair. His face tucked into your lower neck peppering desperate kisses all over just to feel something.

“What are you doing here?” You hear him cry. You pulled away from him to wipe his eyes of the tears that streamed down his face.

“I needed to see you.” Was all you could muster. He pulled you down on the couch, your body cushioning his larger frame. He laid in between your legs, your back flat in the body of the couch.

“Im so happy your here.” Harry couldn’t even put his excitement into words. He knew you were coming in a week but to have you here earlier than that made him feel things. He sat up from suffocating you into the couch, allowing for you to sit up beside him. “What about your therapy? I hope you’re not jeopardizing your mental health to be here with me cause I would much prefer if you put me on the back burner and took care of yourself.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I’m ok. I still will see my therapist virtually, I’ve got all new meds that are working fine, and if all goes to shit I will go back home. It’s ok bubs.” You reassure him.

He grabs your face with both hands pulling your face to his. Your lips meet with need. His lips slotting with yours, moving slowly but with rigor as if he was scared you would slip from his fingers. Your bottom lips fit between his lips leaving for him to suck on it slightly. You moaned at the feeling making Harry pull you in tighter. You sat slightly upon his lap, chest against each other tightly. Your tongues pushed at one another, lips loving in tangent.

You pulled away when you felt his lower presence awaken. He whined at the loss of contact making you giggle.

“If we go any further you’re gonna be late for your show. I’ll give you more back at the hotel, yeah?” You say lowly trying to catch your breathe. He groaned resting his forehead on yours chasing your lips with chaste kisses making you smile.

“Fine, you owe my though. This is level three apology situation that can only be resolved with these things; sloppy blowies, butt stuff, or face masks if you catch my drift.” He chastised. You let out a deep belly laugh pushing yourself away from him. You two still sit facing each other, your legs slightly on top of his.

“You’re so nasty, but I may be able to arrange one of those.” You wink making Harry let out a triumphant laugh.

“Are you staying for the show? I understand if your not.” He questions fiddling with your fingers.

“Think it would be best if I didn’t. I’m really tired and I obviously need a nap if I’m going to be up for your post show antics.” You joke giving his nose a poke. He jokingly pretends to bite your finger in retaliation.

Harry went on stage that night happier than ever. He started plotting proposals from the second he walked you to the car with your suitcase and waved goodbye to you. You went to the hotel room and “accidentally” fell asleep wearing one of your most recent purchases curled up in your tour bus blanket.

Let’s just say that Harry not so accidentally woke you up after that concert ready to love all of his adrenaline off in you.

Part 2👀

#harry styles love on tour #hslot #hslot Chicago #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #Harry Styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot

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justabunchofcrowsinatrenchcoat · 3 years

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It took me fifteen years, but I have finally realized the tragedy that is the treatment of Jacob Black in the Twilight Series. Hallelujah, I have seen the light. So here's a one shot of Bella making the RIGHT choice after the newborn battle in Eclipse.

Run to You

"You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him, you know." (Haymitch, The Hunger Games)

I was exhausted. Worrying about my family and friends being hurt, or dying, trying to protect me was exhausting. Being a weak, defenseless human surrounded by supernatural creatures was exhausting. Constantly wondering when Edward would realize that I wasn't worth all of this trouble and leave (again) was exhausting. Not recognizing the person I had become; a person who was insecure and needy and selfish, was exhausting. And him. Trying to pretend that I wasn't in love with him was the most exhausting. And I didn't want to do it anymore.

I didn't get very far before driving became impossible. I just needed to make it a little bit farther, just get past the treaty line and then I could pull over to the side of the road. I could take a few minutes to pull myself together and everything would be fine. At least that's what I kept telling myself, but it was kind of hard to see how when the road was blurring in front of me. When I couldn't see anymore, I let my tires find the rough shoulder and roll slowly to a stop. My hands shook as I put my truck in park and then quickly, almost instinctively, wrapped around my stomach, as if trying to hold myself together. Well here we are again, a voice in the back of my brain said. How many times could a person's heart be ripped in half before it refused to heal? I slumped over on the seat and allowed the weakness I'd been fighting crush me. It was worse than I thought. Yes, I had been right to hide this. No one should ever see this. Also, I was pretty sure if he had, he never would have let me go.

I wasn't alone for very long - I didn't even jump when I heard the tapping on the window of the truck. I worked to see through the relentless stream of tears obscuring my vision. There was someone standing outside of the truck, peering in through the driver's side window, probably wondering what the problem was. A blurry glimpse of a bare chest and short black hair caused my heart to clench so hard I gasped before realizing that it was just Quil. He must have been on patrol with some of the other wolves and spotted my truck on the side of the road. I pulled myself up off of the seat and fought with the door handle for a second before I was able to get it open.

"Bella?" Quil asked "Are you okay?" He paused. "Right. Stupid question. Obviously you're not okay. Sorry. Um, shit. What can I do? Do you want me to take you to Jake... or some where else...?" he seemed to tack that last part on with some hesitation, but I appreciated the thought.

What did I need? There were so many ways that I could answer that question. Therapy probably. To stop hurting everyone that I cared about, absolutely. The ability to split myself into two different people, so that I could make both Edward and Jacob happy, would be helpful. But there was only one thing that truly mattered at that moment; the reason why I was here, crying on the side of the road.

"Jacob" the name coming out more like a plea than an answer to a question. And once I started I couldn't stop. The sound of "Jacob, Jacob, Jacob." joined the sounds of sobbing and shaky gasping breaths. I couldn't tell if Quil answered me or not, and after a minute of silence I wondered if he was still there. But then I felt an arm slide behind my back and a hand grip my hip before shifting me to the side so that I was sitting in the middle of the truck's seat. Quil slid behind the wheel and pulled me in to tuck against his side before pulling the truck back onto the road. Normally I would have felt at least a little embarrassed about essentially cuddling up to someone I hadn't really spent that much time with, but Quil was warm and I was so cold. I was so tired of being cold.

Jacob

I was laying in bed when I heard the knock at the front door. Well, knock probably wasn't the right word, it sounded more like someone kicking at the door in an attempt at knocking. The weird knocking wasn't the thing that I noticed the most though. Because what was really weird was that I hadn't heard a car pull up out front first, or even the sound of someone walking up the gravel drive to the front porch. Heightened hearing was one of the perks of the whole turning into a giant wolf thing, so I usually knew right away when someone came to the house. Dr. Fang must've really overdone it on the pain meds this time. He still wasn't sure about the dosage because of my higher than average metabolism and seemed to be going with the trial and error method. Although, if I had to pick, I guess a little stoned was better than being in pain. Or physical pain anyway. The drugs were doing absolutely nothing to stop the thoughts running through my head. Well, one thought, really, repeating over and over, like a broken record. Bella, Bella, Bella…

Billy must have let whoever it was in and by the time I had focused on trying to figure out who it was, my bedroom door was being pushed open. Quil stood in the doorway cradling Bella against his chest and for a second I had a flash of a memory. Bella being carried from the woods by Sam. The haunted look in her eyes. The broken sobs. This was entirely too much like that.

"Bella! What the hell happened?! Is she okay?"

"I don't know man. I was out on patrol and saw her truck on the side of the road. I asked her what was wrong but she just kept saying your name over and over, so I brought her here." Quil hesitated like he wasn't sure what he should do now. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to jump up from the bed and get her. But I was still on "bed rest" until the doc could be sure I wouldn't re injure myself. I ground my teeth together and took a deep breath, attempting to remain calm, "Well bring her here." Quil looked relieved to have some direction and he quickly laid her on the bed next to me before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as she was on the bed Bella curled into my side, still sobbing. I started to wrap my arms around her before remembering that the entire right side of my body was basically useless. I threw my head back against the mattress, cursing quietly out of frustration. Then settled for bringing my left hand up to start rubbing Bella's shoulder and back. "Shh, its okay. I'm here. What happened?" I had hoped that she'd look up, but when did Bella ever make things easy.

"Bells?" I tried again. Still nothing. This time I kept the cursing confined to inside my head. Or I tried to anyway.

"I'm losing my mind here Bells. You've just gotta talk to me. I'm suck here in this damn bed and I can barely fucking move and you're scaring me and I need to at least know if you're hurt. Did he hurt you?" I worked on trying to slow the tremors moving through my body. The doc would be pissed if I phased now and ruined all of his hard work. Plus Bella was freaking out enough and I had to keep it together for her. I still needed her to at least answer my question though, "Dammit Bella, just tell me what he did to you." Still no answer. She was trying to kill me with stress. That was it. That newborn hadn't finished the job, so she was going to do it. "Bella, I swear to god-"

Finally, she answered me, "He didn't hurt me," except that she could only get about one word out at a time, she was crying so damn hard. I waited for her to continue, to explain it so that I could understand, but she was quiet. Well, besides the crying.

"Okay, good, cause all of the broken bones might have made it difficult for me to kick his ass." I joked, hoping to make her laugh, or get angry, anything really as long as she stopped crying. But the tears kept pouring out of her eyes, soaking my shirt while she pulled in great mouthfuls air.

I sighed, "Bells?"

Bella whispered something against my chest, so quietly that I almost didn't hear her. But I was focused now and it sounded like she said, "They're leaving." It took me a minute to process what she was saying, partially because the pain killers made all of my thoughts sort of fuzzy around the edges. "They're leaving?" I repeated it back to her like a question, "Not 'We're leaving.'?" She just shook her head without picking it up.

"So, the Cullens are leaving. Edward is leaving. And you're not going with them." I said the words slowly, not to cause her pain, even though I'm sure it did, but because I had to be sure that I understood. That I wasn't missing something. That the tiny ray of hope that I felt starting to crawl out of the deep, dark corner of my mind where I had buried it wasn't just me setting myself up to get my heart broken (again). Bella sobbed even harder, her gasping breaths broken up by hiccups, as she nodded her head.

So, I guess the bastard couldn't handle the competition after all. I was surprised, I hadn't expected him to give up that easily. And there was the hope again. But I shoved it back down and tried to focus. Because Bella was still crying and making those ugly, broken sounds and it was my job to make her feel better. "Hey, shhh. It'll be okay, honey." I murmured before pressing my lips to the top of her head. My hand continued to rub up and down her arm and across her back. "I'm sorry. Was he mean to you? I didn't mean for you to have to go through that alone. I was thinking I'd be there. And I'm sorry he left you." Bella had gone still, but when she didn't say anything, I continued. "I mean, I'm not sorry that he's gone, but I'm sorry he hurt you. He's an idiot." And then Bella was crying again and I was failing miserably at the whole, making her feel better is my job, thing. "Shit, sorry honey, I guess that's not what you want to hear right now. But IT IS going to be okay." I stressed, because I needed her to believe me. "It sucks right now, but you've gotten through this before. And you don't have to do it alone. I'm gonna be with you the whole time, whatever it takes. Maybe this time won't be as bad because you kinda know what to expect. And I'll be good, I promise. No pressure. I'll be whatever you need me to be. And it'll be okay."

"Wait, stop," Bella interrupted my rambling. She took a deep breath and looked up at me, "Edward isn't leaving because he's mad at me for loving you. He's leaving because I asked him to. Because I'm in love with you." Her voice was all watery from crying and the tears never really stopped, but those words were still the most wonderful thing I'd ever heard. I couldn't have pushed back the hope now even if I wanted to (not that I did want to). Bella picked me. I hadn't realized until just then how much I had been preparing myself to lose. But she had really picked me. I wanted to kiss her and spin her around my tiny bedroom in circles and just show her how happy she made me. Except this wasn't like those stupid fairytale stories that Rebecca had always tried to read to me when we were kids. You know the ones; boy falls for girl, girl says no, boy is persistent, girl finally says yes, and they live happily ever after. Unless I missed the one where the girl was also in love with another boy at the same time and everyone involved got the hearts broken. Oh and one of the boys was a bloodsucking leech and the other turned into a giant wolf. Actually, there probably was one of those Grimm's fairytales that had something like that. But those didn't usually have happy endings.

No, this definitely was not a fairytale, because his girl was crying over another guy, which didn't seem like a great way to start a "happily ever after" even if it was her decision.

He wanted to talk to Bella about all of this. To figure out what she was thinking and where they would go from here, but Bella had gone back to crying into his chest and she had to be exhausted, so he would wait. He had promised to be good, afterall.

Bella

I don't how long I had been lying there, curled into the crook of Jake's arm, but it must have been a while, because he stirred a little and asked, "Hey honey, sorry, but it's getting late and I didn't know if there was somewhere you needed to be... or someone who was going to be looking for you..." he prompted. I managed to convey, after several attempts, that Charlie thought I was spending the night with Alice and that no one else needed to know where I was. He seemed satisfied with that answer and shifted to make himself more comfortable, while still keeping me tucked firmly against his side. I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head and say, "Then you should get some sleep."

He didn't say anything else after that. Just held me on the bed and let me ruin his shirt, staining it with salt water. Eventually, the sobs quieted, but the tears continued to flow steadily. It took longer than I thought it would for that smaller, broken part of me to cry herself out. It happened, though, and I was eventually exhausted enough to sleep. Unconsciousness did not bring full relief from the pain, just a numbing, dulling ease. It made it more bearable, but it was still there. I was aware of it, even asleep, and that helped me to make the adjustments I needed to make.

The morning brought with it, if not a brighter outlook, at least a measure of control, some acceptance. Instinctively, I knew that the new tear in my heart would always ache. That was just going to be a part of me now. Time would make it easier - that's what everyone always said. But I didn't care if time healed me or not, so long as Edward could be happy again. That's what had been missing the last time; the acceptance. It's what had kept me from moving forward. But this time would be different.

When I woke up, there was no disorientation. I opened my eyes - finally dry - and met his anxious gaze.

"Hey," I said. My voice was hoarse. I cleared my throat. He didn't answer. He watched me, waiting for it to start.

"No, I'm fine," I promised. "That won't happen again." His eyes tightened in concern.

"That's great, Bells, but what exactly was that?" He asked.

I took a deep breath, just because I was prepared for this conversation, didn't mean it wasn't going to be painful.

"The Cullens are leaving." I repeated my answer from last night to make sure he had understood what I had tried to tell him while also breaking down. I could see the question in his eyes, so I answered it. "Yes, Edward is leaving too. And no, I'm not going with them." As I spoke I saw a hundred different emotions flicker in Jacob's eyes. The one that seemed to be winning was hope, but then it was like he caught himself and a neutral expression settled over his features. I hated it, he wasn't My Jacob, when he made that face. But I also knew that in this case, I had no one to blame but myself. My hindsight had become incredibly clear. I could see every mistake I'd made, every bit of harm I'd done, the small things and the big things. Each pain I'd caused Jacob, each wound I'd given Edward, stacked up into neat piles that I could not ignore or deny.

"I'm sorry." I pushed myself up, using my arm to lean on his chest so that I could meet his eyes. "I've made a real mess of things. I know I've caused you a lot of pain. But I finally realized I was wrong all along." At that, Jacob took a startled breath and looked like he was about to say something. I placed a finger against his lips, and he stopped. "Just let me get this out. I don't want there to be any confusion." His brow furrowed a little, but he waited for me to continue.

"I was wrong about the magnets," I explained. "I used to think about you and Edward as magnets; that you two were like opposite magnetic poles. I couldn't push you together no matter how hard I tried. But it was actually the two parts of myself, your Bella and Edward's Bella, that I was trying to force together. But they could not exist together, and I never should have tried." I could see the hope starting to win out in Jacob's eyes as he said quietly, "I knew you'd figure it out eventually." And the corner of his mouth twitched. "But still, you mind telling me how you figured it out?"

"It was the kiss, before the battle," I paused and made an effort to look stern, "which I'm still mad at you for, by the way. Threatening to kill yourself to make me kiss you?" I raised an eyebrow. At least he had the decency to look ashamed.

I didn't have to work to be serious this time, "You will never do that to me again, got it?" Jacob glanced up from beneath his lashes and nodded. That's how I was sure that he knew he had messed up; that and the fact that he didn't try to argue with me at all. I continued, "But that's not the point right now. The point is, that when you kissed me, I saw the whole thing - our whole life. And I want it bad, Jake, I want it all. I want to stay right here and never move. I want to love you and make you happy."

"So what's stopping you?" he whispered.

"I still love him, Jake, and I don't think that'll ever go away. That's not fair to you. There's probably someone out there much better for you." My heart broke a little as I spoke, especially when I considered how much it would hurt now, if he did decide that I wasn't worth all of this trouble.

"No." Jacob shook his head. "I'm exactly right for you, Bella. It would be effortless for us - comfortable, easy as breathing. I'm the natural path your life would have taken...." The corner of his lips twitched, forming a small smile. "If the world was the way it was supposed to be, if there were no monsters and no magic..."

I could see what he saw, and I knew he was right. But I needed to make sure he understood fully. "He's like a drug for me, Jake. When I was with him, he was the only thing that mattered. I was ready to give up my life for him. But it's different with you." The corner of my mouth turned up in a wistful half-smile. "Like having my own personal sun. Not a drug, but air. You're healthier for me. So I'm choosing to have the life I want. I'm choosing to stay with Charlie and my mom. I'm choosing to have the chance to change and grow. I'm choosing to stay human. There's still a lot that we need to talk about and I'm going to need time. But I think you were right before when you said that if we had enough time you could help me be happy again. So I'm going to try. I'm going to try to stay here with you. If you decide you still want me, all things considered."

I only had to wait a second for his answer, and then I only had another second to appreciate the breathtaking smile that split his features, before he pulled me to him and crushed his lips to mine.

#twilight renaissance #twilight #jacob black #team jacob

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supportivespaceforsurvivors · 3 years

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CW: CHILD ABUSE

REQUESTING: SUPPORT & ADVICE. a mod familiar with DID/OSDD would be helpful

I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that I was in fact abused by my parents, and not that my family treats me differently and not great. primarily psychological abuse and emotional abuse, with some financial abuse and neglect.

I just. I don't know what to do with it, I'm a legal adult in my country, but I still live I my parents' house and I don't have the means to move out, and idk if I will any time soon.

I've been mulling over this for the past 6 days and cried multiple times. I feel both confused and conflicted. cause the things listed, I got far above the min number needed for it to count as abuse in all but 2 categories (physical and sexual abuse).

I have either DID or OSDD, still figuring out which, and I've only known for half a year now. I was trying to find other possible reasons that would cause that, cause I never thought how my family treats me is bad enough for that. but after going through those lists, maybe it is actually that bad.

I guess I'm requesting some advice for how to deal with this. move on isn't exactly the right thing, but I have school and work so I need to be able to do that and not just want to hole up in the dark and cry all the time. I don't think it's healthy for me, and there's stuff I need to be doing.

tysm for your time. I really appreciate it

Hey anon.

Mod L and I had a quick discussion about this since we're the two mods with DID and both of us got lucky and were rescued from our abusive situations, so I'm not sure if we can help you as much as we'd like to, but we'll do our best.

Having a job but not being able to move out is super frustrating. Are roommates/flatmates common in your country? If they are, you might be able to join some roommate search groups and potentially move in with someone else so your individual cost of living is lower.

As for your abuse, DID/OSDD is almost always caused by abuse. Minimizing your abuse is a survival tactic and realizing that you are/have been minimizing your abuse is a really important step in healing. I'm super proud of you!

Obviously meds and therapy can't fix an abusive situation, but they can make it more tolerable, especially if moving out is not a viable option. Meds and therapy are what kept me functional when I had school and work. However, balancing trauma therapy with school and work can be super tricky and if you decide to try to focus on trauma processing (assuming you find a therapist), you should definitely discuss coping mechanisms beforehand so you can continue to function.

Mod Devyn

#ask #answered #mod devyn #anonymous #child abuse tw

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twokinkybeans · 3 years

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The Arachnoids: ROCK BAND AU [STARKER] - Chapter 17: HAMMERED HEARTS

READ “CHAPTER 17: HAMMERED HEARTS” HERE ON AO3

Find the masterpost with all the chapters linked here!

Taglist: @crystallinecrimsonmoth & @staticwhispersinthedark (Let me know if you want to be added!)

Notes: Y'all have no idea how anxious I was to write this chapter a a a aa a? I must admit, I had no CLUE what would happen so it was a lil hard to get into. BUT IT WORKED OUT. Wrote this on a little weekend trip (in our own country and definitely covid proof), and now that I'm back home; enjoy!!! -Kim

ps. I'm way too pleased with the small pun in this chap's name alsdjfalsdjf

Chapter 17: Hammered Hearts

Tony feels like he’s about to pass out.

“Maybe I shouldn’t do this,” he says hesitantly and stares at Bucky’s front door intently. Pepper is there. Pepper. He can’t believe that Bucky’s been able to persuade her into this conversation. Peter, who’s standing next to him, sends him a comforting smile. “Just remember why you’re doing this. Everything else will follow. I gotcha, remember?” “Right,” Tony mumbles. Why. Why-why-why.

The image of Morgan’s sweet little laugh appears in his mind’s eye, and an instant smile plays on his lips. His daughter. He owes it to her and himself to do this, and hopefully, that means they’ll be reunited.

Tony bridges the small gap between him and the front door and presses the small black button of the doorbell. In the distance, he can hear the ringing sound echoing through the hallway- and then there’s footsteps headed towards them. Tony doesn’t dare to look at Peter. One more of those gentle smiles and he’ll fall apart crying. When Bucky opens the door, everything seems to suddenly set into motion by itself. Bucky greets them and steps aside to let them in. Tony does so, knowing that Peter follows along. “We’re in the living room, this way,” Bucky says. It’s clear he wants to get started on this sooner rather than later, the tension probably uncomfortable for him too.

And as easily as it seemed to step inside... When Tony enters the living room, time seems to freeze.

“Daddy!”

Tony is nearly knocked down by the force of Morgan running straight into his legs and wraps her little arms around them. His eyes sting, and he stares down in disbelief. Morgan has buried her face against his jeans and tightens her grip. “Hey little monkey,” Tony whispers and gently takes her arms to unfold them so that he can crouch down. Morgan’s eyes sparkle with pure joy when their gazes meet. “I missed you. I’m so happy you’re home!” Morgan says and giggles, rushing forward again to hug his neck this time. Tony laughs and lifts her, her legs clamping around his waist where he holds her. “I missed you too.” Tony doesn’t know what Pepper told her, and he would never want to set her up against Pepper or make her feel like she can’t trust her parents. He’ll play along with this game if that’s what it takes to restore this mess. “You’ve grown into such a big lady already!”

“She definitely has your appetite,” Pepper chimes in. Tony’s gaze warily finds her seated on the couch, and his smile falters a little. He tries to contain himself, though and focuses his attention on Morgan again. “Mmmh, that’s my girl.” Tony pokes her belly. “I bet there are lots of little pop tarts in there!” Morgan laughs and squirms where he tickles her, and when he stops, she pokes his face in return. “Daddy, who’s that?” She looks at Peter behind him and Tony blushes. Peter and he have never quite established what they are. When exactly they became friends, he still doesn’t know. When they became somewhat more? Still immensely confusing. “That’s Peter. He’s a rockstar too!” “Oooh!!!! Just like you?” “Just like me.” At that answer, Morgan squirms out of his grip. When Tony puts her on the floor, she runs over to Peter - staring up at him defiantly. “One day,” she says proudly, “-I’ll be the biiiiiggest rockstar in the whole world!”

“Oh my,” Peter says with a grin. “I’m sure you’ll be a legend.” “See, Mommy?” Morgan sprints around and runs towards her mother. She climbs onto the couch next to Pepper and slumps down against one of the fluffy throw pillows that Bucky has on there.

“You guys want something to drink?”

Tony doesn’t know where to start. Pepper and he are seated outside on the small porch of Bucky’s house. Bucky and Peter are playing with Morgan in the garden. Her shrill giggles are music to his ears, and every time she turns around to wave at him, his heart clenches. He’s missed her so goddamn much, and even now that she’s actually here, he can still feel that sense of not having had her in his arms for so long.

“Why?” He asks eventually. Pepper sighs and clasps her hands tightly around the cup of tea she’s holding. “It was… A lot of things,” she whispers. “Tony, I never meant for this to get so out of hand. I don’t…” A sob rises from her chest, and Tony looks up, surprised. Instantly his worries take over, and he scoots a little closer. All this time, he thought she’d simply wanted him out of their lives. But could it be that he was wrong all these months?

“Pep…” He whispers and frowns at himself for already resorting back to her nickname. “What happened?” “You know Justin, right?” “Your boyfriend?” “Eh, ex-boyfriend now… But yes.” Pepper sniffs and sits up straight, using her sleeve to wipe away her tears. “I never told him that you were Morgan’s father,” she continues. “But he got jealous either way. He said he’d kick us out if I let Morgan see her father again. I didn’t have anywhere else to go- I-” “Pep, you could’ve… Oh, God. Why didn’t you ask me for help?” “You had your medication problems already. I thought if I told you… Well- I didn’t want to send you off into an even worse place.”

Tony can feel a slight hint of anger wash over him. All this time, she made him think it was his fault. This problem could’ve been so easily fixed. He swallows and tries to suck it up. If he gets angry now, who knows what’ll happen. Pepper is finally opening up, and while Tony may be angry… He knows how difficult it can be to leave an abusive household- his own parents are the very proof of it. As much as he doesn’t know whether he wants to, he should try to support her here. “So… What happened to Justin?”

Pepper snorts angrily. “That asshole left for some young chick he met at a bar. Said he hated me, hated Morgan, and he kicked me out after all. I’ve been… Staying here, actually. Bucky was so kind to take me in. He didn’t know the full story, obviously. I swear, I never told anyone about your relationship to Morgan.” “Good riddance.” “I… I guess.” Pepper takes a deep breath. “Tony, I didn’t realize how bad this whole thing had spiralled and when Bucky talked to me… I… God, I’m so sorry.”

“I,” Tony hesitates. “I won’t say ‘it’s alright’ cause it isn’t… But, well, I understand why you did it…” “Tony-” “No, I really do.” After that, it’s silent for a moment. Tony glances at Morgan again, who is currently getting a piggyback ride from Bucky. He smiles faintly. “What’d you tell her?” “That you were touring.” “Didn’t she ever tell Justin about it?” “No, I made it very clear to her it was a secret. She may be playful and mischievous, but she’s smart. She always felt the gravity of the situation even when she didn’t understand why.”

Tony chews on his bottom lip. “I wonder how long we can keep this up- keeping her away from the spotlight.” “I don’t know Tones, but we’ll keep on trying.” “We will.”

After another short silence and Pepper finishing her tea, she smiles slightly. “Thank you.” “What for?” “For… Being so mature about this. I won’t lie, this whole talk gave me some sleepless nights.” “Mmmh, I definitely don’t recognize that.”

Pepper chuckles, and Tony can’t help but chuckle along with her. It’s obvious that there are many things left to discuss. Pepper’s housing situation, where to go from here… But for now, Tony feels a strange hint of calmness washing over him.

“So, who’s Peter?” “He’s in our opening band. The Arachnoids; cool, eclectic rock sound. Sorta 80s vibe and definitely a hint of Gen Z stuff that I can’t quite put my finger on. And-” “Tony, you know that’s not what I meant. Clearly, you don’t just bring a random dude from your opening band to a talk like this.” She eyes him with a curious glimmer in her eyes, and Tony groans, playfully exasperated. “I don’t know who Peter is, then,” he answers with a shrug. “I think I like him. And he likes me too? But we haven’t… Y’know, nothing’s happened yet.”

Pepper smiles, and Tony can tell she’s starting to relax as well. For a moment, it almost seems like this shitty mess had never happened at all. As if they’re just two friends again who simply happen to have a daughter together.

“This is nice,” he whispers. “Yeah,” she mumbles back, casting her eyes down. “I’m… Really glad Bucky talked me into this. He, eh, told me some stuff about your meds too. It still isn’t sorted, right?” “Nope. Doctors don’t think it ever will. We’re finishing our second leg of the tour in three months from now, and I think I’ll take some time off after that to do some form of extensive therapy.” “Oh, Tony, that’s- That’s good.” She takes a deep breath and takes his hand. “I’m proud of you.”

The praise fills his chest with warmth, and he smiles at her fondly. He may have slept with her once, even though he’s definitely not into women, but he can still see her charm. He never realized that besides missing Morgan, he missed his effortless friendship with Pepper as well.

He hopes they can build on it again.

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justanothersyscourse · 3 years

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I don’t really want a diagnosis because I physically can’t have children and I want to be able to adopt in the future. I’m also trans + autistic so I’ve already got some stuff working against me in that department.

I haven’t brought up being a system to my therapist because I’m afraid she won’t believe me, and it’s mainly the trauma symptoms causing problems and not the presence of alters. (Also I don’t think she has a lot of experience with dissociative disorders?)

I guess I just . . . want to know if this is ok? If I should talk to her about it or just try to forget about it all and try to ignore that I’m probably a system? Idk I’m afraid to open up about it and then be told that I’m just making it up or something. I’m open to the possibility that I’m not actually a system and I have something Else going on, but we’ve already ruled out BPD so idk what else it would be. Like, if there was something else happening that made sense I’d accept it, but I’m afraid it’ll just be completely dismissed and I’ll be even more confused.

Idk srry I felt like I needed to get this off my chest and ask someone who has more experience with all this about if it’s ok to be where I’m at or if I should do something different.

A is for placeholder

B is for my infinite frustration

C is for FCK U TUMBLR, STOP CUTTING OFF MY FIRST TWO LINES

Hi, Anon!

There's a lot happening in this ask, so let's take it point by point.

It's absolutely, perfectly fine to not want a diagnosis. Period. Full stop. There are MANY reasons someone might not want one, and they're all valid-- EXCEPT FOR ABLEISM. Not wanting a diagnosis because "ew, gross", is bad. Just based on the last handful of posts I've made today, I just want to say, so long as you realize you CAN have one, do whatever works for you. Don't think you won't get it, and on the opposite end, don't think you NEED one.

Self DX is also super valid when it's well researched, and the person self-diagnosing is open to change when presented with new information or new perspectives (which it sounds like you are, so A+ for you, gold star). If you feel it fits your experiences, have at it, you're welcome here.

Another big thing that's misunderstood about the dyfunction criteria is that it doesn't need to be the alters causing you problems. Like, AT ALL. It can be the PTSD, the amnesia, the comorbid issues, the identity confusion-- ANYTHING. The DSM doesn't mention AT ALL that the alters specifically cause dysfunction. Instead, it talks about trauma memories, embarrassment over symptoms, anxiety from trying to hide symptoms. It can literally. Be. Anything.

On a plus note, if you are actually only experiencing issues with trauma memories, then you don't necessarily need a therapist that's specialized in anything other than PTSD. I've said this before, when you're looking for a therapist, look for one who specializes in the problem you're CURRENTLY having. Might it be helpful to bring up your system to your therapist? Definitely, if your system isn't integrated and still experiencing amnesia, your alters won't all benefit from the therapy sessions. In that case, it might be helpful to mention it. If that's not an issue, or the issue is with YOU specifically, then you don't necessarily need to tell your therapist if you're not comfortable doing so.

Don't "ignore" that you're a system, just be mindful of to who and when you want to present that information. Here's an example-- I moved cities a few years ago and never took my file with me. That means my current GP doesn't know I'm a system. I also don't plan to tell him unless I need to make any major changes to my medication. I go to him when I'm hurt or sick, not for mental stuff, so he doesn't need to know. That's okay. My system doesn't necessarily affect my broken leg. My meds, on the other hand, may have a negative effect on my system that he might need to be aware about. I don't know, I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. And that's a decision I made about that doctor specifically. I might, for WHATEVER reason, choose to tell my... I don't know... gynecologist about my system. You tell who you want, when you want.

I can't tell you whether you should tell your therapist or not. I CAN tell you that the decision, either way, is perfectly valid and good, so long as it's YOUR decision (no one is forcing you one way or the other), and the results are working for you.

I highly doubt your therapist is going to dismiss you, as well. And if they do? Fire them. Get another one. Get a second opinion, and a third opinion, until it makes sense to you. If they can say, "maybe it might be this, have you considered this disorder? Here's some reasons," and those reasons make sense to you? Great. If not, keep looking.

I hope this helps. You're doing just fine.

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years

Text

When Everyone Who Loves me Has Died

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

"Everything is as it should be, yet here I am, still feeling like I’m missing something.”

“Like what?” Tim can’t remember the last time he saw Harley sit still and listen for so long without getting fidgety. Either she's learning self-control, or Tim's life is just really fucking depressing.

“Like...I don’t know.” Tim scratches his thumbnail against some dried paint, unable to feel the chill of the metal through his glove. “Everyone is back, but that doesn’t erase the fact that they were dead. That part still happened, regardless of whether they came back or not. It’s like—like burning a hole in a piece of paper and covering it with tape. It doesn’t heal anything.”

Whoever came up with the concept of mind over matter should be imprisoned for false advertising. Tim has been trying to get his mind over the matter for months now, and the matters are still very much gripping the steering wheel. If anything, his mind gave in and slid into the passenger seat, going along for the ride. Tim is sitting on a billboard platform, Lex Luthor’s ginormous bald self providing a nauseating backdrop as he advertises whatever world domination kick he’s on at the moment. Tim watches the cars go by on the highway, utterly indifferent to the tiny speck of a vigilante watching from above. His cowl is down, but he isn’t worried. It’s unlikely that anyone will be able to spot him up here, civilian or otherwise. Besides, it gets harder and harder to breathe under the weight of the mask these days. He was supposed to be getting better. The days are coming in at longer intervals, which should be a relief. Days when he gets “dark and twisty” as Jason lovingly calls it, which isn’t too far off, Tim supposes. Something inside of him is definitely twisted, coiled into a furl of darkness where there used to be light. God, he needs therapy. He should be getting better. There is no logical reason to be feeling this way. Not anymore. Not when things are finally back where they should be after years of grief. Maybe something has been knocked loose in his brain, keeps him on this brink he can’t seem to sway to either side of. He’s not happy, but he’s not completely sad either. There’s no logic to it, no reason. No closure. Is this how ghosts feel? Like they’re straddling the in-between, stuck feeling like everything they have is just slightly out of reach? “Why the long face, kiddo?”

Tim is up in an instant, fumbling to pull his cowl back over his face. He raises his bo staff at the prowler, only to find Harley standing at the other end of the platform, her arms packed with reusable grocery bags. She’s wearing civilian clothes: a Nightwing tank top and leather pants that look like she doused them in glue and rolled around in a kiddie pool filled with glitter. Tim relaxes. He lowers his staff. “You shouldn’t do that. I could have knocked your head off.” “Nah, I’m too good to be taken down by a twelve-year-old.” “I’m eighteen.” “You sure? ‘Cause I could have sworn you were still in middle school.” “Hilarious.” “Thanks, I’ve been thinkin’ about doing some comedy on the side to pay the bills. Eddie says I’ve got a real knack for it.” Harley sits on the edge of the platform beside the spot where Tim was before. “I asked you a question, by the way.” “Bruce is going to kill me if he finds out I’m hanging out with you.” Fine, so that’s a minor exaggeration. Bruce will always have beef with Harley regardless of how many good deeds she does. Dick’s theory is that Bruce has some lingering bitterness from his and Harley’s rivalry from med school, and he probably isn’t too far off. The rest of the family is far looser when it comes to trusting Harley; Alfred even sent her a Hanukkah gift last year. “You and I both know Brucie is in Metropolis this week.” At Tim’s inquiring look, she explains, “My mom is friends with him on Facebook. So, are you gonna spill or what? ‘Cause I’ve got ice cream here and I swear to god I’ll fill your nostrils with tapioca if it melts.” Tim rolls his eyes. He lets his cowl fall back against his neck and sits beside Harley. “I’m fine.” “And that’s why you’re hanging out here all angsty-like?” “I’m not angsty.” “You’re the angstiest person on this fuckin’ billboard.” Which, fine, that’s probably true. “I don’t need a PHD to tell that something’s eating ya, kid. Which I do, by the way. Got the certificate and everything.” Tim gestures to her grocery bags. “I thought you had somewhere to be.” “What, these ol’ things? Nah. I just have a date with Pam-a-lamb tonight and had to borrow some supplies.” “Borrow?” “The manager there was a dick, anyways. He’s the one who got all snappy when I ate all the free samples, so trust me. He deserved to get his stuff stolen.” “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” “I’ll go back and return the thirty-seven scratch-offs I took if you tell me what’s bothering you.” Tim looks out over the black horizon, the moon barely visible behind the clouds. “It’s nothing.” “Everything is something. Gandhi said that.” “Pretty sure he didn’t.” “What, did you personally know the guy?” She nudges Tim with her elbow. “Well? Spit it out, Timberlake.” Tim lets out a breath. “It’s just...you know when you lose something really important to you? And you miss it, but after a while, when you’ve already accepted that you’ll never see it again, you find it? And you’re happy to have it back, but there’s still...something is missing. Almost like you never found it at all, you know?” “Not really, no.” Tim’s mouth twitches upward. “I’ve spent the past two years in mourning, but now I don’t have to mourn anymore. Everything is perfect again.” Harley arches an eyebrow. “Lemme guess, you don’t know why you still feel like you’re grieving?” Tim nods. “Small fry, that’s not a symptom. That’s normal for someone in your situation.” “No, it isn’t. I should be happy right now. I should—I should be the happiest I’ve ever been. I spent so long trying to make everything right again, and I did it. Conner is back. Bart is back. Bruce is back. Everything is as it should be, yet here I am, still feeling like I’m missing something.” “Like what?” Tim can’t remember the last time he saw Harley sit still and listen for so long without getting fidgety. Either she's learning self-control, or Tim's life is just really fucking depressing. “Like...I don’t know.” Tim scratches his thumbnail against some dried paint, unable to feel the chill of the metal through his glove. “Everyone is back, but that doesn’t erase the fact that they were dead. That part still happened, regardless of whether they came back or not. It’s like—like burning a hole in a piece of paper and covering it with tape. It doesn’t heal anything.” “Well, of course it doesn’t.” Tim looks at her, surprised. Harley’s eyes are serious for once, void of humor. “Having all your folks back doesn’t erase the fact that they were gone. Grief is what makes us human. Still feelin’ bad after everything is fixed just means you’re still working on it.” “That’s it?” Harley’s eyebrows furrow. “What’s it?” “I thought you were going to...I don’t know, crack open some huge revelation and make me realize it’s all in my head or something.” “I mean, it kind of is in your head.” Harley tugs on one pink pigtail. “Grief doesn’t come from your feet, Timantha.” “So...how do I fix it?” Harley shrugs, sitting back and swinging her legs in the air. “Fuck if I know. Go see a therapist or something?” Tim snorts. “I’d rather not.” “What, you got a prior engagement? Too busy for psychoanalysis?” “I can’t exactly go to a normal therapist and explain to them that all of my friends are superheroes and my dad is Batman.” “Hm. Point taken, bird boy.” Harley goes to boop his nose, but Tim swats her away. “Talk to me then. I’m a dandy good listener.” “Thanks, but I’m good.” “I’m serious. Got the license to practice and everything.” “I’m pretty sure psychology licenses expire once you’re imprisoned for terrorism.” “Well, jeez, go and insult me, why don’tcha? And after I offer my help like the good citizen I am.” She stands, picking up her shopping bag. Then she digs around in her pockets and comes out with a small white card. She hands it to Tim. Harley Quinn — hit(wo)man, psychiatrist, bounty hunter, dog walker, mercenary, finder of lost things, life coach. “And that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” she says with a wink. “I’m also considering goin’ into doggie makeovers.” “I don’t know,” Tim says. “I won’t go blabbing your information to Croc or no one, cross my heart. I strictly abide by the doctor/patient confidentiality rules.” A pause. “Most of the time.” Then she looks back at the billboard of Lex, looking for the world like a vengeful Mr. Clean god. “I’m sure he won’t tattle.” “I don’t think the Justice League would think very highly of one of their own getting therapy from an ex-supervillain.” “So? Fuck them, they’re a bunch of crusty old people anyway. Come on, think about it, Timberly. I’ll even give you the friends and family discount so long as you bring doughnuts when you visit. Teen angst makes me hungry.” Tim considers it for a moment, then sighs. “I’m free on Thursday afternoons.” Harley grins. “It’s a date, bird boy.”

#whumptober 2020 #no.19 #grief #tim drake #red robin #robin #idiot duckboy #batman #batfamily #batfam #harley quinn #harleen quinzel #dc comics #fanfiction #fanfic

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littlespoonevan · 4 years

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hiii! I really hope I'm not bothering you but... are you taking prompts? 👀 cause I love your fics and this is kinda your fault because I read your post about 9x06 lol but now I can't stop thinking about I&M having a *real talk* like... "I'm sorry I let you go" 🥺?

Sorry it took me a while to get to this - my ao3 fics kept me quite busy the past few weeks! okay so i’ve written about the aftermath of 9x06 quite a few times but never an actual, full “talk about everything” conversation in its entirety so i decided to give it a whirl here!

for the record i 100% believe they had a conversation like this within the first week, if not 24 hours, of being in the cell together and find it absolutely preposterous john wells tried to act like they hadn’t in 10x03 and then again in 10x08 bc all ian wanted to do legit all season was talk things through and that didn’t come from nowhere but ANYWAY, they’ve got a lot of things to sort through but i did my best to cover as much as i could!

I hope you like it <3

The lights have been out for five minutes and Ian just about manages to stay in his bunk long enough for the guard to do his final check of their cell before he’s swinging himself down from his bed to crawl in next to Mickey.

He’s met with kisses and a muffled laugh into his mouth and fuck, he never thought he’d get to do this again. He allows himself to get lost in Mickey’s body for a few minutes, trading hungry kisses while their hands roam wherever either of them can reach, like they’re trying to commit one another’s skin to memory again – not that Ian has any intention of letting Mickey go this time.

He’s been itching to touch Mickey like this all day – they’d managed a hurried, flustered mutual reunion handjob before but they couldn’t risk anything more. Even that had been reckless but he’s pretty sure he lost any and all sense the second Mickey walked through the door of his cell.

He wants more now, wants Mickey whatever way he can have him, but a thought makes him pause and as soon as he thinks it he can’t stop thinking about it.

Is this supposed to be reunion sex or make-up sex?

Ian had done a lot of soul-searching and self-reflection after he’d left Mickey at the border and he just- he wants to talk about it. He doesn’t want them to jump straight into everything again and let their issues fester like they used to. Sex has never been a problem for them, communication on the other hand…

Mickey must notice he’s slowed down because he leans back, a confused smile on his face. “What?”

Ian looks at him and feels nothing but an all-consuming, addictive kind of love envelope him. He loves Mickey so fucking much – he hadn’t been able to stop even when he wanted to – he’s not going to hurt him again. But that means he needs to do this right. “Do you think we should talk first?” he asks uncertainly.

They’d both sort of agreed earlier that they would talk eventually when they’d been catching up and found themselves naturally slipping into deeper territory. They’d said they could worry about it later. But well, it’s later now.

Mickey appraises him for a moment and Ian tries not to panic when he notices his expression shutter the tiniest bit. Cradling Mickey’s jaw, he runs a thumb across his cheek. “Mick, I wanna do this right this time. We should talk about it.”

Mickey’s expression softens somewhat at that. “Talk about what?”

Ian blows out a breath. “Everything, I guess?”

He’s not sure they ever really talked out their issues in the past. He thinks they would’ve when Mickey brought him back home after he took off for the army. But Ian had already been halfway to manic by then and hadn’t exactly been in the most rational frame of mind to discuss the deep shit.

Mickey shifts onto his back, still keeping one arm around Ian, and Ian fits himself against Mickey’s side, head half on the pillow, half on Mickey’s shoulder.

“Well, if we’re talking about everything,” Mickey starts, rolling his head to the side and meeting Ian’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

And that’s- what?

“What the fuck are you sorry for?” Ian asks with a frown – he’s pretty sure he’s the one with a laundry list of apologies to make here.

Mickey huffs out a laugh but it sounds sad. “Jesus, Ian. Did you just block out the first year and a half of our relationship?” He averts his gaze for a second before looking back to Ian with renewed determination. “I’m sorry for all the times I pushed you away or pretended this didn’t mean anything or ended it because I got scared or hit you- fuck-“

“Mickey,” Ian says, cutting him off with a hand on Mickey’s chest. “You think I resent you for any of that?” he says, words quietly disbelieving. “Or that I don’t get why you acted the way you did? Yeah, sure, it fucking hurt at the time but I’m pretty sure you made up for it a thousand times over with everything that came afterwards.”

When I almost burned our relationship to the ground, he thinks, and all you did was try to love me.

Mickey glances away again, looking more bashful this time. “It still doesn’t make it okay.”

“Yeah, well if it wasn’t already clear, I forgive you,” Ian tells him, feeling his mouth tick up at the edges when Mickey starts to smile at him. And he can’t help leaning to brush their lips together – just once before he allows himself to get side-tracked.

It’s his turn now.

“While we’re doling out apologies,” he starts, feeling shame burn through him. Even thinking about half the shit he’s done makes him question how the fuck Mickey’s still here. “I’m so fucking sorry, Mick. Jesus. For all of it.”

Mickey stares at him with something vulnerable in his eyes and Ian wonders if anyone’s ever actually apologised to Mickey for hurting him before. That thought alone is enough for him to keep going.

“I’m sorry for giving you an ultimatum after the wedding. I was just- fuck, I was at breaking point, y’know? I know what happened that day with Terry was a million times worse for you-“

Mickey tenses at that and Ian thinks they’re going to talk about a lot tonight but they probably won’t talk about that. Some scars just run too fucking deep.

“I always wondered,” Mickey interrupts quietly, staring at Ian’s hand on his chest instead of Ian himself. “If that day was your trigger or whatever.”

Ian’s wondered it too, has considered bringing it up whenever he does go to therapy countless times, but he can never make himself say it out loud.

“It might’ve been,” he says slowly. “But if it was that’s Terry’s fault, not yours.”

Mickey nods absently and Ian shifts forward until he can press his forehead to Mickey’s temple. “None of it was our fault, Mick.”

Neither of them speaks for a beat – everything they’ve left unsaid hanging heavy in the air between them until Ian eventually decides to carry on.

“And I know I said sorry for this one before,” he continues. “But I’m sorry for trying to make you come out.”

Mickey shakes his head as if to tell him it doesn’t matter. But it does.

“And for all the fucking bullshit I pulled with you while I was manic. Not even just the big stuff – the cheating, the porno, Yevgeny – but all of it. I didn’t treat you how I wanted to back then.” Ian feels tears burn behind his eyes just thinking about it and his pulse is ragged by the time Mickey finally turns his head to look at him.

His eyes are shining and Ian’s heart is fucking broken. “You were sick, Ian.”

“Doesn’t make any of it okay,” Ian mumbles, closing his eyes when he feels Mickey’s fingers graze against the back of his neck. “Just- I really need you to know that the only reason I broke up with you was because Monica fucking got in my head and I could see how much I was killing you and I didn’t want that for you, Mick,” he says, voice low and desperate, begging Mickey to understand. “The thought of you just staying with me and letting me hurt you over and over again was too fucking much. Especially back then when I felt like I’d never feel normal again.”

Mickey is quiet for a moment before he squeezes the back of Ian’s neck. “I’m not excusin’ shit, Ian. Losing you back then- it nearly fucking broke me. But it’s like what you said about the stuff I did. It’s not okay. But I know why you did it.”

Ian nods, sniffling back the tears threatening to fall and burying his face in Mickey’s neck to press an apologetic kiss against the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. Mickey’s arm tightens around him in response and it’s enough to give Ian courage to deliver the final part of his apology.

He leans back, pushing up on his elbow so he can look down at Mickey and meets his gaze while he talks. “I’m sorry I didn’t go with you to Mexico,” he whispers, breath hitching. “I’m so fucking sorry but I wanted to believe so badly that I actually had my shit together and-“

Mickey cuts him off before he can say anymore, lips upturned in a rueful smile. “I’m not mad about that,” he murmurs.

Ian frowns in confusion. “You’re not?”

Mickey nods, blowing out a resigned breath. “You were fucking right, Ian. Where were we supposed to get your meds? I spent two years working for a fucking cartel, that’s not exactly the kinda stress-free, routine life you needed to be living.” Mickey shakes his head, shrugging half-heartedly. “I didn’t think it through, I just wanted to be with you again – couldn’t see past that, y’know?”

And Ian is so fucking in love with him. He can’t believe Mickey still has so much goddamn faith in him.

“Fat lotta good it did anyway,” he huffs bitterly. “Goin’ home. Look where I ended up.”

He’d given Mickey the basics of what’d happened with the whole Gay Jesus thing earlier. But it’s still hard to believe how quickly things spiralled after he came home from the border.

Mickey doesn’t say anything because there’s not much to say really but he links his fingers together with the hand Ian’s still got resting on his chest which is an answer in and of itself.

“Listen,” Ian murmurs, meeting Mickey’s gaze and hoping he can see the sincerity there. “I know- I don’t expect you to just give me blanket forgiveness right now, okay? I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me,” he says, voice feeling thick with emotion. “But let me make it up to you, alright? Let me prove that I’m in this this time. I’m not fuckin’ around again, Mick. I’m not- I can’t let you go again.”

Mickey doesn’t reply right away and Ian watches as a myriad of emotions flickers across his face. Eventually though, his throat bobs and he offers Ian a hint of a smile. “You let me make my shit up to you. It’d be pretty fuckin’ hypocritical if I didn’t let you do the same.”

Ian huffs out a relieved laugh, resting his forehead against Mickey’s shoulder. “Or smart, maybe.”

“When have I ever fuckin’ been smart around you, Gallagher?” Mickey says amusedly and Ian raises his head again, leaning in until there’s the barest inch of space between them.

“I mean it,” he whispers steadfastly. “If it takes a week or a year to make you trust me again, I’ll do it. I promise.”

Mickey’s expression is calm and open as he watches him and Ian revels at being allowed to see the vulnerability behind his eyes – more as a sign of trust than because Mickey can’t conceal it for once. He closes the distance between them and tries to pour every bit of love and devotion he possesses into the kiss, hoping Mickey can feel it.

When their lips dislodge after a minute or so Ian rearranges them until he’s the one lying on his back and Mickey’s head is resting on his chest.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Mickey admits into the cotton of Ian’s tank top and Ian closes his eyes, feeling a lump swell in his throat as his eyes begin to water.

“I missed you too,” he murmurs hoarsely, tightening his arms around Mickey like he could fuse their bones together and pressing a firm kiss to Mickey’s hair. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Mickey mumbles and it’s just three words but it feels like fucking salvation to Ian’s ears.

They’re gonna be alright.

#gallavich #ian x mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #shameless #my fics #mickeys gonnagetrealbitchy #asks #long post #i have NO idea what's wrong with the read more i'm so sorry #i've tried to fix it a million times

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neednothavehappenedtobetrue · 3 years

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here are some scripts, ranked in order of how difficult the scripty thing will be to do.

easy mode: "hey Boss, I am, as you know, having a bit of a medical situation, it is not an emergency, but I will be taking X day off to do some routine maintenance"

do not overexplain! do not tell him anything additional! it would be fine if you did, but also, don't!

medium mode (I am terrified of haircuts and therefore hair stylists, sorry about the person I am) "hi! you will notice that my hair is quite dirty. this is because I have been having trouble washing it often because of a medical concern I have that I am getting fixed. I am sorry about this! no, I do not know exactly how long it has been since I washed it, but because of the medical stuff my memory is quite bad, you are probably best equipped to make a guess, as a hair expert person. the medical thing is not COVID-related or otherwise contagious, and I am getting it addressed ASAP. please do not make jokes about this, I am very self-conscious about it.

what's the medical problem? "they're adjusting a medication I take that can sometimes cause fatigue, and forgetfulness and generally make it hard to do stuff" be pleasantly vague! if they ask you really persistently, just say "depression" but probably they will not.

if at all possible, do not tell them that your last hairstylist made a joke about you inadequately washing your hair and you hated it. they do not require this information. practice not oversharing QUITE so much.

hard mode: doctor! (this part gets Really Explicit with the details of my ED, so it is under a cut, only read it if knowing how many meals/calories I eat a week will not trigger you, please do not trigger yourself, I'm sorry but I think if I do not put this here I will not say it, so it needs to go here)

-"hi doctor P, so I made this appointment to talk about a concern I have been having for some time, but now I have two concerns. my initial concern is that I have been experiencing some nausea, particularly bad in the mornings. I am definitely for sure not pregnant. I have been taking phenergan as needed, but not every day. I have only thrown up twice in six weeks, so it is not terrible, but it is also not great. I don't want to take too much phenergan because the hospital doctors told me it could cause heart problems and also I could get too used to it and have it stop working, how worried should I be about those things? sometimes in the morning, I do not feel nausea in my stomach, but I do start gagging or dry-heaving randomly. I have never thrown up from this but it is weird and also means I need to take Zoom calls with my camera off. do you have any ideas or suggestions?

also, a problem that might actually be a bigger problem is that I have recently-ish come to terms with the fact that I have an eating disorder. I have had it off and on probably since I was in my teens. it is not necessarily textbook, in that I am rarely or never preoccupied with my weight and rarely, although not never, restricting deliberately. it initially started when I got the idea that if I lost a lot of weight very quickly, my parents, who were refusing to let me do therapy or psych meds again, would consider it. I never got to a dangerous weight level and I do not remember how long or how much I restricted, but a problem that came from that is that ever since when I am particularly struggling with a mental health issue, like bipolar or depression, I tend to stop eating. part of this problem is that I am very forgetful and literally forget to eat, especially in the absence of real hunger cues. part of the problem is that it is hard to do multi-step tasks when I am depressed, and eating food requires me to stop whatever I am doing, get up, go to the kitchen, figure out what I want to eat, prepare it in some way, and then actually physically eat it. lately, I have been drinking a lot of delivery smoothies because they are easy and digestible, and sandwiches as well. the problem has been particularly bad this past month or so, in a way that I suspect is not entirely explained by those two factors. I am working with my therapist and psychiatrist to fix it. I know that ED can trigger or worsen gastroparesis and I know I should have told you earlier, but I haven't been able to be honest with myself about the severity of the problem.

-this past month, I have been averaging between six and ten meals a week, with some snacks as well. on a good day, I probably hit 1200 calories, on a bad day I don't know, but less than that for sure. on my worst day last week, I ate the meat and cheese inside of half a sandwich and drank some juice, but nothing else. on my best day I drank one and a half smoothies and ate part of a sandwich, which I recognize is still pretty bad.

I am working with my psychiatrist and psychologist on this issue. I have started to take Adderall again, but this is only the second day of me taking it, so meds-related appetite lost is not the issue here.

I cannot get ED professional mental health treatment because, since I am in grad school, my parents pay for all of my medical care and they fundamentally do not believe I have an eating disorder. this is because my mom, who probably has her own ED, thinks 1200 calories is enough for a human per day and also because I am overweight. I saw a nutritionist for three months pre-pandemic and we worked on getting me to eat three meals and two snacks a day, but my parents stopped paying for her because I was not losing weight. I have told them exactly and in detail how little I am eating and they still do not believe I should be eating more, so they refuse to pay for ED-related medical care for me. this is part of a pattern for them, I am working on it in therapy and part of working on it will be figuring out how to pay for my own medical care, but right now I am doing my very best.

I do not know how much I currently weigh or how much weight I might have lost. I do not keep a scale in my apartment, because I am certain I would get obsessive with it. my friends say I look like I have been losing some weight, but it is hard to tell how much.

I know ED is bad for gastroparesis and I am sorry, but I am doing my very best and still struggling.

what I need from you is suggestions on safe ways to get more calories and any other suggestions you have for successfully eating. I am happy to put you in touch with my psychiatrist if you feel that would be useful. my therapist is, just for this week, on vacation. I will see her next week and could connect you then as well.

I cannot see any ED-specific specialists, because my parents categorically will not pay for them. I cannot see a nutritionist or a dietician, same reason. I could potentially see a new gastroenterologist who deals with this stuff in more depth, but my parents will probably Google her, which might pose a problem, and also they have a specific gastroenterologist they want me to see, so they might just... refuse anyway to let me choose my own gastroenterologist. they are like that. however, if you know a GI doctor who knows a lot about both gastroparesis and ED and whose website is not too significantly ED-focused, that might be helpful, or it might not work.

I know this is bad, and I know I need to fix my life so they are not paying for my medical care, I am working on it, I promise. do you have any suggestions?

great! that is a script! also, if she is garbage about this, you can GET A NEW DOCTOR literally at any time, if it sucks, hit the bricks.

#ed for ts #disordered eating for ts #alex's parents #medical neglect for ts #I do not usually tag posts about my personal parents with words like neglect #that is what the tag alex's parents is for #blacklist that if you need #but this one is uh pretty bad #pretty neglectful #so! here we go

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unsettledink · 3 years

Text

long vent about mental health care frustrations below the cut

I've been trying to get to a pysch to get my meds changed since I moved here a year ago. After several tries, the last one basically being like 'fill out all this paperwork first and then we'll talk about possible appointments', and all the paperwork was like 17 pages long and wanted all this insurance information that I didn't understand. I tried for a few days and then gave up, because that's real easy to do when you have mental issues you NEED TO SEE SOMEONE FOR OMG.

Waited four months. Went to the doctor for something else and mentioned that I'd gotten nowhere. They said they could set me up with some sort of patient advocate that could help with it. !! I let myself get hopeful.

Of course it's only by phone. That's not good. I miss the first call, and then... panic and don't answer the second. Partly because I just don't answer my number for unknown calls, but I knew they were going to call me. I spend the next week and a half spiraling every day about 'ok I'm going to make that call now!'. Spoiler: I did not.

Finally make the call... and get voicemail. HAHA. Spend the whole day anxious and checking my phone every five seconds. No call. They call today, during work, and just...

The problem for me is not finding a place. It's not going to appts, it's not figuring out what I need. The problem is phone calls and filling out paperwork. Those are the things I need help with. Those are things I apparently can't get help with.

They recommended a place, for therapy – look, I told them, I'm not going to be able to afford therapy beyond the intake, I need a pych for meds. Do they do that because a lot don't. They tell me the place will send me paperwork after I call them. Great, so I have to call them (nightmare), fill out paperwork (ahhhhh) and then call them again (NOPE). So that's... probably three months down the road.

I feel hopeless, but I made myself say, hey, the paperwork is where I broke down last time. It was so many pages and I couldn't answer things and I gave up. They say this place doesn't have terrible paperwork, but if there's a problem call them back (hahahaha...) I already feel pretty defeated because I wasn't given any 'help' that was what I needed or asked for, just the exact things I could actually do for myself.

Fine. Fine, I go check the site. It looks... familiar. What's that? Is it the last place I tried with the paperwork issue? Why yes it is. Oh no, I exaggerated for effect, their intake isn't 17 pages, it's 13. SO much better.

I have options:

1) I can attempt to struggle through the paperwork again, call the insurance company and stay on hold for an hour and not get any answers, and then call for an appointment a month later because phones.

2) I can call (FFS) the 'advocate' back and tell them, the paperwork you clearly think is super easy is causing me to meltdown, because I am the most pathetic person on earth. Expose myself as even more of a disaster and probably still not get help because they can't/won't provide what I need.

3) give up.

One guess what's most likely to happen.

So that's why I spent twenty minutes crying on my lunch break today. If anyone was under some illusion that I am a person with things together. I barely manage human half the time.

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 16

Title: Bruised, Not Broken

Warnings: mental illness, memory and talk of near death experience, profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty

“He’s struggling,” Esme says the following morning, as she leans stomach first against the kitchen island, cell phone pressed to her ear and an oversized mug of steaming tea staring invitingly up at her. “Badly.”

It’s eight thirty in the morning and she’s exhausted; a night full of broken sleep and attempting to fend off the monsters that accompany the reality of mental illness. It hadn’t been that bad in a long time; inconsolable, body wracking sobs that quickly transition into feelings of frustration and embarrassment, followed by a period of self loathing and disgust, finished off by intense rage directed at the mental illness itself and the people and experiences that directly caused it. It’s a hell of a thing to go through. Holding your six foot three, two hundred pound husband while he desperately clings to you and weeps like a terrified and wounded child. Able to do little more than offer verbal reassurance and attempt to comfort by running your fingers through his hair or rubbing his back. THAT isn’t the difficult part; the soothing comes easily and naturally and he normally responds quickly. Even the shame he feels afterwards is relatively easy to cope with. She can fend that off by staying calm and explaining why he doesn’t need to feel that way; somewhat convincing him that there’s no need for embarrassment just because he had a moment of vulnerability and weakness. Reminding him that he IS human; he’s allowed to feel hurt and pain and be frustrated and confused. But it’s the anger that takes over; all consuming and powerful and making it impossible to get through to him. She’d long ago learned that it’s best to just sit back and not say anything; let him rant and rave and vigorously pace the floor. Redirecting doesn’t work; he becomes defensive and accusatory and every little suggestion is taken as a personal attack or judgement. Silence IS golden when he goes off the deep end. Relegating herself to just listening and acknowledging what's happening to him and conveying understanding through body language and actions as opposed to words.

It always ends the same way. With pure physical and emotional exhaustion taking over. All the rage and tears expended and leaving him feeling empty and worn out; crawling back into bed and turning his back towards her in a silent request to just leave him alone. And she gives him that; a hand resting on the top of his head or upon his shoulder, yet no words ever exchanged. Staring up at the ceiling with tears of her own streaming down her face; a mixture of her own frustration and anger and pure and profound heartache. Not only hating to see the person she loves more than anything in the world hurting so badly, but detesting the fact she can’t do anything to take it all away.

“He always struggles at Christmas,” Ovi reminds her, and over the line she can hear the babbling of the littlest and the various voices belonging to characters on Sesame Street. It’s surreal at times; acknowledging just who he is now and how far he’s come. Easily remembering him as that scared and traumatized teenager and then having to remind herself that he’s a grown man; a wife and children of his own and well on his way to becoming a pediatrician.

“It’s different this year. It’s not just sadness. It’s frustration and it’s rage and it’s so much self loathing. I know we were told that this would happen; he’d go through these kinds of ups and downs. But he’s been doing so well and he’s been coping and hasn’t had a downward spiral like this in so long.”

“What is it he’s actually getting worked up over? What’s setting him off?”

“He’s been thinking a lot about Austin. He mentioned how it was bothering him how much Millie and TJ look like him. I mean, he’s always sad at Christmas. It’s always difficult for him. But it’s not like THIS.”

“Maybe he’s wondering what Austin would be like now. Or what he would have been like when he was Millie and TJ’s ages. And if he’s already down and out because of the holiday, adding that into the mix COULD make it worse.”

“It’s been years since he was THIS bad. You know how well he’s been doing. Everything’s been under control. He’s been managing it. Extremely well.”

“And he’s still going to therapy?”

“Religiously. By himself AND with me. And you know what a miracle THAT is. Him even agreeing to getting help in the first place.”

“Is he taking his meds? If he’s been off them or been skipping them…”

“I’ve checked. I went and counted them myself. There’s no extra. He’s been taking them. And I fucking hate that I even have to do that. Check up on him like that. He’s a grown man. He’s forty-seven years old and I’m treating him like he’s a child. I hate that I have to do that. I hate this whole fucking thing. This whole illness.”

“Unfortunately, he’s shown that he can’t be trusted. When it comes to meds. It’s a horrible thing to say, but…”

“This is just so unfair,” she laments, and lifts the mug of tea to her lips. “ That he’s suffering like this. He’s paid his dues, Ovi. And then some. Why does he have to KEEP paying? Wasn’t Dhaka enough? Wasn’t what happened twelve and half years ago a big enough price to pay? He doesn’t deserve this. This kind of pain. I’d rather see him physically struggling than this. Because at least I know that pain will subside. But this? I fucking hate this. And I can’t see Christmas being the only thing causing this. He’s never this bad.”

“How’d he seem when he got back? From Cambodia?”

“Tired. A little sore. But he seemed fine. He was glad to be home and in great spirits. He’s been...I don’t know...he’s been Tyler. Nothing out of the ordinary. I mean, it seemed like there was some underlying sadness, but I just chalked it up to it being Christmas and him always have a hard time.”

“Could something have happened while he was away? Could something have triggered it?”

“He didn’t tell me much. Just that the guys he took out were pretty much the biggest pieces of garbage he’s ever encountered. And that’s saying a lot; considering how many years he’s been doing the job and how many assholes he’s taken out. I guess they didn’t stop at just drug running and weapons trafficking. Apparently they abused women. And children. In the worst ways possible.”

“That could do it. Probably hit close to home. Hearing about someone taking advantage of kids like that.”

“He did seem rather vengeful about it. Satisfied, even. That he got the chance to take out people like that. And I don’t blame him; those people are scum and they deserve to put down in the most painful way possible. And he did say that it made him think about his kids. He kind of started dwelling on it; what would happen and how he’d react if anyone touched his kids like that.”

“That’s probably what did it,” Ovi concludes. “It’s probably been just eating away at him. It’s probably all he’s been thinking about; his own kids getting victimized like that. And you know Tyler. Once something is in his head, it lives there rent free. For a long time.”

“I try to get him to focus on other things; cut him off at the pass before he even gets down that rabbit hole. Usually it works; I can distract him and get him thinking about other things. And I thought it DID work. Guess I’m not as good at all of this as I think.”

“I think you need to cut yourself some slack. If anything, you do TOO much. You take too much on. You’ve got seven kids you’re taking care of. You’re dealing with Tyler’s issues. Are you taking care of yourself? Has anyone asked you how YOU’RE doing? Because that’s just as important.”

“I’m doing okay,” she lies, and swallows a mouthful of tea. “I’m fine.”

She feels anything but; weary to her bones and longing to be home. Six years ago, Australia had become her happy place; a beautiful home backing out onto the beach and the ocean in such short walking distance. There’s a bliss that comes with being there. The feel of the sand beneath your feet and between your toes, the sound of the waves as they roll up onto the shore, the smell of salt that hangs heavily in the air. It represents everything that is beautiful and good in her life; incredible little human beings she’d had a hand in making and a man that loves her more than anything in the world and practically worships the ground she walks on. Everyone seems happier there; content with the sunshine and the warm temperatures and the close relationship with nature. The pace of life seems slower; more laid back and relaxing and not possessing the amount of stress and tension that being in the States in the middle of winter seems to bring. And while she loves it in New York -the convenience that comes with a big city and the amount of activities to keep yourself busy that are available- she’d willingly give it all up if meant it would alleviate some of the suffering that Tyler’s mental illness brings upon him.

“You realize I know you’re lying, right?" Ovi says. "That I lived with you for years and I know exactly how you get; taking on the world’s problems and not paying attention to your own. You can’t keep doing that. You can’t keep ignoring yourself because you’re so busy trying to solve everyone else’s issues. You can’t pour from an empty cup. You burn yourself out and you’ll be no good to anyone. Especially the kids.”

“I don’t have time to worry about myself. Or the energy. There are far more important things going on than what I’m going through.”

“So you’re NOT fine.”

“It’s stressful. It’s Christmas. I always get like this at Christmas. It’s all those ridiculous standards my mother put on us when we were young. Everything had to look and be perfect on the surface so no one really knew just how messy it all was underneath. I can’t get out of that; that line of thinking. And yes, I DO know that’s unhealthy, Doctor Mahajan.”

Ovi chuckles. “Let’s not go tossing that title around just yet. I’ve got a few more years to go. Especially when I’m going into a speciality.”

“Listen, if I want to call my kid a doctor, I will. I’m proud of you. I know how far you’ve come. Everything you’ve gone up against and battled through. I still remember fourteen year old you. Keeping you occupied in that factory; talking about movies and girls and school.”

“I still remember when you showed up. Wondering who the hell you were and thinking ‘how the hell is someone THAT small going to help us?’. Talk about not being able to judge a book by it’s cover. Tyler was right; it is the tiny ones you have to watch out for.”

Smiling, she takes a sip of tea and then perches herself on the edge of the counter. “Do you remember when we used to go into town and get ice cream? In Telluride? When you had your last period off in high school and you’d come home early and it would just be the two of us?”

“I LOVED that place. That was like a childhood dream come true! Walls of candy and thirty flavours of ice cream and these enormous banana splits and massive sundaes. Remember that time we shared that really huge hot fudge one? With the whipped cream and the peanuts on it? I think it was called the Beast or something like that.”

“The Behemoth,” she laughs. “I DO remember that. We sat outside and shared it. We even flipped a coin to see who got to eat the cherry that was on the top.”

“I am still mad at you for winning that. I really wanted that cherry. Those are some of my best memories, you know. The things we’d do together. When Tyler was away and Millie and the twins were at school. We used to have some fun. I used to love when we went bowling. And we’d eat french fries soaked in vinegar.”

“And those really horrible hamburgers. With the flat patties. And no taste. That seems so long ago. You were what? Eighteen? If that?”

“Just turned seventeen. And that IS a long time ago. I AM twenty seven now.”

“And you have your own wife and your own kids. And you’re a doctor.”

“Not yet,” he laughs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Let’s not pretend it won’t happen. We both know it will. And I am; proud of you. So proud. You have come so far, Ovi. To do as well as you have after everything you went through. You would have had every right to have issues.”

“I had two people that loved me and believed in me. That made me realize I could do whatever I wanted. BE who I wanted. If I hadn’t had you guys? I wouldn’t be where I am now. I probably would have followed in his footsteps. I would have felt obligated to. Scared and pressured into it. And it would have just kept that whole vicious and toxic cycle going.”

“I know we weren’t perfect. I know Tyler and I went through some shit that you had to listen to and witness. But all we’ve ever wanted is the best for you. For you to realize how amazing you are. How much potential you have. And all we wanted to do was give you a good life. Even if at the time we didn’t have the money you once had and sometimes it seemed we didn’t have much to offer you. All we wanted was to give you a family.”

“You did. And it never mattered what you could and couldn’t give me. Materialistically speaking. All that mattered was that you loved me. And I felt that. I ALWAYS felt that.”

“It’s strange, huh? How something so crazy and scary brought us together? How complete strangers can become family? It’s surreal.”

“It wasn’t the most conventional of meetings, but it certainly turned out pretty amazing. You know what I remember the most? About back then? When we did meet? I remember being on that bridge with you. And how you refused to separate from me. You said you wouldn’t leave me. And you didn’t. Even I was slowing you down, you never abandoned me. And you didn't treat me like you were doing a job or I was some kind of package. There was no money, but you still stuck by me.”

“We were in it together. I wasn’t going to sacrifice you to save myself. That’s just not who I am. I wasn’t going to leave you. In the same way I wasn’t going to leave Tyler there. There was no way I was doing that; taking off and leaving him there to die. I couldn’t live with myself if I did. My conscience couldn’t handle it. And selfishly, I wanted him alive. I wanted to get to know him and be with him.”

“Hell of a way to profess your love for someone. Willingly sacrifice your life to try and save them. Stick your fingers in their neck to keep them alive. Nothing says ‘I love you’ quite like that.”

“It was quite the ordeal,” Esme agrees, and finishes off the remains of her tea. “You know, sometimes it feels like just yesterday. Other times it feels like forty years. But if I close my eyes and I try hard enough, I can actually remember what it felt like to be there. How scared I actually was. I can hear the gunshots and the explosions and my own heart pounding in my chest. I can even still smell things; blood and gasoline and gunpowder.”

“I believe that’s something referred to as PTSD.”

“Listen buddy, you’re trying to become a pediatrician, NOT a shrink. Don’t go psychoanalyzing me.”

“I’m just saying maybe it’s time you worked on what’s going on in YOUR head. Instead of worrying so much about what’s going on in Tyler’s. I know you love him. I know you’d do anything for him. You go hard core Mother Hen when he gets like this. And I know you can’t help it and I know he appreciates everything you do for him. But you know what else I know? I know he doesn’t expect you to forget about yourself while constantly taking care of him. He’s a grown man. And he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”

“It’s easier said than done. I can’t just let him fend for himself. I can’t just let him spiral out of control and do nothing more than hope for the best. He’s my husband. The father of my kids. And it kills me to see him like this. To know he’s in so much pain. To hear him talk about himself like he does.”

“When he gets like this, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Or saying. He just lashes out. He doesn’t mean it when he says he wishes he had died five years ago. Or twelve and a half years ago. That’s just his brain telling him this shit. Do you think he’s in crisis? Do you think he’d hurt himself? Try something stupid?”

“No. I don’t think he WANTS to die. I think he just wants this over. The pain he’s in. He just wants it to stop.”

“He’s going through a depressive stage. It’s to be expected. I mean, it sucks it’s happening right now. At Christmas. What’s he doing right now?”

“Sleeping.” She looks out towards the living room; Tyler fast asleep on the couch, on his stomach with the comforter from TJ’s bed tossed over him and an arm and a leg dangling over the side. The night hadn’t gotten any better after he’d fallen asleep. Tossing and turning and having nightmares; finally coming downstairs to take up residence on the sofa and give her the chance to get a peaceful, undisturbed rest. But she hadn’t been able to. Too worried about him and wanting nothing more than to go downstairs and join him on the couch, yet knowing his current mood, her actions wouldn’t be well received. “He’s on the couch right now. It was a rough night. Nightmares.”

“About?”

“He wouldn’t tell me. Which means they were about Dhaka. Most likely about the bridge. He’ll talk to me about Nathan, but not about the bridge. He avoids that like the plague. More for me than for him.”

“Have you called his therapist? Told him what’s going on? Maybe he has some suggestions; things that can alleviate some of the anxiety and the panic. Help him sleep better.”

“If it gets worse, I’ll call. This could have been a one off. It might have just been a delayed reaction to being away.”

“If it wasn’t and he DOES get any worse? Call. Don’t hesitate. Or take him to the emergency. Or call me and I’ll take him.”

“I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that. He’s resting now. Which is a good sign. Last time he went into a depressive state, he didn’t sleep for a week. I’ll give it a couple days. At least get past Christmas. Once it’s over, he might perk up.”

“Don’t hesitate to call me. If he gets worse or you sense he’s spiralling out of control. I’ll be there. As soon as I can.”

“You have your own life. Riya and the kids. I can’t…”

“That’s my dad. I want to help. LET me help. It’s the least I can do. I’ve to go for now though; promised Mykayla we’d go see Santa in Central Park. She has some last minute gift ideas to drop in his lap.”

“Give her and Tabbi a kiss from Grandma Me. Tell them I love them. Riya too. I love you, Ovi. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’ll give them tons and hugs and kisses from you,” he promises. “And I love you too, mom.”

****

She’s sitting in the sunroom when he wakes an hour later; listening to him shuffle through the living room and into the guest bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Minutes later he’s heading towards her; yawning noisily and his eyes heavy lidded. And she glances up from the laptop resting upon her thighs when he pads into the room; clad in a pair of tattered and faded plaid pyjama bottoms and no shirt. And she can’t help but think about how adorable he looks; a giant of man boasting his fair share of tattoos and scars, his hair mussed from sleep and a sporting pout of both sleepiness and annoyance.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” she cheerfully greets, and tilts her head back to smile at him. “How you feeling?”

“Alright I guess.” He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and then rakes his fingers through his hair. “Can you stand up for a second?”

She cocks her head to the side, a quizzical look on her face.

He manages a small smile, then runs a gentle palm over her hair and adds, “Please?”

Obliging, she places the laptop on the seat cushion next to her and then joins him at the side of the couch; immediately gathered into his embrace and pulled tightly into his chest. And she climbs onto the top of his feet and perches on her tiptoes in order for her arms to reach their final destination; wrapped tightly around his neck. For several minutes neither of them speak; eyes closed and their warm bodies pressed together, a forearm holding her in place and a palm cradling the back of her head. He feels so good; his body hard and strong and never failing to make her feel safe. It’s never been a worry of hers; whether or not he’d be able to defend her if someone hell bent on revenge was determined to hurt his family. And she rests easy at night knowing what he’s capable of and that he’d do whatever it takes -even giving up his own life if need be- to protect her.

Tangling his fingers in her hair, he gently tugs on the short, soft tresses, forcing her to pull back and look at him. She hates what she sees in his eyes; that darkness that betrays just how lost and confused and scared he actually is. A man that always has always been so strong and so fearless; fighting other peoples battles while refusing to address his own. And it breaks her heart. Knowing that the things he’s capable of -the fierceness and the tenacity and the sheer brutality he’s reined down on people- are some of the many reasons he’s now feeling so weak and vulnerable. So good at the job, yet suffering so badly because of it.

“I’m sorry,” his voice quivers with emotion. “I am so fucking sorry.”

She reaches up to push limp bangs away from his forehead. Trying desperately to keep her own fears and worries from betraying her. He doesn’t need that right now; her coming undone and weeping in HIS arms. It’s time for her to be the strong one; holding him up and supporting him and never making him feel like a burden. “For what? What do you have to be sorry for?”

“The way I acted. Going off the deep end like I did. I hate that you have to see that. Hear the shit I say. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

“Tyler, you’re sick. It's a legitimate illness. And you know what? You’ve had an amazing five years. Barely any depressive or manic episodes. Things have been pretty stable and pretty smooth sailing. But we were told this could happen. That you could crash like you did. It’s just part of it. And you can’t help it. You don’t know what you’re doing or what you’re saying and…”

“I DO know what I’m doing. And what I’m saying. I’m not blacking out when it happens. I know exactly what’s going on when it’s happening.”

“It doesn’t mean you have control over it. Because you DON’T. It’s your brain. And when things go haywire, you can’t stop the things you do and the things you say. And you’re not to blame for that. You can’t control what is going on. And I know that’s what scares you the most; the loss of control.”

“I just hate that you have to be there. When it happens. That you have to see that shit and hear the things that come out of my mouth. I hate that it hurts you. That I hurt you.”

“You don’t hurt me. I hurt for you. That’s two entirely different things. You have nothing to be sorry for. And I know things were great and it seemed like it was completely under control. But baby, this is going to happen. Whether we want it to or not. We can’t stop it. It’s just the nature of the beast, unfortunately.”

“If I’d died five years ago...twelve and a half years ago…”

“Listen to me,” she pleads and takes his face in her hands. “DON’T go there. That is a very dark place and if you go there, you may never get back out. You are here for a reason. You’re here because you deserve to be. Because there’s people that love you. That NEED you. You helped me make seven beautiful little humans. None of them would exist if you weren’t here. Isn’t that enough? Knowing they’re alive because you are?”

“Of course it’s enough. But they shouldn’t have to live with this. YOU shouldn’t have to.”

“You are not the burden you think you are. It’s an illness. You can’t help what’s going on and you didn't do anything to cause it. It’s not your fault. Your brain didn’t do this to you because of something you did. It’s so many things. And you know what? It sucks. Huge. And I hate that this is happening to you. I hate that you are at war with your own mind every second of every goddamn day. But I won’t let you talk like that. I won’t let you say that you should have died. I won’t let you completely discount the life that you have now. Because I didn’t stick around on that fucking bridge and put my ass on the line so you could turn around and totally disregard that you were given a second chance for a reason.”

“I never asked you to stay. On that bridge. I never…”

“I stayed because you deserved to live. Because you’d paid your dues and you got your absolution. And you know what? Maybe part of it was selfish. Because I knew we could have something amazing if you stopped hating yourself long enough to let me love you. Can you honestly look me in the eye and say you really wanted to die that day? That you would go back and change that if you could? Even knowing you wouldn’t have what you have now. Someone that loves you more than they love themselves. Seven kids that think the sun rises and sets on you. Would you really go back and change everything? Would you really choose to die?”

“No,” he blinks back the tears that threaten to escape. “I wouldn’t. I would choose you. And my kids. Every day.”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you. I’m sorry you’re hurting as much as you are. And I would give anything to take that all away and make you healthy. But you are not broken and I won’t let you destroy what you have. I won’t let your brain destroy YOU.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this. Take care of me like this. Do you know what this is like? How fucking embarrassing it is? That you have to take care of ME?”

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m your wife. I’m the mother of your kids. I have you seen at your absolute worst. I’ve seen you inches from death. This? This is nothing compared to some of the things I’ve seen and heard. You should never be embarrassed around me. I’m not going to judge you. And it's okay to be weak. To have vulnerable moments. You’re a goddamn human being.”

“I hate it. Being like that. Being weak.”

“Because you were told that it makes you less of a man. You had that drilled into your head from the time you were a little boy. And you know what? Nothing could be further from the truth. It takes a strong man to break down and admit they need help. You are the strongest person I have ever known. You do battle every second of every day with your own mind. And you always keep going. THAT’S brave.”

“I don’t feel it. I feel weak and pathetic and…”

“You are not any of those things. Look at everything you’ve been through. From the time you were a little boy until now. A weaker man would have given up a long time ago. But you? You fight back and you never give up and get back on your feet time and time again. That is strength, Tyler. The fact you suffer like you do but you get up every day and you smile when all you want to do is cry and you love your family with everything you have and bust your ass to make them happy even though you feel like you’re drowning. THAT? That is so far from being weak and pathetic.”

Sighing heavily, he glances away; swallowing noisily around the lump of emotion that sits squarely in his throat.

Pressing her fingers into his cheek, she turns his face back towards her. “I love you. More than you could ever possibly know. And I fell in love with you knowing how messed up things were and what kind of torment and pain you were carrying. None of that matters to me. Because I know who you are outside of all of that. I know that you’re loving and you’re caring and you have a heart that’s even bigger than your body. I know how deep and powerfully you love DESPITE everything you’ve been through. I didn’t back away then, and I’m sure as hell not backing away now. So you can try as hard as you want to push me away, but you’re stuck with me, buddy.”

“That’s not so bad,” he chides through threatening tears. “I mean, I can think of way worse fates.”

“I will love you and take care of you until your last breath. And you know what? I’ll love you even after that.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve YOU.”

“That’s your brain trying to convince you of that. And I know its voice is deafening and it seems impossible to ignore it, but you’ve got to try and shut it out. Concentrate on what I’m saying to you. Because what I’m telling you? It’s the truth. I’d never lie to you. So you need to pay attention to me, okay? And the things I say. I am way stronger and more tenacious than that voice inside of your head. Can you do that? Listen to me? Because I would never….ever...steer you wrong. You know that, right?”

“I do. I do know that. And I trust you. ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t trust my own brain anymore.”

“Then just rely on mine. Rely on ME. To give you the truth. Can you do that?”

“I can do that. Or try, at least.”

“That’s all I’m asking for. Now…” she lays her hands on his chest and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin. “...you hungry? What do you want for breakfast? I know I’m not actually the top chef YOU are, but I do make a mean veggie omelette. And you do like my french toast.”

“I thought maybe we could go out. To that little diner a few blocks over. The one that makes those Belgian waffles you like so much.”

“With the strawberries and the homemade whipped cream? I definitely could go for that. Are you sure though? That you’re up to it? It was a pretty rough night and…”

“I’m fine. Or I will be. It’s sunny out. The fresh air would do me some good I think. And we only have so much time without the kids left and I really do like our alone time. Outside of the bedroom.”

“So you don’t like the alone time in the bedroom?” she teases.

“I never said that. I LOVE that time.”

“A breakfast date with my favourite human sounds perfect.” Reaching up, she combs her fingers through his hair, pushing the longer strands off his forehead. “I’m proud of you, you know that? How hard you fight. A lesser man would have given up a long time ago.”

“I’ve got way too much to live for. Besides, I can’t go offing myself and then have to bear witness to you dating another guy. Or worse, marrying one.”

“Never going to happen. You’re it for me. There won’t be anyone after you. You’re stuck with me until the bitter end, Mister.”

A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he takes her face in his hands and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Hell of a way to go if you ask me.”

*****

“I talked to Ovi earlier,” Esme says, as they sit in the back corner of the diner. Sipping steaming mugs of tea; joined hands resting on the table top; fingers laced together and his thumb repeatedly brushing against hers.

The booth is a safe distance away from the main hub of activity; crowds of people and excessive noise caused by the rattle of dishes and numerous conversations and boisterous laughter taking place at the same time. It’s important to avoid any and all triggers, or to at least find ways to lessen the effects of something that could bring on ‘an episode’. On the short walk she’d noticed the tell tale signs that depression isn’t the only concern; the hyper-vigilance associated with his PTSD quickly creeping in. Exhibiting anxiety if he felt pedestrians were crowding around him on sidewalks or when waiting to cross the street. Glaring at anyone he felt was staring at him or in somehow posing even the slightest bit of a threat towards her; jaw clenching as he tightly brought her into his side or put a hand on the back of her neck while drawing him in front of her. And the glances cast over his shoulder; eyes constantly scanning for anything and everything that could be considered suspicious or threatening, visibly tensing at every slam of a car door.

It’s both disheartening and worrisome; to see him regressing back to old behaviours after years of coping so well. Being off the street has helped; his shoulders not as tense, jaw no longer clenched, eyes not surveying the crowd with so much apprehension and simmering anger. But he still insists on being the one to sit facing the door; able to physically handle a threat if one came in their direction. And while she knows those chances are rare and his brain is far from thinking rationally, she doesn’t argue or try to change his mind; squeezing his arm and giving him a reassuring smile before switching seats.

Tyler doesn’t look up from the menu open in front of him. “About me?”

“Yes,” she admits, and refuses to allow him to pull his hand away from hers. “I told him what happened last night. About how you’re struggling.”

“Why? Why would you tell him? He’s got his own shit to deal with. He doesn’t need to hear about what’s going on with me.”

“I told him because he loves you. Because you’re his dad. And he worries about you. We both do.”

“He’s got his own life. His own wife, his own kids. Don’t bother him with that bullshit.”

“You and your issues are NOT bullshit. And you’re part of his life. You have been since he was fourteen years old. We took him in and we raised him and we gave him a family. And he loves you. He has every right to know what��s going on with you. And you know what? I have the right to have someone I can turn to. When I’m struggling.”

“I don’t mean to be such a burden on you. Make you struggle so much.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. I need someone I trust to help me, help you. And honestly, I need someone I can talk to. About all of this. Because it kills me inside that you’re struggling and you’re in so much pain. And I don’t want to put that on you, Tyler. Can you just accept that you’re surrounded by people who love you? That we’re trying to help? Let us love you, okay?”

Sighing, he nods in agreement. “Okay.”

“We’re just worried about you. We just want to help you.”

“I’ll be fine in a couple days. Once Christmas is over. I’ll act like everything is okay around the kids. So it doesn’t ruin things for them. I just need the holiday over with. I’ll be okay once it is.”

“I’m sure you will.” She hopes she sounds more confident than she feels. “It’s always a hard time. The holidays. And you know, seeing the kids so happy Christmas morning will help too. You know how cute that is; how excited they are, their faces all lit up when they see all the presents. It’s kind of hard NOT to smile when you see all of that. So that gives you something to look forward to, right?”

“You know what I’m NOT looking forward to? How many times they wake us up between midnight and five am.”

“It felt like every half hour last year.”

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been up until two in the morning putting together that stupid dollhouse we got for Addie and Brooklyn. Having to decorate every damn room and put out all those little forks and knives and plates and shit.”

“You were a pro. I was quite impressed how those huge hands of yours dealt with teeny tiny cutlery. And I have to say, you have quite the eye when it comes to interior design. Maybe you should be in charge of picking out decor for the house from here on out.”

“That’s not the deal. You pick shit out and I live with it. Or you tell me what needs to be painted and what colour you want and I do it. Or I carry heavy shit. I’m happy with that; our arrangement. What else did he say? Ovi?”

“He said that Tabbi is up on her feet and starting to cruise the furniture. Finally sleeping through the night. Remember those days? The relief that comes with THAT?”

“We didn’t really get to experience that until Takota and Brookie started sleeping through the night. They’re last so we didn’t have any babies after them to worry about. The rest of them?”

“One started sleeping through the night, another baby was born. We were pretty busy those first seven years.”

“You know, you could have always said ‘no’ a few times. You didn’t always have to put out every time I asked you to.”

“Are you kidding? And miss out on the fun? You can’t say it wasn’t enjoyable.”

He grins. “You won’t hear any complaints from me.”

“And Mykayla starts preschool next week. Can you believe that? Our first grand baby is going to be in preschool! It seems like she was just born. Kind of hard to believe, don’t you think?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact I have two grandkids.”

“For what it’s worth, I think we’re pretty sexy grandparents. You’re a damn fine grandpa.”

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“I don’t care. You ARE a grandpa. You ARE grandpa Tyler.”

“Makes me feel so fucking old. Way older than I actually am.”

“Well for what it’s worth, you’re the hottest grandpa around. I’d still do ya.”

“Yeah? Well I definitely wouldn’t say no to you. You’re kinda hot yourself. For a grandma.”

“What about when I’m the grandma who can barely see or hear and my hair is snow white and my body a total dumpster fire?”

“You’ll still be the most beautiful girl in the world to me.”

Smiling, she squeezes his hand and then smiles at the waitress who returns to refill his coffee and take their orders. For several minutes they sit in silence; his thumb sliding down to the base of her wrist and continuing its slow and methodical caress, eyes flicking back and forth as they constantly survey the surroundings and their fellow diners. She’s seen that look before; cautious and wary, as if expecting a threat to announce its presence any second. And it’s a side that she hasn’t seen in years; since extensive therapy began to help control the hyper-vigilance and paranoia.

“Hey…” she taps the toe of a boot against his shin in order to grab his attention. “...you okay?”

“Yeah,” he manages a smile; that half assed turning up of one corner of his mouth. “I’m good.”

“Really? Because you’re acting like an armed robber is going to come barging and start shooting up the place. Do you want to get our order to go? Eat at home? Where you’re more comfortable?”

“I’m comfortable here. I’m fine, Me. Honest.”

“You are NOT fine. You are far from fine. I haven’t seen you like this in a long time. I’m safe, Tyler. Nothing is going to happen. I’m with you. Which means nothing or no one can hurt me. I trust you. I know you can protect me if you have to. I am one hundred percent safe because I am with YOU.”

“What if I can’t? Protect you?”

“You can. You’ve always been able to. Nothing’s changed. I’m fine. I’m safe. I’m here with you and everything is right in the world. Just try and relax, okay?”

“I’m not who I was back then. When we met.”

“I don’t expect you to be. And you know what? You’re better than you were. You’re stronger and you’re healthier and I trust you one hundred percent. There’s nothing you can’t handle. Nothing you can’t beat. Everything is fine. I’M fine. You need to just try and relax, alright? Nothing is going to happen to me. Not when I’m with you.”

The tension slightly lifts; the stiffness in his shoulders easing and the frantic bouncing of his leg finally stopping. But she notices the way his hand shakes when he lifts when he lifts the coffee mug to his lips.

“Do you want to go? Do you feel like you’re going to have a panic attack?”

“No. I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Here…” reaching into her purse, she briefly rummages through it and pulls out a small vial of pills she’s grabbed from the stash in the lock box in the pantry; snapping off the lid and dropping two in her palm. “...just a couple. It’ll take the edge of. Calm you down. Take them. Please.”

He obliges, plucking the tablets from her palm and placing them under his tongue and allowing them to resolve. The silence that follows is nerve wracking. Feeling her own heart pounding wildly in her chest as she watches him from across the booth; an elbow resting on the table , eyes closed and his palm pressed against his forehead. And she’s unsure how much time has actually passed when he takes a sharp intake of breath; eyes opening and his forearm coming to rest on the formica.

“Good?” she asks, and softly runs her fingers over his. “You alright?”

“Better.”

“You’ll be okay. In a few minutes, you’ll be right as rain. You’re doing good, baby. I’m proud of you.”

The corners of his mouth twitch as he attempts a smile. “I was thinking that maybe we should go home. Earlier than we were going to. Maybe a couple days into New Years instead of a couple weeks.”

“Is that what you want to do? Go home?”

“Yeah…” he struggles to hold back a flood of tears; uttering a string of profanities and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Don’t do that. Don’t be embarrassed. Just pretend that no one else exists but me. That no one else is here. Just listen to my voice. You’re fine. It’s just your brain, Tyler. Ignore what it is telling you and pay attention to what I’m saying. I’m okay. I’m safe. Because I’m with you. Nothing is going to happen. There’s no one following us, there’s no out to get you, there’s no one that’s going to hurt me. There’s no threat. Everything is okay. Alright?”

Nodding, he takes a deep intake of breath and then releases it slow. “I want to go home.”

“Home as in our place here or…?”

“Home, home. Australia. I want to go home. As soon as we can. I NEED to go home.”

“I’ll change our flight plans. When we get back to the townhouse. I’ll call and set everything up. We’ll leave on the second, okay?”

“But the kids might be pissed. They might…”

“I’ll think of something to tell them. They don’t need to know what’s going on. Don’t worry about that, alright? I’ll take care of everything. I mean, if you really wanted to, we could leave earlier. Ovi knows you’re struggling and…”

“I can’t miss his wedding. I’m the best man. That’s my kid.”

“And he’d understand. If you needed to get out, he would totally have your back. Believe me, he wouldn’t hold it against you if you couldn’t handle it here.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll suck it up and I’ll get through it. We’ll go to the wedding and we’ll have a good time and we’ll have our mommy and daddy only night. Then we can leave. On the second.”

“Okay,” Esme says, and reaches across the table to wipe away an errant tear that slips down his face. “You’re going to be okay.” she promises. “You always are. You’ve fought back against way worse.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.”

Smiling, she pushes her fingers through his. “Enough for both of us.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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