#and then i had to sit in therapy for another hour talking about self harm but not enough for her to have to tell my mom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

isawken · 9 months

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so the thing is

the thing is i think about my sorry 20 year old ass taking dozens of mgs of stolen barbiturates in my one bedroom apartment luxuriously paid for by an excess of student loans playing spyro the dragon on my 11 year old playstation 2 slim living the young artist's dream just me and a cat and and memory loss skipping class to make mediocre art too high to self harm in the old fashioned "burn or cut myself" way so i didn't think the other stuff i was doing was all that bad and trying really hard to be a mediocre waitress at a mediocre faux-high-brow restaurant and finally after a month being honest with my therapist and her recommending, not telling, me to self admit to Forest View Psychiatric Hospital and i actually did because i didn't know what else to do and i got in there and they took my shoelaces and i cried for about 36 hours straight because what the fuck did i just do, until they finally gave up on the trazadone that just straight up was not working and gave me seroquel and i finally slept for a while and then just sat in the bedroom i shared with an 18 year old anorexic (who would soon ask to get transferred to the minor ward and they'd let her for reasons i'm still not clear on other than the assumption of empathy on the part of her assigned psychiatrist which is frankly hard for me to believe) because they didn't actually care if you went to the group therapies as long as you were somewhere visible for their regular 15 minute check ins but after the 3rd day of now-intermittent crying and 6 new medications and mediocre forced sleep i asked if i could take a nap in one of the quiet rooms and they let me and it was one of the best naps i ever had in my life and when i woke up i was in a great mood and my whole perspective had somehow shifted and suddenly this was a good thing i was okay with being here (i still have no idea how this happened) and i went to group therapy and i tolerated the others in therapy telling me the solution to my immense self hate was to trust that god loves me and i went to the art room and drew in coloring books with the others and chatted and a 19 year old taught me about the chemical compounds in mucinex that get you high and i got a new roommate who was also my age also bisexual and she was an opera singer and she knew danish and we chatted up a stereotypically intimidating-looking biker man who had a voice as beautiful as my roommate's and he told us as he was waiting for the single-shower room about the benefits of MDMA for trauma and how the best thing you can do when you're rolling is "the airplane" and a 48 year old pill popper mother of 4 taught me how to jam a plastic spoon into the shower button in your room so you don't have to keep pressing the button for water and a guy named zander told me a bunch of pun jokes and we started sitting together at lunch and one day it was chicken wings, like actually decent chicken wings, so he ate a bunch and then left the bones piled on his plate as he left to get another round and the woman sitting across from us leaned over, eyes honed on my face, and very gently asked if it would be okay if we could cover up the bones on our plates because it reminded her of her captivity by two men and subsequent torture, specifically when they shoved a broken handle through her foot and

and

and my reaction was, of course, to say yes yes, of course, it's no trouble at all, zander won't mind either, and he came back as we were talking, and i simply told him let's cover up our bones as i unfolded a napkin and draped it over his plate, and he nodded in immediate understanding, and i switched conversation topics to something light like oh where are you from what did you do before this what drugs did you take and it was an otherwise fine lunch as we all commiserated over our substance abuses and

and

and ever since then, even during subsequent life-changing mental breakdowns, it's never been as bad as that first one, because i think of her (i can't remember her name i wish i did she deserves me to remember her name) and i am grateful that i can look at a pile of chicken bones and be okay

as far as psych ward experiences go mine was pretty much as positive as one could get and i'm so lucky and i'm so grateful but

it wasn't until way after my experience that i learned that other psych wards gave their patients fun grippy socks.

i never got grippy socks. and even worse than that.

i never got my fucking shoelaces back.

#kenposting #this is hyper-personal stream of consciousness garbage i apologize in advance if u try to read this. there are like. four periods at most #cw for mentions of torture/self harm/drug use

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quincytatas · 1 year

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heavy vent tw

Tw for mild unreality , emotional abuse , Physical abuse , ED , Alcoholism , self harm , suicidal ideation

idk what else - ask to tag.

I wanted to keep things short but Idk theres just so much thats happening thats so overwhelming to me and I don't know if theres any chance I can just keep taking this shit without having a full fledged mental episode.

I feel overwhelmed by all of my attachments to people so I feel scared and like I just have to hide instead of facing others. I feel like everything is artificial even if its not. Everything just feels so fake from friends to family to coworkers.

I don't want to feel like this I want to genuinely feel the emotional attachment that should be there but its just not. I don't feel sad about anything.

Another thing is how much I really know I need to work the extra hours at my job and I wouldn't mind if I didn't feel so overwhelmed with customer interaction.

I think a majority of my problems lies within my social battery but I hate it because I hate being alone I just wanna be able to sit with someone and just not talk or do anything.

I can't constantly be taking every hit from my family constantly hearing about how my mom shouldn't have had me in the most non malicious way possible. It makes me so much more angry to hear it so casually than with words of anger.

I hate constantly having to be the shoulder for my grandmother because she refuses therapy. But I can admit we're one in the same there. I've refused therapy for so long because I'm scared of it.

Everything is exhausting all I want to do is sleep and drink and smoke. I just want to do things that are bad for me because I know it'll hurt me in the long run.

I've been thinking about hurting myself again. The last time I had a relapse was in January just after new years but I know I really want to do it again. It's such a bad urge in my mind at the moment that I couldn't even make my breakfast without wanting to use the knife on myself.

Another thing, all food tastes disgusting to me again. I know I'm gonna end up relapsing back into my ed once again.

I feel the constant urge to drink until I throw my food up or to force myself to vomit with my fingers. I've been trying so hard not to do that but frankly I don't want to eat at all anyways. I eat because I have to not because I want to. It makes my life feel so out of control. I had this shit under control last year but I don't even know what happened.

It doesn't help that my grandma constantly talks about weight and weight loss and tries to order 100s and 100s of dollars worth of diet supplements she sees on facebook.

I'm literally so tired. Its like life is constantly beating down on me and I just feel like I can never have something nice. I'm constantly berated and pushed to my limits and frankly I don't think I can take much more.

i just find myself more sensitive to things than I want to be and yet at the same time I feel numb to emotions more than usual.

Bonus points is that I'm hallucinating a lot more again recently. Constantly seeing bugs and shadows throughout the day. It doesn't bother much but its still an indicator of how bad my mental health is at this point of time in my life.

I have a lot of problems with my birth mother trying to be in my life and my grandma trying to force me to care about her. She lost me since I was a child because she always found drugs and men are more important than her own child. But now she wants to be in my life and she wants to bring her physically abusive husband in my life when he's choked her and beat her on numerous occasions, recently punching her in the face 5 times.

I don't need that around me. And she refuses to leave him so why should I keep her around. She's ultimately ruined my life time and time and time again. I can't put up with her.

I'm so fucking sick of being constantly gaslit and manipulated and guilt tripped by my family.

I can't take care of everyone.

Yea idk what else to say atm. If it wasn't for this concert i'd probably just attempt again.

#neg /

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vikingqueen96 · 11 months

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Devil in Disguise

Life was not going well for KR. Left at 8 weeks pregnant. She suffered alone until December 15th, 2021. Her birthday. She had the choice between Olive Garden and Outback Steakhouse for her birthday dinner. She chose Olive Garden. Litte did she know that that night was going to change her entire life.

KR, her dad, her sister, and her step mom all gathered at the table at the restaurant. "Welcome to Olive Garden. My name is VP and I'll be taking care of you guys this evening." Those words clanged in her mind with powerful attraction. She was instantly in awe of his looks. Dinner went like a normal dinner would go until the very end when KR decided to take a leap of faith. She is an avid player in Dungeons and Dragons and always carried around her lucky 20 sided dice. She leaned over to her sister. "1-10 i dont give him my number. 11-20 i do". As luck would have it she rolled a natural 20. It was decided. She gave him her number and he contacted her that evening.

VP ended up going to her apartment that night and they talked all through the night. They realized they had so much in common and after a few days decided to become girlfriend and boyfriend. They had a mostly happy relationship. Life hit hard when they moved in together and had to figure out what to do about KR's pregnancy. The hard decision was made to put the baby up for adoption. They researched famIlies until they found the perfect one. Because of the decision KR grew depressed as the due date grew ever closer. VP grew distant and his entire personality began to change. He was becoming cold and would push her around. On occasion he left bruising on her body but she always made excuses for him. Around month 8 of her pregnancy she grew tired of his games and at that moment, VP turned the tables and asked her to marry him. Without a thought she said yes dispite the numerous red flags.

Delivery day came and they sat in the delivery room waiting for the little boy to arrive. He finally did after what seemed like ages. He was a healthy baby boy that would come to be known as GT. After KR was moved to a different room, VP left. KR was alone over night in the hospital and had to be driven home by VP's cousin CW. She was mean and drove recklessly. Every bumb and turn made KR’s body ache. Once home she tried to sleep but she was overcome with sadness that she was left alone and had to leave her child there. She reassured herself that it was the right decision but that didnt make it any less painful.

2 weeks after her delivery, KR decided to try and go back to work dispite the pain. She needed to keep her mind off the adoption. After a couple weeks she realized it was much too soon to be working again and quit her job. She hadnt told VP yet but he found out the day after when he got her her favorite starbucks tea and was taking it to her at work. When he found out he threw the tea out the window and came home and kicked her out of their apartment. She drove to a parking lot across the street and begged him to let her back in. She had nowhere else to go. After a few hours he finally let her back in but things were about to take a turn for the worst. It only took about 20 minutes for police to arrive. VP had called and reported that KR was self harming and needed to be put on a 48 hour hold. She had no choice but to go. She was poked and prodded and stripped down at the hospital. She had to wait until the next morning to be seen by a psychiatrist. She told the doctors that her boyfriend lied to them. She was telling the honest to god truth. She never hurt herself and she could never do harm to another. They released her and she had to sit outside the hospital until her dad could pick her up and take her home.

She got home and most of VP's belongings were gone. However he still came home that next day. They agreed to do couples therapy and started doing that once a week. It seemed like things were getting better but she was wrong. In early August of 2022 KR woke up like normal and decided to play video games for a little bit before she had to go to work. VP woke up not too long after and sat next to her. She was showing him this cool thing she did and he piped up and said "This isn't going to work." KR was shocked and didn't know what to say. There was a knock on the door moments later and KR just wanted to be alone so she got up and left for the bedroom. VP chased after her and slammed her into the wall and onto the floor and ran to the room. He grabbed KR’s safe where she keeps her pistol. she noticed this and ran to the door and answered it. 2 police officers were there. VP ran out and told the oficers that KR was going for her gun because she said she was going to shoot him and then herself. Another lie. The officers stayed there while VP moved his belongings out. KR couldnt handle the pain that she felt and left for a little bit. At that moment she didnt care if he took any of her stuff. She then realized that they had a joint bank account and her paycheck was deposited there. She quickly transferred it out and then went home. He was gone by the time she got back. He called her and accused her of stealing his money. She tried to tell him that she only took out her paycheck and not a penny more. He would not back down and he would not forget.

For the next few days she sat in silence and wondered where she went wrong. Her life was crumbling around her. KR then had a doctors appointment where she found out that she had a brain tumor and she never felt more alone. She found out it was a tumor on her petuitary gland and she was scared to death. She reached out to VP to let him know and ask if she can just talk to him. He had isolated her from most of her friends and family and he was all she had left. She didnt know what else to do. He didnt care what she had to say. He assumed it was just a ploy to get back together with him. A couple more days went by and she got a call from the police department saying that VP filed for a restraining order against KR. She was heartbroken but accepted the fact that he probably never loved her.

Only a couple more days went by and animal control showed up at KR's apartment. VP and his cousin filed a report of animal abuse for her service dog, Valkyrie. KR showed them around the apartment and showed them how her dog was kept. They found absolutely no sign of neglect. Valkyrie was fat and happy and laid in the living room chewing her bone while they went around the house. She got a copy of the report and she thought that was that. Well it wasnt. Around 2am KR heard a loud banging on her front door and there were to cops standing there. They had woken her up from a dead sleep. They informed her that VP had caled in a wellness check on her and was insisting that they put her on another hold. She told them of the events of the past week. They found her to not be in danger of hurting herself or others. They apologized for disturbing her and left. This happened 2 more times after this. every couple days for a week he called in a wellness check on her. What did he care? he left her. he broke her.

September came around and things were silent until KR started recieving threatening text messages and emails from VP. On September 10th, 2022 KR was walking her dog and was attacked by a man in a hoodie and dark pants. Her wrist was sprained and her face and neck was bruised. The man stated "VP sends his regaurds." She couldnt believe what had happened to her. She went to the emergency room where they treated her and contacted metro police department. She filed a police report but nothing ever came of it. on Septemper 11th KR recieved a text message from an unknown number stating "Haha you got your *** handed to you! Serves you right you stupid *****! No one is going to believe you. If you even try to tell anybody then ill make sure they never find you. I'm always watching. I know your every move." KR could only assume it was VP who sent it. It hurt her to think he would do such a thing to her. only 3 days went by and she recieved even more texts from VP. "You can't get rid of me that easily. I'm always there. watching. and waiting. you have until noon to run back to Ohio. If you don't then I will come find you. Remember, I know where you live. I know where you keep your gun. I'm not afraid to use it on you and claim self defense. Not like you and hide it in your safe. I have the keys and you are never getting them back. Better hurry and pack *****. We see you are still home." KR called the police and filed another police report but of course they didnt listen to her. The messaged just kept coming in. All stuff saying "Go kill yourself" "You dont deserve to live.""You are nothing." KR tried to stay strong and continue on but she didnt know what to do. He just would not stop.

Around the end of September early October the maintenance man from her apartment walked in and was confused when he saw her there. KR went down to the front office and the property manager called the police on her. They showed up and informed her that VP had broken the lease on their apartment and that the community was going to start the eviction process. In a panic, KR called everyone she could think of to find a place to live for a while. eventually her grandmother came to the rescue and said she could live with her up in Anthem. She started packing immediately and moved within a couple weeks. She had a chance to start over and get her life together and to save money.

Things were finally looking up. VP was still emailing and texting her but she just kept on blocking the numbers. She knew the police wouldnt listen to her so why bother. She spent all of her time driving for uber and getting her health back under control. She saw an endocrinologist about her tumor, she started the process of getting approved for the gastric sleeve surgery, and she was finally able to work on her mental health. The past couple months took a heavy toll on her and she needed some time to work through the trauma. Things were going fantastic until December 13th, 2022.

KR was on her way to Savers with one of her sons so that she could get her kids some new clothes. She got pulled over on warm springs and marks st. She had no idea what she did wrong but she pulled out her license, insurance, and registration. The cop seemed to be taking his time until another squad car showed up and they told her that she had 17 warrents for her arrest. She had no idea what was happening and was deeply confused. Her grandmother had just pulled in behind her car when the officers started pulling her 3 year old son out of the back seat. he was screaming and crying and trying to run to KR but they held him back. KR’s grandmother took her son and called her ex husband to come pick up his son. KR was loaded into the back of the squad car and was taken to henderson jail. When they did her fingerprint they served her with a temporary protection order and said that she violated it 17 times. she looked over the document and she never did any of the things listed on those papers. she had the proof on her phone but she was not allowed to show it. they treated her like a criminal. Grabbing her arm and shoving her into a cell and patting her down and touching her in places she felt super uncomfortable being touched. She had everything on her phone. Most of the charges stated that she drove to his house and his brothers house and made threats and damaged his car. KR was an uber driver at the time and tracked all of her driving history and she never went anywhere near there. He lived in north las vegas and she lived in anthem. she was not going to waste gas going over there to mess with him when she barely had enough to do her ubering.

KR was at henderson jail until December 14th at around 10pm. She was transferred to north las vegas where she recieved the same mistreatment. She stood before a judge that looked down on her and insisted she get a psych evaluation. She didnt have a chance to do that because her grandmother put her house up and bailed her out. KR had to see a therapist once a week. She suffered from PTSD at this point and could barely eat or function. She continued to recieve threats from VP and she just blocked him as soon as she saw them. Then VP’s mother followed her on tiktok and KR immediately blocked her, screenshotted it, and sent it to her lawyer. KR knew that the police were never going to help her. She lost all faith in the justice system and grew scared of police.

After a month of healing, KR started applying for jobs since her uber driver account was now deactivated because of her new found criminal record. She job a job and was doing incredibly well. She worked as much as her boss would let her. She became a model employee.She did have to call out a few times for court dates. the arraignment, a court hearing for the psych evaluation, and one for reasons she had no clue about. All of it was so confusing to her. She didnt know what she was doing and her lawyer was a nightmare to get ahold of. VP continued to harrass her but every time he tried, she blocked him and sent screenshots to her lawyer. She tried so hard to not let it bother her, but secretly it did. She spend countless nights crying, she was scared to go outside at night alone, she was scare whenever she saw a cop or a squad car. Her mental health was severely damaged.

Fast forward to present day. June 4th, 2023. I sit in my bed writing this all out. VP has now started emailing my grandmother and she has contacted the chief of police (i believe that was his title) cops have been coming around for a couple weeks now and its horrific every time they show up. Im scared to be around them. The shear panic i feel around them is enough to shake the earth to its core. VP has messaged me a couple times telling me to plead guilty to this case or else he will kill me or make sure my body is never found. He has threatened my life, my animals' lives, and my childrens' lives. He will not stop until im dead or behind bars. I fear for my life every day. I throw myself into my job to keep my mind occupied. My boyfriend has been a godsent through this whole ordeal. He has supported me in my darkest hours and has been a shoulder to cry on. I have since gotten approved for my weight loss surgery and im going to the doctor about my tumor again. I hope to get it removed as soon as possible. An officer took a report from my grandmother and i a couple weeks ago. i gave him all the evidence i have and he now has to contact VP. im afrid that vincent will lie again and i will be blamed for something i didnt do again. Our court and police systems are beyond corrupt. Is there no justice for a single mother? The trail is on July 17th, 2023. I might be afraid but im going to walk in that building and face whatever comes my way. No matter the outcome, i will be strong. I will not let VP take any more from me. As a message for anyone out there struggling with a similar situation. Watch out for the red flags, keep your friends and family close, and never trust a Devil in Disguise. #justiceforkat

#justiceforkat #justice #crime #victim #abuse #abusiveex #corrupt cops #corrupt court #corrupt #help me #save me #single mom #getting better #lasvegas #Henderson #Nevada

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crazylil-lion · 2 years

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How can I explain how exhausted I am. How everyday I wake up disappointed to have to live through another empty meaningless day. How all I ever want is to cut as its the only thing that makes me feel better. That Im so pathetic that instead of needing a hug or a kiss all I need is blood. How can I possibly explain that its not my mind constantly filling me with suicidal thoughts that makes me want to kill my self. Its the experiences I've lived through the constant pain and sadness. The emptiness I use to dream of romantic stuff and a future relationship I use to spend half my day in my thoughts of how I could make someone happy. Now all I see is the blood and pain I've been through. I forced myself to live to 21 so I could leave so my siblings wouldn't find my body. So that maybe just maybe I could kill myself in the least harmful way possible. Yet I need to live to make sure they have a home to make sure they have a life with someone that cares about them. To make sure they have someone to call when mom starts going back to her abusive ways. With me alive she knows I'd drop everything and fly out there if she ever hurt them. Without me I can't guarantee they will be okay. The truth is I don't feel I'll ever find love and people will say oh just wait itll happen they say everyone finds love. They don't wanna accept that maybe for them they could find it but not for everyone. I'm not what people want. Im not skinny or cute. I'm not this cold heartless person instead I'm too emotional and a crybaby. Everyone acts like its just my choice to be single my whole life yet refuse to listen when I talk about all the shitty women out there. And worse how society views people like me. Bpd is seen as soemone thats automatically manipulative yet we are the ones frequently manipulated. Constantly invalidated and told how extra we are. No one listens to me. No one sees me just the wonderful things I do to make others happy. Yet no one has ever tried for me to make me happy to learn me to be there for me. So no I don't believe everyone finds love. The idea everyone does is reserved for those with positive experiences. For people who've been held. Kissed or even small shit like sitting together. No one seems to understand how much of a void I have in me because thr lack of the basic human essential. The truth is I don't know that I can continue to force myself to live for others. The truth is I get closer to suicide everyday and even with therapy and medication and trying everything exercising over an hour every single day eating healthy dbt nothing fucking helps. I just hope they are okay when im gone because I can't fucking take this life anymore. Idk what I did to deserve the endless abuse I suffered but I've had enough of life. Everyone talks about how fun your 20s are. Everyone else I see goes out and has love and sex and friends. I sit here getting constantly insulted and ignored unless I do something for them. I don't think I want to continue after this year even with the guaranteed career I have and endless job security. The truth is I'd gladly give it all up just to be done suffering and I feel more and more that this will be my final year attempting to feel anything besides the constant pain. Not that anyone really cares anyway. 3 people would be affected by my suicide I just hope after I'm gone they can forgive me for being so weak and unable to take it anymore.

#vent #mine

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dreaming-about-fanfictions · 3 years

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Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Ch. 24 of 27: Graduation

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

Choose Me Instead Masterlist

Words: 3.2k Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader, post-war Warnings: mentions of mental health issues incl. self-harm (only in like 2 sentences tho)

Four weeks until graduation …

Draco Malfoy and you were over. Whatever glimpse of happiness and fleeting bliss had been bestowed upon you – it was gone. It was gone and you were alone again. In your head, you replayed your last time together over and over and over until you felt sick to your stomach. For months did you pretend not to feel anything for him beyond friendship but damn, you loved him. You loved with him with every fiber of your body. Every thought on every day was devoted to him and him only. You looked for him in the hallways, glanced at him during class and each time your eyes met, another piece of your heart broke.

To be quite honest, you weren’t worried about yourself as much as you worried about him. You spoke to Theo from time to time, asking him about Draco. He told you exactly what you had suspected all along: his dreams had gotten worse. He skipped therapy sessions, spent his days scribbling in his black notebook instead. You knew it wasn’t fair to you but you still couldn’t help but blame yourself.

During meals, you watched him with Astoria who was glued to his side. To your surprise, she seemed happier. Even though she grew paler with each day she wore a smile on her face. An honest, happy smile. You heard her laugh and wondered if it had been this beautiful all the time. You watched her talk to Draco with a spark in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. You wanted to hate her but seeing her like this? It certainly made it harder for you to do so. Still, each time you saw them walking to class or sit outside on the grass, your stomach plummeted and on particularly bad days, tears filled your eyes.

Eventually, you grew sick of feeling this way. You had fought hard for your own happiness to return after all the shit you went through and to now have it taken away from you in an instant by him felt humiliating. The whole mess started because you wanted to hurt Ron. So how did you end up hurting instead?

You tried tuning out the pain by burying yourself in work. Studying, quidditch training, stupid parties in the Gryffindor common room – you tried anything and everything to numb down the pain. It worked. For the most part. However, your thoughts always began to stray after a while. As soon as his image popped up in your mind, you pinched yourself as if you were trying to wake up from a bad dream. One time, you did it during a therapy session and Merlin, did you regret that. The lecture about self-harm that followed was definitely not worth it.

The days grew warmer. Sunlight fell through the dusty windows of the Hogwarts classrooms, the smell of flowers and freshly cut grass filled the air. Summer had begun to knock on the door. You weren’t ready to open it yet. Once summer arrived, your life would change once again.

However, before that happened you still had to get through your exams. You dreaded the thought of taking them. These past months … well, to put it gently, your focus hadn’t been on school exactly. Sure, you spent hours upon hours in the library but you weren’t sure how much of the things you read actually stuck with you.

“Ready?”, Ginny asked you the morning of your final exams.

You glanced at her and shook your head. She laughed. “Come on, it won’t be that bad. We’ve taken thousands of exams, we’ll get through it. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Y/N doesn’t achieve the grades she needs to become an auror,” Hermione chimed in matter-of-factly. “That’s the worst that can happen.”

“Thanks, Mione,” you said dryly.

She smiled at you apologetically. “It won’t come to this, don’t worry. You got this. We all do.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

***

Two weeks until graduation …

You sat together with Ginny and Hermione at the Black Lake, feet dangling in the water, eyes closed as you enjoyed the sunrays warming your face. Ginny kept on talking about the tryouts for the Holyhead Harpies that would take place just a few days after graduation while you and Hermione only occasionally commented. You reassured her that she would do just fine. After all, there was no doubt in your mind that Ginny Weasley would join the team and have a successful quidditch career ahead of her.

After a while, the conversation shifted. Hermione worried about the amount of reading she had to do before her internship at the Ministry of Magic started, and you snorted. “They don’t expect you to know everything about the job beforehand, y’know?”

“Well, good impressions are important,” she replied.

During the whole afternoon, the topic of your future plans didn’t come up. Your friends sensed your apprehension regarding that particular topic. After the utter debacle that was your exams, you tried to forget that you were supposed to have an idea of what to do with your life in just about two weeks. You still waited on a letter from the Ministry, waited for the news that your plan had worked out. That you could become an auror, a dream you had since you could think. Yet, you screwed up and you weren’t sure if your performance in the final exams was enough to get you a placement. Thankfully, your parents were still too wound up in the whole drama Alissa brought with her. They didn’t even ask how your exams went and you weren’t mad. The importance of exams paled in comparison to the prospect of a life sentence in Azkaban.

A bee buzzed close to your ear and you opened your eyes again.

***

One week before graduation …

“You look horrible, darling.”

You rolled your eyes when Theo appeared by your side. You were on your way to the Great Hall, earlier than usual in an attempt to study a few more minutes in the library before your first class. “Thank you, Theodore. Just what a woman wants to hear before breakfast.”

He snickered. “Apologies.” Then he held his hands out, motioning you to give him some of the books in your arms to help you carry them.

“Accepted,” you said and gave him the whole pile of books instead. He groaned and you chuckled at him. “How are you then?”, you asked.

“Relieved about the fact that school is almost over.” He dodged a first year student who ran past him and one books slid dangerously close to the edge of the pile. You were surprised by how many students were already awake.

“Any plans for what comes after?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Travel.”

You looked at him in surprise. “Travel?”

“Blaise and I are going to travel around Europe for a few months,” he explained. “I need to get out of the country where everyone knows me as ‘that Death Eaters kid’ and Blaise is simply loaded with money and doesn’t want to work.” The two of you laughed at the last statement. “And afterwards …” Theo shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

“That sounds nice,” you sighed. “When will you leave?”

“After Draco’s wed-” He stopped midsentence. “Ah, shit.”

You bit your tongue. Actually bit it. “It’s official then,” you said softly. “I haven’t seen the announcement yet.”

Theo stopped. You had almost reached the Great Hall. The Slytherin looked at you with sympathy. “It’ll come out today.” He lowered his voice: “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You avoided his gaze. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Theodore stayed quiet until you resumed your walk. “For what it’s worth, he doesn’t love her,” he finally said. The statement hurt even more.

“What a fucking mess we made.”

Theo nodded. He didn’t say anything else. When you walked into the Great Hall, he handed you the books back and softly squeezed your arm before mumbling: “I’m really sorry.”

He was right – the Daily Prophet printed the announcement of the wedding on that same day. Yet, when an owl dropped the paper onto your plate, you were oddly calm. You lowered the glass of orange juice carefully and rolled up the newspaper. Their picture was on the front page.

Astoria’s beauty was unlike anything you had ever seen. She wore a simple black dress and was glowing in the picture. She smiled widely as her gaze switched between Draco and the camera. Spooky how different she looked. You wondered if they had used magic to hide the circles underneath her eyes and the sunken-in cheeks. Draco stood beside her, wearing his trademark simple, black suit. His back was straight, his eyes focused on the camera. He didn’t smile.

As if you had felt his stare, you looked up. Draco sat across the hall at the Slytherin table, Greengrass – his fiancée – by his side who excitedly showed the article to Parkinson. You forced yourself to smile but it didn’t reach your eyes. He turned away. Just in time to miss the tears you had to blink away.

This isn’t right, you thought, none of this is right.

***

One day before graduation …

Tears streamed down your face as another sob shook your body. You stared at the letter in your hand, reading it over and over again. At this point, you had memorized every word but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

Dear Ms. Y/N Y/L/N,

When an owl brought you the letter, you didn’t open it immediately. You didn’t want to do it in front of your friends, already sensing what was written inside of it. So instead you grabbed it and went to the bleachers of the Quidditch field. High up above, where no one would interrupt you.

We regret to inform you …

It wasn’t entirely unsuspected but it didn’t hinder the tears from dwelling up. Before you knew it, they streamed down your face. Cold fear gripped your heart. This is it, you thought, it’s all over now. Your entirely life you wanted to become an auror. You had no plan b, no other option, it had always been this. And now you failed.

“Y/N?” The voice caused you to whirl around. “What happened?” Draco. His eyes widened in shock and concern when he saw your face. With three long strides he crossed the distance between the two of you.

“Draco …”, you whimpered and then he was there, pulling you into a tight hug.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered and held you tighter. Instinctively, you relaxed against his body and let him embrace you. It felt so right. “Shh, it’s fine, it’s all going to be fine.” He repeated over and over. Sobs shook your body while your tears drenched his uniform. It felt as if hours had passed until you finally began to calm down. With each shaking breath, the scent of his cologne wrapped itself around you.

“What happened?”, Draco asked again when no more sobs escaped you and you quietly buried your face in his shoulders. Without a word, you held up the letter. A few seconds passed and Draco snorted. “Well, their loss,” he said, audibly disgusted.

You whimpered another time. “It’s all my fault. I should’ve done more, I-I …” You wiped over your eyes. “What do I do now, Draco?”

He sighed before he answered: “Anything you want. Y/N, you’re intelligent, clever, witty, beautiful – you can do anything you want.”

“Except for becoming an auror,” you scoffed.

“Maybe. So what?” He shrugged. “Fuck them. It’s their loss.”

You remained silent. Draco had his arms still wrapped around you. In this position, you almost forgot your situation. This felt so … normal. So right, so natural. As if it was meant to be. As if he was the one to hold you in this exact moment. You thought about asking why he was up here on this night but held your tongue. A part of you wanted to believe that it was because of you. Everything started up here on the bleachers, last year in September. Right here, the two of you talked for the first time in years. A conversation, you could recall to this day. Everything began here. Maybe he came back because he hoped to find you here. You wanted to believe that.

“It’s all I ever wanted to do,” you whispered after a moment. “I don’t have a plan b. I –” Another tear rolled down your cheek. He looked at you, his grey eyes full of love and adoration, and wiped it away.

“You’re hurting, I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s going to be alright though, I promise.”

You smiled sadly. “Everything goes to shit in my life, everything! The fucking war is over and yet I can’t seem to catch a fucking breath.”

“I believe, the war will stay with us for a lot longer than we thought,” Draco whispered. He didn’t let go of you as he watched the castle in the distance. The sun begun to set and drowned the Scottish landscape in its golden light. It was a marvelous sight.

Sudden music caused you to flinch. A group of seventh year students had arrived on the Quidditch field. Loud voices and laughter mixed with the rhythm of a new popular song. They weren’t from your house, you realized.

“I should leave,” Draco said. And when you recognized Astoria’s high-pitched scream as a drunken Blaise picked her up, you knew why he was here to begin with. Not for you. For them.

“Yes, right, I’m sorry.” You cleared your throat and sat up straight. Draco let go of you reluctantly before he got up. He looked at you and you wondered if he was going to say something. But even if he wanted to, he didn’t. He only nodded and then made his way towards the stairs.

“I feel as if I should congratulate you on the engagement but …”, you suddenly spoke up.

Draco stopped and glanced at you. “Don’t.”

You saw how a shadow flickered over his face. Then you remembered something else. “Wait, I have something for you.” You reached inside your back and pulled out a picture. He looked at you in surprise when he gave it to you. It was a picture of you two from the last Christmas, taken during a dinner. Draco had his arm wrapped around you and raised a glass of wine, an amused smirk on his face. You laughed in it, covering your mouth with your hand. It was the only picture of the two of you but you loved it. It showed Draco the way he truly was. The way he made you feel every time you looked at him.

“You carried it with you this whole time?”, he asked softly. He held the picture so carefully as if he was afraid to accidentally damage it.

You gave a half shrug. “Only for the last few days. I hoped to catch you alone at some point.”

“Thank you.”

“Will I see you?”

He looked up at the question.

“After graduation, I mean?”, you clarified. “Maybe send me an owl once or twice a year? I need to know you’re okay.”

“So you can rip out my heart again, little Gryffindor?”

You opened and closed your mouth at the statement. Draco chuckled. “I’ll do it. If you promise me to reply.”

“I promise.”

You didn’t know it yet but Draco would keep his promise. However, when you received his first letter, you broke yours.

***

A few weeks after graduation …

The last day of school came and went. Funny how you had expected it to be filled with tears and laughter when, in the end, it was just another insignificant day of the year. To be fair, some tears had been shed. Long hugs with your friends and promises to stay in touch were shared on the train station in King’s Cross before all of you parted ways.

Your parents picked you up. They looked like mere shells of themselves as they kissed you on the cheek. A lump formed in your throat when you saw their sad faces. They had aged immensely in these past few months, the stress had left deep wrinkles and tired eyes behind.

They didn’t speak much on this day. They only hugged you when you told them about the rejection from the Ministry. “I’m so sorry, darling,” your father had mumbled, “you’ll find something else, I’m sure.” A part of you was relieved they didn’t ask any further questions.

The next morning, your mother had asked you if you wanted to see Alissa. You didn’t. You couldn’t. The mere mention of her name made you grit your teeth. Alissa was the reason for all the suffering in your family’s life. For all the heartbreak and tears. All the sisterly feelings had shrunken during the past year. Now you were left with rage and hatred when you heard her name.

“Will you please come to the court hearing in two weeks then?”, your mother had asked when she noticed the expression on your face and you had agreed.

And here you were. Standing in your kitchen, a cup of freshly brewed tea in your hand while you listened to your parents screaming at each other upstairs. You had just come home from the hearing and now looked outside into the garden. The roses, once your mother’s pride and joy, were neglected, you noticed. Their heads hung, most of them dried up from the summer sun.

“Twenty-five years in Azkaban,” you mumbled to yourself. Alissa’s future. Twenty-five years locked away on an island. You had hoped the sentence would give you satisfaction. It didn’t. Instead it frightened you. Would Alissa survive this? Twenty-five years without seeing her family? Would your mother survive it? Or would she wither like the roses in her garden?

You took a sip of your tea and wondered how your life changed once again, now that the problem of Alissa was finally … resolved. It ended. The anxious waiting, the not knowing … it all ended. By now, she would have already arrived in the prison cell that would be her home for the years to come.

You hadn’t spoken to her. You had watched her in the courtroom while she didn’t look up at your family. During the whole hearing, her eyes were locked on the ground and she remained silent. It was the strangest sight – the broken-down woman in the dirty dress wasn’t your sister. The fiery spirit inside her had left a long time ago together with her beauty and wits. You stared at Alissa, desperately trying to find a glimpse of the sister you once knew and loved. You were unsuccessful. This woman was a stranger and your sister was dead. And you wanted nothing more than to simply move on.

“The nerve this family has,” your father muttered behind you. “Unbelievable.”

You sat the tea cup down on the counter and turned to him. The screaming had stopped, you realized. You had been so lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed how your father came downstairs again.

“What are you talking about?”, you asked.

Your father shook his head and handed you an envelope without another word. Your gaze fell onto the dark green emblem printed on the back and suddenly, your throat felt very, very dry. You’d recognize the sign anywhere. With shaking hands you opened the envelope and pulled out a card.

“Can you believe it?”, your father asked. “They actually have the nerve to invite us to his wedding?”

***

A/N: I hope you liked it! Feedback is always appreciated! We’re almost finished with this story, I’m so sad btw.

CHAPTER 25

CMI Masterlist HP Masterlist

The tag list for this story is closed! <3

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#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy fanfiction #harry potter imagines #draco #malfoy #draco malfoy #choose me instead #astrids fics

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ilovebokutokoutaro · 3 years

Text

Faded

Langa x reader

Warnings : self harm, mental abuse, physical abuse, crying, screaming, abandoning, depression, blood and angst and angst, not proofread.

Overview : Angst.

When your boyfriend, langa, left for japan, you knew you'd be lonely. They were your only family, you had no one except them, his father's death had hit you so hard you could kill yourself but you had to stay strong for langa. Living alone with no one by your side soon became a routine, the routine you had before you met langa, his family, they loved you.

Your father was straight up a drunkard and your mother, let's just say she opened legs for other men more than she opened her arms for you to hug or if she ever did.

You couldn't leave to stay with langa and his family, when your parents fought, resulting with you lying in your room after being hit by them, they needed to let their anger out and who was the best to blame except you? You were the reason they were both like this, they had said, hitting you over and over untill they calmed themselves down.

Your friends were worried for you, not only had langa left but also you were covered in new bruises and injuries almost every other day, barely eating or talking.

Langa called daily at first but soon his calls lied from once a week to once a month before you could comprehend anything that was happening. He would tell you everything about japan, his new friend reki, how he met so many people who skated so amazingly it was enchanting. Maybe the network wasn't so good on his side, that must be the reason he couldn't see your eyes hanging dull, your body looked like nothing but bones and skin, all the bruises, the injuries must be not so visible with a poor network.

He loved you afterall, he'd worry too much either way so it's okay. "Oh God reki is so awesome, you know y/n" and the rest you never heard your ears ringing in pain, as much as you wanted to listen to him, it hurt. The way he ignored all your well being and focused on some strangers he had met just a few months ago. it hurt so much but you couldn't speak it out, so you chose to end the call abruptly.

Sobbing into your knees, you sat on the bed feeling ever so lonely, you were starting to question everything and anything. Why were you even alive at this point, if only you died somehow. Soon it became a routine, crying till you passed out for an hour or so then getting up to go to school.

Your social media had died down to nothing, your life had died down to nothing. You were so tired of everything at this point, a murdered would stab you with a knife and you'd thank him for it. Soon langa's facetimes turned into voicecalls after your abrupt ending of the call.

You'd still receive calls from his mother but you barely picked them anymore, to say she was worried was an understatement. But langa was so busy, so happy with his life she couldn't get to tell him how worried she was for you.

you had started deeming yourself unworthy of living, of being with anyone, the mental and physical abuse from your parents only worsening to the point you couldn't breathe straight. You had switched to self harm as a coping method sooner than you had thought.

Not long before suicidal thoughts picked at your brain all the time, you were starting to fail classes, anyone could see how miserable you were, but no one ever cared enough to talk to you, or so you said, pushing everyone out.

It's been weeks since you last talked to langa, since you last went to school, choosing to burry yourself in your room instead. You parents were happier than ever, there abuse starting to get negligible, they weren't even near you anymore. your mother being pregnant with another child from your father. They were ecstatic, but you were not a part of it, the celebration stayed between them and their friends, tho your parents had started treating you better.

You found yourself falling deeper the more you struggled, your mental health declining to the point you were starting to loose all hopes in yourself. Your hate for others soon turned to hate for yourself and your self harm increased, many times your father would see your lying in you bedroom with bloody wrists, they were all worried for you, they stated, "go to therapy, y/n. We don't want to loose you" your mother sobbed to which you stayed there not moving. She hugged you, cried till you nodded your head. But therapy brought no good, just dragging you further down.

Langa had started getting worried sick and so was his mother, he had ranted about everything to his friends, whatever your friends told him. He wanted to talk to you even if once more, but you were fixed on isolating yourself more and more.

It was not long before you called langa, "I'm sorry, i was busy" you said, your voice was nothing more than emotionless and he begged you to tell him what was wrong but you stayed silent, his worry soon ending up with him screaming for you but you never answered. Not before he heard a loud crack and your parents screaming your name.

Langa stood frozen as he heard your parents cry and scream for you to wake up. He just wanted to pretend you were okay and alive. He was sitting in joe's restaurant, silently sipping the juice he was given as reki and shadow tried to distract him, suddenly his phone rang cutting off the awkward silence, and his mother told him to stay wherever he was and that she was coming to pick him up.

He just wanted to pretend you were okay, but it all came shattering down as his mother banged the door open, her face stained with tears as she fell on her knees sobbing and crying about how you had hanged yourself the day you called him, everyone remained silent, langa only sitting there not moving a muscle, oh God he wished he had stayed with you just a bit longer, called you a bit often, asked you if you were okay, he was selfish so selfish, if only he had noticed everything before maybe just maybe you would be talking to him rn.

Reki and shadow tried to comfort his mother who was now sobbing on the ground while langa just sat there frozen. He never thought a little lack of his concern could drive you to killing yourself. He wanted to blame someone and as much as he hated it he was the only right choice he found. Langa's phone pinged, a message from your mother's number. A page, stained with blood and tears, coming in his sight.

He saw your beautiful handwriting turn into nothing but a mess,

"I'm sorry, i love you i swear i do. But it was so hard living like this langa, there was no one, no one. I was so lonely so lonely, i thought cutting myself would do me any good, but it only drove me into more hunger for blood, and soon i wanted more than the stinging pain against my skin. I wanted to kill myself before i even knew it, you looked so happy when you called me that time. Stay smiling like that for me forever won't you? I'm sorry again langa i love you."

The letter was so abrupt as if you were in a hurry, as if you were dying. And he started sobbing before he knew it, surprising not only himself but everyone around him. His mother only teared up more she saw him crying. Cherry and joe desperately trying to calm the mother and son down.

It was a mess, the mess you left behind for them to handle, the mess you were going through all alone now cut short and stuck to everyone who loved you. Maybe if they all noticed sooner you'd have been here. Maybe just maybe if they told you they loved you sooner you would've been here.

..........

A/n: hey, so uhm idk i just wrote this in a flow. Just know if you, or someone you know is going through Something you can always seek help or go try to help someone, nothing you'd say to a depressed person would ever be meaningless, maybe your kindness saves a soul. Hope you all are doing fine hahhaha. Lot of angst for a day whew.

Anyway, thank you for reading🥺🥰🥰. Reblogs and likes are always appreciated 🥺☺️💜

#sk8 the infinity #sk8 angst #langa x y/n #langa angst #sk8 the infinity x reader #sk8 the infinity ff #sk8 the infinity angst

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hangovercurse · 3 years

Text

Thesis

After a bad day, Colson comes over to take care of you, only to find out about a secret you’ve been keeping from him.

Request: “I was wondering if you could do a Kells fic where he's dating the reader and finds out she is c*tting, and helps her. Its total ok if you aren't comfortable writing this though 🖤”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: discussion and depictions of self-harm, cursing, angst

A/N: Gonna get really serious with this one: If you are struggling with self-harm (in all forms, not just those discussed in this text) or issues with your mental health, please reach out to someone! Family, friends, anyone. I know it’s hard and you may feel like no one cares, but I promise someone does. If you don’t feel comfortable telling someone you know, message me. My page is a safe space and I will never judge you. I promise you, the world is a much better place with you in it and you deserve to take up space, you deserve to be happy.

On that note, do not read this if you feel it may be triggering to you, please.

Word Count: 2457

You sighed as you read the email subject Re: Y/L/N Final Thesis Revised 2. Every time your doctoral advisor sent you an email in response to any work on your thesis, it wasn’t good.

Ms. Y/L/N,

I regret to inform you that the corrections that you have made are still not adequate enough for submission to the board. Please read my notes attached for further work to be done.

You didn’t even bother reading the rest of the email, instead choosing to slam your head down against your wooden desk. “Fuck!” You yelled to your empty house.

You had rewritten your doctoral thesis 4 times already and submitted for approval twice, both of which were rejected. Your advisor was trying to be patient with you, but you could tell his tolerance was running low. “What am I doing wrong?” You whispered to yourself, closing your eyes as you let your head rest against the wood.

Maybe you’re just not smart enough. That unhelpful voice in your mind chimed in, making you groan. Seriously though, if you were smarter, then you would have been approved already.

Your chest started tightening and you felt nauseous, tears coming to your eyes. You reached around for your phone, hearing Colson’s voice in your mind. “If you have a bad day, text me. You can always talk to me.”

Hey

You texted him, hoping he would respond soon. Your breathing was getting heavier and you just wanted to talk to someone that wasn’t the voice in your head.

Hey, I’m in the studio rn, everything ok?

My thesis got rejected

Again :(

I’m sorry babe

Wanna see you

Colson didn’t answer for a few moments, and you had a feeling he was letting out a frustrated sigh. You hated bothering him at work, it always made you feel like a nuisance to him.

I can’t leave right now

You’ll be okay

It’s just a paper

Now it was your turn to let out a sigh. Colson didn’t exactly understand why this was so important to you. Every time you got upset after it didn’t turn out well, he told you the same thing, “It’s just a paper, you can just rewrite it.”

But it’s not just a paper. It’s currently the only thing standing between you and a doctorate degree. And you’ve rewritten it four times before.

He’s just sick of you whining about it.

You annoy him

He doesn’t care about you

You got up from your desk and made your way to the bathroom, not sure if you were going to throw up or do something worse. The voice kept speaking, her incessant words running through your head.

You know what’ll make you feel better.

And you did. You had been trying to stop, and you were doing pretty good until a few weeks ago. Up until that point it was rare, a few times a month. Now it was 4 times a week; more days than not.

You reached under your bathroom counter, pulling out the small, inconspicuous makeup bag. You brought it over and set it on the edge of the bathtub, sitting on the floor next to it.

The zipper felt familiar under your fingers as you pulled it, the metal coming into view. Your secret stash of hellish paradise.

You pulled one of the razers out, feeling the coolness on your skin. Pulling up the sleeve of your sweater, you placed the sharp edge against the fragile skin on your wrist. You took a deep breath as you slid it across the skin, not even wincing at the pain. The blood rolling out of the wound was beautiful to you, a therapy in itself. You laid the arm over the bathtub, taking another slice at your wrist.

You had to be careful not to go too close to the hand or else the sweaters you wore could ride up and expose you, and you couldn’t make too many cuts or someone would be bound to notice.

Once you had made 4 slits in your skin, you stopped. The razor fell to the edge of the bathtub as you watched the blood drip down your arm, gravity pulling it towards your hand to pool in your palm. As fucked up as it was, you liked the view. The pain barely registered to you anymore.

It felt like all the fears were draining from your body with the blood. You knew it would all come back eventually, but in this moment, you felt peace. Your stomach stopped turning and your chest loosened. And for just a little while, the voices in your head were gone.

You laid there for probably 30 minutes, the peaceful silence engulfing you. Eventually you came back to your senses, realizing the mess you had made. You sighed, standing up and turning the faucet on. You watched the blood that sat in the tub wash away before running your arm under the water. It stung a bit, but the blood disappeared from your arm, leaving you with the visual of 4 dark red cuts.

Once the tub was clean, you moved to the cabinets under the sink again, this time grabbing a package of band-aids and covering the marks that were bleeding slightly after the water pressure opened them up again. You ran the blade under water from the sink to clean it before throwing it back in the bag and hiding it. Satisfied that all evidence of your sins was gone, you pulled down the sleeves of your sweater and made your way to your couch to watch a true crime documentary.

A little over a half hour later Colson texted you.

Picking up your favorite food :)

Be over in 10

You smiled at your phone for a second before guilt crept into your mind. How could you think that he doesn’t care about you? He’s never done anything but love you.

You are the world’s worst girlfriend.

You bit your lip, trying to make the thoughts go away. You didn’t want to be upset when Colson got there, it would spoil his whole night.

It didn’t quite work, but you were able to put on a fake smile when he got to your door. He set the bags of food on your coffee table before flopping on top of you on the couch. His face buried into your neck, pressing soft kisses onto the skin all over. He did this whenever he knew you were sad, it made you laugh.

He sat up, looking down on you, “how’s my girl doing?” He whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Better now that you’re here.” You mumbled, throwing your clothed arms around his middle and pulling him back against you. He chuckled and flipped you around so his back was against the couch and you were resting on his chest.

You smiled at him, you don’t deserve him, the voice screamed. You ignored it, burying your head into his shirt, the smell of him filling your nose. “What’re we watching?”

Your voice was muffled by the fabric, “The Vanishing of Elisa Lam.”

He looked up, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “of course we are.”

“We can watch something else.” You mumbled. Colson chuckled and sat up, pulling you with him to rest in his lap, your back against his chest.

His long arm reached to grab the food off the table, setting one box in your hands. “Your weird true crime show is fine, babe. You choose tonight.” He kissed your cheek, making you smile and sink further into his chest.

A little while passed and you had both finished your food, placing the empty boxes on the table. Colson’s arms were around your waist and you moved to hold his hands. You had tried wrapped your palm over the back of his hand, but he flipped his hand so his palm encased yours. As the documentary played, he began to rub circles into your skin subconsciously, moving down your wrist slowly.

In his arms you momentarily forgot about your session in the bathroom from earlier, but when his thumb brushed against the bandage on your arm you were shocked back into reality. “What’s that?” He mumbled, chin resting on your shoulder and looking down to the shirt sleeve.

“Nothing, I cut myself doing dishes earlier.” You lied, it being second nature at this point.

Colson’s hand moved to the edge of your sleeve, moving to roll it up. “You’re so clumsy sometimes.”

You yanked your arm out of his hand as you felt the fabric moving up, “what are you doing?” You asked, holding your arm closer to yourself subconsciously.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “I was gonna kiss it better.” He mumbled.

“It’s fine, you don’t need to.” You sighed, turning your attention back to the TV. He didn’t like that answer and based off of your reaction, he could tell something was up.

He reached to hold your arm again, and you relaxed into his touch, thinking he would just hold your hand. Instead, he dragged your sleeve up your arm, exposing four band-aids on your wrist and older, exposed scars.

“Colson!” You yelled, standing up and wiggling out of his grasp.

He had a shocked expression on his face that slowly turned into a mixture of concern and hurt. He tried to form words but was struggling. Finally, he got out a whispered “why?”

You bit your tongue, arms wrapped around your body as you faced away from him. Your breathing got heavy and you could feel tears coming to your eyes. He’s definitely gonna leave you now.

When you didn’t respond he stood up slowly, walking towards you and wrapping his arms around you. His lips met the top of your head briefly before replacing them with his chin.

The feeling of his embrace was enough to send your walls crashing down, tears finally falling down your face. You shook in his arms, your knees buckling under you. He whispered as he held you up, “hey hey hey hey, I’m here, baby. I’m right here. You can talk to me.” He led you back to the couch, pulling you back into his lap. You turned towards him and buried your face into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tighter than they ever had before.

Your sniffles filled the room, followed by your quiet “I’m sorry.”

Colson shook his head, taking your face in his hand and moving it away from his skin so you were forced to look at him. “You don’t have to be sorry.” You nodded and he slowly wiped the tears from under your eyes. The soft motion made you calm down ever so slightly. After a few minutes of being held, your sobs stopped, tears not falling as hard. “Can we talk about this.”

You sniffled but nodded your head, your eyes not meeting his. “I’m not gonna be upset with you, or angry. I just need you to be honest with me, okay?” He asked, his blue eyes searching your face. You simply nodded again, turning your head all the way down so your nose was parallel to the floor. The top of your head pressed against Colson’s chest.

“How long?” His voice was a whisper, but it held an infinity of emotion.

You mumbled out a response, “a while.” You could feel how fast his heart was beating, “Before I met you. It’s just gotten a lot worse lately.”

He nodded, sucking his lips in. “Why didn’t you talk to me? You know you can always talk to me, darling.”

New tears fell from your eyes. “I tried to.” You whispered, feeling guilty. His hand moved to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

He took a few moments to remember what you were talking about before he sighed. “Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were so upset. I didn’t know.” He whispered, “But I know now, so from now on you gotta tell me if you feel like doing this to yourself.”

You nodded against him. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. Don’t be sorry, why are you sorry?” He asked

You shrugged, “sorry you have to deal with me.”

He grabbed your face again, this time forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Don’t ever say that again. Okay? I fucking love you. You’re going through some shit right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop loving you. I don’t want you to ever think that.” As he spoke his harsh tone got softer, quieter.

“I just don’t feel like I’m good enough, for anything.” You slumped into him, your head laying on his shoulder.

His arms pulled you further into him, “Y/N, you are the smartest, most amazing, most beautiful person I’ve ever met. You’re literally about to become a doctor! That’s fucking incredible. I am so proud of you.”

“’m not really gonna be a doctor.” You mumbled, “I can’t get this fucking thesis approved.”

He sighed into your hair, “You are going to get through this. You have worked your ass off to get here, I know you’re not gonna let a stupid paper get in your way.” He pressed a kiss into your hair and you looked up to him, a pout still on your face. “Baby you aren’t just good enough, you’re better. I know it feels shitty right now but you’re gonna get through this. And I’m gonna be right here with you.”

He leaned down and pressed a deep kiss to your lips. It took a second, but you kissed him back. “Thank you.” You whispered when you pulled away, reaching up to wipe your tears away with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“I love you.” He whispered, “do you think we could throw your blades away?” He asked softly.

“I might need your help.” You whispered. He nodded, lifting you off his lap and standing up. He grabbed your hand and you led him to your bathroom. You found the bag and handed it to him. “I can’t…” You whispered, trying to stop the tears you felt behind your eyes.

Colson nodded, taking it from you and opening it, frowning at the metal inside. “I don’t want to throw them away here, because you could get them out of the trash later. So, I’m gonna take them back to my house tomorrow and I’ll throw them out there.”

You nodded, hand squeezing his. You moved closer to him, resting your free hand on his shoulder, and pressing your cheek against his chest. “I love you.”

He smiled down at you, wrapping his arm around you, “I love you too.”

#mgk #mgk imagine #mgk angst #mgk fluff #machine gun kelly #machine gun kelly imagine #Colson baker #colson x reader #colson baker imagine #colson baker fluff #colson baker angst #colson imagine

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thedreadvampy · 3 years

Text

talking to my mum last night and getting fucked up about the degree of trauma my grandparents' generation faced and how. unwilling and ill-equipped the care system is for the obvious fact that there's a huge incidence of PTSD and complex lifelong mental health issues in those generations

grannie was 17 when she became a nurse and she was working immediately in London at the height of the Blitz. her first day she saw blown apart children and had to comfort their parents. she was almost hit by a rocket cycling home.

grandpa spent the whole war in labour camps before being trapped behind the Iron Curtain in the ruins of Dresden, almost dead from starvation from the camp, for another 3 years before making it back to Blackpool to find out his parents had died in his absence.

granny got radiation sickness at 13 from being put under an X-ray with no protection and forgotten about for hours; she lost all her hair and developed chronic pain and health problems. after years of severe physical, emotional and sexual abuse from her family and the men around her, she got engaged to an American pilot who was shot down and killed in the last month of the war. her former boyfriend came back a dissociative shell of his pre-war self and she ended up trying to raise three small children on her own, with her family at the other end of the country and her husband often having violent flashbacks and outbursts of rage. she was suicidal and had violent psychotic breaks and got institutionalised and medicated on and off her entire adult life.

like. it isn't just the war. people born in the early-mid 20th century, especially women, have been subject to so much sexual trauma, domestic and social violence, bigotry, and grief on grief on grief.

with my granny, it's entirely understandable that she was 'mad'. when I knew her, she was on heavy daily dosage of lithium - she stopped because it was destroying her gut after 30 years and she became violently aggressive, vindictive, scared, psychotic, paranoid, frequently delusional and extremely abusive. She was terrified of doctors because of her repeated experiences with medical abuse, she was furious with everyone around her, she coldly hated her husband and seemed actively happy when he died, and the thing is all of that makes perfect sense because she was profoundly and repeatedly traumatised for at least the first 50-60 years of her life.

but the thing that worries and answers me is that the elder care system and the mental health system are completely unwilling to engage with the fact that many many many old people have severe pre-existing mental health conditions. after all, how many of us have PTSD or psychotic episodes or bipolar or BPD or special care needs related to autism or OCD or ADHD or whatever? those don't just Cease To Exist after a certain age. and our parents and our grandparents grew up in times with much less support for mental health and much less awareness of trauma. granny's early traumas were familial but she was institutionalised repeatedly and treated appallingly throughout her life and that's in itself traumatic.

when granny was 82 and she stopped taking her lithium, she was frail, ill and a danger to herself and others.

they put her on a dementia ward when she was sectioned because she was Old, and Old Mad People Are Demented. but she didn't have dementia! she had chronic PTSD and paranoid delusions but she knew who, where and when she was and she was perfectly sharp, she just wasn't coping. when we went to visit her she'd say furiously 'they think I'm like the other people in here but I'm not, I'm not losing my marbles, I've always been this way'

none of us got any support looking after her while she was in hospital or after she left the inpatient ward - nobody checked in on grandpa while she was in hospital or on weekend release, and after she was released Dad looked after her single-handed while trying to deal with his dad's death. (she may have murdered grandpa while on weekend release, or he may have died of heart failure - either way when she went off the rails after 20 years stable, he gave up on life and I me and my sibling (for the record we were 10 when she left hospital) listening to her trying to continue unpicking her past trauma was I think the most therapy she got after she left.

she couldn't go into a regular elder care home because she was too unstable, she needed specialist mental health care and she sometimes needed to be constrained for her own safety and that of other people. residential mental health care facilities weren't equipped to deal with her needs as a woman in her 80s. she couldn't go into dementia care, which is about the only residential care available for old people with serious mental health needs, because she didn't have dementia and it would have been utterly inappropriate and harmful for her and the other residents. she lived to 93 and for the last 11 years of her life it was up to Dad and us to look after her in her home because there was simply nowhere else for her to go.

and what really fucks me up is that she wasn't past help. a lot of people thought she was but when she left hospital she was trying really hard to continue therapy on her own without a therapist, she drew and wrote about her life and memories and she used to sit opposite me and open up in a way I now utterly recognise as trauma therapy, she would try to find ways to talk about what had hurt her and state into the middle distance for tens of minutes trying to get it together enough to continue. she wanted to do the work. but the only people there for her were her son who was shellshocked from losing his dad and traumatised from effectively losing his mum again and who was spending all his energy just trying to get through work and home and get her physical needs met, and a couple of preteen children who had the will but not the capacity to help. we were barely holding ourselves together (mum drove granny places but mostly her capacity was being spent being about the only support Dad or us could get) and we just couldn't meet the work of a trained therapist. and eventually she gave up on getting better and got angrier and more bitter and more abusive to everyone. but she wanted to feel better. she wanted to deal with her shit. but there was no support.

and there must be thousands of people like her. older people with lifelong trauma and mental health issues who are too mentally ill for elder support and too old for mental health support. and the MH system doesn't think they're worth the resource cost because after all they're old, they'll die soon. but where are they meant to go? and how much harm does unsupported home care do to the person in need of care and to the people carrying for them? it just multiplies trauma down the generations. you can't just expect mental illness to only affect the young when the old have been just as traumatised and you can't treat them as separate issues when old people need carers who are qualified to deal with both their age and their mental health issues.

like yes many people develop late life mental health issues like Alzheimers and dementia, just as many people become disabled for the first time by age. but a lot of people are disabled or mentally ill for decades before they reach anything approaching elderly, and those things don't suddenly go away and don't have the same support needs as late-life issues.

idk. I'm very angry. if there was recognition of the need to support older people with lifelong trauma then my grandpa wouldn't have died hopeless and unsupported, my granny might have got her life back and got some healing after 80 years of living in fear, my dad wouldn't have had his own mental breakdown and slide into paranoia and conspiracy theory, and me and my siblings wouldn't have lost our whole adolescence trying to shore up two badly neglected adults' catastrophic mental health while under constant fire.

literally a ten minute weekly phone call with grandpa while granny was in hospital and weekly follow-up talk therapy for her after she was discharged could have made so much difference but nobody fucking cared. because she was Old. she was in the hospital because she was a danger to the people around her and they discharged her for the weekend as a trial run and her husband died suddenly while she was in the house and she seemed totally unbothered and they still. let her out for good two weeks later with no followup care or therapeutic follow-up and no support or advice for Dad on looking after her. they started talk therapy in hospital and then dropped her abruptly and left her raw and cracked open without any way to put herself back together. and she isn't unique it's just. Careless. and so destructive.

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sariahsue · 3 years

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I just saw your take one Lilo&Stitch's approach to child protection and I was wondering if you could give some advice on how to write realistic stuff in this matter? I've been meaning to write a foster care/adoption fic and I do know the system in France must be at least a little different - and I will get down the research hole once I have a bit more time - but do you have any advice on how to write the kids reactions, the way parents deal with everything, the bonding part... things like this, so I can avoid clichés.

You don't have to answer though, feel free to ignore all this akdjwja I just figured there's no harm in asking XD

Yeah, sure! (To anyone else reading this who has a fic, feel free to send me a message if you have questions!) I’m definitely not the most knowledgeable person, but I know quite a bit. And I’m sure things are a bit different in France (hopefully their court system is better - yikes!) but I think the human element would be pretty similar, so here we go.

First off, know that everyone is foster care is having a rough time constantly. Foster kids, workers, parents, foster parents, foster siblings. And no one knows what’s going on long term. There’s always a lot of uncertainty. Will the kids go home soon? Are parental rights going to be terminated at the next court date? Who knows???

The birth parents, at best, are going through a really tough time in their life, made worse because their kids were taken away from them. Some care about their kids, but they’re extremely self-centered and have zero parents skills. Some are manipulative and see foster care as free babysitting, and as long as they get to see their kid for an hour or so a week, this arrangement is fantastic for them! At worst, they’re just horrible human beings who abuse children. In general, most parents are clueless and selfish and pretty manipulative. They say they’re good parents and have no clue why their kids were taken away, even though their kid has cigarette burn marks on their back, or had to eat out of the garbage to survive because the were left alone for hours at a time when they were four, or worse. They have no clue at all what their behavior does to their kids, and they refuse to listen to anyone who tries to explain it to them.

No matter what type of parents they were, their kids ALWAYS love them and want to go home. Every single one of them. No matter the age. No matter what their home life put them through. Some of them aren’t old enough to understand why they can’t go home. Some have been in foster care for years and hardly remember living at home but still want to go home.

It makes for complicated foster relationships sometimes because the kid will be attached to both birth and foster parents and feel guilty or conflicted or disloyal, or they’ll try really hard not to be attached to the foster parents in the first place. (I can think of only one exception to this. Two sisters who had been put into another home and liked the foster family and decided that they were going to be adopted by this family and were very excited about it... except the foster family had no plans to adopt them. I never learned what happened there.)

And this is before accounting for the mental health struggles that often accompany the trauma most of them have been through. Some kids come in with anxiety that makes it difficult to trust new people. Some kids’ behavior is so extreme that it’s difficult for foster parents to take care of them, and so the kid moves around constantly. (If their behavior is too bad, they can sometimes be put into either a group home or residential, either temporarily or permanently.)

Parents are also entitled to visits, usually either weekly or every other week, at least while the goal is reunification (which is always starts out as). Before the pandemic, these usually took place in the DCF (Department of Children and Families is what it’s called in my state) office or in a visitation center. Sometimes the court orders that the visits be supervised so they don’t start promising their kids that they’re coming to get them next week. Often the workers think that sitting down the hallway not listening counts as supervision. 🙄

With the pandemic, kids have been meeting over Zoom. That’s being phased out pretty soon here. Kids are almost always triggered by these visits. I mean, they look forward to them usually. Some kids are mad at their parents and don’t want to talk to them, but almost always, they want to see their parents. And almost always whatever behavior problems they had before is extremely worse for the next 2-5 days. (Which is terrible if you get a visit every week.) Some parents bail on these visits regularly. Some consistently bail on only birthdays and Christmas. We’ve learned not to tell the kid that they have a visit coming up until we know it’s definitely happening, or sometimes only right before we’re planning on leaving to go, because the anticipation of a visit is triggering or because getting stood up by your own mother is traumatizing. Sometimes you can get the kid’s therapist to write a note asking for the visits to be less frequent for the kid’s sake, but often that just means every other week instead of every week.

For foster families welcoming kids into their home, it’s a little different. They’re often more stable, and their whole life isn’t shifting around them. They’re just getting one or two kids into the family. The home dynamic is going to be a little different. Nothing huge, compared to what the foster kids are going through. It often depends on the kid how fast you get attached. Sometimes you know kids are only going to be there for a month because their normal foster family had to deal with an emergency, but the plan is to take them back soon. Sometimes they’re adorable babies and you get super attached really, really fast. Sometimes they’re so unhappy and scared that they make your home life completely miserable. Sometimes you’ve seen so many kids come and go over the years, and they’ve all left eventually, and your heart becomes guarded to protect you from that pain. But you get attached eventually anyway.

And sometimes your parents are given a newborn whose goal is reunification and it’s love at first sight even though you don’t know if you can keep him, and then he’s put up for adoption when he’s two and you adopt him SO HARD. And then you make future foster kids upset because you can’t adopt them too. :( And even though they get adopted by friends of yours, they still feel conflicted over it four years later.

You would think that a kid raised completely in their adoptive home from birth would have no problems, and sometimes that’s the case. Sometimes they still get upset about the adoption when they’re older because the foundational belief they have about themselves is that their mother didn’t want them, even though it’s not true.

(This is the real-life story of my brother. We are the only family he’s ever known, and he’s 13 now, but he still has issues over being adopted. The other boy is 16 and is doing much better with his new family now, though he still has some issues. We had him for a very long time, and we were all happy that we know his adoptive family well because we stayed it contact with him, which almost never happens when a foster kid leaves.)

Oh, I forgot one thing. Usually when kids first get to your house, they are perfect little angels for a while. Depending on the kid, it’s either a couple days or maybe even three months. It’s called the “honeymoon period.” Once their subconscious realizes that this is a safe place to work on their issues and they aren’t in physical danger, they start to process what they’ve been through. It comes out in a variety of ways. Behavioral issues, bedwetting, explosive anger, nightmares, etc.

A note about social workers: All the workers (at least in my state) constantly have too many cases. Like, double what they’re legally supposed to have. Most of them try hard to keep up. Some DO NOT CARE. Some are fantastic and put extra time in to go to the kid’s end-of-the-school-year recitals and build a relationship with them. They’re in charge of organizing visits and making sure the kids have everything set up and are generally important in the kid’s life. They’re required to visit once a month and make sure foster parents have all the right paperwork and arrange dentist visits and bring them to all their therapy appointments. (FYI, You get a piece of paper that says you’re the legal guardian. You have to show it to schools and doctors when you make arrangements for the kids. My mom also keeps a copy in her purse, just in case a kid starts screaming “HELP! SHE’S NOT MY MOM” in the middle of the store or something. It’s never happened, but you know, just in case.)

Also, you would think that they’re the constant in the kid’s life, but if the birth parents move, the case gets transferred to another office in the state, and so the social workers switch. I sincerely hope that’s not how things are done in France because it’s garbage for a lot of reasons.

Okay, I’ve written you an essay, but I hope it was a useful essay! Let me know if you have any more questions!

#foster care #adoption #birth parents

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heart-strong · 3 years

Text

An Ode To Science Beaker PJ’s- Spencer Reid x gn!Reader

gif credit to @0420-1102

Summary: gn!reader takes care of Spencer after coming home from being held captive by Tobias Hankel (season 2 episode 14 and 15). Reader and Spencer have been dating for two years.

A/N: YALL I think my fics are just going to be long because I love writing so much and I haven’t had writing inspiration in so long. Thank you for all the kind words about I Have a Fever, if you haven’t checked out my first Spencer/ Criminal Minds fic yet please do I’m so proud of it but heres this new one!

Also I mention this in my About me section but I’ll mention it here, I think Penelope and I are similar in that we call everyone “darling” just as a term of endearment, so penny calls reader darling that it.

This is also part one of a two-part set. I wanted to add a little more comfort but I loved the natural end to this without it. It is not written yet so I don’t know when it will be posted but I will link it here. when it is posted.

There is going to be smut in part two (An Ode to Golden Ratio PJs) and while there are still gender natural pronouns reader is going to have female anatomy. I’ve never written smut before and female anatomy is what I know from personal experience.

WC: 2.8k

TW: Regular cm stuff and topics covered in season 2 episode 14 and 15, (DID, dilaudid, self harm, abduction), talk and description of self harm but no relapse, any others let me know I’ll add it no question.

Again pt. 2 here

----

Spencer Reid and you had been dating since the two of you were set up on a sorta blind date by your mutual best friend Penelope Garcia. While you couldn’t possibly know everything that Spencer went through you had some idea from being Penny’s friend for years. Two years strong with Spencer and you felt like you were starting to know him better than his team.

It was Super Bowl Sunday and you were out with the team. The game was over and Spencer, Anderson, yourself, and a few other FBI agents you had just met that night were sharing a table. You are draped on Spencer’s shoulder watching him getting quizzed by Anderson when JJ walks by, she ruffles his hair and takes a phone call outside. You fix the curls out of Spencer’s eyes and kiss his cheek when he answers the question just in the nick of time.

And then there’s a case. The team was called to Georgia and everything was going well, or as well as a murder investigation can go when one night Spencer missed his usual phone call with you. He would check-in, at least a minute, letting you know he was okay. So you weren’t surprised when Penelope knocked on your door.

“Hi, darling. Um, I am going to go to Georgia and I wanted to tell you because, well because you and Spence. Somethings wrong. You may want to sit down.”

“What happened to him?” you motion Penelope into your apartment and to your couch.

“Well, uh, boy wonder and JJ were sent to a witness’s house to question him. But the witness well he was the unsub.”

“What?” you look at your best friend. You didn’t want to believe what you were thinking.

“Tobias Hankel, uh the uh unsub took Spencer. I am going because he is highly skilled with computers. I promise you, I will bring him back to you.”

“Okay, so what do we know? Do we know if he’s okay?”

“The team has a video feed on him. They can’t track him, so I’m going to go. That’s my specialty darling, I’ll get him back to you. The image we have of him is okay right now. He’s tied to a chair and clearly wounded but he is okay. The unsub has multiple personalities and one of his personalities is feeding him and giving him water.”

“Okay sounds good. You leaving now then?”

“Right now. I knew you needed to know before I left though. I love you darling stay strong for your boy wonder.” Penelope popped up off the couch as you rose and gave you a tight squeeze before floating out the door.

“Yeah okay. Love you too.” you followed and closed yourself out of the world.

It was another three days. Three days of not hearing from Spencer, but at least you knew why. He was being held captive. Three days of knowing your boyfriend was in pain and danger, a murderer holding him and streaming his whereabouts to his friends. No word from Spencer. No word from Penny. No word from no one.

Until you woke up to Derek Morgan calling you at 2:30 in the morning.

“Hello? Derek is everything okay?”

“(y/n),” it was Spencer. His voice was rough and scratchy and maybe a couple of octaves lower.

“Holy shit Spencer. You’re okay.”

“I’m safe. And I’m going to be with you as soon as possible baby. I just have to go to the hospital first.”

“Spencer Walter Reid come home to me as soon as humanly possible. I just need you.”

“We’re headed to the hospital now. It’s just bruising and a gash on my head.”

You heard the team behind him and just needed him. Safe in your arms, safe out of the field.

“Spence just come to my apartment when you get home and I can take care of you.” you hear Morgan wolf whistle from your words. “I’m glad he can make jokes right now, that helps me know you are fine.”

It was so early you tried to go back to sleep. But you couldn’t, finally getting out of your bed at five and making coffee. After trying to eat something you couldn’t stay still anymore you decided to do some chores. You were folding laundry and found a pajama set Spencer had left at your apartment, it was soft flannel and covered in little beakers. You noted the company on the tag and a hole in the knee showed how loved they were. You went to the store and got his favorite peppermint tea and snacks, making sure to make it feel somewhat homely for him, and finally returned home where you sat on your couch sewing up the knee waiting for him to come home to you.

It’s past 8 pm, you have the pajamas folded beside you and a movie playing on your tv when you hear movement on the other side of your door. The sound of a key and the doorknob moving pulls for your attention when Spencer walks into your apartment.

“Charming Boy, what are you doing?” you grab his bags since he was clearly in pain. “Where’s Derek?”

“He dropped me off?”

You immediately noticed that Spencer had downplayed his injuries. A black eye was forming on his sharp cheekbone and you looked to his hairline where there was medical tape assuming that was the gash he had mentioned on the phone and his wrists were red from the restraints Penelope mentioned. But he hadn’t let go of his side since he entered your apartment and it just elevated your terror when he yelped from you taking his bag. What in the world happened to him. “Spencer why didn’t you tell me?” you lowered the bags to the ground and took his free hand and cheek in your hand, trying to get him to look at you.

“I was taken and beaten up for days but I’m good. I’m with you.” he kissed you but it didn’t feel like the boy that left you a week ago.

You pulled back from the kiss and looked at him. His eyes were distant and avoided yours looking to his messenger bag on the floor. You kiss him on the nose and he plays along crinkling his nose but his eyes don’t move. He is still dazed and out of it when you pick up his bag and drag him to your room.

Spencer didn’t like therapy, after the L.D.S.K about a year ago you asked him if he wanted to talk to someone outside of the FBI. “ I know all the tricks, I can’t learn anything new from them.” and while you knew it was an unhealthy view you were not going to force him to do anything he didn’t want to do.

“Hey, Charming can you look at me?”

You had brought him to the side of the bed he would sleep on when he stayed the night and he was staring out the window with his messenger bag on his lap and was holding on to it like it was the only connection to the world. He looks up at you standing in front of him. But his gaze quickly moved to the window and moon and sky again. “I’ll be right back.”

You grab his pajama set from the couch, a couple of glasses of water and a first aid kit then return to him, he hadn’t moved. After setting the items on the bed and the water on your bedside table you sit by him. You brush away stray hairs off his forehead and place a kiss on his hair. He smells like chemicals and raw fish.

The Spencer scent of his shampoo and matching body wash that reminded you of Christmas and the spilled coffee lingering on his sweaters was overpowered. Gone. You could spend days wrapped up the cardigans he left behind but right now he was nowhere near that version, in a shirt that was clearly Derek’s as it fell off his collar bones.

“Hey Spence, do you want to take a shower?

“Do you want me to?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, it’s just, you’ve been held by an unsub for three days,”

“Two days, 13 hours.”

“Okay, so about three days. Charming wouldn’t it make you feel better?”

“I can if you want me to.”

The short answers made you very uncomfortable. The words and avoidance of a shower were very non- Spencer, you wanted his rambling back. You wanted the boy that left you a week ago, but he wasn’t coming back, so you just wanted him to feel a little bit better. Safe.

“Spencer, can you tell me where your head is at right now?”

“My head is in the chair I was strapped to for 61 hours.”

“Can I ask you to elaborate on that Spencer?” you didn’t want to push him but no one had told you what happened to him during those days and you wanted to know everything after he showed up worse for wear to you. “Did they touch the spots that are off-limits Spence?”

Spencer Reid was the most beautiful, handsome, and attractive person you had ever met. After the one time you hung out with the team, it was a no-brainer for Penelope that she needed to set the two of you up. And now years of knowing him and getting to know him differently than his team the two of you were comfortable together. And you quickly learned things before the team. You had planned to go with Spencer to see his mom when he was given vacation time, but you weren’t given time off; you left your retail job a month later to pursue your dreams. And like his mom before the Fisher King case, the team didn’t know about his ‘off-limits spots’ and this spaced-out man sitting before you. You knew they definitely didn’t know about his off-limits spots because you learned about them when you were making out one night and untucked his shirt. His ribs, his stomach, and wrist were the hardest for him when unsubs taunted him. The restraints, the groping, the beatings. They were also the places he put all his frustration out when his anxieties were out of control. But it had been two years.

“Spencer, did you hear me?”

“Um well he, Tobias took his belt around my arm, a make-shift tourniquet, and drugged me. He hit me in the head.” he gestured to his forehead. “And when they found me, the team, one of his personalities had a knife to my wrists.”

“Oh, Charming. Can I see?” he nods and you take his hand and unbutton the cuff of his sleeve, and there it is. A clear bandage was tight to the skin covering a dozen of cuts next to light scars from Spencer’s own hand. You couldn’t help but think two years down the drain even though the marks weren’t from Spencer, they sure looked like it. “Okay, bathroom Charming boy.”

The two of you walked to the bathroom and while Spencer sat on the closed toilet lid you ran the bath. Going back to your room you grabbed the first aid kit and his pajamas.

“Do you need anything, want anything to eat or drink?”

“Do you have peppermint tea?”

“I got some for your visit, I can make you some while you relax. Anything else?”

“My shampoo and conditioner are in my go-bag. Not that I don’t like the scent of your stuff I just want mine.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, honey. Okay let me get those for you and then I can take your bandage off and we can clean it up.”

As you walk back into the bedroom Spencer yells “Actually it is better to cover wounds to help them heal properly.”

“I know Charming but I want to clean it and switch it to a new bandage. Better padding you know you were in a hospital and a plane with that one. Whoa,” Spencer was in the tub already and you were shocked to see him naked. A big bruise was wrapping around his rib cage. You had never seen your boyfriend in less than a button-up with the top three or four buttons undone. “Sorry, um I’ll go make something to eat and boil water.” you go to close the door.

“(y/n), wait.” his eyes were finally starting to come back in focus, “ Weren’t you going to help with this,” he places his arm on the lip of the tub.

“Sweetie, you’re, you are,” you are trying to look at his face and not the wounds or his collar bones or his chest or his below the water.

“Oh,” and just like that, his eyes unfocused.

“No Charming, it’s just, we’ve never been shirtless in front of each other.” you go to sit by the tub on the floor of your bathroom, grabbing his hand still limp on the lip of the tub. “Are you okay with this?”

“Yes, I’m okay, just can you not look at me like I’m different.” he looks at the arm and your hand holding it. “Just because my arm looks like this again.”

“Spencer, I didn’t look at you differently when you told me originally, I’m not going to look at you differently now. One sec,” you scoot on the tile and grab the first aid kit off the floor in the doorway where you dropped it. “Are you okay if I clean it and change the bandage?”

“Um, yeah, yeah you can, thank you.”

You grab his hand and put the kit in your lap. Grabbing an alcohol pad and running on the edge, and slowly but surely you get the bandage off his arm. You stand and get a washcloth off the shelf above the toilet and wet it with cool water.

By the time you finish bandaging his arm again the water Spencer was sitting in had gone cold and he is shivering.

“Can you make tea now and, um,” he looks down at his arm covered in new beige badges. Boring, but no one could see it anymore.

“Yes of course I can, um, I left a pair of pj’s on the bed you left them here.”

“Thank you.” he looked so small and scared in the tub.

You left thinking he was just bashful because he was in the tub and went and started a teapot. As you’re heating up a pot of water for mac and cheese you hear him padding into the kitchen.

“Do you feel a little better?”

“Definitely.” he sat at your kitchen table and you walked over to him. “Thank you for fixing my pajamas (y/n), I’m glad you had them. I thought I lost them, left them in a hotel on a case.”

“Yeah they were here, I can fix other clothes if you want.” you card your hands through his damp hair and twist his front fringe around your fingers.

“I would like that, thank you.” he closes his eyes as you comb through his hair and hold the back of his head. “Um, can we just have peanut butter and jelly, I just want to snuggle with you and I can’t wait for the water to boil.”

“That sounds perfect, do you still want tea?”

“Yes please.”

You kiss the top of his head, his hair finally smelling like Spencer. Your home. And as you let go you don’t feel that sinking feeling you usually do when walking away from Spencer. He joins you at the counter and pulls out two knives. You grab the bread slices and the two of you make sandwiches. When the kettle shouts you grab two cups and tea bags from the box and pour out water. Spencer grabs the plate with the sandwiches and follows you to your bedroom.

Once there you set the cups down and grab your phone and turn on some quiet music. When you turn around Spencer is already under the blankets and honest to god nibbling on his sandwich. You go to your closet to get your own pajama set, granted not as cute as your boyfriends, and join him.

“How are you feeling?” Spencer asks.

“I am so happy that you are here. Can I kiss your silly face?”

“Please do.”

You launch at him. Your flannel-clad legs wrap around Spencer’s hips. His hands go to your hair as his tongue starts to brush your lower lip and you open your mouth to accept his tongue. Pulling away from his mouth, his beautiful, talented, and oh so addictive mouth, you look to him as long lashes flutter open his big brown eyes you’re hit by a train.

“Move in with me?”

———

Update (May 2, 2021)

Part two here it is nsfw

#criminal minds #ssa derek morgan #ssa emily prentiss #ssa hotchner #ssa jennifer jareau #ssa rossi #ssa dr spencer reid #mental health #spencer reid fic #gn!reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds fic #fanfiction #spencer fanfic #my work

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comfortwriting · 3 years

Text

Stop Crying Your Heart Out - G.W

George Weasley X reader imagine/one shot inspired by the song ‘Stop Crying Your Heart Out’ by Oasis

A/N: This is dedicated to those who experienced loss, whether it was in 2020 or at any other time in their life. I have PTSD and struggle with survivors guilt due to my dads passing, so if you need anyone to talk to my inbox is open, always.

About: George adapting to life after Fred’s death over the years until he becomes an old man and the reader, his girlfriend supporting him through it all.

Theme: Death, Loss, Greif, Mental Health, Recovery.

Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, Self Harm and Suicidal Thoughts. Depression, Survivors Guilt, Therapy Sessions and Anti-depressants.

On May 2nd 1998, your boyfriend, George had his life changed forever. His best-friend, partner in crime, his twin brother was killed in an explosion during The Battle Of Hogwarts.

You and the Weasleys were in pain, so much pain that it drove Molly to murder Bellatrix to save her daughter Ginny, Ron being blinded by rage and vowing to take down whichever Death Eater he came across. George couldn’t bear to be around his family anymore, he couldn’t live above the flat either.

George fell apart completely, he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, he lost himself - he couldn’t turn up to the shop knowing his brother wouldn’t be there to crack a joke as soon as the door opened. You spent so many nights holding him in your arms as he cried, cursing Merlin for taking Fred away, cursing him even more for not taking him instead.

With the money you saved up you managed to buy a house, where George could felt comfortable but even then George covered every mirror in the house.

Passing Fred a cup of water, he sat up in bed and out stretched his hand, his sleeve riding up his arm. Noticing the red lines on his wrists you knew what he had done, and your heart yet took another blow. Before you could utter another word George took the glass from you and asked you to leave the room.

Hold up Hold on Don't be scared You'll never change what's been and gone

After the first six months you were able to convince George to see a muggle therapist, you assured him he wouldn’t need to go over the details to a muggle who wouldn’t believe such a thing as wizards and witches, so he agreed and decided to get help; the flashbacks, the guilt, his panic attacks and self-harm wasn’t getting any better and you couldn’t lose him, not after all the losses you couldn’t prevent.

On the days George could sleep, he would wake up screaming, shaking and with tears in his eyes, hyperventilating, struggling to figure out where he was and what was real.

Unfortunately, George had to go over each and every detail, his head banging, his heart pounding, his chest in agony, his body shaking; but this was the start of his journey to recovery and a certain Magpie would be with him every step of the way. Although he didn’t mention word of the wizarding world, everything else that would make him seem sane to a muggle he brought up into the air.

“After our sessions together and your evaluation, it is very clear to us that you have PTSD and Survivors Guilt, Mr Weasley. You have gone through a horrific event and you are suffering because of it, many patients who have gone through similar events in life experience such conditions and it is our job to help.”

George shuffled in his seat, the ticking of the clock sounding like stamping feet going up and down stairs. His hands went clammy and he felt ashamed.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of Mr Weasley, there are plenty of other out there who are living their lives day to day with PTSD. The death of your brother is not your fault and you have no reason to feel guilty, you have every right to continue living your life. You have a girlfriend, you’ve got your family, and I’m sure they will be more than understanding.”

May your smile (may your smile) Shine on (shine on) Don't be scared (don't be scared) Your destiny may keep you warm

A year on from George’s diagnosis he was taking medication prescribed from his therapist, he felt ashamed at first but you were understanding and supported him, and so did his family. He started to eat and shower more often but the mirrors still stayed covered.

George started making huge steps, he managed to leave the bedroom and go for walks outside in neighbourhood. Once a week straight after his counselling sessions, the two of you would spend the evening at the Weasley’s for dinner; George could finally look his parents and siblings in the face for the first time since his brothers death.

Every now and then George would flash a smile at you and would laugh, although it was rare, when he did it would brighten up the world you were living in, it would patch up the injured parts of your heart.

Stepping out into Diagon Alley, George took a deep breath and a firm grip on your hand. “It’s okay if you aren’t ready” you reminded him “we can go back home”

George pondered for a moment, his head screaming at him to go back home and to get in bed and to never come back out. Then out of nowhere a single Magpie flew past him, landing right in front of him. The beautiful little bird turned around to face him, staring at him and then flying in the direction of the shop.

George took a deep breath and swallowed hard “I’m ready” he replied and followed the bird.

'Cause all of the stars are fading away Just try not to worry, you'll see them someday Take what you need, and be on your way And stop crying your heart out

Five years on, George still woke up through the night in cold sweats, sometimes he would go for days without eating or showering but on other days he would work at the shop alongside Ron feeling Fred’s presence surrounding him; he would also spend time with his two year old son, he named after his brother who had the same mischief brewing inside of him.

The guilt didn’t eat George up the way it did before, the pain was still there - it never went away but he made room for it, learning what to do with it: improving the shop and increasing sales, spending more time with his family, going out on more adventurous date nights with you, now his wife; and finally accepting that he has every right to be alive.

George would stay up at night, worrying that he would never see Fred again, even after his own death. Late at night, he would stand in the garden, talking out to Fred as if he were stood next to him. One evening in particular, George spent hours outside, talking and laughing out loud, only to be followed by cries and wearing.

The next morning, George and little Fred were playing in the garden, George wowing his son with magic tricks. Watching the two of them through the kitchen window drinking a cup of tea, a magpie flew into the garden, soaring around little Fred and then around George. The two of them distracted by the magnificent bird before it departed, George turned around and looked at you through the window, smiling wide.

“That was him” he mouthed.

“It always will be” you mouthed back.

Get up (get up) Come on (come on) Why're you scared? (I'm not scared) You'll never change what's been and gone

“I can’t believe how fast he’s grown” you smiled, looking at your son sleeping in your husbands arms.

You walked over and sat next to them on the sofa, the warm fire making everything feel calm, still and safe. George was slowly making progress, he worked at the shop once a week and would see the rest of his family on weekends bringing his son to see his grandparents.

“He’s growing a little too fast” George whispered, stroking his sons head “I want him to stay little forever” he mumbled in a sad tone.

The two of you stood up and put your son into his bed, tucking him in, you switched on his night light and went to your own bedroom.

Sitting on the bed next to George you placed a soft kiss on his neck and held his hand.

“Please don’t be scared of him growing up, he’s not going anywhere.” You reassured George.

George nodded but the worries of losing his son flooded his mind.

“D-do.. w-would you like to have more children?” George asked shyly, finally looking into your eyes.

“With you, of course I would.” You smiled at George, rubbing his cheek.

'Cause all of the stars are fading away Just try not to worry, you'll see them someday Just take what you need, and be on your way And stop crying your heart out

Ten years on, George started to see his therapist less often and his medication was on a lower dosage. He still had flashbacks and still felt guilty but for the first time, the covering was pulled off each and every mirror. He spent more time working at the shop with Ron and the Weasleys were around more often.

Your son Fred was now at Hogwarts and was making his father proud, “He’s just like his father, even more so his uncle!” you were told in letters that were sent home.

Your three daughters, especially the youngest gave George the motivation to keep going, to keep living, smiling and laughing on the days which felt like the hardest but George still couldn’t help feeling like time was going too fast and that Fred had been forgotten.

Looking in the mirror George noticed his first few strands of grey hair, his heart dropped realising that he had only seen Fred as an old man once in his life with long silver hair and a impressive beard, at the time he wouldn’t have guessed for one moment his brother wouldn’t make it to 21 - had it really been that long since his brother had been taken away from him?

George stopped staring and searching himself in the mirror and burst into tears, wanting to hide himself away from the rest of the world.

We're all of the stars, we're fading away Just try not to worry, you'll see us some day Just take what you need, and be on your way And stop crying your heart out

Sitting in the front room surrounded by your kids and their children you cried into a tissue, unable to wrap your head around that your life long partner had passed away. Your youngest grandchild in her last year of Hogwarts walked up to you, knelt beside you and wrapped you in her arms.

Ron, Ginny and their families were coming over to help sort out George’s affairs, they knew that you couldn’t do it alone - especially after how close you and your husband were after the death of his brother.

Washing up the pots and pans in the kitchen with your youngest daughter casting magic to do the sweeping and mopping, she pointed out of the kitchen window, amazed at the sight in front of her.

“Mum, look.”

Looking up from your muggle distraction you almost dropped the dish in the soapy water, your mouth wide open.

Outside in the garden, two plump magpies were hopping around the garden together, searching for shiny materials.

Deep down in your heart you knew that George was finally at peace, he was with Freddie and he wanted to let you know that he was okay and that you didn’t need to hurt for his departure.

“That's them, mum.”

Tear of happiness welled in your eyes and spilled down your now wrinkled and age spotted cheeks.

“It is.”

Stop crying your heart out Stop crying your heart out Stop crying your heart out

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #fred weasley #one shots #oneshot #imagines #fred weasley imagine #x reader #Weasley #sadness #emotional #song prompts #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter

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skelemira · 3 years

Note

Ooooh whats Rowan's lore? *grabs popcorn*

ALRIGHT BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS

Gonna leave it after the cut (if I remember how to do the cut right on mobile lol) so I don't clog up feeds

So Rowan started out as a human. Her family was okay financially, probably lower middle class. Not rich enough to be truly comfortable, but not in a whole lot of danger debt-wise. She had a mother, a father, an older sister named Magnolia (Nolia for short) and a little brother named Cedar (lol do you see a naming pattern here I'm so creative). Her parents were... Okay. They weren't abusive or anything, but they weren't exactly doting. They didn't really have the time to be doting, since they both worked all the time. The siblings all got along really well, though, the type of siblings that stuck together initially because they lacked that true family relationship but slowly morphed into ride or die siblings.

So one day, little 14-year-old Rowan (Nolia was 16, soon to be 17, and Cedar was 10) gets home from school, pretty average, normal day.

She's sitting at the table doing her hw when someone knocks at the door and her parents (it was kind of weird, they were never home at this hour) rush to open it. There stands a man in a lab coat, holding an envelope. Rowan hated him instantly. Something about him seemed wrong.

He talked to her parents for a bit, and her parents asked her to go get Nolia and Cedar with some urgency in their voices. And.... If she was right in placing that tone.... Guilty excitement...?

She got her siblings and they came downstairs.

Turns out her parents had been closer to debt than she realized. So to get some more money and.... Relieve some financial burdens, they sold their kids to a group of scientists needing victi----research participants.

Of course there was a struggle, Nolia stepping up to try and defend her siblings, screaming at her parents, Rowan holding Cedar close while silent tears poured down both their faces.

But the scientist was prepared, and before anyone could react, three men appeared with rags, holding them over the kids' mouths.

She woke up in an empty white room.

Well... If you could call it white. It was more of a dinghy, hardly cleaned beige. These men were not with the government, she could immediately tell that.

Gonna sum up this part bc it involves torture but basically the scientists were experimenting to see if they could turn a human into a monster. They found only Rowan's soul was compatible. They used her siblings to keep her under control..... Only they had dumped Nolia and Cedar on the streets weeks ago. They simply reused footage to "prove" to Rowan they were still there.

They almost succeeded in their experiment. They forced so much magic into her soul that it started to flip.... But it was too much and Rowan flatlined. They dumped her body in the woods, only disappointed that they came so close.

A couple months passed. Her body decayed until only her skeleton remained. The decaying process was helped along by all the magic, which seemed to have concentrated in her bones, morphing them slowly until they were all connected.

She woke up.

She spent several years on the streets. She begged, she stole, and... She drank. Or at least she tried to. (She was allowed into bars because people thought she was a monster, and she wasn't wearing stripes, so that must mean she was an adult.) She quickly discovered that her alcohol tolerance was *legendary*. She drank bars dry having drinking contests with people (that's how she paid for all her drinks) but felt no different than before. Eventually someone dared her to try Everclear, and though she grimaced at the taste, she drank the entire bottle.

The bar was silent.

The taste eventually grew on her, a kind of self-inflicted punishment that soon became a routine, almost a comfort.

Now a good chunk of the next part has to do with my friend's sonas which I'm not going to talk about because they're not my characters, but suffice it to say they were amazing friends to her and helped her recover and get on her feet.

One such friend discovered her sleeping by Grillby's dumpster, and Grillby let her stay the night on his couch, setting up a job at Muffet's for her the next day. She and Muffet became really close friends and finally she started to have a more stable life. (She finds and dates Underlust Sans but that's another story lol which I would be happy to share in another ask~ but y'all these two are so cute plz)

So someone suggests she go see a therapist. Goodness knows she's got some trauma. So she agrees. The name of her therapist seems..... Eerily familiar but she decides to ignore her gut and go anyway. She walks into the therapist's office and---

And sees her mother sitting there, looking professional and well-rested and happy.

She runs.

Yeah so suffice it to say she isn't gonna trust therapy again for a bit lol, and it takes her even LONGER (and some good therapy sessions) to accept the fact that her mother was clearly better off without her and her siblings.

Yeah ya girl has a lot of issues, especially abandonment <3 she is very much a people pleaser and WILL put your needs high above her own. Anything to make you want to stay. Anything to make her feel needed or wanted.

So she's hanging out at Grillby's one day (he and his bartender like to try out different mixes on her, try to see if they can get her to make a face at a cocktail) when a huge party comes in. Rowan automatically shrinks a bit from discomfort because of the big crowd, and she continues her game with Grillby and the bartender (the bartender is my friend's sona that's why I'm not naming them lol). Then she hears something that makes her freeze mid-sip.

"Let's hear it for Magnolia!!!! The first of us to get tied down!" Followed by raucous laugh....ter...

She recognizes that laugh.

She flees the bar, with no explanation to anyone. She catches a glimpse of Nolia, with Cedar by her side, and both of their eyes squint slightly in confusion as she passes by them.

She makes it outside, looking around for where to go, unable to think in her panicked confusion when---

"R......Rowan?"

She goes ramrod straight and slowly turns, hands balled into fists to hide the violent shaking. Nolia bursts into tears, Cedar immediately clinging to her stiff form, his shoulders shaking as bad as her hands.

They.... Recognized her. They.........

Were *happy* to see her.

Slowly she hugged them back and they got to catching up. (So yeah if it wasn't clear Nolia was getting married, they both had survived on the streets together until Nolia was old enough to get a job).

Also something I forgot to mention lol is Rowan had found 2 kittens behind Muffet's, an older girl kitten fiercely protecting a little boy kitten. They immediately latched onto her after she made it clear she wasn't a threat, and she decided to name them after her siblings.

Also things worth noting, she smells like apples, she has magical red translucent hair, her soul wavers from more upside down like a monster's to more upright like a human's, she loves to bake, she is like the DEFINITION of cottagecore, she has magical tattoos on her face that change around to look like the Day of the Dead skulls (the colors get brighter or darker with her moods), and she drinks 2 bottle of everclear every time she goes to Grillby's. The paramedics in the area quickly become used to people calling the ambulance when she drinks (seriously look up everclear it's basically pure alcohol). She eventually stops drinking (not that it was *really* harming her since she had that alcohol tolerance and a body made primarily of magic at this point (plus alcohol isn't really gonna hurt her, she doesn't have kidneys lol) but she wanted to stop anyway. She loves to paint and teaches one of her friends to paint, tending to her friend's garden while her friend paints. She also loves to cook and bake, she eventually helps out with baking at Muffet's, though she refuses to bake the spiders into the pastries. Her scones are things of legend, they sell out as soon as she brings the tray out of the kitchen.

Yeah that was a lot lol and there's little things here and there that I missed so feel free to send in questions about her if you want to know anything! Or if you want to know how Rowan and UL Sans got together (spoiler: they eventually get married and it's so cute)

#ask #anon #oc time babyyyy #Rowan #Rowan beloved #also thank you guys so much for asking about her #I adore her so much and don't get the chance often to share her lore

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snarkythewoecrow · 3 years

Note

Prompt time! I know you've taken prompts for more serious subjects and mental health related stuff and I've absolutely loved them. If you are comfortable to write it and it won't be triggering, would you write like a sequel to your rubber band/coping mechanism fic where Peter goes to Tony when he has an urge to hurt himself or afterwards for helping cleaning up? Either that or a fic unrelated to that one where Tony sees Peter's old self harm scars or finds out that Peter still does sh? Just something irondad that's related to that subject but only if you are okay with writing it! I completely understand if it's something you don't wanna write more off, I just thought I'd ask anyway if that's okay

Sorry it took me so long to write, but here it is!

Read on AO3

*Trigger Warning for Self-harm and Blood*

In the kitchen at the lake house, Peter sat at the center island, watching Tony thread macaroni onto yarn as Morgan painted the necklace she’d already made. Noodles were scattered everywhere, and when you walked, there was a good chance you’d hear pasta crunching underfoot.

Morgan had paint from her hands to her hair, and Tony wasn’t fairing much better. Morgan had already made them all necklaces and was working on her fifth. The one she’d made Peter was draped around his neck. She'd said the one she made him was extra special because it had wagon wheels laced between the macaroni.

Peter was on the end of the island on a stool, his textbook carefully placed to avoid the smears of paint and glue. Thankfully, after the glitter balloon incident, Pepper banned glitter from the house, so Peter didn’t need to worry about that.

All in all, he should have been happy, but he wasn’t, and he wasn’t sure why that was, either.

Things had been better in the months since Tony had found Peter on the back porch that night, since they’d talked about his self-harming, but that didn’t mean that sometimes, for a reason Peter didn’t understand, he still had bad days—like today.

Everyone in his life was healthy and happy, things were going well at school, but he still couldn’t get the itch to cut out of his mind. Some days were definitely worse than others, and he’d been building toward this bad day all week. The rubber band on his wrist was getting plenty of use.

Tony had told him that he could come to him whenever he needed but seeing Tony smiling as he played with Morgan, he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring the mood down. He didn’t want to be the reason the worry lines in Tony’s face deepened.

It was already hard enough to use the rubber band with Tony nearby. He always got this look—somewhere between sadness and concern. Peter hated causing that look, so he’d done the only thing he could to avoid it. He stopped snapping the band when he was with Tony.

It was easier this way. What Tony didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him, or at least, that’s what Peter told himself.

The cloud over Peter’s head wasn’t lightening up, and he felt overwhelmed like his lungs were filling with water, and he was going under. He fingered the band on his wrist, wanting to snap it, just to feel something, but then Tony laughed, and Morgan giggled, the box of macaroni spilled, and Peter—Peter just couldn’t do it.

He closed his textbook and excused himself from the table, mumbling that he had a headache and needed to lay down. Before he made it out of the kitchen, Tony called after him, telling him dinner was in a few hours and he’d check on him then.

Peter forced a smile, ducking his head and scurrying up the stairs, leaving the sounds of Morgan’s laughter behind him.

When he got to his room, he shut the door, falling against it, still clutching his textbook. He didn’t have a headache like he’d told Tony, but he didn’t know what else to say at the time, though with the tension in his body, a headache was a real possibility soon.

He kicked off the door and walked over to his bed, pausing by the desk to drop his textbook with a thump. He collapsed on the bed, so his legs were still hanging off the side.

With Tony no longer able to witness it, Peter snapped the band on his wrist, but it brought no relief from the deep need to cut. The feeling was so consuming Peter thought he could taste it. The flavor reminded him of ash. He hated that he felt this way, but he didn’t know how to control it.

Tony had paid for therapy, and May made sure he went, but the coping skills only helped so much.

When it was like this, nothing else seemed like it could scratch the itch—not as well as a knife.

His therapist had suggested holding ice cubes when the urge got bad, but that would mean going to the kitchen, and Tony would notice. He would ask. Then worry lines would etch the man’s face, and Peter would feel even worse because he put them there.

Drawing on his arms was a nearly laughable suggestion. His therapist had suggested a red pen for effect. Peter didn’t have a red pen, and it never worked in the past. The only thing he knew that could make him feel better came with a healthy dose of guilt. He knew hurting himself would temporarily make it all melt away.

But the worst part—the part that made Peter feel like a failure—was he didn’t even know what had triggered it. Everything had been going well. Maybe he really did come back from the snap wrong.

Frustrated, angry, Peter sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. The urge to just make a little cut or dig his nails just deep enough to break skin was all-consuming. The band on his wrist felt more like a reminder of his failures than a lifeline—a way to pull himself back.

He wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.

Then it reached a point where it started to hurt in his chest, and he just needed something to focus it all back, to let him breathe, and without conscious thought, he started clawing at his arm. The little stabs of pain felt grounding, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the fix he needed.

The crescent-shaped cuts and scratches oozed blood as Peter got up and went looking for a knife, for something to cut with. He’d given his utility knife to Tony, but he thought they both knew that wouldn’t stop him, not when he felt like this.

A small part of him thought he should call out to Tony, but then he remembered how happy they’d looked, and he didn’t want to spoil that. He’d deal with this on his own.

He slipped out of his room, listening to make sure no one was close, then darted to the bathroom. His chances of finding something to cut with seemed higher in a bathroom.

When he got to the bathroom, he started rifling through the cabinet but not finding much. He came across spare toothbrushes and travel-size shampoos and soaps, but nothing sharp. He looked under the sink, knowing there should be a first aid kit, and where there was a first aid kit, there might be scissors.

He found his prize with a shaky sigh. Setting the scissors on the counter, Peter stuffed the kit back under the sink, pocketed the scissors, and headed back to his room.

When he got to the hall, he heard Tony talking, telling Morgan something about a spaghetti monster. It made guilt twist in his gut, settling there and starting to fester.

He ran back to his room as quickly as he dared, then shut his door, locking it for good measure.

The feeling that washed over him as he took the scissors from his pocket was one part relief, one part anticipation, and the rest self-loathing. He knew he wasn’t just letting himself down. He was letting those who cared about him down, too.

That didn’t stop him from sitting in the desk chair, putting the blade to his arm, and cutting, though.

It happened so easily, and when he did it, he put all those bad feelings into it, turning the negative emotions and guilt into something manageable, something he could do something about. Physical pain made sense. It had a cause, a source, a purpose. And the blood that welled up from the cut made sense, too. It all made sense in a way his emotions didn’t, and he needed it.

The one cut wasn’t enough, though. It had been hesitant and not that deep. The bleeding was already stopping.

Peter felt like the world was muted and focused down to the blade and his arm. He pressed the metal harder against his skin and dragged it until he reached the underside of his arm. It bled much more freely, and Peter felt almost high from it.

Wanting to see more, needing the cause and effect of it, he cut again just below the second, pressing even harder. The skin split neatly under the blade.

He was just about to make another when the door handle jiggled, followed by a knock.

“Pete?” Tony’s voice drifted through the door. “Why’s the door locked?”

Peter’s high came crashing down, and reality wasn’t gentle. It hit suddenly how stupid he’d been. It was like realization hit him all at once. One thing had so easily turned into another. And Peter had taken each step without truly acknowledging the direction he was heading. And the place it brought him wasn’t great. He was locked in his room with a bleeding arm, having used Tony’s scissors, and ignored every chance he’d had to reach out for help. Tony had only been a shout away.

His body felt like it had locked up as the emotions swirled within him. He dropped the scissors on the floor, clattering against the wood, and he looked down at his arm, really seeing the damage for the first time outside of the warped lens of need.

It was bad. It was really bad. He might not need stitches, but it would be close, and the blood was everywhere. There were droplets on his jeans and on the floor, rivulets running down his arm.

He didn’t know what to do or what to say. His voice had been stolen by the grief he was feeling. He wasn’t just mourning himself. He was mourning the loss of trust he knew he’d just caused. He wasn’t ready to face the music.

The door handle jiggled again, and there was another round of knocking, even louder. “Peter, open the door.”

His heart kept hitting his ribs so hard he thought it would bruise.

He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t know how to tell the truth. He hated himself for not just telling Tony how he’d been feeling. With more clarity than before, he realized now that Tony would probably have been proud.

He wouldn’t be proud now.

He would be sad or angry or worse—disappointed.

If Peter were honest, he was pretty disappointed in himself, enough for the both of them, enough for the world. He felt like a failure.

He didn’t want to be a liar, though, but he didn’t know what to do, so he called out to Tony, “Just a minute.”

He grabbed some tissues from his desk and tried to dab some of the blood up, but it just smeared it around, making his arm look like part of a crime scene. He’d really done it this time. Once Tony saw, there would be no going back. He’d see how broken Peter was and not want him anymore. No one wanted to deal with this, no matter how much they said they cared.

Tears started to well in his eyes, frowning so hard his face hurt. He kept a tissue pressed to the deepest cut and stood. He looked to the window, considering escaping the only way he could. He knew it wasn’t an option, though, and would only make things worse.

Accepting his fate, his body and mind feeling weighted, Peter shuffled to the door and unlocked it. He stepped back so it could swing open, closing his eyes and waiting for Tony to realize.

There were footsteps and Tony saying, “You know you’re not supposed to lock the door.”

Then Peter heard it. The air sucking into Tony’s lungs.

Peter’s shoulders fell, and the tears in his eyes broke free, rolling down his cheeks.

“Jesus Christ.” Then a hand grabbed his arm, and Peter opened his eyes, his eyelashes clumped together by tears. The devastation was clear on Tony’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said. The apology wasn’t nearly enough, though. Nothing really would be. There weren’t words for times like these.

Tony’s expression was pinched. He shook his head, letting out a breath, then saying, “I’m not mad.”

And Peter wondered who he was trying to convince.

Peter nodded, his face twisting into some ugly and raw. “I don’t know what happened. I know I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean it. You gotta believe me.”

Tony’s expression softened, and when he swallowed, it looked painful. “We can talk about it later. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Then he was guiding Peter to his bed, sitting him down. He grabbed some extra tissues and pressed them to the wounds.

“Hold those there. Keep pressure. I’ll go get the first aid kit.” Then Tony’s foot hit the scissors, and he looked down, his head shaking a little. He bent down and picked the scissors up. Licking his lips, he said, “Will you be okay for a second?”

Peter wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay again, but he nodded anyway, not trusting his voice.

With a nod, Tony turned and dipped out of the room. Thankfully, or maybe not, he was back before Peter could think too much about what he’d done.

Tony pulled the chair closer and sat, the first aid kit on the desk. He dug out the supplies he needed and lined them up, opening the packets of gauze. Then he lifted Peter’s hand and the tissues from the cuts, assessing the damage. The bleeding had stopped.

No one said anything, and Peter wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

With methodical movements, Tony cleaned the cuts, and a few times, Peter thought Tony had been close to saying something, but each time, he’d just shaken his head and gone back to tending his wounds.

As Tony taped the gauze in place, he finally asked, “Was there something I could have done? Something I didn’t do? I just—” He cut himself off with a sigh, then straightened. “You know you can come to me, right?”

Peter couldn’t meet Tony’s gaze, so he stared at his shoulder. “You seemed so happy today. I didn’t want to spoil it. You and Morgan—” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to ruin the mood. Sometimes it feels like that’s all I do, you know?”

Tony sighed, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “I know you think—let’s just say I’d rather you told me than finding you like this. I know I’m not an expert, but I could’ve helped distract you if I’d known. It might not have been easy, but I want the chance to help you—no matter what mood you think you’re ruining.”

Peter nodded, the tears back in his eyes. He felt all-encompassing guilt for what he’d done. “I don’t know what to do—how to fix this.”

“We take it one step at a time. Relapses happen, and when they do happen, it doesn’t make you a failure.” He squeezed Peter’s knee. “Recovery isn’t linear. It might feel like it’s all over, and you can’t fix it, but it’s really just a little bump in the road, a little hitch in the graph. The line is still moving forward and up.”

He wanted to believe Tony, but it was hard. He didn’t feel like he deserved the kind of understanding Tony gave him. He felt sick for what he’d done, and it would be so much easier if Tony were angry. He could deal with that.

His arms wound themselves around his middle without his consent as he tried to hold himself together. The cuts on his arms barely stung any more, which he was thankful for. The pain wasn’t a good feeling now. It didn’t settle him like it had. Instead, it reminded him how badly he’d screwed up.

“Oh, kiddo,” Tony said as he got up and moved to sit beside Peter. Then his arm wrapped around Peter’s shoulders and tugged him closer.

Peter sank into his side, his breath hitching as he fought a sob.

Tony pressed his lips to Peter’s hair, his breath warm against his scalp. “We’re gonna get through this. Just you watch.”

Then Peter broke, and it was an ugly sound. He choked on the sobs as they erupted from him, tears dripping from his chin, snot clogging his nose. His shoulders shook as he fell apart, or maybe not really, as Tony was doing a pretty good job of holding him together.

And wasn’t that the meat of it.

Because Peter realized amidst the tears that no matter what, Tony and the others in his life, they weren’t giving up on him—no matter how badly he screwed things up.

Tony held him until he could breathe again, then he cleaned himself up and changed out of the bloody jeans, and he and Tony went to finish making dinner. Morgan was at the table with Pepper, both wearing macaroni necklaces and big smiles.

If either of them noticed the bandages, they didn’t say a word, and when Tony patted his shoulder and told him to grab a chair, it felt something like forgiveness or understanding.

Things weren’t always great, and the line of the graph might hitch, but Peter could see that it was still moving up, still moving forward, and he thought that just might mean he’d be okay.

#tw: self harm #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #depression #snark writes #LittleMissAgrafina

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

Text

Shadows and Pills - 2

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

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

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

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

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

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

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it.

A massive thank you to all my friends for support, especially to @glassjacket and @thoughtslikeaminefield . I say it a lot, but you need to know I love you.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

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

In Case You Missed It: Part 1 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills

Morning Routine: Already woken up. Shut off alarm with a shriek of terror by heaving it across the room with enough force that it shatters against the wall. Breathing exercises for thirty minutes to lower accelerated heart rate. Shower until the hot water is long gone and hypothermia is close to setting in, but she still can’t get clean. The thick, mucus-like sensation won’t leave her skin, glue and ashes spread thick over her flesh in a foul assault to her tactile senses that leaves her dizzy and faint if she considers it for too long. Throw out every scrap of food in the apartment; just the sight of it makes her gag and retch. Choke down the meds (the only thing she can stomach, at this point). Throw on clothes she’s mostly sure are on the correct end of her body. Grab her keys, and…

Where…

She always puts her keys in the same spot. Dish on the tiny table by the door. That’s her key dish. She knows she put them there. They are always there. She can remember putting them there; it’s one of the precious few things she knows she can do right these days.

So…

Why aren’t they there?

Thirty minutes turning the entire apartment upside down looking for the keys, ignoring the shadow that follows her from room to room, skittering to a far wall whenever the shadow runs too near, pretending that she is still alone, searching, searching, where the hell are they, I always put them in the dish, I know I dropped them in there, I can hear the clink from when I put them away yesterday where could they possibly have got to it’s not like THEY’D WANDER OFF BY THEMSELVES WHERE ARE MY GODDAMNED KEYS-

A searing, ripping pain tears her from her spiraling thoughts and back to the present where her hands are clenched in her hair, her nails dug into her scalp, and something slick and hot slides between her fingers. She releases her clenched fists, but her fingers come away smeared with blood and clumps of hair, and her shoulders begin to tremble, her mouth quivering and eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“I just...need my keys. I need to breathe. I need my keys. I need-”

<clink>

Her head whips toward the sound, and there they are. In their dish. In the same dish she knows she left them in last night. Where they absolutely were not sitting seconds ago.

“But. I didn’t. They-“

No.

She snatches her keys and flees, followed closely by her personal nightmare.

...

The silence stretches out longer than even Alexa is comfortable with. The constant scratching of the doctor’s pen has quieted, and still Alexa sits, unnerved but unwilling to speak without direction. Answering questions is fine, but if she speaks on her own, she’ll start babbling. And there are a few things she needs to not say.

Like how she’s averaging about an hour of sleep a night, according to her clock. The nightmares start every time she falls asleep. She remembers less and less about any of them, to the point where the only way she knows she was even asleep is the inevitable rip back to consciousness.

And she’s not just missing parts of her dreams. Her days are beginning to blur, individual moments bleeding into others until she’s lost whole chunks of time, hours that are a smear in her memory with no real details. The loss, both of her days and nights, shakes her more than the lack of sleep. What else is she losing, along with her memory?

She can’t tell him why she’s wearing a hat or how she has to set reminders on her phone to stop tearing at her hair, how she has to clean her scalp and hold pressure at least once a day to stop the bleeding and try to repair the damage done by digging nails and ripped follicles.

She can’t tell him about how she can’t look in mirrors anymore. Two days ago, she was brushing her hair out into a ponytail with the intention of wrapping it into a skull-aching bun that might help hold everything inside her head and maybe possibly help her keep her fingers out of her hair, and then suddenly the eyes looking back out at her weren’t her own. Brown bled into ice blue then green in a flash; a wicked, cruel smile curved her lips, and she could feel herself smile, but she wasn’t smiling, and-

So, no, she shouldn’t lead the conversation today. Today Alexa needs a little guidance.

She feels the doctor’s gaze, but there’s less scrutiny than usual. His eyes feel a little more sympathetic than she’s used to, but she still won’t look up. He’s good at getting her to talk, and she needs every ounce of self-control just to keep herself held together and not exploding across his polished, pristine desk.

“Alexa, you don’t look like you’re...How have y-”

She must look pretty wretched if even the doctor is at a loss for words. She wouldn’t know. She has actively avoided all reflective surfaces for two days and has no idea of the state of her appearance. She can’ remember the last time she ate. What’s left of her hair is tucked under a knit cap; she’s cold all the time now, anyway, so the cap is a constant accessory. And it helps keep her hands out of her hair. If her looks are anything as bad as the state of her thoughts-

“I’m sorry it’s so bad for you right now.”

The statement is quiet, sincere, and wholly unexpected. Alexa almost drops her guards, almost meets his eyes. Her hands quake with the effort of maintaining her silence, clutching the edges of her chair with aching, creaking fingers. Her control is as brittle as her nerves; she wants to share, wants to not be alone with the shadow that’s her only company these days, but if the doctor knew…

“Are you sleeping anymore at all?”

She nods once, a sharp, staccato gesture that leaves out more than it says. It’s not a lie. One hour, however broken up in however many fragments, is still one hour, and sleep is still sleep.

“Are you following your medication schedule?”

Another single dip of her chin. She gives herself a little credit for not leaving anything out of this answer. She’s even remembering to follow the dosage increases. Maybe even a couple of increases of her own. Anything to numb, to shut out, to keep...it...away.

“Alexa, are you still with me?”

God, she wishes...everything feels muffled and thick, like her existence is coated in petroleum jelly. She's just so tired, and everything is so heavy and...and difficult…

“I can’t help you if you won’t communicate with me. Help me help you. Anything. Just the basic facts.”

Where to even start? Maybe getting locked up would be worth it if he really can help, can really make this...stop…

“I can ease your pain and get you on your feet again.”

She’s pretty sure nothing can help at this point, so really there’s no need to keep anything back. Being hospitalized can’t be any worse than living like this…

“Relax. Can you show Me where it hurts?”

No.

...no...not here, not…

“Your lips are moving, but I can’t hear what you’re saying. Is there something you wish to confess? The good doctor can’t reach you now, but I am ready to receive your prayers. Speak, Alexa. Tell Me everything.”

Get out, get OUT, I have to go, I can’t, you can’t this isn’t - GET OUT!

“ALEXA! Wake up! You’re safe! Come back!”

Fingers, firm in their grip, but warm and clean and so very present, clench around her hand, pulling her out of her mind and back to the office. The rushing noise in her ears fades until she realizes it is the heaving of her own panicked breaths. She clenches her fingers, catching the doctor’s hand before he can pull away.

She hasn’t touched another person since she left the hospital.

“Please...I just need...a minute.”

He sits in the chair closest to her, holding her hand resolutely, despite any personal protocols to the contrary that he has demonstrated in previous sessions.

“As long as you need.” There is no eagerness, no exasperation, only concern and calm, and it soothes her raw nerves in a way nothing else has. She focuses on the warmth, the sheer thereness of his grip, and breathes, squinting her eyes against the afternoon sun filtering through the blinds.

Too bright, too warm, too…

The fingers in her palm chill suddenly, their embrace tightening painfully. Her hand feels slick, not with sweat, and her teeth begin to chatter. Her eyes squeeze shut as her stomach shatters, and a pitiful mewling escapes her lungs.

“Take all the time you need. I possess the patience of millenia.”

Breathe. Breathe slowly, you’re asleep. You’re exhausted, you just fell asleep. Wake yourself up. You can do this. Just...just breathe and wake up.

And then her hand is free of all contact, and the air in her lungs comes easily. The warmth of the filtered sun returns to her frozen limbs, not overly bright in the least.

“I think our session was particularly productive today.”

The therapist's voice comes from farther away, and she opens her eyes to find him back at his desk, pen in hand, legal pad full of fresh notes. She blinks, swallows, and sits up a little straighter.

“You seem to be making excellent progress with your strategies. Go ahead and up your dosage to the next step. Remember, I’ll be out of town on Thursday and Monday, so I’ll see you again in ten days. You have the emergency number if anything goes wrong?”

She nods numbly, unable to process anything beyond the basic requirements of behavior needed at the moment. He eyes her, his forehead wrinkling in sudden concern.

“Don’t hesitate to call that number at any hour,” he finally says, his fingers steepled to show just how serious, how sincere, he is. “Anything at all, whatever you need to talk about, call that number. The nurse will transfer you immediately if it’s an emergency. Will you call if you need to?”

She nods, a little more vaguely than she intends but her throat is paralyzed, her tongue nerveless and useless. He accepts the gesture at face value, though, and dismisses her with wishes for “continued progress and a good weekend.”

…

Afternoon routine: Stay out as late as possible, put off the inevitable. Stay out all goddamned night if she has to. There’s no point in voluntarily returning home; she knows this with a sense of dread as acute and sharp as the pain in her scalp. So she shuffles on, unseeing and unseen in the city that never sleeps, one of a numberless mass who denies reality for the sanity that fantasy provides, pretending that she isn’t being stalked, that she isn’t haunted by a continuous loop of ghosts and flashbacks of the dead from that day reminding her over and over that she survived while they didn’t, that she must remember them, that she isn't losing her mind, that the shadow isn’t constantly whispering to her, commanding her over and over and over to simply let go.

She pretends that she isn’t blacking out and waking to find herself in bed, night after night, in the midst of torment and debasement that her ragged mind can neither handle nor shut out. The shadow rips at her in a thousand ways, and she feels all of them, every shred of her consciousness pulled apart and examined and manipulated until she can’t remember who she was before this fundamental desecration.

Release yourself. I can break you completely, help you forget the pain and the misery. Let Me shatter you, remake you in My Glory. Only then can you truly be free from pain.

She fights. It’s all she has left, this battle of wills, and she clings to the tattered bits of her remaining self with a tenacity that impresses even the shadow.

How you shine, even in My darkness. Let me turn your burn to an icy one, let Me freeze your pain, let go and drift in My adoration. I shall raise you up; only grant Me entrance, give Me leave, and I will bless you, bring meaning and solace to your piteous existence.

God help her, she’s starting to slip. She just wants everything to end. No one will miss her, no one is depending on her. The only noise her phone has made in weeks are the reminders that she has set. She hasn’t sent in an assignment for nearly a month, and no one has so much as emailed. What is she holding on for, anyway?

You have fought so long and so hard. I can reward your valor, provide you a balm for your suffering. I will keep you safe from pain, from truth, from choice, from other poison devils. I can take the very memories from you, just as I did before, save you from yourself.

What?

And then her mind is flooded with a scene, a memory of the attack, but she sees it from outside herself, as if watching a film with herself as protagonist. She flees as debris falls all around, narrowly missing pipes, concrete, and office furniture as it rains down mindlessly, destroying life after life. By the time she reaches the ground floor of the stairwell, everyone is packed tight and covered with blood, dust, unspeakable filth, and the wretched crowd bursts into the lobby in a blind panic. They reach the street in the same state and turn as one to flee in the direction of least resistance.

Alone in the crowd, Alexa is jerked to a halt, nearly losing her feet as bodies plow around and nearly through her, but she is frozen as if glued to the pavement. There is no safety anywhere. A battle rages around them, monsters everywhere, incomprehensible and terrible, and then the glass lobby doors behind them explode, and Alexa knows the brief but exhilarating sensation of flight.

And then she crashes, and she knows the timeless and terrible sensation of fire. And pain. And crushing weight.

Watching the scene passively, she remembers everything, she feels everything even as her other self does, but now she is also an outside witness to the anguish. She knows the lines of suffering etched on her face and knows that she wears them even now. She feels the words echoing through her mind from that day, a thought, a plea, a silent prayer to someone, anyone who can help, can end her suffering.

How long...minutes...hours...years...just help, please…please, I don't care how anymore, just...end it.

And then a figure drops from the heavens, it seems, falling from one of the monsters’ flying vehicles, and it crosses the street and sidewalk as if drawn straight to her by the waning strength of her silent screams.

An impossibly cold hand grasps hers, pulling her up from the rubble, sliding her from underneath the bits of building as if they aren't present and pressing the life from her, bringing her face to face with darkness. The sun dissolves, shadows descend, and she decides that, as deaths go, hers could be worse.

She is lifted as if she weighs nothing, the fingers pressing into her face. A bitter, gelid frost flows through her veins, and the pain is mercifully dulled, lessened to a mere phantom, and then the god (for surely her savior can be no less to have such power at hand) pulls her into an icy, terrible embrace.

I find Myself in need of a conduit. Grant Me some small space of sanctuary, and in return I shall heal your broken body. Allow Me entrance, now, woman, before you depart this plane entirely. I am your God, your only chance of salvation. Do you accept Me?

His voice is black velvet, midnight shadows slipping across the moon, and she can’t find the will to say no. Giving in is so much easier, hurts so much less, and she feels as if she’s been hurting forever, spent her whole life being crushed to death.

“Yes.”

His lips press to her, but there is nothing tender in the kiss. Ice, death, absence rushes into her, infecting a small fraction of every cell, sinking deep into her psyche before erasing all remembrance of its presence.

Alexa thrashes under the weight of the memories, the weight of the phantom debris crushing her down, only to find the man, the god himself lies atop her, pinning her emaciated form to her ruined sheets. His pale skin glows in the night, his ebony hair falling around their faces in an blasphemous mimicry of a halo. His painful beauty rips one last thing loose within her, and she remembers.

I would that you should allow Me leave to heal you once more, to form you into a proper vessel. I shall alleviate your anguish, and you may sink into My worship with euphoric, blissful abandon.

She is tempted, more so than any other time in her existence. She thought her imprisonment under the shattered building was horrible, but now she knows true torment. And yet, she resists.

Why do you continue to battle? You cannot prevail, and submission will bring you such pleasure as you have never known. Am I not your own personal God to worship? Do you not wish to drown in My blessing, to submerge yourself in My oblivion?

But he is the author of her suffering, as well, this would-be god who attacked her city, killed thousands of people for his ambitions and family squabbles. Who is she to tarnish the world’s grief for her own personal relief?

But he knows what is in her heart and her thoughts; it was there he planted the seed that has grown to strangle her sanity and reality, and he sends pressure through the roots of this vine to dig into her very soul. She shivers beneath him with wordless agony.

His face presses against hers, tongue snaking out to trace a tear track up her cheek, back to its source. Frozen lips ghost over her clenched eyelids, and she swallows the miserable moan that rolls up from her stomach.

I saved you once when I could so easily have allowed you to continue your half-life under the rubble until your flame sputtered and died, as it was meant to. And I shall show Myself once more a merciful, benevolent God. For you, My pet, a gift.

And suddenly there is a space in Alexa’s mind, a blank where something, someone, important once lived, someone vital stripped away. She gets a last glimpse of a smiling woman, proudly showing off a photo of a swaddled infant, of a filing cabinet collapsing, of a curling hand, before Brenda is ripped from her mind like so many strands of hair from her scalp. The pain of Brenda’s death, the horror of her last moments, yes, but also every bit of the love between them.

And then the name is gone, too.

Have I pleased you? Do you see now what relief can be had with submission?

“That...wasn’t...she wasn't yours to take-” But even the memory of the violation is fading, leaving only breathless, panicked horror and dull, aching want in its wake.

The shadowed god frowns, displeasure pressed into every line of his face, and his fingers tighten until the bones in Alexa’s wrists shriek in protest.

Must I nail Myself to a cross or rip out My eye to be worthy of your reverence? I grant you one more gift, then, of choice. One day to consider. Embrace My oblivion freely, willingly, joyously, as you know you should, and feel My pleasure. Or suffer in your belief that this pale, pointless realm offers you anything like what I can give. This shall be My last offering. Submission is sweetest when freely given, but so, too, can I revel in seizing what you so stubbornly withhold.

His lips seal over hers, stealing air and screams alike, and she feels him everywhere at once, emphasizing his threat, his promise. Her traitorous flesh, craving any tourniquet to stem the endless flow of pain, cleaves to his frozen form, curving against his body in a mockery of love making that leaves her stomach heaving.

And then he is gone. His presence, his pressure, his shadow, even his laugh lingers, but his form vanishes with her next thought. She falls from the bed, a perspiring, retching, wailing mess. There is nothing left within her to eject, but her digestive tract makes a resounding effort.

It’s hours until the sun comes up, and she counts every second from where she shivers, wedged tight between the bed and the nightstand. ...

3 (end)

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rainydayhogwartsimagines · 4 years

Note

I think i have another request. Well i do i mean lol. It may be a little dark but the idea just came to me... y/n spending Christmas break with the Weasleys (because she is best friends with Ron or the twins?) at burrow because her family are not that pleasant to be around and treat her poorly.. y/n is self harming and no one knows til one day fred (her crush )finds out somehow some way and consoles her and they end up confessing their true feelings for each other?

I just want to say: if anyone needs to talk to someone I'm here. But if you want some sort of therapy or anything there is a app where you can talk it out called 7cupsoftea.

Suicide hotline:800-273-8255

text hotline: 741741

Love you all. You are loved, please know that.

Trigger warning: self harm, abuse

You spent a lot of time in the background. No one seemed to take notice of you, no one seemed to really notice if you were sick or not. Well. Except for Ginny. Ginny saw you. She actually noticed you and asked Fred and George, who were in your year to keep an eye out. She noticed you, talking to you from time to time and noticing you needed more friends. So who better than to go to than the boys who literally knows everyone including the portraits on the walls.

You seemed jumpy, always nearly dropping things when they appeared. But you appreciated the boys, checking on you and talking to you. George had a surprising lack of classes with you though compared to Fred. After a few... Pranks/possible murder plots? The teachers put Fred and George in only two classes together. So Fred had his with you, always sitting next to you and making sure you were good. He didn't really catch on to anything wrong. He just noticed the long sleeves and figured "so she's cold all the time". Ginny and Luna knew this wasn't the case though. They knew you, truly so. You hid the marks from your brothers and the self inflicted scars. You bared so much and they hated to see you tear yourself apart.

Ginny would always change the subject when your family came up in the great hall, Fred and George always being confused to why that happened. Fred was closer with you than George and knew something was up but didn't understand the extent of it. George could see his brother begin to slowly fall for you, him whispering funny little jokes to you making you smile or laugh. However the thing that everyone seemed to notice was the lack of light in your eyes when you showed positive emotion. You would smile, sure. But your eyes seemed dull and tired.

Fred would sometimes skip class with you, sitting under a tree and talk to you about life in general with his head in your lap. Today was one of those days, it being particularly colder but Fred was warm so you didn't mind. "Hey Y/n... What do you think about spending Christmas with us this year?" He asked. You blinked a couple of times. "Are you sure you have the room? I mean... Your family is massive Freddie." You asked. "We always have room. Plus don't you wanna spend the holidays with your fwiends?" He asked, playfully poking your cheek. You chuckled. "Okay... I'll let my parents know."

You felt a slight relief being able to leave hogwarts and it not being associated with going to your parents house. Molly greeted you with a hug and you seemed shocked to receive affection like that right off the bat. Fred noticed though, when Molly's hands slid from your shoulders to your hands you seemed to flinch ever so slightly at the touch. No one else seemed to notice so Fred kept it to himself. Ginny kept close to you, showing you things all throughout the house. Fred however soon whisked you off with George to go off and see the cooler things. The fields, the places they had to just sit and talk or the test area for a few of their pranking devices.

At night it seemed peaceful. But you had these terrible nightmares where you woke up sobbing and Ginny was always there, comforting you when you did. However tonight was just a silent wake up. Still, you didn't want to sleep in case you woke up again but louder. Ginny was still awake and she looked over. "You okay?" She asked. "Do you mind if I step out for a bit? Just need some fresh air." You asked. "Go ahead." She nodded. So you walked out, letting the cold air hit your face as you sat on the back steps of the house. You pulled back your sleeves and saw the scars, closing your eyes.

Six months clean... Yet the reminders were still there. You pulled them back down and sighed before you noticed someone sit down next to you. "Whatcha thinkin' about?" Fred asked, handing you a mug of hot cocoa. "....Do you ever just want to scream for hours to get out your emotions and be free of the weight on your chest?" You asked before taking a long sip of the cocoa. "...Not really. But we can literally just scream in a field out here if you really want?" Fred suggested.

That's exactly what you did, making sure that no one could hear you before you kicked a fence post and Fred rose a brow. "Any particular reason why you're upset?" He asked. You kept kicking it, harder and harder as you went. "Does trauma count as a reliable fucking answer?" You grunted before really kicking it hard. You were panting by the time you were done. "Y/n... Princess, what's up?" He asked. You shook your head. "I want to be happy, I should be happy. I am surrounded by people who care but I can't stop thinking about my God damn--" you kicked the post again. "Family!" You yelled. The pained expression on your face made Fred concerned. "Do you want to go home--" "That place will never be home." You said, catching your breath again. "Y/n... What's going on, what do you need?" He asked. You shook your head, your hair hiding your face so Fred couldn't see the tears, the angry tears falling. You kicked the post again, Fred finally pulling you back by your wrist making you yelp. He frowned and you looked into his eyes with this upset look. "Help me." You whimpered. He said nothing, letting go of your wrist and pulling you into a tight hug.

You told him everything. The abuse, the nightmares the inability to sleep, the crying, all of it. But you also told him you stopped hurting yourself because of Ginny and him. You stopped because you didn't want your friends to lose you in their lives because you grew attached and you didn't want to be a cause of sadness. Fred brought you back to the living room, both of you sitting on the couch and talking all night.

When Molly found you, you were asleep on Fred who was holding you close. She didn't wake you until much later but Fred was determined to have you stay at the burrow rather than go home. Christmas rolled around and Fred got you this necklace. It had a Demiguise engraved on it after he remembered you saying it was your favorite magical creature. You loved it and for the first time your friends saw you genuinely smile. Like your eyes lit up and everything. You got Fred a new broom, him smiling like crazy telling you that one day he was teaching you how to fly with him.

Ginny noticed the nightmares take a slow down. But when they did happen you asked for Fred and sure enough, he'd come in and lay with you. You two were closer, that was becoming very clear. Nights would come where you couldn't sleep, Ginny would tell him and you two would just play a card game and talk. He listened to you, giving you genuine advice before cracking a joke and making you genuinely laugh.

When you went back to school you were more talkative, you actually participated in events, Fred was proud of seeing you slowly come out of your shell. A day of skipping did come along, you sitting underneath the tree and playing with Fred's hair. "So... How are you... With everything?" He asked. "Almost a year clean." You said with a smile. He smiled, looking up at you from your lap and put a hand on your cheek. "I'm proud of you Y/n... Truly." He said. You looked down at him and smiled noticing a strange tension looking at him. "...Y/n..." He breathed looking at you. You swallowed and looked up, a blush slowly forming. Fred leaned up and cleared his throat. "Sooo. What's our next class?" Fred asked. "This was our last class of the day." You said with a chuckle. "Ohhh.. I really gotta start paying attention." He said making you laugh. "Dinner is going to start in a few minutes, want to go?" Fred asked you. "Mmm.. I don't think so. I wanna see the sunset on the lake." You said. Fred sat cross-legged in front of you. "Then I will too." He said. "Wha-- Fred what about--" "I want to stay here." He said simply.

You pulled a deck of cards out of your binder and he chuckled. "Go fish or Rummy?" You asked. "Hmmm. Let's go simple today and say go fish." He said. You two played two rounds before you looked over at the sunset. "That's so pretty." You said with a smile. Fred smiled looking at you. "It really is." He said as the pink skies seemed to bring out your eyes. You looked over and Fred swallowed. You loved this boy... Didn't you?

He felt himself lean forward and you soon felt his lips on yours before you cradled his cheek, pulling away for air and resting your forehead on his. "I-I'm sorry I just reacted and--" "Fred... Please tell me you're going to do that again." You whispered. He chuckled and held your hand that was still on his cheek. "Only if you want me to." He said softly. You nodded with a smile and he kissed you again, feeling his arms slowly slink around you, pulling you almost into his lap.

"Promise you'll never leave me?" You asked. "Never would dream of it Princess."

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley

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