#i wrote this after an hour and a half long session with my therapist talking about how my father doesn’t love me lmao | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sarahjswift · 1 year

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Twin Wounds Chapter 4

Here is another chapterrr :3 I made it extra long because you all have been so nice and supportive! (I went to a coffee shop and wrote this chapter eating a grilled cheese sandwich like a real writer!!)

Tag List: WE HAVE AN AMAZING NEW MEMBER. THIS PERSON COMMENTS THE SWEETEST THINGS ON MY POSTS AND I LOVE READING THEM!! PLEASE WELCOME...@aelinchocolatelover!! As always, also huge thanks to @backtobl4ck :)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Language, Light Smut :3

Enjoy!! :)

People can be homes. Sure, Aelin scoffed. Apparently, her therapy group was a bunch of cringey idiots. And her fucking hot therapist was the most infuriating person she had ever met. Her palms hurt from her nails digging into them all the while he had looked at her. She couldn’t handle his beautiful eyes looking at her knowingly. As if he knew what she was going through.

After another miserable half hour of therapy, the group was herded to an outside area. People were gathered around talking like it was high school recess. The area was a large grassy field, some proud oak trees scattered around. Another nurse, Beluar, smiled at their group and motioned for them to mingle.

Lysandra immediately sat down on a bench beneath a tree, Lucas following suit. “That was a stupid session,” she said, her eyes closed.

“I..I don’t know, I liked it,” Elide said softly, flushing when Tiela nodded at her. “What about you, Aelin?”

Aelin looked Elide up and down. She thought the female was sweet, was probably a great person, and had been through some traumatic things. But Aelin didn’t have the energy to dredge up small talk and form friendships. She shrugged, staring at the ground.

“It’s rude not to answer somebody,” a cold voice said, and Aelin’s eyes snapped up to Tiela, who was looking at her with an disgusted expression.

Aelin bristled. “Are you my mother?”

“No, thank God,” Tiela smirked. “I’m sure you were a nightmare. Even worse than you are now.”

Aelin grinded her teeth. Tiela must have still been salty from therapy. “I’m not going to waste my time listening to this shit,” she growled, standing up and storming away. She felt her anger cloud around her head, blocking out other senses, before she slammed into something hard. She cursed and looked up, ready to fight, before she was faced with an eyeful of her therapist.

He was even hotter up close, so close that she could see his eyelashes - so close she could smell him. He smelled like pine and snow, a scent so nice she almost closed her eyes and leaned in - before realizing what was going on. She lurched back, muttering an apology - but in her haste, she tripped and almost fell over.

Rowan reached out and steadied her, his hand warm and strong on her arm. It sent electricity through her body, and she looked up at him, breathless. “Are you all right, Aelin?” he asked, his beautiful face twisted into concern.

“I’m. Fine.” she gritted out. Realization seemed to cross Rowan’s face and he immediately let go of her arm. Aelin felt cold where his hand used to be and crossed her arms.

“I’m…I’m sorry that this isn’t an ideal place to be,” Rowan said to her softly. Aelin raised her eyebrows at the sudden change of tone in the conversation, and her therapist scratched the back of his head. “I know you’d rather be at your home, maybe with your cousin-” Aelin’s expression at that must have been alarmed, because Rowan stammered; “I-I know him from your file.”

Aelin cocked her head. “My…file?” Rowan nodded, and a horrible thought crept into her mind. “What….what is in my file?” she breathed.

Rowan rubbed his neck and looked at the ground. “Oh, you know, the usual. Er, a photo of you, a little from your cousin, and….ehm, things of that sort.” From that terrible performance, Aelin had a pretty good idea what else was in her file - but she didn’t, couldn’t, handle that shame.

“Alright,” she said, forcing herself to believe him. She didn’t let herself consider the alternative - that the staff at this place knew about Him. She felt sadness replace the anger in her stomach, and she hugged herself. Find the knife, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered. Aelin shoved it aside.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to your group,” Rowan continued, bringing Aelin back to reality with a start. He squinted into the distance where her group was still sitting and began walking to them. Aelin followed behind, cursing mentally that she had to go back to those judgy people. As she neared the group, Lysandra looked her up and down and subtly moved to the side of the bench - making a place for Aelin. Aelin mentally debated before sitting down next to the woman.

“Hello, everyone - long time no see?” Rowan chuckled to himself. The rest of the group stared at him in dead silence, and he hastily continued. “I wanted to talk to all of you. I forgot to mention something at group therapy today. At the Whitethorn Rehab Center, patients are allowed one phone call a day to a person of your choice, whether it be a family member, a friend, or a loved one. We have an hour a day designated for this purpose -- 10-11pm – but if you’d like to make a call at a specific time, just tell a staff member and they can help. If your person of choice doesn’t pick up the call, you will be allowed one other time during the day.”

The group perked up at that, and even Aelin felt a bit lighter. At least she could still talk to Aedion. Maybe she could convince him to get her out of this place.

“Are you alright, Lysandra?” Elide asked softly. Aelin turned, and to her surprise, the female beside her was watery-eyed.

“I’m fine,” she said thickly. “Just..I’m excited to have a call.”

“Who will you call?” Rowan asked in that gentle, understanding voice he used with them, the voice that made Aelin feel safer than she had in a while.

“My niece.” Lysandra blinked a couple times, clearing her tears away, and set her shoulders. “I’m practically her mother. She’s staying with her grandmother right now, but…she doesn’t like it very much. She’ll be very happy when she learns I can call.”

The group nodded. “Actually, it’s time for calls,” Rowan said. “Shall we make our way?”

Twenty minutes later, Aelin was dialing Aedion on one of those old phones you always saw at a police station. She leaned against the brick wall, listening to the phone ring, before lurching up straight as she heard the click of a call.

“Hello?” Aedion’s voice crackled through the line, and Aelin let out a breath. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her cousin.

“Hey, Aedion. It’s Aelin.”

“Aelin? Are you okay? Do you need help?” Aedion asked frantically.

“No, I’m fine. We get a call every day at this place.” Aedion let out an appreciative hum, but Aelin pressed on. “But actually, yeah, I would like some help. I want you to come pick me up.”

Rowan sat in his office, trying to calm the heat in his blood. One fucking look, one fucking touch and he was no more than the horny teenager he had once been. It was disgusting, him thirsting after his patient who was three years younger than him.

And yet - and yet Rowan could have sworn that heat had flashed in Aelin’s eyes as she looked at him through her lashes.

Move past it, man, Rowan chided himself. He checked his watch - 12. Time for lunch. He pulled out his Tupperware and began to eat his sandwich, pulling out his phone. He’d texted Remelle earlier to say he’d gotten her number, and she had texted him back.

Remelle: Hello muscles

Me: Hey

Remelle: Oooo hello good sir

Remelle: What you doing?

Me: I’m on my lunch break

Remelle: what do you even do?

Me: therapist

Remelle: ….

Remelle: mm k

Me: what

Remelle: nothin, that’s a notable career

Remelle: good for you

Me: ..thanks

Rowan frowned at his phone screen. He couldn’t help feeling a little hurt at Remelle’s obvious distaste for his profession.

Remelle: ANYWAY

Remelle: I was wondering if you r free tonight

Me: I am

Remelle: 😈

Remelle: My shift ends at 11

Remelle: meet me there?

Me: sure.

Me: do you want to go to a place or….

Remelle: nah car hookups are hot

Me: ok heh

Me: see you then i guess

Remelle: 😘

Rowan closed his phone and sat back in his chair, taking the last bite of his sandwich. However awkward their conversation was, he was looking forward to seeing Remelle again. He needed to get Aelin out of his head and focus on his career, dammit.

Though, that might be harder than he thought, given that Rowan had already scheduled a one on one therapy session with Aelin for Monday. Dammit, Rowan cursed himself. Well, that’s a problem for Monday Rowan. Not Friday Rowan.

____

“Did you have a nice talk with your niece?”

Lysandra looked up, surprised, but Aelin was even more startled with the question that had slipped out of her mouth. Lysandra gave her a tentative smile. “She’s well, happy to hear from me. Luckily her grandmother isn’t being too terrible. Yet.”

Aelin nodded. “Good.”

They were sitting in the cafeteria eating lunch, all of them quiet after their phone calls. No matter how much Aelin begged, Aedion had insisted she stay at the center.

“Please, Aelin. They are here to help, I promise. You just have to let them in,” Aedion had pleaded.

“I fucking hate this, Aedion!” she’d hissed into the phone, not wanting to be overheard. “Please, if you still love me, come pick me up. This is not helping.”

Her cousin had been silent for a few long moments, quiet enough she’d thought the line had dropped, before saying; “Just give it two weeks. If you feel the same then, I’ll pick you up.”

“Fine.”

“I’m sorry, Aelin. I just want to help.”

Aelin had let out a breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I know. It’s okay, Aedion. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Aelin snapped back to reality to find her group staring at her expectantly. “Er, what was that?” she asked awkwardly, shoving a potato chip into her mouth. She had finally given into her hunger and had grabbed a bag of chips.

“I just asked who you called,” Elide smiled at her.

“Oh, uhm…,” Aelin debated for half a second whether to actually tell them, but she didn’t have the energy to make up a lie. “My cousin, Aedion.”

“Is he the one who checked you in?” Lysandra asked. The woman again had sat next to her at lunch and was now eating a bowl of soup. The steam flowed up and around Lysandra’s face - with that and her near-glowing emerald eyes, she created an eerie appearance.

Aelin dipped her head. “Yes.”

“My mother checked me in,” Elide said quietly. All eyes went to her and she took a small bite of bread. She chewed for a while, her face contemplative, before continuing. “She checked me in because of my bulimia. I had relapsed since joining a….a not so nice group of girls. She was distraught. I’d been bulimic since I can remember, but it stopped for a while, and then…high school.”

The group was quiet for a while. “I’m sorry,” Lysandra said softly. She reached out and covered Elide’s hand with her own. Lucas gave Elide a side hug, and Tiela and Selmer murmured their apologies. Aelin looked into the female’s dark, depthless eyes and gave her a nod. A nod of respect and sorrow for her, something she hoped to convey in the action. From the small light in Elide’s eyes, Aelin knew she understood.

___

“Have a good weekend, Sellene,” Rowan called over his shoulder as he left the building into the pitch black night. Sellene echoed the sentiment and Rowan walked across the parking lot to his car.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, Rowan sat in the dark, the only light being his phone screen. It was 9pm and he still had two hours before he was going to see Remelle. Two hours, with nothing to do. He sighed and pulled out of the parking lot, driving to the gym.

When he entered the locker room, he was immediately met by Lorcan, Rowan’s closest friend and gym buddy. The rough-looking man with dark wavy hair that brushed his shoulders and intense black eyes clapped Rowan on the shoulder. “Rowan. Dude. Why the hell did you ditch me last night?”

“I met a girl,” Rowan brushed him off, opening his locker. He pulled his shirt off and began changing.

“Oooo, a girl,” Lorcan cooed sarcastically. He rolled his eyes. “You could’ve texted, man.”

“I did!” Rowan protested, tying his shoelaces.

Lorcan frowned. “Uh, no you didn’t.”

Before Rowan could say anymore, another man entered the locker room - Fenrys. He was also Rowan’s friend, but they weren’t as close. Fenrys was a beautiful man with year-round tan skin and golden hair. He gave Lorcan and Rowan a wolfish grin as he passed.

“My dudes,” he crowed. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“It’s been two weeks, Fenrys,” Lorcan sighed, dropping his previous argument. He tied up his hair into a ponytail and left the locker room. Fenrys frowned at his back, and turned to Rowan with raised eyebrows.

“I have no idea what’s up with him.” Rowan finished changing and watched Fenrys unwind from the gym. “I’m just here for a quick workout before…er, before something else.”

“Oh ho,” Fenrys said, his eyes wide. “I know that look! Are you seeing a girl, darling Rowan?”

Rowan forced his face to stay straight. Fenrys’s grin stretched wider, seeing through him. “Nice, my guy. Good for you.”

___

After a nice core workout, Rowan was sweaty and gross as he drove to Remelle’s bar. Great, now she’ll think I’m nasty, he groaned inwardly as he gave himself a much-needed self-sniff. He applied some emergency deodorant, but it didn’t really help.

At 11:15, Remelle emerged from the building, its pounding music heard from outside. She scanned the parking lot before grinning as she spotted Rowan. She nearly skipped over to his car, hopping into the backseat where Rowan waited.

“Hey,” Rowan said, smiling awkwardly. “How was work?”

“I don’t really want to talk, you idiot,” Remelle laughed, leaning in to kiss him. Her mouth was sticky and she smelled like alcohol again. He wrapped his arms around her back, leaning into the kiss. Remelle stroked her hands down his arms, pulling away to say against his lips; “Holy shit you are jacked!”

“Just got back from the gym,” Rowan grunted, pulling back to look at her. She wore her uniform, but her top three buttons were undone.

Remelle wrinkled her nose. “That explains why you smell like a dead mouse.” Rowan winced and opened his mouth to apologize before she covered it with her own. Remelle pushed him back onto the seat, laying him down, and giggled as she leaned over him. Rowan stared up at her, her smudged mascara and flushed face.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, and meant it. This was perfect - Remelle was an attractive, nice female - maybe they could date. When he was with her, he totally didn’t think about a certain patient. Not at all.

Remelle rolled her eyes. “I don’t need the compliments, I know already.” She leaned in and pressed rough kisses against Rowan’s neck. He felt his neck becoming sticky, and he sat up on his elbows.

“Er, would you mind wiping your mouth?” he asked awkwardly. Remelle didn’t look up at him, kissing across his collarbone. “Um, it’s just, your lipgloss or whatever. It’s sticky.”

“Oh my fucking god, fine,” Remelle groaned, sitting up. She grabbed Rowan’s gross gym shirt and wiped her mouth with it. Rowan felt a pit in the bottom of his stomach form as he watched her.

“Sorry.” Great - now he was uncomfortable and Remelle seemed annoyed. The woman shot him a glare and then let out a breath, unbuttoning her top to reveal her generous bosom.

She advanced toward him then, lips stretching to a wicked grin. “It’s okay. You’re lucky you’re hot.”

#throne of glass #fanfic #sarah j maas #rowaelin

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dalishious · 1 year

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How did you get a diagnosis of gender dysphoria while being nonbinary? You're in a different country than me so the process will likely be slightly different for me but I'd be interested to know nonetheless. Did you have to pay for it or did Canadian healthcare cover it?

So there's two ways to go about it in Nova Scotia:

You can go through the public Mental Health and Addictions Service by calling and saying you're looking for a WPATH assessment. They do a basic screening and then put you on a waitlist to be seen by someone who is WPATH trained. This is 100% covered by the health care system; you do not have to pay anything, but you do have to wait up to a year to be seen, I've been told.

You can find a private therapist who is WPATH trained and seek them out yourself, independent of the provincial MHA Service. I just googled "WPATH *insert area here*" until I found someone relatively close to where I live. This you will have to pay for yourself, unless you have insurance through your job that covers it. Fortunately I work for NS Health and X amount of therapy sessions in a year are 100% covered, so I didn't have to pay anything, but that's not the case for everyone, I know. Without the insurance I would've had to pay about $300 total. The reason I went this route is because I had the ability to do so, and didn't want to be on a year long waitlist.

The actual assessment itself took about an hour and a half in total with the lady I saw, broken up over two sessions. She was very friendly and easy to talk to. The way she conducted it is she asked me questions as prompts to discuss how my body got in the way of me enjoying life. Because I was specifically seeking top surgery, the questions were geared towards my chest, which was sometimes uncomfortable to talk about, but like I said, she was very understanding and supportive, which made it easier. After the assessment was complete, she wrote up a report addressed to MSI (that's Nova Scotia's public health care) detailing all the things I felt and concluding these are symptoms of gender dysphoria, with optimal treatment being a double-incision mastectomy. Had I been seeking hormone therapy, she would have included that as well, but I chose to abstain from that. About a month after I mailed that report and a form filled out by my Nurse Practitioner to MSI, I received a letter back from them confirming that they would cover my surgery in Montréal (where gender affirming surgeries are performed in Eastern Canada).

If you want to hear more, I don't mind sharing, so feel free to hit me up on my main blog @kispesan

#not da #ask

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yourmidnightlover · 3 years

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rock

Summary - spencer wants to figure out what's wrong with you, only to be reminded what day it is and he remembers why you've been so distant.

TW: talk abt: rape, recovery, therapy, case stuff; mention of: drug addiction, rape, miscarriage, being shot, death lol

WC - 4,283

!DISCLAIMER! - i am in no way trying to romanticize recovery from a traumatic event or being upset/depressed/anxious. this is kinda my way of getting through my own issues, so please don't think that's what i'm trying to do in any way. i also don’t know how i feel abt this ending since i wrote it so long ago but oh well!

i just realized there are a few spoilers so i'll put *asterisks* around them. those parts are just explaining how the reader's always there for the team.

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

you had always been the rock in spencer's life.

mentally, at least.

when he had nobody there for him when he was going through his addiction with dilaudid, there you were. you helped him through it when everybody else on the team acted as if they never noticed.

you were the one that encouraged him to get help, and pushed him to follow through. you made sure he ate and talked to someone when he had his urges again, even if it wasn't you.

you let him come over and cry about what had happened, and how unfair his life was. you consoled him and would tell him how nothing was his fault. how he didn't deserve anything bad in his life.

*and when emily 'died', he went to your house every day. you held him as he felt himself falling apart from losing her. you didn't even worry about yourself needing to be consoled, because spencer needed you to be there for him.

*when she came back you were the one to convince him to forgive her. you talked sense into him. you reminded him how much he pleaded to have her back, and then he did. so he managed to forgive her... because of you and your logic.

*and you weren't just there for spencer. while, yes, you made a special effort to be there for him, you were there for everyone on the team.

*when derek was arrested back in chicago and the team found out about his past, you were the one he leaned on for comfort. you and penelope. you let him cry on your shoulder and yell at you about how twisted a man would have to be to do something so cruel to a child.

*when jj was kidnapped and beaten to a miscarriage, you were the first she told. you didn't say anything. you knew there was nothing you could say that would relinquish the pain of losing a child. so you let her cry. you let her hug you for what felt like hours. you let her grief her unborn baby for as long as she needed.

*when penelope was shot, nobody cared to check up on her after the fact except you. you went to her apartment for weeks just to make sure she was okay. eventually, she was able to let loose all of her frustrations on you, and you took it like a champ. she ranted about how she just wanted to be loved by someone attractive and how unfair and cruel the world is, in spite of how much good she tries to bring into it.

*when hotch lost hailey, you took care of his files. you offered to watch henry and let hotch cry to you about losing her a few times once you broke past his tough exterior. you even cried with him and jack. you made them dinner whenever you could, and helped him look for good nannies to help care for jack.

*when rossi lost carolyn, you went to her grave with him on many occasions. you brought him his favorite scotch, which was very pricey, and his favorite cigars, also very pricey, and tried your best to recreate 'the rossi special' upon his directions. it helped him feel in control of something when he needed it.

*and when emily came back from the dead, you helped walk her through her own grief. she lost herself, and buried her emotions. you helped her dig up her old self, and grow into an even better woman. you even took care of her cat when penelope couldn't manage. you helped emily grieve her own death when she wanted to deny it ever happened, and she was forever grateful for you.*

you had become like the team's built-in therapist when something bad happened, and you loved it that way. you loved being the one the team went to when they needed it. it made you feel as though you had a purpose, which was something you desperately needed.

but when you went through your own trauma almost a year ago, you refused help from anyone. you knew you should've asked someone for help, or at least someone to cry or talk to when you needed to.

the team had been working on a case for longer than expected, 8 days now, and everyone was really frustrated. you had released the profile 7 days ago, and there was still no new information. it was as if the unsub had gone dormant, and you all couldn't bear that thought.

when the team released earlier than normal from the precinct and you all went to the hotel you had been staying at, you decided to get a drink from the bar quickly. you went alone, wanting to review a few of the case files during the process and not needing a distraction.

you ordered a jack and coke, and opened the case files to begin rereading them, seeing if you had missed anything.

victims were kept for 24 hours, filmed, raped, restrained, cut in pieces, and thrown in the trash like garbage. it was absolutely disgusting, and the worst you had seen in a while. the victims were low-risk and most of them had a place of authority.

the unsub had been profiled to be someone who was bossed around by a woman, narcissistic and egotistical, wanted to feel more power and authority.

the problem is, that profile was most people living in the area. even penelope couldn't dwindle down the suspects.

and alas, you had missed nothing. nothing new appeared or caught your eye. you gulped down the rest of your drink and paid for it before packing up your things to head upstairs. you tossed the file back into your bag and began the trek to the elevator.

you were interrupted by something hitting the top of your head, rendering you unconscious.

the team had woken up, and after waiting around for half an hour, spencer realized something was wrong. he had morgan bust into your room, only to find the bed unslept in. you were missing. and the worst part... you fit the unsubs type.

spencer felt his heart drop at the realization he had taken you. and it seemed as though there was no trail as to where you had gone. penelope checked the cameras, only to find that they were hacked right after you left the bar, and then they resumed after you were taken.

at least they had a time frame.

later that day, after everyone hasting to figure something, anything out, spencer had gotten an email. he opened it and expected it to be relentless spam, only to realize it was a live feed video. a video of you. he instantly called penelope in hopes that she could trace it.

she said she could, but it would take some time because the amount of routers it had been going through.

while they were waiting, you noticed you were alone. you knew who the unsub was too, thanks to his baffling stupidity and narcissism that lead him to believe he wouldn't get caught.

"officer johnson! it's officer johnson!" you looked around the camera for a second, noticing something moving. "he-he here," you cried out. "i love you," you said to the camera to nobody in particular, but someone in mind.

you were terrified. spencer could see it in your eyes. he could see the tears you tried not to shed. you didn't want to please him, but you couldn't help but feel the absolute horror and fear coursing through your body at a relentless pace.

"hi there, missus fbi," he teased, finally walking into the frame with a ski mask over his face, clearly not aware that we knew his identity.

spencer told garcia who he was, and she began her digging. officer johnson's great grandparents had owned a farm that was since then refurbished. it was an hour away.

officer johnson had known that you two had chemistry. that's why he sent the email to spencer. he saw the longing glares, the 'innocent' touches, the smiles you would give each other, the longing looks you shared. he wanted to torment him.

so when he began undressing you and you turned your face away from the camera in hopes of sparing some of your own dignity, spencer felt his heart breaking for you. it broke even more when he heard the yelps, and screams, and please, and "no!'s" you elicited during the act.

they caught him before he cut you, but not before he finished the first part of his plan. your skirt was ripped, and your shirt was practically in two pieces. spencer had given you his jacket to cover yourself as much as you could.

you stayed silent the ride back. you didn't even let spencer hold you like you normally would after a tough case. you were ashamed. embarrassed. you felt worthless. you felt pathetic. you felt stupid. you felt helpless. you felt like you were drowning. you felt like you were without a life raft.

you knew you could talk to the team about it, but you felt so disgusted by the thought of what happened to you that you only talked about it in your therapy sessions.

hotch had given you two months off. he wanted you to grieve, and go to therapy, and try to cope with everything that had happened.

and you did try to do that. you tried your hardest to get over it and move past it, but nothing helped. not the journaling. not the talking. not the crying. nothing was working.

spencer gave you a little space at first, but he then decided to try to help you as you had helped him. he went over to your house almost every day, and sat outside your door after you wouldn't let him in.

you knew he was there... you sat on the other side.

"i-i know that you probably don't want to see anyone right now. and i'm uh, i'm sure you feel alone right now, or like you can't talk to anyone," spencer sniffled. "but pl-please just uhm, just know that i'm here when you want to talk about it. i'm here to listen to you when you need me to. i-i don't want you to be alone during this time, y/n. please, just let me in," he begged.

that was normally what he would say almost every night he went to your house. he would sit outside for hours after he would ask you to let him in without fail. until one day you let him in.

spencer felt so much relief when you opened the door, only for it to be smashed when he noticed your eyes looked red and puffy, your cheeks were stained with the tears you had been crying for so long. your cheeks were sunken in, and there were dark circles underneath your eyes that were once full of life and happiness. your eyes no longer had that gorgeous sparkle in them.

spencer vowed he would get them back.

as much as spencer wanted to wrap his arms around you in that moment, to comfort you and tell you that he was there, he wanted you to make the first move. he wanted to tell you how strong you were and how proud of you he was for getting through that. he wanted to tell you how much he loved you.

he wanted you to make the first touch, because he didn't want to further upset you. he didn't want to trigger a repressed memory, or bring back the feelings of what had happened.

but spencer's touch was nothing like the officer's. spencer's touch was soft and gentle. spencer's touch was feather-light and endearing. spencer's touch was love and home. the officer's was brittle, and rough, and repulsive.

"hug me?" you sniffled as your eyes welled with tears again as they had been for the past three weeks.

"of course," spencer slowly wrapped his arms around your shoulders as yours found his torso.

he walked inside with you still in his arms and slowly shut the door. without breaking from the hug, you both walked to the couch and sat down.

you didn't say anything. you just needed spencer to keep hugging you, so he did. he did whatever you wanted, needed, from him. eventually, you fell asleep in his embrace on the couch.

when spencer looked down at you, now sleeping against his chest, he couldn't bring his heart to remove himself from you. so like any whipped man would do, he carefully picked you up bridal styled and carried you to your room. he took his shoes off as well as his sweater vest before cuddling back up next to you.

as if it was a reflex, you cuddled up into his chest when he neared you again and got underneath the covers. spencer slept the best he did in months with you. and you slept without officer johnson in your dreams for the first time since that day.

ever since then, spencer had been making sure you were eating and drinking. he took you to your therapy sessions and stayed over most nights you had asked and he was able to.

they had a few cases during the two months, so every moment he could, spencer was with you. he coaxed you back to your normal-ish self. he watched as that glimmer in your eye began to slowly grow brighter everyday. he watched as your smile came back, and your tears didn't come so frequently.

the first time he had heard you laugh again, spencer had thought he was dreaming. he wished he had recorded that moment. he was more grateful than he's ever been in his life that he had an eidetic memory, because that sound would forever be engraved in his brain.

when you returned to work, you clung to spencer. he had become your tether to reality, and hope. he had become your rock during the recovery.

over the months, everyone slowly began to forget what had even happened. things went on as usual, and the team forgot the traumatic experience you had gone through. even spencer might've let the experience get lost in his brain.

so when it became 11 months and 3 weeks since the abduction, you began to distance yourself once again.

you politely declined going out with the team a couple days before the anniversary, something you never did. you insisted that you were just especially worn out from the case you had just been on.

spencer had to finish files given to him by derek anyway, so he didn't get to witness the encounter.

once the day of the anniversary came upon you, you found yourself feeling sick to your stomach. you couldn't help the tears that would fall from your face every so often. you knew why you felt this way, but you wanted to push past it.

you had gone into the office wearing a pantsuit and blazer, wanting to avoid the normal office skirt you happened to be wearing the day it happened. you stayed at your desk and quietly did your case files. you didn't even greet spencer as you would every day. you gave him a kind smile, but you would normally give him a hug, or at the very least an eager wave upon his arrival.

spencer just assumed it was one of those days where you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. it wasn't spencer's fault he thought this. he didn't even look at his calendar to check what day it was. he just knew they had paperwork.

but he did have this day marked in his calendar. he had it marked so he would remember to be extra kind to you, and do your files for you, and come to your place with your favorite wine and takeout. he wanted to help you through the one year anniversary, but he forgot to check his stupid calendar.

you thought he didn't care. you thought the man who you loved, and the man who helped you through everything that had happened had had enough of your complaining and grievances. so, you didn't tell him about it. you didn't bother him with the terrible thoughts clouding your mind because you thought it'd burden him.

so when you finished all of your case files early, you asked hotch if you could leave early, at 2:00, because you had things to tend to. he allowed you to do so, but this rose a flag for spencer.

he saw you exit without saying goodbye to him, something you hadn't done the entirety of knowing him. you had always told everyone to have a nice night and to be safe before leaving, but not today.

finally, he looked at his phone for the first time all day, only to feel like the worst person in the world to realize what day it was. spencer felt absolutely horrible at this revelation and ran into hotch's office as quick as he could after packing his things.

"hotch!" he exclaimed upon opening his office door.

"go. she was practically in tears," hotch informed him. "and reid," spencer stopped in his tracks to turn and look at the stern man, "please make sure she's okay." spencer gave him a soft grin and a nod before turning around and bolting out of the office.

you had gotten home and immediately burst into tears. you shut the door with your back, and slid down it. you had never understood why people had done that in movies until now. you just couldn't wait to break any longer, so you settled for your front door.

you held back no wail, or scream as you cried in front of your door, your knees pulled up to your chest as you held them tightly.

you wondered why you had to go through that. you wanted to know what kind of karma there was for someone who had always tried to do the right thing to be hurt... and for nobody to even care. nobody wanted to console you, or to make sure you were alright.

you had checked up on everyone on every anniversary of their struggles. whether it be a death, abduction, anything, you had been there for every single anniversary or reminder. and nobody was there for you.

nobody was there for you to hug, or to lean on, or to cry to, or to scream at, or to rant to. nobody was there. nobody loved you enough to care about that.

but then you had to remind yourself that they all had lives.

but the person who is your life didn't even care.

spencer didn't care.

and that's why you truly lost it.

he acted like it was just another day. he acted like it wasn't the anniversary of the day you thought you were going to die. the day you wanted to die. the day you felt your most low, and humiliated. the day you lost all hope. and he didn't remember.

if the man with an eidetic memory didn't remember, it must be extremely insignificant. so therefore, you must be extremely insignificant.

spencer raced to your house. he wanted to be there for you today, and he failed. he felt like a failure as a friend. he hated himself for not being there for you when he knew you would need him. he knew how you clung to him in your time of need. you thought he was worthy enough to hold onto when you needed someone, and spencer felt elated at that.

but now he wasn't there for you. and you needed him.

he had quickly stopped by the store and your favorite takeout place to get the things you'd want. he got your wine, chocolate, food, flowers, and a teddy bear that had a sweater vest on him - you've always loved his sweater vests.

when he got to the steps of your house, he felt his heart drop. as he walked closer he heard the wails of your crying right by the door. he could sense the heartache from the edge of your porch, and felt himself feel even worse, which he didn't think was possible.

he instantly ran to the door and knocked profusely. you sniffled one last time, feeling embarrassed that someone had heard you crying your heart out. you had figured one of your neighbors heard you and wanted to tell you to keep it down, so you wiped your tears and the stray mascara from underneath your eyes and opened the door, keeping your eyes lowered in embarrassment.

"y/n," spencer announced sadly, a tear falling down his face. you looked up in confusion from hearing his voice. you noticed his tear and reached up to wipe it away on instinct.

"why're you crying? are you okay?" you asked, forgetting all of your own problems at the sight of spencer crying. spencer let out a small chuckle at your concern.

"i'm alright, aside from the fact that i'm a terrible friend," he admitted as his smile quickly faded upon seeing your stained cheeks. "i brought your favorites," he offered, holding the bag of goodies in one hand and the takeout in another.

"y-you... why?" you asked, wanting to make sure you weren't misreading the situation for him trying to comfort you.

"why?" he asked in disbelief. "because it's the anniversary. i can't tell you how sorry i am, y/n. i swear i marked it on my calendar and planned for us to take off so i could take care of you. i-i just woke up late and never bothered to even check my phone. i kn-know it's no excuse... but i am so, so, so sorry," he rambled out, already tearing up.

you grabbed his arm gently and pulled him inside before you started crying in front of your neighbors. you took the bags from his hands and placed them on your coffee table.

"i thought you just didn't care," you shrugged as you took a seat on the couch, prompting him to sit beside you.

"y/n..." he sighed as he realized how terrible he screwed up. "i will always care about this. i will always care about you. don't ever think differently. i'm just incredibly... dumb sometimes. i can't believe i made you think that," he trailed on. "i will never not care about you, y/n. i swear it. i will always, always care about you. i will always love you," he froze as he realized what he just revealed. your eyes widened, and squinted, and roamed his face, trying to figure out if he meant the words he had just sped out. "i truly do, y/n. i i’m in love with you and i'm so sorry i made it seem otherwise."

it took you a second to absorb everything that he had said.

"you too," you solemnly admitted. "i’m in love with you too. and i could forgive you... for almost forgetting," you gave him a small smile.

"i'm glad you could forgive me. i don't know what i'd do if you didn't," he relished. "you actually love me?" you nodded with a small smile.

"i have for a while," you turned your head to the bags on the table.

"oh! right!" he said, reaching for the gifts. "i got your favorite takeout, your favorite wine, your favorite chocolates, flowers, and..." he trailed on as he revealed each item. "i saw this teddy, and i couldn't resist," he smiled.

you took the bear, taking in its appearance. it had a light blue, navy, and white diamond pattern sweater vest and brown shoes on. it looked like spencer, just teddy bear form. you smiled widely at the sentiment.

"it's you," you grinned as you took it in your arms, hugging it tightly as you saw spencer nodded with a smile mirroring that of your own. "i love it," you chuckled.

"i would understand, the fur is really soft," he relished in the thought.

"i don't think he'd be as good of a cuddler as the real thing, though," you grimaced. "but he'll do for when i don't have you here i guess," you shrugged with a smile.

"i plan on being here as long as you'll let me," he said softly.

"always," you grinned, setting down the teddy bear and trading him for the real spencer reid.

"always," he repeated, taking you in his arms and squeezing you tightly as if you'd float away at any moment. "now let's dig into this food while you talk about your feelings, if you want that is," he said after releasing you from the hug.

"i think i want to," you nodded. "and spence?" he turned from getting the food out of the bag to look at you for a second. "thank you for being my rock through all of this."

"i'll always be your rock, y/n."

@averyhotchner @greenprisca @muffin-cup

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst

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lifeofroos · 2 years

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A/N: A little while ago I wrote a post about how my Dionysus is more benevolent than most Dio’s in other Pjo fic writers’ works. This is my go at writing a meaner, blunter and somehow still caring Dionysus.

AO3 - KoFi

Tough Love

I didn’t look at him. I didn’t want to. Apparently that was clear, because Dionysus scoffed.

‘I don’t want to be here either. Tell me what is bothering you or stop wasting my time.’

Yet, he stayed where he was. He sat in silence for as long as I did, without even so much as reading something in the meantime.

After an hour, I got up. ‘Leaving so soon?’ I shrugged. He gave me a cold, unwelcome look. ‘Make it worth my time if you come back.’

I came back the next week. Again he sat in silence for as long as I did.

The third time, he wasn’t so forgiving: ‘If you don’t speak during this session, perhaps you want to rethink this plan.’

I closed my eyes. I needed extra time. Perhaps sessions upon sessions of extra time. I’d rather sit in silence again.

Yet the way he was saying it, I was afraid he would dissmiss me next time. That was something I didn’t want either. Who else would ever talk to me about the strange voices I was hearing and the ghosts I was seeing?

‘I…’ So, I had to, but how? ‘I… It’s not like… I mean, it is…’ There was a lump in my throat. That was what made talking so difficult.

‘You are not making any sense.’

I felt like crying. Of course I wasn’t making any sense. ‘But...’

He waved his hand to stop me. ‘Stop it.’ He sighed. ‘Go on with your day, Nico. Come back once you figured out how to say what you want to say.’

I looked at him expecting to see the same cold, ironic stare he always had. That’s not what I got, however. Instead he looked concerned.

‘I think I am hearing voices from Tartarus.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘That is all? That was what you had to think about for weeks?’

I balled my fists. ‘It’s difficult enough…’ …To trust someone like you with that.

‘If you say so.’ He waved at a chair until I sat down. ‘Do you think these voices are real, or rather imaginative?’

I shrugged. ‘Can’t say. You never can with Tartarus. That place, it was… it was…’ I slumped forward.

Imagine a world in the most disgusting shades of red and black you can imagine. The only light comes from rivers filled with fire. Everywhere you look there are monsters or half-monsters or incubating monsters. Most of them don’t bother you, though. Everyone is in the same boat.

Tartarus plays with your feelings. If you’re already angry, your rage will consume you. If you’re already sad, you will feel as if you are drowning in your misery. If you’re already happy… Well, no-one is happy after they fell all the way down...

I screamed when Dionysus lifted up my chin with his finger. I tried to swat it away, in the meantime making such a strange movement that I hurt my shoulder. Not that it made Dionysus let go of my chin.

‘Welcome back, Nico.’ Again, he looked concerned. Concerned and even a little compassionate. ‘You were gone for a solid minute.’ He left a pause, but I didn’t fill it. ‘Does that often happen when you think of Tartarus?’

‘I…’ I let out a shuddering breath.

‘You need help for that, Nico.’

‘Whythefu- Why did you think I came here?’

‘Initially, I thought it was to be graced with my presence.’ His voice was dripping with sarcasm. ‘However, it seems like you came here for a sort of therapy, instead.’

‘Of course!’

‘I am not a therapist. I am, however, one of the most graceful gods in the pantheon.’

‘Why are you such a... menace?’ The word I had been reaching for was ‘bitch,’ but perhaps I wasn’t that angry yet.

‘Because I don’t care about filtering my words anymore, Nico,’ he answered. ‘Why would I try to lie and be kind? That doesn’t help any of you in the long run.’ I didn’t feel okay enough to say anything back. ‘You’re coming back to me tomorrow.’

‘Have you got a reason for helping me?’

‘One less heavy soul for Psyche to bear.’ He let go of my chin, but I didn’t stand up. I sat. I sat in silence until my hour was over.

I stared at the apple in front of me. ‘Is it normal that getting better takes so long?’

Dionysus fidgeted with his fork. ‘You are going slow, but if that’s the way it is, we’ll just have to work with it.’

I made my apple spin around. ‘It happened again today. This morning, I thought I saw Jason, right here in camp. It was almost as if I could touch him.’

Dionysus looked at the Apollo table, where Lester was trying to eat something for breakfast. ‘And how about the voices?’

‘Still in my head.’ I shrugged. ‘I am starting to believe it really is Bob the titan, and that he is asking me for help.’

‘Help with what?’

‘I don’t know.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘We can’t just trust Iaptus.’

‘His name is Bob. Perhaps we can’t trust Iaptus, but we can trust Bob.’

‘Iaptus is still somewhere in there.’

‘Bob helped Annabeth and Percy and me when we were stuck in Tartarus.’

He sighed. ‘We’ve all helped Percy and Annabeth before. Just like we’ve all wanted to smite them at the same time.’

Even though it wasn’t hilarious, I still smiled. ‘Bob is a kind person. If he really is asking for my help, I think I will go and give it to him.’

Dionysus gave me an indignant look. ‘And just ignore all of the progress you made? You simply go back to Tartarus…’ Tartarus. Black, red, fire. No. Come, Nico, let’s get back to reality. ‘...and probably get hurt again. Then what am I doing it all for?’

I caught his gaze. ‘Would you still help me if I did it? Go back to… the Underworld, to help Bob?’

He didn’t answer with words. Rather he looked back with that look I had become accustomed to. The one that changed meaning every time he gave it, and right now it meant ‘of course, little delinquent. Of course.’

A/N: Wadya think? I still think he could have been meaner or something.

That being said I prefer kinda sweet Dionysus, the one I usually write. I am going back to that now.

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cherriesfineline · 3 years

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MEET HALFWAY OUR NEEDS - one shot

a/n: hi! this is my first time ever posting one of my writings online (I'm about to shit myself but oh well). I literally wrote this so fast I'm impressed, but anyways I (kind of) proof read this -not really- just quickly read through it after I finished it. English isn't my first language (I'm so self conscious I'm probably gonna say that every time I post something) but besides that, I really hope you enjoy this <3 feedback is truly appreciated, it helps me improve!

-Joey

Pairing: Harry x Y/N

Warnings: detailed sexual content

Word count: 9.2k (of mostly smut??? sorry)

the one where Harry wants to get married but Y/N doesn't.

As you grow older, you start realizing life isn't as easy as it seemed when you were a kid. Not everyone gets lucky enough to have a job they're passionate about. Not everyone can satisfy all their necessities. In fact, you realize it's most people instead of "not everyone". Friendships and relationships won't last you a lifetime (those promises of being there for each other forever now seem like genuine naiveness) if you don't put enough effort in them. When you are young you believe that being able to play for hours straight without getting bored is what true friendship is about. And maybe it is, during those years. Adult relationships require a lot of time, and effort. And sometimes, sacrifice. Conversations have a different weight, and being able to trust someone with your most uneasy thoughts and experiences is hard. To find and to keep. When it comes to love, you start realizing that the thrill and intensity of teen romance isn't what true love is about. It's not about getting into fights, hardcore jealousy and toxicity behaviors. It's about being able to just be there, with that someone. Being able to coexist in each other's worlds, share what you're passionate about without any fear or remorse, being able to communicate. To ask for help when needed. Now, that doesn't mean things can't get complicated. For the past two months, Y/N and Harry's relationship has been balancing on a very, extremely, thin line. After six years of being together, and three of those living together, being the happiest they've ever been, everything started to look different for Harry. He was ready to take a step Y/N wasn't. Harry always knew he wanted to get married, have kids, move to a pretty house outside New York (it's been his favorite city ever since he visited when he was 12, then moving all the way across the globe from Manchester to attend Columbia University). And when he met Y/N, he knew she was the one he wanted all that with. But Y/N... she wasn't so sure that was the life she wanted. Having kids was a no at least until she was in her 30's. And even then, she knew she'd have to re consider if that's what she really wanted. She loves kids, she has a couple nieces a nephew's (coming from a big family has it's perks) and she's a preschool teacher. She's good with kids, but she wasn't so sure she'd be a great mother. Not for a specific reason, but she really feels like that's the case. Taking care of someone else's kids versus your own is extremely different. Now... it gets even more complicated when it comes to marriage. She doesn't believe that a piece of paper kept in a legal's office will make any changes in their relationship. It will all stay the same, married or not, so she just doesn't think it's important, nor worth the money. Harry, on the other hand, thinks marrying her will change everything in his life. For the better. He loves her more than he'll ever be able to put into words. And because he can't put it into words, he feels like it's the actions, small and big, that help him communicate his love a bit better. He still remembers the moment he mentioned marriage to her (not for the first time, but definitely the first time he actually thought 'ok i really want to marry her right now') like it happened yesterday. He remembers exactly what it felt like to physically feel his heart shatter inside his chest, and the way he silently cried himself to sleep that night with Y/N in his arms. "Would you ever, uh... consider g-getting married? like, I don't know, if we ever have, like, an actual conversation about it, would you consider it?" He asked her in the middle of their Lord of the Rings marathon. Harry could feel her intense staring at the side of his face. She was quiet for so long, it killed him. He truly wanted the cushions of their pink couch to just suck him inside the furniture piece. He wouldn't dare to turn his face. He couldn't look at her, no. Not to face the rejection of his lifetime. "Uh, I don't think so." She said, and Harry only nodded, thinking the conversation was over

once he felt her move her head to face the television again. "You know how I feel about you and how I feel about marriage. I honestly think it's useless. You don't need a signed paper to know how much I love you, Harry." Her tone was soft, but the words that left her mouth felt like a million knives inside his chest. That conversation sent him spiraling over a thousand thoughts, overthinking their entire relationship and how he now felt like they were getting nowhere with it. He respected her decision, though. That's why he didn't bring it up again. Y/N sensed his mood change that same night. She kept her mouth shut, because she truly didn't know what to say. She didn't understand where he was coming from, or why it was so important to him. At first, she didn't think his mood was affected because of her not wanting to get married, maybe he had something else going on and was struggling to talk about it, but after many sessions with her therapist going over and over their conversations and trying to decipher why everything was so weird between them, she came to the conclusion it might have to do with them not getting married. She just didn't want it. And she didn't know how to make him understand. But she couldn't lose him either. He was her everything. It took her months to be able to sit next to him like she did the night he was watching The Little Mermaid in the living room of their small New York apartment. It's been months since they last shared a movie night, or a date. They've been eating dinner while having awkward small talk about their jobs and friends, going straight to bed after cleaning everything up, each to their side. They haven't touched each other except the occasional greeting peck ever since that night. And it was killing both of them, but neither knew how to approach the other. As she sat down to his right, she saw him tense immediately. It broke her, to see him so on guard around her. Y/N couldn't look away from him, with her body facing him and her head rested on the back of the couch, she wanted to grab his hand so badly, but she didn't know if he'd reject her. The doorbell rang, and he looked at her for the first time that night. His eyebrows had the cutest frown and she wanted to kiss his forehead to make him relax, but of course, she didn't. She sent him a shy smile and stood up, going straight to the door and picking up the cash she left prepared on the little table next to it. She could feel his stare burning holes in her back, which sent chills down her spine. "Thank you so much." Harry heard Y/N say, immediately hearing the door shut. From where he was sitting he didn't have a clear view on who was on the other side of the door. Y/N made her way to their kitchen (to do God knows what, Harry thought) only to appear seconds after with two tubes of ice cream (from his favorite place) and two big spoons. She sat back down next to him with her legs under her, a little closer than moments ago but still out of Harry's reach. She handed him one of the tubes, and Harry immediately noticed it was chocolate chip mint, his favorite, he might add. He looked up at her, who gave him a small shrug of her shoulders and a side smile, and he couldn't help but smile widely at her, his deep dimples on full display. God, I missed those dimples so bad. Y/N thought. But what she didn't know is that Harry was thinking about how much he missed her. Entirely. He hated himself for overthinking every small detail, and for thinking so lowly of their future. But he couldn't help it. "Thanks." He shyly took the ice cream and started eating right away. Not five minutes later, he grabbed her by her thigh and dragged her next to him, only to have her close to his body. And because he missed her. And her body heat. And her addictive smell of clean soap and vanilla. And a lot of other things which would take a lifetime to enumerate. She looked at him from her new spot, and due to the proximity, she had to shift her head slightly up to look at his face. She slid her right arm around his left,

carefully looking at him to see any kind of reaction that might show discomfort, and when she noticed his smirk slowly and barely making an appearance, she relaxed next to him, fitting half of her body under his arm, with his elbow resting on her stomach and her head on his upper arm. Half way through the movie, with their ice cream tubes forgotten on their coffee table, Y/N looked back up to him, and even though she's been doing it every two minutes, Harry knew she wanted to say something this time. He doesn't look at her, though, thinking it might shy her away, but right when he was trying to concentrate back on the film, he heard her say something. It was barely audible, almost like she didn't want him to hear it. Did he imagine it? Maybe he's so deprived from her and her touch and her words that he's finally going insane. Harry looked at her this time, and looking straight at her grey eyes so closely for the first time in two months felt like a thousand fireworks exploding violently on his stomach. "Did you say something?" He looked at her confused, and the look on her eyes is so hard to decipher he thinks she definitely said something she's scared to repeat. "I miss you." Y/N repeated herself, barely louder. But then he knew for sure he didn't imagine it. His Y/N missed him. For so long Harry thought he was losing her, that after distancing himself from her she finally realized she not only didn't want marriage, but a relationship with him at all. But she missed him. And he missed her. "You miss me?" He asked, almost like he didn't believe her, his tone was low and his voice sounded deeper that ever. Y/N nodded, but she felt pathetic. She felt like he didn't miss her like she missed him, maybe he didn't miss her at all. For two months she's been feeling like he wanted out, that this relationship felt like an obligation to him. Harry felt her slowly sliding away from his arms, and that's when he realized he's been so stuck in his head he still hadn't replied. "Don't," he quickly grabbed her by her thigh with his hand closest to her body "please, don't go." She stayed still in her place, looking at him with soft but sad eyes. "I miss you so much, Y/N." Harry turned on his spot so he's facing her, and softly cupped her jaw with his free hand, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "You have no idea." He whispered, slowly getting her face close to his while closing his eyes. He kissed her forehead so lovingly she literally burst into tears. Y/N's soft sobs alarmed Harry, lifting her head up by his hold on her jaw. "Please, don't cry baby. It breaks me when you cry." Y/N shifted on her place so she was with her body facing the back of the couch, her knees pressed against it, but she tilted her body to the side so she could hug Harry. She slowly draped her arms around his torso, resting her head on his chest. A sigh of relief left Harry's lips, resting his chin on top of her head while he hugged her back. One of his arms was resting low on her back, while the other one rested on her shoulder, his giant hand cupping her head to softly caress her hair. They stayed in that position for a long time. Y/N could feel Harry's heartbeat, and how it slowly picked up speed when she pressed her lips to his chest. And even though he was wearing a shirt, Harry could feel the heat of her lips through it. He pressed his own lips on top of her head, leaving them there for a while, almost like a very long, still kiss, until he felt her head shift underneath his lips. He pulled away just barely to allow her to look up at him, and when she noticed him quickly looking down to her lips, she stretched her neck up to press their lips together. It was a short, very sweet kiss. With fear as an undertaste and nervousness written all over her. She was just scared he was going to leave. When she pulled away from him, she didn't have time to open her eyes as she felt Harry press their lips together again. This second kiss was almost the same as the first one, insecure. It's funny, if you think about it. How similar their

feelings were and how scared they were of messing everything up with a single wrong move. Once Harry pulled away from the kiss he initiated, they locked eyes, yet again. But this time, it was written all over their faces how badly they missed each other, and how much they dreaded to feel the effects each had on one another after so long. The third kiss they shared, it's initiated from both sides, almost as they were able to read each other's minds. Their lips moved in sync, and as Harry softly captured Y/N's bottom lip between his own to slightly suck on it, she put more pressure into it. The kiss slowly started to gain force, passion and need. But she was scared to take the next step. She wanted him to take the full lead, as opposed to what they were used to, just because she didn't want him to feel like he owed her anything. And then, he did take that step. The hand he had holding her jaw moved under her hair to grab her by the neck, while slowly tracing her bottom lip with his tongue, asking for access to her mouth. And once she allowed their tongues to meet, his hold on her lower back got stronger, draping his arm completely around her waist to pull her closer. That action made Y/N's body lift up from how strong he was holding her, and she took this as a sign to move. She straddled him on the couch, sinking (almost on slow motion) to sit on top of his thighs. Harry groaned in frustration. She's too far away, he thought. "Closer." He said in a pleading tone, and Y/N complied immediately. She slid her body up his thighs, and he forced her chest to collide with his. The hand that was holding her neck slowly traced her entire spine, to join his other one on her lower back. Her tongue felt so warm and soft, so inviting. He had always loved the way she kissed him, with so much passion but with a gentleness that was so her. She managed to fully relax in his hold once her hands found their way to his hair, right behind his ears, and he couldn't help but whimper at the feeling of their groins pressing together. This sparked a burning fire inside both of them. A fire that burned so good they'd rather die caught on it, than to never feel it again. Harry slowly slid his hands up and down her sides, all the way from her outer thighs to her side boobs. And when he did it for the second time, on his way up he slid his hands under her shirt instead of continuing their path over it. When his hands stopped at the higher part of their path, he caressed her side boobs with his thumbs, doing the same afterwards right below them, and when she finally grinded down on him, letting a deep groan leave her lips, he cupped her breasts with his hands. But when she pulled away, he dropped his hands automatically.He started eating his brains out thinking he really messed up, he was taking things down a road she didn't want to take yet, which was okay, it's not like he only wanted her body back, but he was scared he made her uncomfortable. Only then, his dick grew incredibly hard when she grabbed the hem of her oversized t-shirt to pull it up and off her body. Her perfectly perky boobs bounced slightly when Y/N dropped her shirt on the floor, resting her arms on her sides. He looked up from the lovely sight of her boobs thinking about how badly he wanted to devour them, only to find her with an uncertain look on her face. And he hated it. He hated the thought of her doubting herself so much. Harry ran his hands up and down her soft stomach, and then slid them up, softly but barely touching her boobs. His destination was somewhere else (for now), and he grabbed Y/N by her neck to pull her close. Their lips met again in the softest kiss they shared that night so far, and Y/N melted in Harry's arms like the forgotten ice cream behind her. He kissed the corner of her lips as he pulled her hair slightly so he could start kissing her jawline, down to her neck, leaving pepper kisses all over her skin. When he reached her collarbone he started sucking and biting (she loved when he bit her) knowing he couldn't do it to her neck

due to her job. She let a moan leave her lips, and when Harry slid one of his hands to grab her by her hip, she grinded down on him again, with more confidence this time. Harry lowered his face a bit more so he could finally reach one of his favorite features of his Y/N, her boobs. He took her left breast in his mouth, sucking on Y/N's nipple, making her whimper and jerk forward, tightening her hold on his brown locks to pull him even closer. He slid the hand that was holding Y/N's hair down so he could pay attention to both nipples at the same time, while using his hand on her hip to keep a steady peace to her grinding. Once she caught up with the slow but rough peace he wanted, he let go of Y/N's hip to grab the nipple he had in his mouth with in his hand, and he pinched both of them at the same time, rolling the hard buds on his fingers, then moving his mouth to the other one. He spent a lot of time paying attention to Y/N's nipples, nibbling, sucking, groping, knowing damn well they were extremely sensitive (she could orgasm just by nipple stimulation if done correctly, but she really wanted him right now). Y/N pulled from his hair enough to let him know she wanted something else, and when he let her nipple fall from his mouth, he looked straight into her eyes. Harry's cheeks were tinted a pretty shade of pink, and Y/N couldn't help but admire the beautiful man under her. He looked at her with such pure eyes, but lustful at the same time. She didn't understand how he could look so innocent but so fucking hot at the same time, it was unfair how angelic he was. She grabbed a handful of his shirt, to let him know she wanted it off. Once Harry complied, throwing his shirt somewhere near Y/N's, he immediately reached for her cream silk shorts, tugging the elastic band down as a silent plea for her to get out of them for him. She stood up from the couch, knowing Harry loved when she undressed herself for him, and still in between his legs holding eye contact, she slowly slid her shorts down her thighs along with her underwear. Harry couldn't keep eye contact for long, though. His eyes were glued to her glistening core that was slowly making an appearance, and he was getting frustrated at how slow she was being. He sat straighter on the couch so he could reach for her, and slid his hands down the front of her thighs, and on their way up he slowly slid them to their insides, getting close to where she wanted him. He slid one of his hands down again, but this time he grabbed her right leg from behind her knee, to pull it up. He made her rest her feet outside his thigh, which was now in between her legs. In this new position he got a clear view of her pretty pussy, all on display for him. "So wet, baby." He whispered, and she couldn't help but return her hold on his hair to pull him closer to her. "All for me?" Harry asked her, looking up to stare at her right in the eyes. When she nodded, he hummed in response. "Let me take care of you, it's been so long. You probably need it so much, don't you?" His voice was so fucking deep and raspy she nodded desperately in response. Y/N couldn't handle much teasing, and she let Harry know by tightening her grip yet again, and forcing his face to be so close she could feel his breathing on her. "Please, Harry." She pleaded. Harry loved teasing her, but he knew it's been a long time, he didn't want to frustrate her much. He finally licked very slowly up her folds, all the way from her opening to her clit, humming when he reached her sensitive bundle of nerves. Y/N let out a long sigh of pleasure, her eyelids fluttering shut. She felt like she could literally come just by that, and when he closed his lips around her clit, she grind her hips against his lips. He started switching between sucking and pressing his tongue on her clit until he started to move it, creating undefined figures with the tip of his tongue. They missed each other so much, so so much. And they both knew sex wouldn't magically fix everything. They knew they needed to work things out. But

sometimes conversation needs a little push, something to remind them why they need to fix things. The magnetic pull they felt towards each other was unbearably strong. They needed each other, in every imaginable way, but at that moment, they needed each other's bodies and emotion, no words needed. Just feel each other close. Harry gave her clit a sweet kiss, and looked up at her while his fingers traveled up and down her folds, until they found their home in her opening. He searched her eyes for approval, and when she whispered a soft 'please' he slowly sank his ring and middle finger, knuckle deep. She whimpered loud at the sudden pressure, and he groaned at the tightness of her hole. He rested his forehead on her navel for a second to let her adjust, and when he felt her grind on his fingers, he held her gaze while lining his mouth with her clit yet again. Harry started to work his fingers in and out of her, sucking on her clit. But what turned him on the most was her slow grinding on his face and fingers, like she was fucking his fingers nstead of his fingers fucking her. Harry used his free arm to slide it under her leg that was up on the couch, and grabbed her ass with a tight grip to pull her even closer. The pleasure was beginning to feel overwhelming, the pressure deep down on her belly begging for release was making her desperate. Y/N's moans and breathy sighs were becoming louder and consistent and the way he could feel her legs slightly shaking gave away how close she was to her release. Harry wanted her to make a mess on his face, so badly. He lowered his head and replaced his fingers with his tongue, not before he moved his fingers one last time to massage her spongy spot at the front of her insides. He fucked her with his tongue as he used his soaked fingers to stimulate her clit, circling in the fast and rough peace he knew she enjoyed so much. Her insides felt like a rocket about to launch, between his moans sending vibrations through her entire body and his fingers stimulating her clit the way she exactly needed, she became a moaning mess. Y/N couldn't comprehend how she was still standing up, even though Harry's arm under her thigh was holding most of her weight up, her knees were about to give up soon. "H-Harry, I'm so close," Y/N spoke as clearly as possible, knowing her panting was messing with her words, "please don't stop." He admired the way her jaw tightened and relaxed, her mouth opening shortly after, making a perfect 'o' with her eyes pressed shut. With one specific movement of Harry's tongue, she finally let go. With her eyes rolling back she let a couple of continuous 'fuck's quickly leave her mouth. Her entire body jolted forwards, bending a bit over him while his mouth was still attached to her core, helping her ride her orgasm, making it last for as long as possible. Y/N pulled Harry away from her with her grip on his hair once it became too much, and looked down at him. Without a second thought she bent down to lock her lips on his, with so much force it threw him back into his original seated position on the couch. "Take your pants off, now." She demanded, but adding an almost inaudible 'please', mostly for her. He happily obliged, taking his boxers down with them, imitating her previous actions. His cock sprung free, and he hissed at the feeling of freedom. Harry was so focused on her he didn't realize how painfully hard he was. He could feel his own heartbeat thundering in his chest with so much force it was almost alarming. He needed her so, so badly. Once his pants and boxers were thrown and forgotten on the floor, she straddled him. Giving him a quick but soft kiss on the lips, she began making her way down his neck, reaching back up again to (what she knew) was his most sensitive spot behind his ear. Y/N sucked a small bruise, and he whimpered. God, Y/N loved those small noises he made. She kissed her favorite beauty mark on the right side where his neck meets his shoulder, and that small action alone made his heart feel like someone was squeezing and

twisting it. He missed those small loving details from her. Y/N kept making her way down his chest, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses all over him, not forgetting to suck and nibble at his nipples. She loved taking care of him. All of him. And the way he enjoyed her playing with his nipples was something he was always scared of admitting, but he knew he didn't have to ask her to do it, because she just knew. She sunk down to her knees, still sucking and licking the skin all over his stomach while caressing his thighs (Oh, those thighs). Y/N finally grabbed his dick and slowly stroked him all the way from his base to the tip, collecting some of the precum leaking from his deep pink, swollen head. He groaned loudly, lifting his hips to fuck her fist once. She took that as a sign to lower her head even more, his cock now in front of her face. "Want my mouth, baby?" She tapped her plump lips with his tip, and when he looked down at her, she moved her closed lips around him, almost like she was using his precum as lipgloss, her hand still slowly moving up and down his length. She got him hypnotized. "Hmm?" She raised her eyebrows at him. "Y-yes, please." He heavily sighed. His begging made her drip down her thighs, he knew how much she loved it, and she knew he loved begging too, maybe even more than her. She always took such good care of him. She swirled her tongue around his tip once, then proceeded to lick up his shaft a couple of times like his dick was an ice lolly. Once she finally wrapped her lips around his tip, he sighed in relief, and relaxed his shoulders. Harry's hands grabbed her neck to pull her head down, and she surprised him when she suddenly deep throated him before even working her way there. "Fucking hell, Y/N." He moaned when he felt her humming around him. Harry grabbed her hair making a shift ponytail, to help her get her hair out of the way, and using his grip on it to lift her head, her mouth left his dick, and he smirked at the small pout on her lips. "You are so perfect." She ignored him and tried to lean forward again, which made him smile at how desperate she was. He let her get what she wanted, allowing her lips to wrap around his tip again. She licked up his slit and swirled her tongue around him, and hollowed her cheeks to suck on his tip. She took more of him in her mouth, using her right hand to work on his base and her left to gently cup his balls and play with them. Harry knew he wouldn't last long. It's been a while since they've done anything remotely sexual, and his hand... his hand wasn't her. So even though he could get himself off, nothing in the world would compare to how it felt when it was his Y/N pleasing him. His breathing became irregular as she bobbed her head up and down his length in a steady rhythm, and when she tugged on his balls he knew he had to pull her away right that second, or he would come. And he really wanted to, but not like this. "Baby, please," he tried to pull her head away with a tug on her ponytail, but she didn't oblige. Instead, she looked up at him through her eyelashes, still bobbing her head up and down on him, and that sight alone could make him come in a heartbeat. But he kept it together. "I wanna come inside you, p-please." And that made Y/N pull away, her mouth making a 'pop' sound when she let his dick fall from her lips. She then straddled him, her hands finding their home right behind his ears, grabbing him by his hair, while his made their way around her body, hugging her close. His dick fit perfectly between her lips, and Y/N grinded on him to feel his wet cock slide through her folds, creating the most delicious friction. Harry kissed her passionately, trying to pour everything he felt in the kiss. And Y/N did feel it, because she was trying to do the same. They repeated the action a couple of times until she reached in between them to grab a hold of him, positioning him on her opening. And when she finally sank down on him, they locked gazes. They sat still, connected. They were so close. They felt so close. Harry

nudged her nose with his, softly brushing their lips together. He then noticed a single tear run down her cheek, and reached for her face quickly. Right before it got in her mouth he caught it with his thumb, and she leaned in his touch. They didn't say a word. Just sat still. With Harry caressing her cheek, and Y/N looking straight into his eyes. Y/N leaned forward to capture his top lip between hers, leaving the sweetest kiss, repeating the action with his bottom lip. After, she went for the right corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jawline, his pulse point, behind his ear. And repeated the exact same trail on the left side of his face, finishing with his top and bottom lips, one last time before starting to slowly grind and circle her hips on him. Harry just couldn't stop staring at her. The amount of love and adoration he held in his heart for that woman was beyond words, and actions. And he then understood. He understood that he could live a life without marriage if it meant living it with her. He could handle it. He would get over it. He involuntarily dropped his head back and shut his eyes with so much force, while hissing through gritted teeth when she finally lifted her weight on her knees, sliding up on his dick until he was almost entirely out, only to sink back down roughly, going so deep it made both of them moan loudly at how tight she was. She slid one of her hands around his neck to grab him by his chin, forcing him to look at her. Y/N kissed him again, and this time their kiss was messy and desperate, between crashing teeth and loud moans due to her fucking him with all she got. She let go of Harry's mouth to sit straighter, using his shoulders as support to move faster. This position gave Harry a view he wouldn't trade for anything in the world. He could see his cock, so drenched of her arousal, and her pussy taking him so well. The wet sounds leaving their connected centers were magical, so erotic, accompanied with the small whimpers and moans coming out of her perfect lips. Harry thought she looked like a fucking goddess, with her round and perky tits bouncing up and down every time her tight pussy took him entirely. "You're being so good, baby. Letting me fuck you just how I like it." She whispered to him, staring at his heart shaped, swollen lips. The lips she was so addicted to. "You take such good care of me, angel. Always." He replied, looking into her eyes which were still glued to his lips. She licked her own, and moved forward to crash them against his on another messy kiss. They both were so close. Harry couldn't understand how he managed to hold his release for so long, but he was proud of himself. Y/N separated their lips for a moment to make him suck her point and middle finger, which he complied immediately, knowing exactly what she was doing. He then watched her lower her hand between their bodies again, but this time to reach for her clit, where she started to gently rub circles, stimulating herself. Harry started thrusting up with force, to meet her halfway, tightening his grip around her middle. Y/N bit down his shoulder to stifle a loud moan, which only made Harry thrust faster. "Please come for me, Y/N, I wanna feel you come all- all around my cock." He managed to plead between breathy whimpers. And it only took a few more thrusts from him to make her insides explode in the most blissful sensation, like electricity running all the way from her belly to her toes. She stiffens in his hold, her inside walls tightening and clenching so hard it almost sends him out of her, making his balls tighten right before he lets go. She could feel him emptying inside her, his spurts of cum filling her up, leaving both of them exhausted, satisfied and utterly fucked. None of them moved for a while. Y/N's breathing calmed him, almost like a lullaby, and the way Harry was gently stroking her back made goosebumps erupt all over her body. Without any warning, Harry stood up, making Y/N wrap her legs around him, she hissed through the feeling of his dick moving while still

inside her, and she bit down his shoulder again. She didn't question what he was doing, she didn't care. Harry sat her down on a cold surface after turning the lights on, and when she opened her eyes she realized he sat her in their bathroom counter. He put some space between them so he could finally look at her again. The fact that they barely spoke during sex today (when they were usually pretty vocal) made everything so... different. Not in a bad way, though. It made them both enjoy sex as the pure performance of just loving someone. No need of crazy positions, weird kinks or edging each other the way they're used to. Just love. The need to feel connected. The need of physically demonstrating each other's love. How they are each other's entire world. "I'm gonna clean us up, okay?" Harry told her softly, and she only nodded in response. She leaned in to give him a soft kiss, which honestly caught Harry off guard now that the sexual act was over. But made him happy nonetheless. She was scared of him shutting her out again. But he was scared of her getting tired of him. He knew she was a free soul. She wanted so many things, and settling down to start a family like he wanted to wasn't in her near plans, maybe in her plans at all. And he knew that. He understood it, and he respected it. He just thought about how badly he truly wanted that life with her. He was just scared she would let him go. They both looked down and hissed the moment he slid out of her. Harry had the perfect view of their mixed cum dripping down her core, making a mess on the marble counter under her. And Y/N saw his dick twitch at the sight, but decided against commenting on it. Even though it made her slightly smirk. Harry took his time cleaning both of them, and Y/N didn't look away from him. Not even for a second. He lifted her up again and literally sat her down on the toilet so she could pee. They've done this a thousand times, it was normal for them, she wasn't modest about him seeing or listening to her pee. After they brushed their teeth next to each other, stealing curious looks (especially Harry at Y/N's boobs through the mirror), they went to bed together. And for the first time in two months, she rested her head on his chest, with his arms wrapped around her. The only thing she didn't notice was that once Harry knew she was asleep, he couldn't keep it in. He cried himself to sleep that night. But it wasn't any different from what he was used to from the past couple of months. The only difference was that this time, he knew he'd give up his dreams if it meant he could keep her around. & The next morning, Y/N felt something, or someone, shift behind her. She knew it was Harry. His arm was thrown over her waist, resting dangerously close to her boobs (she secretly loved the way Harry seemed obsessed with her boobs) and she could feel his breathing hit the back of her neck. She hugged his arm closer to her body to let him know she was awake, which made Harry shift even closer, cup her left breast and press his pretty pink and warm lips to her neck. "Good morning." She said with a breathy laugh, her morning voice was a sound that drove Harry mad. She sounded way too sexy for her (or his) own good. "Hi." He nuzzled her neck with his nose, "how'd you sleep?" He left another lingering kiss, this time below her ear. "Amazing. Haven't slept this good in a while." She replied honestly, wiggling her body back towards him so their torsos were pressing together. "Mhm, me too." He whispered, tightening his hold around her, his morning wood pressing on her lower back. She could already feel the pool of her arousal in between her legs, and when she arched her back so now his dick was pressing against the curve of her ass, he groaned in her ear. He slowly started to grind himself against her ass, moving down on the bed a bit so he could better his position. And when she grinded back against him, he reached in between them to position himself on her opening. He pushed the tip in, just enough to feel her tight hole around

him. "Can I?" He asked her to make sure they both wanted this. When she sighed deeply in pleasure and murmured a 'yes', he slowly thrusted into her, both moaning a bunch of profanities. They both were huge lovers of morning sex. It increased their moods during their days, helped them relax and carry their days with a carefree feeling. So, he fucked her. Hard. Not even close to how loving they were last night. He woke up with an unbeatable energy, and he wanted to take advantage of it. He fucked her in the position they woke up in. He turned her to her stomach and fucked her while (almost) laying completely on top of her (she loved feeling his weight on her) and he fucked her on all fours, only to end up in their initial position, with her back against his chest on their sides, so he could play with her clit to help her come. That morning they spent it in bed, Y/N made them breakfast, Harry read a book. They both knew they needed to talk, but they wanted to enjoy some time where everything felt normal between them again. So they avoided the topic. But the conversation they owed each other kept being pushed. And for another two months, everything slowly started to feel normal again. Usually, avoiding conversation will lead up to more hurting. But with Y/N and Harry, it ended up becoming a realization point. Harry got in terms with the fact they wanted different things. He decided she was worth anything and everything in the world, because she was his world. But what he didn't know was that Y/N spent those entire two months imagining what a life like the one Harry wanted with her would be like. And after one day, on Harry's 28th birthday, during a small walk they were taking on Central Park, she realized she would do anything in the world to make him the happiest man he could ever be. She kissed him so passionately that day, interrupting their walk. He looked at her with a confused look when she pulled away with the brightest smile on her face. But that smile made him confirm he was willing to give up his dream of getting married. That's why in mid February, Y/N found herself shopping in a very expensive jewelry store. She knew Harry liked that place since his 'H' and 'S' rings were from there. They had an amazing section of handmade rings that she spent a long time going through. She wanted to pick the best one she could find. She found the prettiest, most fine silver ring with a red stone adorning it's top. She knew he would love it. It definitely didn't look like the typical engagement ring, but nothing about Harry was typical. It would match the rest of his rings lovingly, and Y/N knew he would simply love it. Not only because it was a pretty ring, but because it would mean something big for them. Three days later, Y/N came back from work to find Harry sitting on their living room couch watching the forecast. Why? Who the fuck knows. He never watched cable TV. Y/N just stood there for a while, just staring at him. "Hi, love." He greeted her. "Are you alright?" He asked with his eyebrows furrowed. The crease between them made an appearance, even though it was there most of the time. "Hey." She finally moved, dropped her keys on the little bowl sitting on top of the small table in the hallway. "All good, gonna put some comfy clothes on really quick." She lied. She just couldn't wait any longer. Watching him sit there all frustratingly beautiful doing absolutely nothing was fucking annoying, it was so unfair how beautiful he was. She had an entire evening prepared but she just couldn't wait any longer. She wanted to do it now. She dropped her purse on their bed and quickly got rid of her shoes, but didn't change into anything comfier. She just grabbed the small black velvet box from her t-shirt drawer and went back to the living room, sliding it in the back pocket of her jeans so he wouldn't be able to see it. Harry looked at her with a confused look, wondering why she was still in her work clothes walking directly to him when she said she wanted to change. She sunk to her knees in

between his legs, which only made him even more confused. "You sure you're alright?" Harry gently asked her. She just hummed in response and grabbed the remote sitting on the coffee table (moving as little as possible, she didn't want him seeing the small bump on her jeans because she knew he would ask about it), and turned back around. She rested her ass on her ankles, and her arms on top of his thighs. "So..." she started. "So..." Harry repeated, confused. "I love you, so very much." Y/N started and Harry's breath got caught in his throat. He wasn't expecting this at all. "So much, you don't even understand." Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. They haven't told they loved each other in so long, scared of the other not saying it back. God only knows why, because it was clear as water they still loved each other with their whole beings. "And I know we both always wanted different things." This is it. Harry thought. She's breaking up with me. "And I know there are some things I believe that you will never understand, and there are some things I- I didn't understand, for a long time." Harry furrowed her eyebrows further at this last part. Now he truly didn't understand what she was trying to say. "For so long I thought I wanted something, you know? Like I was sure I had it all figured out for myself, the life I wanted. But I actually- I was searching for a life that wasn't mine. And I didn't realize that what I already have is everything I could possibly want." Y/N's cheeks were flushed, tears streaming down her face so fast they were drenching his hands that were now pressed against her cheeks, softly caressing them. "I know now, that love is about finding common ground. Meeting each other's needs. And sometimes we have to step out of our comfort zone to do that. And I came to a conclusion." She swallowed the big lump on her throat, and that finally allowed her to let a long breath leave her chest. "I love you more than anything in this world. I hope you know that, and I know I struggle sometimes with letting you know how much I adore and admire all of you. But I promise to do my best today, and for the rest of my life, to make sure you know how loved you are. How much I'm willing to do for you. And this took me a while to understand, but I do now. I understand why you felt like you needed to take that 'next step' with us. And I understand why it'd make you as happy as you always said. So, it'd make me really happy to ask you to," Y/N reached her pocket and heard him gasp when she pulled the box in front of him, revealing a beautiful ring for him, "marry me." Harry was speechless. Truly, ultimately speechless. Not only was the love of his life asking him to marry her, she was saying she truly wanted this. Harry's gaze kept going from the ring back to her eyes. And after a while of no one saying anything, Y/N cleared her throat. "H," she whispered, "Will you marry me?" She asked, the soft tone on her voice and the question he dreamed so many times asking her knocked him back to life. "Yes, yes, Y/N, yes- oh Y/N-" he choked a sob, and the biggest smiles appeared on both their faces. Y/N threw herself to him, wrapping her arms around his neck so tightly. He helped her straddle him so he could wrap his own arms around her. They held each other for a few seconds, both crying the happiest tears they ever let drop, and when she pulled away to put the ring on him, he surprised her by crashing their lips together. They shared their most passionate kiss in the entirety of their relationship, both still crying, smiling, spilling so much love and adoration with each stroke of their tongues. When he pulled away, she finally placed the box in between them again. "Can I put it on you? I know you like to wear your 'H' ring on your ring finger, so we could put it somewhere else, you know? And make it our own thing-" Harry interrupted her giving her a soft peck, "or we could-" another kiss, "I don't know." She finally gave in, pressing her lips harder against him. After another long kiss, he finally told her

where he wanted his ring, and with a last kiss he patted her ass to let her know he needed her to stand up. "Wait here." He pointed at her, and she sat on the couch with a soft 'okay'. He returned moments later with his hand behind his back and a lopsided smirk. He sat in the same position she was for her proposal, in between her legs. Before he said anything, he moved his hands in between them, opening a red velvet box. She gasped like Harry did moments ago when she saw the beautiful ring with a small red stone (yes! Like his own ring) placed on top of a very thin and delicate silver band that was sitting inside the small box. "It was my grandmother's." Harry said in a quiet tone. "She gave it to me before she passed away a couple months after we met, remember?" She slowly nodded, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes. There was so much love written all over his face. "I told her you were it for me. I knew I wanted this with you ever since we met at our university library. She gave it to me in hopes I could... give it to you some time." He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I kept it hidden from you all this time. Didn't want you to find it and make everything weird between us. But I'd really love if you could, um... wear it if you want?" He shyly asked. "It'd be an honor to carry her ring with me, Harry." His face lit up so fast at her response. "Yeah?" He asked, perplexed. "Yeah." Y/N replied with a big smile. "Will you marry me, Y/N?" He asked her this time, and she couldn't help but giggle. "I asked you first." She pecked his lips. "But yes, Harry. I'll marry you." And she kissed him again, and he couldn't help but smile so widely she ended up with her lips against his teeth. After putting his grandmother's ring on her, they shared another night of pure, loving sex. None remember how many times they made each other come, but they did have another important conversation between rounds. "Something else I wanted to tell you..." She said, in between kisses (they loved giving each other soft small pecks all over each other while they were talking). She was straddling him in their bed, his back against the headboard. He didn't want to pull out of her just yet, keeping his cum inside her for as long as possible. "I know you're ready to have kids, like, right now." She said, and he raised his eyebrows playfully at her. "I can tell by your breeding kink, honestly." He let a loud laugh leave his chest, making her smile too. It was honestly hilarious, I mean, look at their position. "I decided I really want to have kids with you." He gasped, "But..." he sunk down in his position, a visible pout on his lips, which she kissed away from him. "Promise me you'll wait for me, until I'm in my 30's" He locked eyes with her. She really wanted this. So much. "Only three more years?!" He asked with so much hope. "Three more years and we can start trying, I promise. I just thought that- that we could get married now, have some time as a married couple, you know? To enjoy ourselves." She shrugged and he couldn't help but smile widely and her, nodding frantically. "That way we are both adapting to each other, you know? Meet halfway our wants." "God, I love you so much." He chose to say, instead of replying straight away. "I'll wait a lifetime to have kids with you if that's what you wanted, just please- decide before you reach menopau-" He couldn't even finish his sentence since she shut him up by putting her hand over his mouth. "Don't even say it. God, I don't wanna be old." She sighed in frustration. "I honestly can't wait to grow old with you." Harry said with such a loving tone, like an enamored teenager, hugging her closer to him. And she couldn't help but smile back at him. Because even though ageing scares her, she's ready to spend the rest of her life with him. "I love you, my angel." Y/N told Harry, before kissing his lips, yet again.

"I love you, my Y/N." Harry whispered to her, keeping her face close to his.

Thank you so much for reading! Have a lovely day <3

-Joey

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry smut #my writing

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socratoteles · 3 years

Text

A year to get Ph.D in letting go

The last time I was here, I wrote that perhaps it was time for me to go out and just enjoy the world. And amid the global pandemic, I sort of managed to do that. It was such a lifesaver in a year of goodbyes. I`ll get to that, but let me begin with my coronavirus scare.

On March 4 last year, I was away in Bandung, aware but not worried of some obscure virus that triggered a total lockdown in some Chinese cities. That very same day was also the time when my colleagues came in contact with a man who later confirmed of having contracted COVID-19.

That was how close I was of contracting the virus. Had I not taken a paid leave to write last year’s essay in the city where I was born, chances were high that I was another case as well, at that early stage of the pandemic too. I`m still familiar with the helplessness that came after I checked in to a hospital only to being denied the test (the nurse reasoned that the contact with my colleagues, who might catch the virus from the confirmed man, cannot be categorized as close contact).

And that experience, of confusion and fear of infecting loved ones, left a lasting impression that shaped my behavior going forward. After all, it takes a pandemic to make wearing mask and washing hands could made the difference between life and death.

Covid-induced isolation meant that I spent most of my time being holed up in my room for the past 12 months. To this day the side effects of this solitary existence is still beyond my full grasp. On one hand, this situation had brought out my inner resiliency, resourcefulness and adaptability in the long days and night when things were just so dark. On the other hand, it also forced me to deal with unresolved traumas and numerous intrusive thoughts, which I will get into later.

People get really creative during the long locked-down days, spending it doing viral social media challenges one after the other. Videoconferencing become a thing on its own and for some reason loads of folks played a game named Among Us too, perhaps to remind themselves of the interactions cruelly torn apart because of the virus.

There was also a newfound awareness on class too, because the coronavirus disproportionately affected different individuals with different income level. At least on my part, I was lucky that essential workers (the pandemic elevated the phrase into such a buzzword) near my place were safe and somehow never contracted the virus. It is worth mentioning that I definitely cannot survive this long if not for the minimarket workers, ride-hailing drivers and dozens of cooks, all of whom must have worked in long hours, despite knowing the risk, just to keep their families fed.

Others, however, were not so lucky. the SARS-CoV-2 had infected more than a million Indonesians a year after it was officially detected in these shores. Millions have lost their jobs as economic activities ground to a halt. The place I currently work was not an exception. Massive layoffs would have happened in my office had the shareholders have enough money to properly compensate their workers.

It was an obviously eye-opening experience to calculate my own severance pay and make sure I could survive on that for as long as possible. The prospect of losing your income during the pandemic –which should be that particular time for anyone to hold on to their what-ifs money– was really awful.

This is the paragraph where I say that I wish nothing but the best for those who left the company simply because they deserve nothing less than that.

But there was another reason why I signed up for a help from professional therapist last year. In the latter part of last year, things got very, very grim. At the risk of oversimplification, let’s just say that I was unable to express my feelings properly to a girl that I really liked, right at the most critical moment when probably both of us needed support from each other. She eventually left with another guy.

Days before that fateful event happened, I was quietly bearing my own burden. After years of convincing myself that I was okay, I was, in fact, not okay, at least mentally. Years of trauma have caught up. It’s too personal to even spell that out here but I`ll just quote this Youtuber just to describe a fitting metaphor.

“You see, human identity is like a house of card. One that’s always expanding. A story that is ever developing and always referred back to because every memory becomes a new card. Trauma is when a card doesn’t fit because the experience itself is so painful that it’s incompatible with everything else and if you become obsessed with making it fit the whole house of cards can fall apart and you lose the confidence to build anything new.”

Basically, my house of cards came crashing down, hard. At a time, it reduced me into this insecure soul who were unsure that people will accept me for who I was.

The last time I felt this way was a couple years back when my parent’s divorce was formalized. A girlfriend turned ex-girlfriend at that time too. Apparently, the universe has a cruel sense of timing to combine existential crisis with a relationship one.

The road to recovery was rocky, to say the least. I know something fundamental must be addressed, hence the therapy session.

I`m grateful for the company of my friends, either offline or online. (yes, I had become quite loose in terms of isolation because I know I had to prioritize my mental health; COVID-19 be damned). I`m also glad to say that because I talked with my friends about this issue, some of them were also encouraged to seek professional help.

At the height of my despair, I watched La Grande Bellezza (probably for a half a dozen time already) again and found this quote, spoken by the protagonist Jep Gambardella:

“We’re all on the brink of despair. We can only look each other in the face, keep each other company, kid each other a bit. Don’t you agree?”

Someone was kind enough to upload the entire scene on Youtube.

I decided that all bets are off, so I purchased books, many of which had been on my to-read list for years because I know I`ll have to read it when I search for a catharsis. That was how I finally read the Camus’ Myth of Sisyphus, from which I managed to understand what he meant by the absurdities of life. Into the Wild, excellently written by Jon Krakauer, broke my heart too because of Chris Mccandles’ tales somehow mimicked my own, minus the grand adventure part. I finally read Alan Watts too, from whom I learned that efforts to avoid from pain is painful in itself.

And music, a constant part of my life as I know it, helps too. I was saved because Fleet Foxes released a life-affirming record that fittingly spoke about relief, gratitude, and seasonal rebirth. During the darkest days I was just alone with my guitar in my room, terribly singing out the words that these musicians carved out of their soul to release my emotional burden. I was particularly grateful for being reminded time and again that “no one gets it right” but “we’re all supposed to try”.

I made a playlist containing songs that for me served as a reminder to be gentle for myself. You can check that here.

All of that was a roundabout way to say that I indeed, was able to go out amid the pandemic. On one afternoon I just said fuck it, I need to go out and see things. That led me to a weekly socially-distanced walk around the neighborhood, which was therapeutic in itself because the walks allowed me to be fully present and be sensitive to the sights and sounds and smells around me. Nothing is more liberating that allowing your feet to go where it you to go.

I don’t have the full answers yet, but as I wrote his essay, I`m glad to be able to say that I have rebuild my house of cards, with some of the bad cards included as well. It was quite a bumpy ride but when I looked back, this particular tweet was eerily prescient because it rings true today as was the day I tweeted it.

But I walked away from the depths of that bottomless pit not only with knowledge, but also of understanding the parts that made me who I am. I`m also humbled after I saw the abyss for the second time because it suggests that there might be another time when I found myself on the edge of despair.

I`ll never forget the fact that these hard-won lessons came on the back of years of pain, grief and suffering. But it also came on the heels of moments of simple walk in the setting sun and feeling the breeze on the beach too. In fact, I have made it my mission going forward to acknowledge both good and bad things as they are. Because forcing yourself to remember all the bright things when you were in the dark, and vice versa, is a form of self-torture. I hope this essay somehow do that mission justice.

I have said goodbyes to many things in life as the crisis comes and goes, but 2020 goodbyes were simply different. So much so that I thought I have a PhD in letting go already, however absurd that idea is.

#age #birthday #essay

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unmaskedagain · 4 years

Text

Not the Devil, but Twice as mean

This is a short story that I wrote. Its dark. It does reference suicide early on. It talks about evil and the supernatural so be warned.

“My mother committed suicide,” Claudia told Dr. Sykes dryly. She kept her face blank, like always. Nothing the therapist could latch on to or exploit. “She did it because she would rather die than raise a daughter like me.”

Claudia had always been Dr. Sykes most… peculiar client. She didn’t come with the usual problems that plagued other schoolgirls her age. There were no body issues, boy troubles, too much pressure to succeed from family, or a desire to improve her popularity at school. Nor did she seem to have any narcissistic tendencies like Sykes thought she would. Claudia was cold, seemingly indifferent to all the troubles that had wreaked havoc on her life but more than willing to discuss them as one talked about the weather.

Dr. Sykes resisted to write the word sociopath on her notepad again. She was a thin, middle-aged blond woman with a big nose and a haircut that reminded people of Tinkerbell. “Why do you think that’s true?”

Her patient raised one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows at the question. It would be an understatement to say that Claudia Valencia was a pretty girl. She had an otherworldly beauty that would’ve been odd on any woman, let alone a girl of fourteen. Her ink-black hair was a mess of endless curls that framed eyes such a deep brown they were easily mistaken for black. She had high cheeks bones, scarlet lips, and her amber skin was flawless and blemish-free as if the teen hadn’t ever so much as had a pimple.

Which was probably true, Dr. Skyes thought. And when she did, she could swear she saw a flicker of a smile on Claudia’s sweet face.

“I don’t think it’s true. I know it is,” Claudia finally answered.

“Uh-huh,” The older woman said. Dr. Sykes had been Claudia’s therapist for two years. She probably knew more about the younger girl than anyone else. “Why do you know it’s true? And what do you mean: a daughter like you?”

Claudia smiled pleasantly. The answer was the same for both questions. Evil, Claudia thought. She was born evil. She had always known it. Claudia was born with black blood, literally pumping through her veins. The first time she was placed in a crib, Claudia had set fire to the entire room. When Claudia was little, she’d walked the earth with two shadows. One belonged to her. The other did not.

Her mother didn’t mind at first, even when little Claudia had started speaking to it. She wrote it off as a child talking to an imaginary friend. It wasn’t until she finally heard the shadow talk back did she finally have enough. Her mom’s death was the last time Claudia saw her second shadow. Her father’s shadow.

“My mother was a good woman,” Claudia said. “A kind, loving woman. And a fool.” She sighed as she remembered her mother. “She loved fairy tales. She loved books and shows about magic, love, and good, always triumphing over evil. They blinded her of how dangerous such things really are, how dangerous my father was. The reality set in after I was born. I wasn’t the daughter she expected me to be. I could never be the daughter she always wanted. Still, she tried to love me as best she could.”

Dr. Sykes nodded and took more notes. “And do you think she loved you?”

“As best she could,” Claudia repeated.

“And your father?” Dr. Sykes. “Did he want you? In our past sessions, you hardly ever spoke of him. I wish to address him now because, as you have stated, this will be our last session.”

Claudia paused to contemplate what to say, how best to give an answer that wouldn’t end with Sykes accusing her of being the anti-Christ. The situation happened with her last therapist. It was an unpleasant experience. “My father is a cold man, a harsh man. Cruel, even. He demands perfection out of everything and everyone in his life. He despises weakness and stupidity. He firmly believes love isn’t freely given. It’s earned.” It was, Claudia was willing to bet, the kindest words anyone had ever said about her father. “I am exactly the daughter my father always wanted.”

She’d be dead if she wasn’t. I had sisters, Claudia wanted to scream. A dozen, maybe, if she remembered right, give or take one or two. They spanned back centuries. Most of them hadn’t made it past infancy. Too human for Daddy Dearest to even bother with. The rest dead before or by their fifteenth birthday. Too weak, her father had said, to do what was expected of them. However, even though this would be their last meeting, there were some things Claudia couldn’t bring herself to reveal.

“So, he loves you?”

At the question, Claudia’s face turned thoughtful. “My father is capable of many things, but I had always wondered if the ability to love is one of them. He is fond of me.” No daughter of his had ever lived as long as she had. Only sons. And even then, only pure sons. Never a half-breed like her. No daughter of his had ever come so close to completing the Blood Rites, not that her father knew that yet. Countless of her brothers had tried and died in their attempts to complete the Blood Rites. Or had been killed for their attempts. “He is proud of me.”

Dr. Sykes straightened up in his seat, “You’ve had contact. The last time we spoke about your dad, you swore you’d never speak to him again.” This was growth, the woman thought.

“I haven’t seen or spoken to him since I was seven-years-old,” Claudia said. The shadows told her everything she wanted to know. They were how Claudia knew she was running out of time. They could travel to places she dared not tread. It was how she knew her father still looked for her and that he was getting close to finding her.

He had been searching for Claudia for most of her life. It had taken five years, and having a child for her mother to admit that the man she loved was, literally, pure evil. Once she had, her mother had taken her and ran. It was the smartest thing she had ever done.

“He doesn’t know where I am,” Claudia whispered. She always preferred to limit any mention of her father. Speak of the devil and all that. “I don’t want him to know. Not yet, at least.” The very thought of her father finding her before Claudia could finish the rites made her entire body tremble.

Dr. Sykes mistook the emotion for another one entirely. “Do you miss him?”

“Sometimes,” Claudia admitted. She just feared him more. Claudia was terrified of what he would do to the people she loved; her family, her friends. Not could do, not might do; would do. “He was a good dad from what I remember. He always made time to play with me; tea parties, princesses, superheroes.”

“Why don’t you invite him to your birthday?” Dr. Sykes suggested a smile lit up her face. “You’ve talked about it for months. It’s a big day for you. It would be a good time to work out any lingering… issues.”

Claudia sighed. Dr. Sykes still thought she had abandonment issues. She did not have abandonment issues. She had ‘if father finds out I’m doing the Blood Rites in an attempt to declare emancipate myself from his control once and for all, he’ll have everyone I’ve ever known and loved slaughtered in front of me before killing me himself’ issues. “The timing wouldn’t work.”

“It’s a week away,” Dr. Sykes stated. “Is your father overseas?”

“Practically in another world,” Claudia smirked. “Besides, he’s my father. He doesn’t need an invitation. He’s had this birthday marked on his calendar for years.”

Dr. Sykes gave her an understanding look. “My mom was deployed a lot when I was young. Maybe he’ll make it in time.”

“He will,” Claudia said, a coldness went down her spine. “Fifteen is a special age to turn in my family.”

“Yes, a traditional celebration for young Hispanic girls,” Dr. Sykes remembered. “Your Quinceanera.”

Claudia smiled. “My mother used to dream about how’d mine would be. A big puffy dress, going from flats to heels.

“What was your mother’s name?” Dr. Sykes asked. She had finally caved to two years of building curiosity about the young girl’s family. It was her last chance, after all

“Rosemary,” Claudia answered with a soft smile on her face. “My father found it amusing.”

Dr. Sykes leaned forward, hand on her chin. “Why?”

“People call him the devil,” Claudia answered. “He isn’t, of course. My father isn’t old enough, my grandfather maybe. That old man is where Christianity got their idea of what the devil looks like.”

“What?” Dr. Sykes drew back as if bitten.

Claudia carried on as if nothing happened. “It’s absurd, of course.”

Dr. Sykes breathed a sigh of relief and ran a hand through her blond hair. Her sleeve caught her attention. That was when she realized she wasn’t in her regular work clothes, a well-fitted power suit, but her pajamas. “Of course…” She said, blinking in confusion. Why was she wearing her pajamas?

“Lucifer was cast down from the heavens,” Claudia added. Evil, yes. Bringer of darkness, yes. But he is no more of a demon than you. Why in all of time and space would he look like one? Or choose to look like the very incarnation of evil. Even my father doesn’t walk around all black-eyed with his horns showing, and he’s very proud of his heritage. It’s tasteless. Though these days, with all that’s going on in the world, some people might actually welcome the apocalypse. Nevertheless, evil is meant to be tempting. Evil seduces.”

Dr. Sykes barely paid attention to what Claudia had said as too preoccupied with assessing the odd situation she slowly realized she was in. It was like her mind was cloudy, but she was starting to pick out various clues that screamed something was wrong. For starters, she never worked after six, and the view from her window said it was night outside, well after office hours. They were in her bedroom, not her work office, where she only dealt with patients. Her home address was confidential, and she wasn’t listed anywhere. Furthermore, how had Claudia gotten into her house? Why? And why hadn’t she questioned anything until now?

Claudia waited patiently as Dr. Sykes struggled to regain her memory of the last hour. It was the least could do, she knew. Dr. Sykes had been a big help to her in the last couple of years. She was fun, easy to talk to, caring. Odd as it might be, Claudia would miss her.

Panic started to fill the woman. She remembered feeling like she was being watched all night. She remembered red glowing eyes peering down at her from a shadowy corner on her ceiling. Dr. Sykes remembered thinking it was just a dream, her imagination. She remembered getting out of her bed for a drink of water. She had stepped into the darkness of the hallway, and then there had been a pain—blinding pain, and then nothing.

“Ahh, there you go,” Claudia said. “Was that really that hard?”

Dr. Sykes let out a shuddered breath and brought up her terror-filled eyes to meet Claudia’s. “Did you… Am I…” She asked, but the question she wanted to ask didn’t leave her lips. Instead, the doctor asked, “Why is this our last session?”

“Because I killed you,” Claudia sighed. “And spirits can only stay earthbound for so long.”

Dr. Sykes's mouth dropped. “No! You didn’t! I’m not! I can’t be!”

Claudia stood up and brushed off the imaginary dirt of her clothes. She was small, dainty, even, and dressed in a dark blue and green school uniform.

As if she was an innocent little girl, Sykes thought bitterly.

“You’ve been floating above your chair for the last half hour,” Claudia put a manicured hand on her hip. “As smart as you are, as you were, I figured you would’ve realized long before now.”

Condescending little bitch, Dr. Sykes thought viciously. Murdering little demon!

Claudia grinned, red-stained lips spread from ear to ear. “I made it quick, nearly painless. But death is never easy. And I’d watch yourself. Your soul is in this little demon’s hands.” Dr. Sykes’ eyes widened in surprise. “No, I can’t read minds. You’re a ghost, chica—a soul. Souls tell everything. You’ve been talking out loud this entire time.”

It went quiet. Dr. Sykes was too busy coming to terms with her life being over to talk, and Claudia had decided to be generous enough to allow that.

“Are you taking me to hell?” Dr. Sykes finally asked.

Claudia waited to answer. She eyed Dr. Sykes over as she grew more and more afraid of what the answer would be. She loved fear. The feelings of other people’s fears always warmed her right down to her toes. “No, You’ll face your judgment like any other,” Claudia told her. “I only needed your life.”

“Oh? Only my life,” Dr. Sykes said sarcastically. “Well, in that case.”

Claudia laughed, “You always were funny,” She said as she walked to the door, easily stepping over the body in the middle of the room. “I really did like you.”

“Do you kill everyone you like?”

“Some of them,” The girl shrugged. “Usually, just the ones that get in my way. Your death put me just over four dozen. I only killed you because you were born under a full blood moon. That’s harder to find than you think. It was a lucky break that you told me when your birthday during our last session. I already knew the year you were born. After that, it was easy to figure out where you fell on the lunar cycle. I’ll send flowers to your funeral. You liked Madonna lilies, right?”

“I preferred golden rayed lilies,” Dr. Sykes answered drily.

“Oh yeah!” The girl nodded. “I’ll remember that. Goodbye, Dr. Sykes. I hope you make it into heaven. If not, well… I’ll see if I can put a good word for you in hell.” And with that, she was done. Claudia was about to walk out the door when she was called to stop.

“Wait!” Sykes called. “Why do this? Why kill so many people?”

Claudia paused in the doorway and looked over her shoulder. Her face looked far too angelic for all the evil she had done as far as Sykes was concerned. “Because daddy is going to make an uninvited appearance at my Quince. And I have to be ready for him,” She said. “You think you’re afraid of hell. Trying showing up as a demon with a soul.”

#short story #original fiction #original content #evil #supernatural #writing #unmaskedagain

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novantinuum · 4 years

Text

Intake, Ch. 2

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 3600~

Summary: While waiting in the van, Greg reflects on the current state of his son’s mental health, and his many questionable parenting decisions.

This is set multiple months pre The Future, and is a bonus Greg-POV follow up to a previous one-shot I wrote. No context of that is needed to understand this.

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

____

Animated fireworks flash on Greg Universe’s phone screen, virtual fanfare for the virtual victor, as he clears the last king from the tableau. His brows shoot upwards in delight when he sees the final count of the timer. Wow, under three minutes. That’s close to a personal record. Not too shabby for a man who swears he finds a new strand of grey each and every week.

Another day, another successful round of solitaire in the bag.

Sighing, he almost clicks for a new deal, but then realizes it’s almost noon, and that his son is set to finish his first session any minute now. With that in mind, he switches off his phone and nestles it in the empty cup holder at his side, making sure it doesn’t touch the sticky soda stain covering a portion of the plastic. He’d kinda like to be paying attention when Steven exits the therapist’s office, rather than lose himself in a mindless distraction only to be startlingly yanked back to reality by timid knocks on the van door.

Timid.

If any word could be used to describe the way Steven dances around interactions with him these days, this one fits the bill. The boy will sometimes talk to him, sure, but it’s all small talk, short and curt responses, half-hearted shrugs. He’s positive there has to be more to his reluctance to fully engage, to even embrace him, but if so he’s not seeing it. At this point, the last time they had a true heart-to-heart conversation was on their road trip, before the crash. What on Earth happened? They used to be close. They used to share everything with each other, before he moved in with the Gems. Years later, he assumed they still did. And yet, after Dr. Maheswaran showed him the blunt reality of the X-rays on Steven’s chart... those dozens of healed-over fractures, speaking to a litany of injuries sustained throughout childhood, injuries he never knew about, all leading to trauma he never saw the signs of... he realized that, at some point, the two of them had drifted apart. When he was younger he thought he was correcting from his parents’ iron rule, letting his son have all the freedom he wanted. But was it too much? Was he that neglectful a father?

When did he stop paying attention to Steven’s emotional needs enough to miss his steep slip into mental distress?

He sighs, guilt lining the inside of his stomach like the burn of hard liquor coating one’s throat.

It’s not about me, he reminds himself. I can’t make it about me.

It’s the same mantra that kept him stubbornly pushing forward through waves of anguish and remorse weeks back, when his poor boy was roaring, slashing his claws at anyone that dared edge close, years of buried anger and pain thrown to the forefront in a veritable explosion of scales and thorns.

He glides his hand across the faux wood paneling on the dashboard as he consigns himself to recent memory, letting both his fingertips and his mind trace every dip and ridge of its grain. That was probably the most terrifying thing he’d ever witnessed in his life. His own son, disappearing in seconds into this... this monstrous thing, like all the corrupted Gems he used to see them fight from a distance but so, so much bigger. So much rawer. He genuinely thought he’d lost him forever that day. His own panic aside, he can’t even imagine what that experience must have been like for Steven. Remembering those heartbreaking three words he said before it happened, though, glowing pink on hands and knees, he’s not sure he wants to.

“Greg,” Dr. Priyanka Maheswaran says sternly as he exits the thrashed examination room, toting a clipboard under her arm. Her gaze, while undoubtedly sympathetic to the plight of the boy who’s currently changing back into his clothes in privacy, regards him with a fiery sort of reproval the likes he hasn’t squirmed under since he was a child himself. “We need to have a frank conversation about your son’s wellbeing.”

From the corner of his eyes he catches a blur of pink and faded denim blue pushing through the small office’s exterior door. Greg jolts to action, wiping what he fears is a self-pitying look off his face and attempting to replace it with something that looks halfway encouraging. Part of him’s terrified that no matter what he changes, it‘ll never be enough. He’s admittedly still at a loss for how to most helpfully interact with someone struggling with, erm... well, let’s be blunt— with long-untreated mental illness— but he’d do anything for his son’s sake at this point, even if that involves the hard work of addressing his own habits and convictions. He unlocks the van just as Steven walks up alongside.

He can’t help but briefly hold his breath the moment the passenger door opens.

The teen appears no different than he did when Greg left the office to sit in the van an hour and a half ago— his eyes are downcast, drawn with exhaustion, expression unreadable— but to be fair he supposes it’s silly to expect any drastic shift in mood after only one session. Right?

“Now, to be clear, I’m not licensed to diagnose mental disorders,” she explains, glancing up from her notes, “but from everything I’ve witnessed, tested, and heard from him today I have a strong suspicion that he’s dealing with post-traumatic stress.” Mouth pinched, she drops her clipboard on the counter beside them, its dull clap as it hits the laminate punctuating the sheer gravity of her words. “There’s my prognosis,” she says bluntly, palms spread wide. “This looks like textbook PTSD, ignored and overlooked for months.”

Greg lets the bitter reality of those four letters sink in, his eyes burning, throat dry, his heart cracking with despair at the very thought of— he only barely holds back what he’s sure in this circumstance, host to the scolding of a medical practitioner, is a pathetic sob— of his Steven, suffering through all these turbulent emotions for goodness knows how long, no one the wiser, no one noticing his silent cries for help, no one—

He... god, he didn’t know. He didn’t know! How could he have been so stupid to not have noticed?

“You do understand how serious this situation is, yes?” she continues when he doesn’t vocally respond. “How- how irresponsible it is to have never taken your sixteen-year-old son in for even, what? A simple check up? And, and—“ she holds her hands up before he can blurt out a response. “I know what you’re about to say. I know he’s half-Gem, I know he’s different than anyone else on this planet. But he has human needs, too, Greg! I just—!” Priyanka inhales deep, pressing her thumb against her temple as she pauses to catch her cool. “Pardon me. I’m sorry for snapping. I know you love him, and mean well with him, but at this point, we need to face the truth. That boy is hurting, badly. And if he’s going to have any chance of recovering from this, he needs your full support now more than ever.”

The passenger seatbelt clicks, the door already closed. Steven sighs under his breath, sinking into the time-worn, faded seat back. Greg studies his son’s face for a moment, noting with concern the lines of stress creased under his eyes.

“Hey, bud,” he says, his hands shifting to the wheel, nervously fidgeting as he waits for a response, any response.

“Hey,” he mutters, already pulling out his phone. (Probably to text Connie, if he has to guess. Greg counts himself thankful that he has this solid friendship to help anchor him at such a difficult point in his life. Simultaneously, his heart aches knowing the stress that girl’s surely gone through by choosing to be a support for him.)

“How... erm, how’d it go?”

He gives him a big shrug, his fingertips blazing across the screen in an almost dizzying display of dexterity. “It went.”

Greg’s fingers rap against the sun-stained leather. “You still game for gettin’ some food?”

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

Okay. Good. Lunchtime is a go, then, he thinks, diverting his notice to the keys in the ignition. Despite this, there’s a shade of disappointment that tints the atmosphere within this space. Unable to shake the harrowing feeling that he failed some sort of unspoken test with his son, he starts the van and— mentally plotting a course to that good Thai place Steven discovered a few months back— carefully pulls out of the cramped parking lot onto the main road, hoping that this extension to their time together may eventually chip away at the ice that’s formed between them.

Some classic rock plays on the radio as he drives, a band Greg distantly recalls hearing via his classmates in high school but can’t remember the name of. The singer’s mellow tenor effortlessly fills the gaps left behind in their timid silence. Briefly glancing away from the road, he catches Steven’s fingers tapping against his phone to the beat as he waits for a reply to his text, lips drawn. It’s an almost minuscule display, so subtle that any untrained eye might miss it, but witnessing this proof that his son is still very much capable of finding pleasure in music, however small said source of pleasure may be, he can’t help but smile. Soon enough, he passes the crooked street lamp on the corner of Glover and 4th that he always uses as a mental marker when navigating around the small town of Seaside, and takes a quick left at the next stoplight. It’s funny... this place is only twenty or so miles away from home, but given gas costs and his habitual frugalness, he hasn’t explored this county enough over the years to form a good internal map beyond Beach City. Perhaps now, with his son coming to this town every week for therapy, that will change.

The song ends on a sleek guitar riff, and quickly transitions back to the station’s upbeat radio personality.

“You’re listening to Dragon’s Hoard FM, your home for all of music’s greatest treasures! Next up, a trip down memory lane... to a fan favorite from the 1971 best-selling artist... welcome to the party, Kerry Moonbeam.”

Static pours through his nerves as the next number begins to play, (why now, why now, what cruel cosmic timing is this??), robbing all sensation from his fingers. His knuckles grow uncharacteristically pale as he clutches at the wheel, wrestling for dominance.

“Looking for your place in the universe...”

He doesn’t dare shift his gaze from traffic this time, but all he can see in his mind’s eye is that glowing, nauseatingly bright pink. The unwavering tension hanging over them, thick as smog, as their conversation grows terse and grim. His son at the helm, the demons of their past steering their trajectory far out of anyone’s control, as— angered and upset over what he now accepts are entirely rational things— he openly calls out his failures, his lack of structure, lack of attention, his—

“Don’t you know the universe is looking too~ Looking for its place in yo—“

And with the twist of a knob, it’s over. Some local station replaces those tense airwaves, bringing him relief from tainted memory in an instant. His hand quivers as it returns to command of the wheel. In the passenger seat, Steven glances up from his text conversation with that instinctual concern he��s so prone to, eyes blown wide and colored with equal parts confusion and sympathy.

Notably, there’s not a sign of pink.

Swallowing hard, Greg considers saying something in explanation, but in the tangled complexity of their current relationship he can’t think of anything worth saying. Eventually, his throat runs dry in his own silence. His son stops gawking at him like another problem to be fixed, attention drifting back to his phone. His muscles loosen in sheer relief.

He sighs under his breath as he slows for a pedestrian at the crosswalk. Willfully, he buries himself in the mindless drivel of the local talk show he switched to for the rest of the drive, allowing their distant voices to cover the aching, lonely gap torn in his heart.

____

They put in their order when the waitress arrives, Steven settling on pad thai with egg and tofu, and Greg falling back on an old favorite with fried rice and pork. She jots this down on her notepad in a jiffy, pours them some water, then hurriedly scuttles behind the curtain that separates the kitchen from the remainder of the restaurant. It is the lunch rush, after all.

Thankfully though, even amongst the rush the two of them were lucky enough to be seated at a cozy table nestled against the back wall, affording them a decent amount of privacy. There’s enough ambient chit-chat bouncing around the room that Greg doesn’t feel eaten alive by that aching isolation he endured on the almost silent drive over, but not enough that these people’s presence feels suffocating. Steven slowly sips at his water as he politely listens to his updates on Sadie and Shep’s blossoming music career. He’s not saying much in response beyond asking the appropriate follow-up questions and then nodding his head at his answers, but in the end, that’s fine. Even if the recent lack of depth to their conversations bothers him, even if his son’s silence shatters his heart, in his mind it’s not fair to pressure him to interact in a manner he‘s not ready for yet. Greg just needs to be patient. He’ll open up to him when the time is right. There’s no need to push so hard that the remaining threads stringing their relationship together snap altogether, which is— if he’s honest— the future he fears the most.

The one where he becomes no better than his own over-controlling parents.

With his fingers obsessively rapping alongside the side of his glass, he continues to make substance-less small talk, anything to aid in the illusion that the two of them can still carry a conversation together.

“So yeah, that’s where they’re at right now,” he says. “They said they’re gonna put a pause on the touring, and start working on a full album.”

“Nice. Good for them,” Steven responds, the lines under his eyes betraying his underlying exhaustion, even if it appears he’s trying his hardest to mask it. (But for who’s sake?) “And you, you’re still gonna...?”

“Be their manager, yes. That’s still the plan.”

“Cool, cool.“

Their words fade amongst the ambient chatter, neither immediately leaping to comment further.

He softly clears his throat. “And, uh... in the end, I’ll be there whenever they need me, y’know? They might decide they want someone else supportin’ them along some day, and that’s fine.” He wrings his hands together atop the table, watching his son closely. “I only want the best for them.”

The teen’s hollow glance flits across the restaurant, landing from person to person, his leg bouncing nervously under the table all the while. Upon sensing this, it suddenly hits Greg that this is the first time Steven’s been out in busy public beyond the familiar faces of Beach City. For a second he can’t help but fret that all this activity— therapist’s waiting room, awkward car ride, going out to a busy restaurant at noon— will only serve to stress the poor kid out, but then again... pressing his silent worries onto the situation won’t help anyone. The only thing that’s important right now is for his son to know he’s always loved. Always heard, always seen, from this moment on.

After all his failures as a guardian in the years prior, it’s the least he can do.

And then, as Steven’s gaze shifts back into focus, Greg can wholeheartedly sense that he’s mentally engaged, delicate machinery in his mind whirring away as he processes every facet of this conversation, this moment, this place. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then opens his mouth to speak.

“With Sadie and Shep, well...” He scratches at the back of his neck, not quite sustaining eye contact. “I’m sure that... no matter what the future holds, they’ll always appreciate the support you did give them. Even if some of that support maaaybe wasn’t exactly what they needed at the time,” he adds as an afterthought, voice falling soft.

Something within his chest unshackles upon hearing these words, their double meaning more than clear to him. He blinks hard, desperately trying not to utterly break down in front of his own kid. “Steven, I—“

His attempt to piece together a heartfelt response is interrupted by the arrival of their lunch, steam wafting off each plate as the waitress sets them both on the table. They both offer their thanks, and unwind their utensils from their napkins. He’s quick to dig in to his fried rice and pork, having not eaten a full meal since last night. Steven, on the other hand, picks and prods at his entrée, something he’s noticed has become a concerningly common occurrence in recent weeks. He still eats, thank the stars, but not with zeal.

Greg is already midway through his plate before by the time his son‘s just started to put a dent into his own. The teen twirls his chopsticks around a clump of noodles and bean sprouts, seeming more lost in thought than usual. A moment passes, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak up, but quickly shuts it again.

His brow creases with equal parts worry and curiosity. “You got somethin’ on your mind, bud?”

Steven frowns, abandoning his otherwise proficient chopstick skills to stab the tip of one of them into a hunk of tofu. “I guess it’s just that... well... nothing about that appointment was what I expected,” he says, and lifts his utensil to take a bite.

“Oh, yeah?” he prompts, and leans into the table with a surplus of attentiveness. All the while, he’s waging a desperate internal battle not to seem like he’s clinging to his each and every word. (Just let him open up at his own pace, Greg. Don’t be suffocating. Encourage him, but give him time.)

“It wasn’t like, bad,” he murmurs softly, his blank gaze drifting across the ornaments and framed art strewn across the restaurant walls. “But we barely even talked about the last few months? I thought we would, but we didn’t. Instead, he just asked a lot of questions about you, the Gems, Beach City, what it was like growing up. Some clarification on the history of the Diamonds, and the war. I dunno,” he shrugs, and twirls his chopsticks through his pad thai again. “It was kinda strange.”

Greg reflects for a moment on his son’s words, recalling with a slight grimace the first conversation he and the Gems had with Steven about considering therapy. At first he was strongly resistant to the idea, almost indignantly so, claiming that he could “sort this all out by himself” given time, that no one could ever relate to his exact problems enough to be of any help, and that he didn’t want to make his stupid life someone else’s burden in the first place. And even when they managed to convince him to give it a try, he still admitted worry about finding someone who knew enough about Gems to be qualified to treat him. So in that case, he can understand if the teen feels a little nervous, being asked so many questions about his complex lineage.

“Yeah, I hear ya’,” he nods, and then— catching the inside of his cheek between his teeth, rapidly weighing the pros and cons of risking a more in-depth comment— “With what Dr. Maheswaran’s told me about therapy, though, that sounds about normal for a first session, for anyone.”

Steven visibly perks up, perhaps in relief that for once his experience isn’t a unique exception like many other things in his childhood... schooling, housing situation, etc. etc... have been.

“Really? What- what did she say about it?”

“Mostly that it’s important for therapists to build context so they can better understand their client’s current state, or something like that.”

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair. “Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“In the end, you’re definitely not the only one in this boat, Schtu-ball. And that‘s gotta be a little reassuring, yeah?”

He smiles in response. It’s small, merely a slight upward tilt of his lip, but it’s there. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

____

Their conversation fades back into small-talk after that, but by that point Greg doesn’t feel so bothered. Instead, he feels as if a colossal weight’s been lifted from his chest. He’s not sure Steven fully understands the gift he’s given him today, opening up a little about his inner life after so many long weeks of self imposed silence, but the reassurance it’s offered about the state of their bond is astronomical. It promises healing, a brand new chance to listen and understand.

To change and grow in relationship together, father and son.

“Hey, Dad?” he asks hesitantly as he climbs into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, bud?”

He diverts his attention from the dashboard for just a moment, just long enough to catch a glimpse of the teenager. Clutching their leftovers in his lap, Steven’s eyes land on the stack of CDs tucked into the door pocket.

“D’ya think we can listen to one of your albums on the way back?”

With a watery smile, he switches the van’s radio to disk mode.

“Take your pick.”

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

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studying-with-adult-adhd · 4 years

Text

The Canadian Healthcare System and Why It Sucks, but Is Still Better Than The US

So, this tis be my diagnosis story.

When I first went to go see my family doctor about the feelings I was having, I was asked to sit down and fill out a survey of sorts. It was about how I was feeling. I didn’t talk to a doctor. I didn’t get to explain anything. They took those papers away and then my doctor came in and said “Aliesha, I think you may have mild to severe anxiety and depression.” She prescribed me medications and told me to make an appointment with their therapist.

So, I tried the medication for a few months, while sitting on the wait list for a half hour appointment with a therapist who clearly didn’t want to listen to me and only wanted to tell me what to do. It took me 3 months to get into this therapist. Not once was I sent for any tests to see if it could have been a physical condition (such as a thyroid issue).

The medication didn’t work. I tried a new one. I waited 3 months between my appointments with my therapist. This time, the medication made me dissociate, which the doctor had no clue what that was. I only found out after talking to my therapist in my clinic years later. I turned 18, and then I was told that I couldn’t see the therapist anymore because I wasn’t a minor. So I got scheduled to meet a new one. Again, it was the same thing.

I was finally switched to my last anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medication. It didn’t work None of them worked. Not once was it suggested to me that I could have ADHD because I didn’t have typical symptoms. I had been asking to be referred to a psychiatrist, I even found a few that I thought would work. I was at the end of my rope and I just wanted to find help. My doctor never referred me, told me that there was no reason for me to be referred to one.

Eventually, I switched family doctors. I met with their clinics behavioral consultant lady. She talked to my new doctor and they referred me to the Emerging Adult Treatment Clinic. There was going to be a wait but they had given me resources. This doctor sent me for blood tests and tried to see what could be causing it. I stopped taking the medication I was on because it just didn’t feel like it was doing anything (PSA: DO NOT STOP TAKING YOUR MEDICATION COLD TURKEY. PLEASE TALK TO YOUR DOCTOR AND REDUCE IT GRADUALLY. THOSE FEW MONTHS WERE LITERAL HELL ON EARTH.)

About 8 months later, I was contacted by this clinic and was told to come in for an assessment appointment. The clinic was calm. It was mean for children and youth up to 24 years old. As I was talking to the intake therapist, he turned to me and told me “Aliesha, I think you’re a great candidate for this clinic and I’m going to go ahead and book you for orientation.”

I started crying. Bawling. I told him that it felt good to hear that I was finally going to get help. I told him that if they had denied me, I’m not sure what would have happened.

Orientation was two group sessions of going through what was going to happen and what type of programs were available to us in the clinic. We were going to be doing individual therapy, where our assigned therapists had us for an hour, and would help us. They would also make suggestions for which program, if any, would be helpful. We were told we would also be meeting with a psychiatrist as soon as we could.

I started my therapy with my psychologist Natalie. She was absolutely amazing and I wish I could thank her again. I told her what was going on and she asked me what i hoped to gain out of therapy. She asked me what I most wanted to work on. We started on basic necessities. Like eating and sleeping properly. She always encouraged me, she validated me. She made me feel valued again.

I then got to meet with the psychiatrist. Natalie was also there for all my psychiatry appointments to make notes for our sessions, as well as add anything that she felt was important. My psychiatrist right away had said “Aliesha, I’ve noticed a few things while you’ve been sitting here, and do you think you could possibly have ADHD?” I had said, I never thought about it but you’re the doctor and I’m trusting you. He gave me an option for my treatment. He told me he wanted to start me on medication that day, see if it helped a little, and then we’d go from there. I had a choice. He asked me if I was willing to do that. I told him yes.

I started Vyvanse 10mg the next morning. Holy shit, I felt like I could do my homework without dying. I was focused. I was happy. I felt like I could do things again. He also had me fill out some questionnaires, and asked if my mom would be willing to fill out one about my childhood. Yeah, looking back on it now, ADHD was definitely there when I was younger too. Things make sense.

I registered to go back to a in-classroom setting to finish my diploma. Natalie was so proud of me, and wow it felt good to hear someone professional say that they were proud of me and that they could see how hard I was trying.

I started DBT in this clinic too, and I felt it helped at least a little bit. I made amends with someone I used to go to school with that hated me; we had said some awful things to each other in school.

I made a complete 180 with the help of this clinic. Even now, after this hell of a year, I am happier. I’m healthier. My thoughts are healthier (though, I still have to work on things).

I walked with away from this clinic with a discharge paper stating my diagnoses, which are as followed:

ADHD

General Anxiety Disorder

Social Anxiety Disorder

and something that is almost PTSD but didn’t quite fit the mold from the DSM. My psychiatrist wrote it down as “Trauma and Stressor Related Disorder”.

That’s the story of how I was diagnosed. Let me tell you why the healthcare system is flawed.

I had to wait 4 years to get help. To get proper help. To be listened to. Unless I wanted to pay a ton of money that I didn’t have. I wasn’t listened to because I was a minor. I was told many times by doctors and “therapists” that if I lost weight, my problems would go away. I was told it was normal.

IT SHOULD NOT TAKE THAT LONG FOR SOMEONE TO FIND HELP.

I almost killed myself. If I had been denied from that clinic, I probably wouldn’t be here today. I was at the end of my rope and I was fighting to hold on. Not everyone gets to hang on so long. Not everyone is able to.

SUICIDE WILL NOT STOP UNTIL WE ADDRESS THE FUNDAMENTAL CONCERNS.

PROVIDE STUDENTS WITH BETTER ACCESS TO MENTAL HEALTH CARE. LISTEN TO THEM. PROVIDE TEACHERS AND ALL ADMIN STAFF WITH TRAINING TO UNDERSTAND AND IDENTIFY SOMEONE WHO COULD BE STRUGGLING.

MAKE WAIT TIMES LESS. MAKE APPOINTMENTS LONGER. MAKE SURE THE DOCTORS AND ALL HEALTHCARE PROFESSIONALS ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT HELPING YOU.

Yes, our Canadian Healthcare System is flawed. However, I didn’t have to pay to see my doctor. I didn’t have to outrageous bills after seeing my psychiatrist. The ONLY thing I paid for, was my prescriptions, which without insurance were $166 a month.

PROVIDE FREE HEALTHCARE FOR ALL CITIZENS.

#ADHD #adult adhd

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realmadridfamily · 4 years

Photo

“The four boys are so different that I don't miss the girl”

EIGHT weeks after the birth of little Máximo Adriano, the youngest of her four children with footballer Sergio Ramos, Pilar Rubio is more radiant than ever in a spectacular photo shoot in Portugal for ¡HOLA! "I wanted to get back to activity" - says the presenter. Despite the energy and professionalism, which she always shows, Pilar quickly recognizes the lack of sleep in the last few weeks, in which she combines childcare with the attention she gives to the rest of the family - which she doesn't neglect even from a distance. There is no doubt that Pilar is a supermom, which he confirms when he tells us about his physical recovery and motherhood in the midst of a pandemic. Pilar, how are you feeling? Very good, really. I can't ask for more, although I don't sleep much and I'm more tired than usual. There are nights when I think: <Mother of God, four children! Why hadn't I thought about it before?> (laugh). There are days when things get a little overwhelming for me because lack of sleep makes you see things differently. But I'm so happy that it fills me up and gives me energy. It's the first time that you separate from Máximo Adriano? A day and a half passed. It's difficult for me to separate myself from my children, but I have constant contact with them thanks to video calls. How is the little one? He's super good, he never cries. The only thing is that, like his brothers, he eats regularly. It takes a long time. Now he asks for a couple of takes at night, but the first weeks he slept an hour or nothing. It sounds harsh, really. I learned to be more patient and accepting situation. No need to complain. It was a natural childbirth? Yes, all four childbirths were natural. Whose idea was it to call the little boy Máximo Adriano? Sergio liked the name Adriano more and I liked the name Máximo more. Since both names are cute, we decided to put them together. This is a deep story (laughs). How did the older brothers accept Maximo Adriano? Alejandro, who was the youngest until Máximo Adriano's birth, has become a little more rebellious. Try to get attention. But this is normal. Sergio Junior and Marco don't feel the competition because they are older. They all love him very much, they kiss him, but then all three play with each other. Is there an intention to baptize him? This is not in our plans for now. We also didn't baptize others. It will turn out later. With this fourth child, will you and Sergio Ramos close the limit? No more children! We've definitely closed the limit (laughs). I think we did our best for the birth rate (laughs). You wanted a girl? The four boys are so different that I don't miss the girl. I have a great time with my sons. Do you have nannies? My mother is now at home with children. After four pregnancies, you look spectacular. It's a matter of good habits and keeping them, whether you are pregnant or not. Actually, there aren't many secrets. You need to be aware of your body and listen to it. Discipline is also important, but I don't want it to sound negative. You have to enjoy the routine. When you see the effects, it's worth taking care of yourself. How much weight did you gain with pregnancy? Only ten kilos. In the remaining three, fourteen. During my last pregnancy, I gained less weight because I used more energy with three kids. Apart the baby (Maximo Adriano weighed three hundred and seventy kilos at birth) the placenta and the amniotic fluid … That's four or five kilos. Then the body evolves rapidly. Now, I’m at my usual weight, even if it's distributed in a different way (laughs). Therefore, you have to train and tone. Which part costs you more to return to its original state? I have breastfed my four children and haven't had breast surgery. The breast suffers a lot with each pregnancy and, above all, with breastfeeding. I've noticed that this has changed and no matter how much I train, I can't fix it. If you ever think about it, you can always resort to aesthetic medicine ... Not yet ... I want to wait a moment. At least see how my body is evolving. If I had to make up my mind tomorrow, I wouldn't change it, but I would go back to what it was like before I became a mom. There are "celebrities" who recover almost by magic right after giving birth, and some who talk about surgeons. Have you heard that about yourself? It makes me laugh! Whoever says this is completely ignorant and should ask the doctor if it's possible to operate the bowel after giving birth. It's contraindicated. If you've had a bad diet, a sedentary lifestyle, and gained twenty-five kilos, recovery costs you more. But if you stick to your routine, it doesn't have to cost that much. Do you see the pressure some women feel to regain their body? Whose pressure? No way! At work, they always told me to come back whenever I wanted. I set pressure or goals for myself. Moreover, if someone pressured me, I didn't care. First, I would be worried if everything is alright. When do you train sports? You get up early? At seven or eight in the morning. Is it possible with four children? Yes, if I don't train, I don't have enough energy to get through the day. Seriously. It seems the opposite, but it keeps me active for the day. Besides, exercises in the afternoon make me lazy. Taking care of myself, being aware of my body and what it needs helps me be more determined and have more energy. When I start training, everything is beneficial and I enjoy. I also tell you that we all have our days (laughs). But even on days when I don't rest well and sleep for two or three hours, I get up to train. Even if I'm a little lazy, I feel much better. How much time do you dedicate to sport? One hour a day, four or five days a week. Sixty percent is food and forty percent is exercise and rest. What exercises do you practice? I recently gave birth and I can't do anything that is very aggressive or hitting the ground, so I do pelvic floor and hypopressive exercises. Also breathing exercises and stretching. I go step by step. With who do you train? Usually with Noe Todea, my personal trainer. Now, that I'm recovering from the birth, also with Caroline Correia, the physical therapist with whom I wrote the book "Pregnancy, and now what?". When I recover, I want to take off my orange kickboxing belt. I've been doing this for fourteen years, though occasionally because of pregnancy. I also want to come back to "country" dance classes. When I was little I lived with my parents in Torrejón and there was a lot of "country" culture because of the American base. Your husband also works his body hard. Don't you train together? Each of us has our own specific training, tailored to our own needs. We can be in the gym at the same time, but not training together. Do you follow any diet? I try to eat balanced. Maybe I avoid foods that aren't good, like wheat. You shouldn't spend every day on industrial baking. But there are times to enjoy everything without feeling guilty. We train and work all day to pay ourselves these little tributes later. You are radiant in photos, but when it comes to showing off your body, you feel modest. Not at all. I never thought about it (laughs). This is something I have always done and it's part of my profession. Why should I be ashamed? Which part of your body do you like to emphasize during photo sessions? The shoulders and clavicles, which seem like a very feminine part to me and I like to mark them. Also the look, although it depends on the context and style. Do you have complexes? A lot! Like everyone else. My feet are very long. Also hands. I look at my feet and think, "How long!". But, what foot size do you wear? Thirty nine. It's a normal. But I look at them and see long feet. I try to work on the rest of my body to avoid complexes. How did you spend the summer? We spent a week in Mallorca. We spent the rest of the time, from March, at home. When I came to Mallorca it was like a trip to another world! So it was a gift and we liked it very much. Were you afraid to travel during the pandemic? No way. I have respect, but when you are responsible then no problem. I'm not afraid or panicking before going out on the street. Not at all. During lockdown, you and Sergio could enjoy children much more. It was very nice to be together for twenty-four hours all the time. Moreover, during those weeks in lockdown, we all slept together in the same room. How is Sergio as a father? He is very affectionate and loving. He has always loved children and plays a lot with them. Do you share responsibilities? We don't strictly separate responsibilities. Depends on the day. Have the children already gone back to school? Yes, but I was afraid they might wear the mask wrong. The only one who should wear it's my eldest son, six years old, but the others see and imitate their brother. Do any of your sons have football player skills? You have to ask their father because I have no idea about football. My children play with everything: ride motorbikes, play football, jump, ride on wheels, karate, judo, tennis ... They practice everything. They still research everything and see where their limitations are. In addition to Máximo Adriano, another new member has appeared in the Ramos family: the son of your brother-in-law René Ramos with singer Lorena Gómez. Is she asking for your advice? Lorena is a very prepared and super determined woman. Cares very well for the baby. She is delighted and super happy. Why are people surprised by your friendship with Vania Millán? Vania is a very special person and one of my close friends. Lorena is René's girlfriend. They have nothing to do with each other. People try to find controversy where there is none. Lorena is charming and has already made it clear that there is no confrontation. On the contrary, we get along very well. When they tell me or read something about it, I laugh. We know what our life is and luckily we are three super happy women. Vania and I get along very well and we love each other very much. Of course Lorena too. Are you planning any new projects? I continue working on "El Hormiguero" and designing. There were also several advertising proposals.

#Maximo Adriano Ramos #Alejandro Ramos #Marco Ramos #Sergio Ramos Rubio #Pilar Rubio #Sergio Ramos #Real Madrid #Interview

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

Text

Introducing - Dr. Hannibal and Mrs. Erika Lecter.

Self - shipping game (started by @jokersspookyhyena; thank you for the tag, darling!💗)

I’m really nervous about posting this because Hannibal is... very special to me. The bond we share is on a similar level to the one I have with Joker. The only real difference is the length of time; Hannibal has been with me for far longer. I love him so much that it hurts and I wouldn’t be who I am or where I am without him.

PLEASE NOTE -

Mentions of abuse, dissociation and passive suicidal tendencies - unspecified, just named as listed. It’s relevant and almost central to our relationship. If you want to skip this bit, it’s the question asking his favourite things about me, specifically. Every other question is safe, loves! My connection to him is raw, and so are my answers.

Word count: 2, 450 (uhhh... woops??)

When did you get together/how long have you known them?

Hannibal and I go way back. I have known Hannibal Lecter, as a character across all forms of media, since I was thirteen, but NBC’s Hannibal I met when I was shy of eighteen. I adore all portrayals of Hannibal Lecter, but this Hannibal is my most favourite one. Not because Mads Mikkelsen is outrageously attractive, although that’s also true, but because in him I found solace, peace, acceptance, understanding... and safety, in more ways than one. Over the course of the time we’ve known each other, our dynamic has always changed and it’s grown with me. As I’ve gotten older, the dynamic has become increasingly romantic. When I look back on my life, Hannibal’s always been with me, and thank goodness because I wouldn’t be who I am today without him. I am so grateful to and for him for so many reasons it’d be impossible to list them all.

Nicknames, both yours for them and theirs for you!

Sksksksksk I annoy Hannibal with all my nicknames for him: Hanni is the one I use for everything, more than his own name, pretty Hanni when I want cuddles but I’m too shy to actually say, my love when I’m feeling tender for him (all the time) sometimes I’ll combine nicknames and say; Hanni, my love. Sometimes I call him my precious cannibal... that’s for our most romantic moments, though. When I’m talking to others about him, I usually attach “my” to the front of his name. He’s not mine, of course, and I don’t own him and he doesn’t belong to me, but the bond which we have is mine, and this is an important distinction.

Hannibal doesn’t have many nicknames for me. He most often calls me by my name, little fawn/doe when I’m especially skittish or he makes me accidentally jump (it’s not hard to do, though it’s not fun for him because it takes ages for me to calm down), dearest, my love, and the most recent addition is, phoenix or my phoenix... I wrote about that here if you want to read about why he calls me that!

Who’s on top?

Hannibal, most often. He likes to push, destroy and reset boundaries in his own image, though, so sometimes he’ll make me go on top just to see what I do. Spoilers: I always nuzzle my face into the warm crook of his neck, lock my arms and legs around him, and close my eyes. If Hannibal desires for anything sexual, then he has to roll me to be underneath him because once I’m on him, all I want is the safe cage of his embrace (though, on the rare occasions I get... amorous, I just aim my hips downwards every time I shift to get comfortable. It’s subtle enough to be missed, but Hannibal knows me and his chuckle rumbles through his chest and it always makes me smile).

Who is more protective?

Mmm... Hannibal, I would say. I don’t take the best care of myself and Hannibal often has to help me. Erika, don’t you think you should eat something? It has been several hours and you don’t want to get a stomach ache from not eating for so long, do you? and other such less than subtle reminders.

However, I’m not totally helpless and if anyone hurts my Hanni, then oooooooh, this fawn bares her teeth. You do not touch my Hanni. I may be afraid of confrontation and of raised voices, but if I catch wind of anyone targeting Hannibal, then none of that matters. Good luck taking Hannibal to prison, Jack, I’mma square up and you better be ready to catch these hands.

Who said ‘I love you’ first?

Meeeee ~ , I did!!!!! Because I knew him so young, for about six years of our friendship, I used to just say “I love you” and Hannibal would smile patiently but otherwise not encourage anything, for obvious reasons. But one day, I said I loved him and Hannibal gave me the time old reaction. “No, Hanni, listen. I love you.” He blinked once, twice, smiled... and still didn’t say it back. But that’s okay - I like to think that he loves me too. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. He’s Hannibal Lecter, who knows? If it’s a moment which needs for him to say it back, he’ll most often say, “and I, you.” It’s close enough.

Who does the household chores? Including cleaning, cooking, anything around the house.

Hanni and I split everything. I live with him and he refuses to let me pay rent or for food and the like (I have something of a guilt complex so I always feel bad for 'taking’ anything without giving something back, which is usually more than what I was initially given), so instead if something needs doing, I’ll do it without saying anything. Hannibal is incredibly self-sufficient and I stay out of his kitchen (I can cook well enough but Hannibal’s Japanese knives scare me so I stay out of the way and he’s very particular about the order of things in his kitchen), and I don’t go in his office either, but the rest of our home is mine to do whatever I want with. Sometimes I’ll deliberately stay out of his way and when he comes a-running (but not to help), he finds I’ve done odd jobs here and there around the home. He doesn’t thank me for it, he knows I don’t want that, so he dips his chin and eyes me with those gorgeous chocolate eyes, and I know I’ve earned myself a cuddle session later. Both of us know that that’s what I was after the entire time, though neither of us addresses it. He’s taught me well. A bit too well, he sometimes thinks.

Who gets hurt more often?

Me 😂 I have been known to trip over my own foot standing still and it’s not unusual for me to stand up and to sway as I try to find my balance and for Hanni to reach up to grasp my wrist until I’ve settled. It’s embarrassing and my cheeks always go bright red from blushing, but the heat of his hand seeps into my skin and I can’t tell which of the two body parts burns more. Sometimes his touch lingers on my skin and I end up sitting back down, not wanting to leave my precious cannibal. This was what Hannibal wanted the entire time and we both know it but we don’t address it, and I realise that either I’m becoming more like him, or he’s starting to adopt some of my own mannerisms. You and I have begun to blur is something Will once said to Hannibal, but it’s not a wholly exclusive sentiment. There are aspects of me which are because of Hannibal and we both know it.

How do you sleep?

I don’t, not without my Hanni. He most often lays on his back and lets me settle myself half on his body and half off. One of my legs stretches across his body so that my inner knee is pressed to his outer hip and I wrap my arms around his shoulders. My face finds its way either into his chest so I can hear his heartbeat and feel the rumble of his voice in my ear, or pressed into the warm crook of his neck so I can feel his pulse against my skin and know that he is alive and safe. When at last do I fall asleep, for it takes me a long time to settle and to get comfortable (seven hundred position changes and a sacrifice to Satan), Hannibal turns off the light he allows me while I fall asleep (if I wake up in the dark, I’ll be scared to the point of a panic attack and then he will wake and comfort me. This increases my trust in him and further ensures that I won’t leave him. We both know he does this but again, it’s not addressed. I trust him implicitly, which again... is all a part of his plan.) and then he turns onto his side with me pressed tightly to his chest.

Sometimes, on very rare occasions, when Hannibal has been hurt or if he’s sick, he likes to lay atop me and our positions are the same as above, but reversed. So he’s the one clinging onto me and I am the one on my back, protecting my pretty Hanni from all who seek to do him harm or to take his freedom away from him... that’s something I’d never condemn him to. I love him far too much to ever put him through that. Beasts belong out in the wild, do they not?

Fears?

Hannibal fears having his freedom taken away from him, he fears being completely vulnerable, he fears never being understood... his fears are bigger than me, so I can only love him as hard as I can every single day, without hesitation, thought or fault.

And, well... I have lots of fears. My biggest fears are the dark and... certain physical illnesses and Hannibal has offered multiple times to get me a suitable therapist, but I refuse every time. I have my Hanni, so I have everything.💖 He knows me and he knows that if he just stays, I’ll even lay in the pitch darkness for him... if he just stays. So he stays and, oh, my fear smells delicious and he craves more... so I crave his closeness and on it goes. We kind of... led each other into this relationship but looking back, I definitely don’t want it any other way. I’m not sure about Hannibal.

Favorite physical and personal feature about them?

I love all of Hannibal, but his eyes are the warmest pools of chocolate I’ve ever seen. I like to cup his face in my hands, especially when we’re sat in his study by the fire, and I like to get very close to him so that my nose is touching his and I just look into his eyes, the soft orange glow of the fire giving his dark irises a red tint... he has the eyes of a shark.

And that voice... asdfghjk 🥵🥵🥵 many a panic attack has been stopped before it’s started, many a nightmare soothed, by even one word. Hanni has to be careful what he asks of me because he knows that I won’t ever say no to him, but that was all a part of his plan... so long as I love him, I am useful to him. I lost all of myself once and Hanni helped me to find her. His voice led the way, it called out to the darkness in me, and I could only answer his call. He saved me.

And I love his hair... especially in the mornings when it brushes against his eye lashes, I... I just love him.🥺🥺🥺

My favourite personal feature of Hannibal’s is his mind. His psyche is an ocean with murky, never before charted depths, and I long to dive in at the deepest part and to never resurface. I long for his tongue to cut into me, for his words to slice me apart, and then for him to submerge me in the depths of his mind, in the depths of the love he may have for me, and to soothe away the metaphorical wounds I inflict upon myself daily (my inner voice most often sounds like my abusers, try as I might). I long to become one with my cannibal so that never are we torn asunder.

Their favorite physical and personal feature about you?

Mmm... this one is really hard to answer because I am not, ah... favourable of myself in any way. My dress just rode up to my thigh, though, and I can literally see the answer: my tattoo. A few years ago, something terrible happened and as a result, I dissociated to the point of barely functioning and I experienced passive suicidal ideation for a long time even after I escaped that situation (Hanni is the reason I left that, too). Instead of giving into that, though, I designed and then got a tattoo and though I wanted to die, Hannibal made me feel alive that day. Though I know that Hannibal doesn’t like his meat branded (😂), I also know that he loves my tattoo. It’s a physical mark of my love and my devotion to him, and of course it strokes his ego. He quite literally saved my life and I wanted to immortalise that instead of destroying myself further.

Even if I do say so myself, she’s gorgeous:

His favourite personal feature about me is the fact that I see him. I know exactly who Hanni is. I know what he’s done. I know what he’s capable of. I know his past, his present, and I see who he is. I can look at him and guess within an accurate measure as to his thoughts and feelings. I see him and I know him and I love him genuinely, with everything that I am. There have been multiple points in my life where I’ve lived for him in a very raw and real way, and he knows that. Hanni is a rare gift and by some stroke of luck, I was given him. I’ll never be able to repay him for his kindness.

Something intimate you do together?

We lay together. Not just cuddling like I answered in a different question, but we talk. About anything and everything. Hannibal listens more than he speaks up until he notices I’m getting tired, and then he speaks and I listen. He’ll cite Dante in Italian or quote Shakespeare, he’ll talk about Schrodinger's theory or answer my question do killed spiders become ghosts? And we spend that time together. There’s an intimacy not just in naked bodies but in bared souls too, and when both forms happen at the same time? It’s the purest, rawest intimacy he and I are capable of. And it happens nightly - no exceptions.

Who needs more TLC when sick?

Hanni rarely gets sick or injured, so this is me again. I usually work as best as I can through my sickness and I’ll tell him that I’m fine, I don’t need anything... but he takes care of me because he knows I want him to, even if I won’t say it. I’m the kind of person who longs to be wholly self-sufficient and independent, and I can do it, too, but I soften considerably when someone treats me the way I treat them and it almost always makes me cry, no matter who they are. I’ve learned to be strong so when I’m taken care of, I don’t know how to handle it... but Hanni does. Hanni has seen me at my best, at my worst, at my worst and everything in between, and he can handle all of me. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is.

#self-shipping #hannibal lecter #erika lecter #erika x hannibal

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captaincvans · 5 years

Text

Chapter Three: Tear Me to Pieces

11/01/19

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2502+

Warnings: Language; Panic Attack; Angst; Angry!Chris; Sad!Chris

Series Masterpost

A/N: I think I’ll stick with posting biweekly (once every two weeks) as it seems to fit my schedule most. It’s been tough trying to fit writing in with my grad school, but I am trying to balance everything! You get an extra long chapter though! I hope you enjoy and pleaseee lemme know what you think! I appreciate every comment, ask about this fic 💕

“I don’t know what to do, mom,” Chris cried on the phone. He was desperate for some answers as the feeling of dread took over his heart. His career and his personal life has what he felt like being destroyed in a matter of weeks, and he was overwhelmed with so many emotions.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry that you’re going through all of this,” Lisa immediately cooed sympathetically. “Have you been able to see Jenna at all?” With them being so close, it was no surprise that Lisa knew the name of Chris’s therapist back in Boston. Chris had actually gone to a couple of sessions with his father, wanting to mend a few troubles the two had in a safe place.

There was a beat of silence, and he answered with a small, “No.”

“Oh, it’s okay, baby. Do you want me to book you an appointment with her?” Lisa was worried that Chris hadn’t been seeing anyone throughout this whole ordeal. She could tell how overwhelmed he was, and she knew he needed someone more than her at this moment.

“S’okay. I’ll call her tonight.”

Her heart was breaking at the sound of his defeated voice, the 38 year-old sounding more like a child, and it pulled at her heartstring. “Okay. Text me when you’re going. I’ll come by and drop you off. We can make a whole adventure out of it.”

“Okay,” he said quietly, saying goodbye to his mother before ending the call. He made an appointment with Jenna, who scheduled him in for the next day, hearing the gravity of the situation. A text pinged on his phone not long after, his personal assistant, John Diangelo, asking if he can come by. He texted back with a ‘yes’, needing a friend through this all and wanting to inform John of his manager’s crime.

Chris sat on his couch, Dodger in the crate sensing the tension in the house. He sat there, numb and broken. It could’ve been hours and he wouldn’t have realized. The only thing that got him out of his reverie was the knock on the door. With drawn out, sluggish movements, he got to the door, opening to reveal his sympathetic PA.

“How are you holding up, brother?” the Kansas-born man asked with a soft smile.

“I don’t know, John. I really don’t know,” Chris whispered, sitting down on his couch with his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Take it one day at a time. It’s all you can do,” he said, running his hand through his ginger hair. “Has the police found anything?”

“It was Daniel. He’s the one stealing money from me.”

“Holy shit,” John cursed, leaning on the wall behind Chris.

“And while we were talking to him, he said someone else was involved.”

“Who?” John asked urgently, eyes wide in concern and anticipation.

“Y/N.”

“No fucking way,” John muttered, his voice coming out breathier than usual.

Chris shook his head. “I can’t believe this. I just can’t believe this. I was going to propose,” he confessed.

John was at a loss of words, not knowing how to comfort the man. Anything he said would sound ingenuine. “It’ll get better, brother. At least you found out sooner than later.”

“I guess so,” Chris mumbled. He blinked a few times, his red-rimmed eyes hurting with every blink. “I’m gonna go pack up her stuff.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, it’s alright. I can pack’em myself.”

“Okay. I can take her stuff down once you’re finished with them, and let her know they’re ready for her to pick up if you want?”

“That would be great. Thank you, John.” With robotic movements, Chris went to the bedroom he once shared with the love of his life, and started packing.

Six Months Later

The investigation slowed down a bit as they kept hitting roadblocks with the press. It became a more high profile case, and the attention it received hindered people from doing their job as they were harassed by the press. They were relentless once they caught a whiff of the drama unfolding in Chris’s life. He tried to keep the issue as private as possible, but it was hard to when there were so many moving parts involved- from the fraud investigators, the police officers in charge of his case, and Kevin and his accounting firm that is doing a complete audit of Chris’s finances. There were a lot of people involved, one of the was bound to sell the story to the press.

Captain America Breaks Up with Girlfriend Over Money?

Chris Evan’s Girlfriend a Gold Digger?

Chris Evan Found to Have Fired Manager Over Fraud

Headline after headline, they wrote it all. Rumours and assumptions being thrown around, and articles that were only half truth. With the leaks of the news, there was another investigation launched to find the person who was leaking Chris’s personal information to the public. Chris couldn’t go anywhere without being followed by the press. He hired bodyguards for himself and his family, hating the fact that they were victims to his problems.

It marked the 25th week of the investigation, the end was almost in sight. One of the newly hired fraud investigators was caught selling information to the press, and was quickly fired from the company. Everyone else had to sign a tighter non-disclosure form that was created by Chris’s legal team.

It was a gloomy Friday, the rainy day finally easing up as peak summer hit the town of Massachusetts. Chris just finished his daily morning walk with Dodger, hating the humid rain as much as his little dog did. Scott was staying at his place for a few days, trying to distract him from it all, and trying to pull him back out of his isolation. His usual goofy self was nowhere to be seen as he became paranoid of the next person to take advantage of him. Aside from his family, he’s been ignoring a lot of his friends, and only recently gotten back in touch with them.

Just as he finally cooled down from the AC in his house, his phone rang.

“Hey Jason, what’s up?”

“We got some new information. Do you mind coming by the station?”

Chris sighed, rubbing his forehead. It seems like he couldn’t catch a break with all the information that was hitting him.

“Chris? You okay?”

“Yea, yea. Sorry. Just got distracted for a bit- I can be there in half an hour or so.”

“Alright. See you soon.”

“You good?” Scott asked, entering the kitchen as Chris was finishing up his call. Dodger happily jumped towards him, begging to be given attention which he happily gave.

“Yea. Jason just said they have more information and needed me to come down.”

“Want me to come with you?”

He gave a non-committal shrug.

“Alright. Lemme just get changed, and we can go.”

The two brothers met up with Jason and Diana Bass, she was in charge of the whole investigation and was working closely with Jason to finish everything in a timely matter. They walked to a small meeting room, both brothers refusing any refreshments as the tension built in the room.

“While we were investigation Y/N, we found something else,” Jason said, his eyebrows pulled together anxiously.

“What is it?”

“We investigated all of Y/N’s accounts, and we did not find any extra deposits. Instead, we found monthly withdrawals. We followed the money, and it was going to an account created by John Diangelo, your personal assistant.”

“Fuck! Him too?” Scott growled, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder for solidarity.

Dianna nodded sympathetically. “Unfortunately, he seemed to be the mastermind of the whole operation. We went through his files and exchanges with Ms. L/N to see what the relationship was as we thought she was sending him the money she took from you to put in an offshore account like with Daniel, but there were only brief communication from prior years, most of them regarding your schedules. There were no indications that they talked beyond your schedule. We did, however, find a letter addressed to Ms. L/N in his computer about the terms your relationship with her.”

Chris tilted his head in confusion. “What terms?”

“In this letter, it said that in the case that you broke up with her for reasons that are unequivocally her fault, she will be forced to pay back the material cost of your relationship. Any time you paid for her, whether it was dinner or anniversary gifts, she must pay it back 100%. And as far as she knows, your separation was caused because you were “unhappy with her” as she quoted in our interrogation so she paid the cost.”

“What the fuck? We never had such agreements! That’s ridiculous- I would never make her do such things.” Chris was pissed, even more so than his staff stealing money, they were blackmailing people too. He thought they were pretty messed up to think of such things. Even in previous relationships where his girlfriend had cheated on him, lied to him, and manipulated him, he would never think to have them pay back.

“Ms. L/N confirmed that she had signed that agreement somewhere in the two-year make of your relationship. It was given to her by Mr. Diangelo privately in which he requested her utmost discretion, and it also had your signature.”

“What?! No- No- I never signed anything like that!”

“We sent the letter to your legal team, but we can almost confirm that Mr. Diangelo had forged your signature in that letter as your letter was on the file and there was no evidence of an original physical copy. Regardless, it is not a binding contract as it never went through any of your lawyers.”

“Unfortunately, Y/N doesn’t know that,” Jason continued. “She thought she did have to pay everything back, and we are trying to gather more information as we speak, but I’m guessing there are no merit to the numbers he pulled.”

“That’s fucking messed up!” Chris growled, one his hand resting on his hip and the other rubbing his chin anxiously.

“We cannot disclose the amount Ms. L/N paid Mr. Diangelo, but are working to finish up the investigation so the money can be returned to her.”

“So she wasn’t working with Daniel and John?” Chris confirmed, not knowing whether he preferred knowing the truth or not.

“We cannot draw any conclusions at this time,” Diana stated.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the guilt starting to bubble in his stomach. “ Okay…” Chris shook hands with Diana before she parted ways. He then turned to Jason, “Was she involved at all?”

“Chris,” Jason said in a warning tone.

“Please- I- I just gotta know.”

“I just know from the financial side of things, and there was nothing to indicate that she was involved, Chris. She could’ve had the money transferred to another account or something, but so far nothing’s come up except for her payments to John.”

“Ho-How much did she pay?”

Jason sighed, shaking his head. “Chris, I can’t tell you that.”

“Please- Please just give me an approximate- I just need to know-”

“She paid 3⁄4 of it, including the damage fee. She said she wanted to get rid of the debt as soon as possible so you didn’t have to worry about it.”

“How much?”

“Chris-”

“How much?!” Chris all but yelled, standing up from his chair and knocking it over in the process. His chest was heaving, and his fist shaking as his eyes glossed with tears.

“The number he gave her was close to $40 000 that she had to pay in the span of five years, and in the event that she couldn’t pay the monthly installments, she would have to pay an interest of 10%- not to mention the damage fee that he included of $10 000.”

It was at that moment, Chris knew she was never involved. He felt like a huge fog has lifted from his brain, as if he finally cleared his brain after a bad hangover. The past few months felt like a nightmare, but it was then that he realized, this was his reality. His manager and personal assistant tricked him, manipulated him, stole from him, and he believed them when they said that his girlfriend was a part of it all. Even if she was, the way he treated her that night. Chris felt like a monster, a stranger living in his own skin. Looking back, he can’t even recognize himself, the words he said, the things he called her. They were unforgivable. “Jesus Christ, Jason. I-I-I fucked up. She wasn’t even at fault, and I blamed her.”

“We don’t know that, Chris. For all we know she could still have some part in this.”

Chris ignored him, shaking his head. He knew, and deep down he’s always known that she was never a part of this all. “Is she still here? Can I see her?” He looked around, desperate to see a glimpse of the woman he thought he would be his fiancee by now.

“She left already, said she needed to get to work.”

Scott peered at his brother from the corner of his eyes, looking more worried as Chris’s breathing got uneven. “Hey, hey, hey. C’mon-” He sat him down again, gently easing him into another chair. “C’mon, Chris. You gotta breathe.”

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” Chris cried repeatedly, face turning red at his inability to breathe. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’ll get him some water,” Jason said, giving his friend some space.

“She wasn’t- She wasn’t- She didn’t do anything wrong, Scotty.”

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. We don’t know that.”

“I said so many awful things to her.” Chris cried, his hand covering his mouth as bile crawled up his throat. “Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.”

Scott saw how pale Chris had gotten, turning around to grab the small garbage can and put it below the leaning man just as Chris coughed up bile.

“The- The baby!” Chris exclaimed, inadvertently knocking the paper cup from Jason’s hand as his hand grabbed his friend’s sleeve. “Was she- How’s the baby? Did you see her bump? Does she look healthy?”

Jason didn’t know how to answer that question. Before this whole ordeal, he has only seen Y/N through pictures from the press, and never met her in person. Either way, there was no way she was pregnant when he met her. “She- She didn’t look that pregnant?” Jason said uneasily, not knowing how to break the news.

“Wh-What?” Chris said to himself, shaking his head. “No… Please, God no… No, no, no... ” He shrunk back on the couch, whimpering how stupid he was, and rubbing his chest as if it could appease the weight on his heart as he realized his mistake.

<-- (Chapter 2) (Chapter 4) -->

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theangriestpea · 4 years

Text

The Killing Type | One

Summary: Just when Lavender thought things were going great with Sweet Pea, a new girl comes back to turn to turn their entire relationship upside down. Now they have to navigate a world of drug dealers, rival gangs, and co-parenting. Sequel to Mercy Killing. <ao3> <masterlist>

Rating: Mature // Explicit

Pairings: Sweet Pea x OC // eventual Jughead Jones x OC

Warnings: referenced teen pregnancy, referenced sexual assault, cheating/lying, PTSD

Word Count: 5k+

A/N: I cannot believe I wrote this is such a short amount of time, omg. As stated on the final chapter of Mercy Killing, this is a sequel to both Mercy Killing and @the-gargoyle-queen‘s fic Young Gods. The timelines for both are a little screwed up to make them converge. We begin this series at the end of sophomore year with no time between Mercy Killing chapter 16 and Chapter 1 of The Killing Type, and one year after Young Gods. Try not to focus too much on the lack of continuity for the sake of future plot. I think Lily is a bit OOC in this chapter....I made her into an uber bitch and she's not.

Chapter One - A Mercy Killing

Lavender stared at Jughead, not at all understanding what he meant by forgiving Sweet Pea. What had he done this time? Of course the two fought more often than not over petty things but they made up hours, sometimes minutes later. It was just their dynamic. “Who is she?” She pressed as he looked at his buzzing phone again.

“Lily is Sweet Pea’s ex but I think he should really be the one to tell you all of it.” He said, his anxiety starting to show with his tone of voice. Lav made a face that he couldn't quite tell what it meant. “Listen, just try to get his side of things before exploding on him, okay?”

She stiffened, not liking his accusation of her tendency to react dramatically to any inconvenience no matter how minor. “Why did no one tell me about her? All this time and I’ve literally never even heard her name before. I don’t understand what the big deal is!” Her voice started to edge on the side of frantic as panic began to flood through her. Who was this girl and why did no one mention her?

Jughead sighed. “It’s complicated, Lav. Sweet Pea told us not to mention her around him. We all agreed that it would be better for you and him if you just didn’t know what went down between them.”

“So, everyone collectively decided that I, Sweet Pea’s girlfriend, didn’t need to know about someone who was obviously very important to him? Why is he hiding her from me, does he still have feelings for her or something?” She asked, her tone turning accusatory. Jughead put his hands up to try and calm her down, but instead she stood. “Whatever, Jug. I’m going home. Have fun talking to your new best friend.”

“She’s not-!” Before he could finish she had slammed the door behind her. Jughead sighed and sunk down into the old couch. Things were about to get a lot more complicated.

Lavender made a bee-line for her trailer as fast as her short legs would carry her. She was fuming at the thought that everyone kept some big secret from her, and worse of all she was dying to know what it was. She sent a quick text to Sweet Pea, demanding he come over to “come clean” when he was done with his job. Sweet Pea, being ever the oblivious asshole, had no idea what he needed to come clean about but figured the purple haired girl would fill him in when he got there.

Hours later, once Sweet Pea was done running bike parts to Centerville, he walked into the Rhodes trailer having no idea what shit storm was about to be thrown at him.

First of all, he found his girlfriend curled up on the couch in a state of drunkenness that he hadn’t seen her in in many months. Immediately he thought something had happened, she had a PTSD episode or someone made threats. In an instant he was by her side, her thin shoulders in his hands to get her to look at him.

“Who is she?” Lav slurred, eyes red from crying. Every worst case scenario had gone through her head. Was he cheating on her? Did he have some other life that she had no clue about and he was keeping it from her? How could this girl that she knew nothing about cause her so much grief?

Sweet Pea’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Who is who?” He asked, having no inkling of what in the world she was talking about. “Why did you drink so much?”

“Lily Owens.” Lav spat hotly, “Who is she?!” Her voice began to raise with notes of hysteria. She was so worked up and heartbroken and she had no idea why.

His blood ran cold as he stared at her. He had hoped that he could have approached the subject of his ex eventually, when the time was right. But Lavender was so god damn sensitive that he didn’t think that time would ever come. The insecurity she felt after the attack by the Ghoulies was so great that sometimes he felt trapped in that even talking to a girl she didn’t know had her upset.

They had a long talk about it once and she agreed to get it handled in therapy. And she did get better but there were times when he knew she just couldn’t help it. They had broken her so thoroughly that it was going to take time. He sighed softly, trying not to show how aggravated he was. “She’s my ex, Shanna. I was going to wait to tell you this but...She’s coming back to town in a few days and she needs a place to stay...with our daughter.”

“Your what?” Lav asked, somehow finding the fact that he had a child with another woman was way worse than him cheating on her. “You had a kid and never thought to tell me?!” Fresh tears came to her eyes and quickly fell down her face that was flushed pink from inebriation. “Don’t you think that was something I’d need to know?”

He flinched, feeling the hurt roll off of her in waves. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d overreact!”

“Overreact?!” She yelled, her voice finally raising. “Are you fucking kidding me?! You kept a whole ass family secret from me, Sweet Pea! Get out. Just get OUT.”

His eyes narrowed as he stood, releasing his grip from her. “You always do this! You always fly off of the goddamn handle over every little thing. So I have a daughter, so what? I’ve never even met her! Lily ran off pregnant and had her without me there, so yeah I don’t bring it up because I’d rather not think about being a dad at sixteen! You’re not the only fucked up person in this relationship!”

She stared at him with stunned silence and he knew he had gone too far, as he always did. Sweet Pea just huffed angrily before turning and leaving in a manner exactly as she had from the Jones trailer earlier that day.

The next two days, Lavender spoke to no one. Not Jughead, Not Fangs, and especially not Sweet Pea. He hadn’t even bothered to text or to call as she was always the one to give in first. Still, the fact that he wasn’t even trying to patch things up between them only served to hurt her more.

Fangs had left her small apologetic presents at her doorstep. Flowers, snack cakes, chocolate, even a bottle of her favorite rum. While she accepted the gifts, she still refused to speak to him. His messages were all left on read.

Jughead and Toni had both sent only one apology text, while both seemed pretty heartfelt, they were also denied any kind of answer from her. It was only after an hour and a half long intense therapy session did she decide to try and make up with all of them. Her therapist had helped her realize that Sweet Pea was put in a difficult position from the start of their relationship with her trauma and intense insecurity. In the end, she concluded that he wasn’t purposefully trying to hurt her. He was trying to save her. It just ended up blowing up in his face.

She had picked up a carton of Marlboros for him and was walking up to his trailer. She didn’t notice whether or not his bike was on the side of the house, and dismissed the beaten up car parked on the street as a neighbor’s. It could have easily been someone else’s. Or maybe his dad was finally out of rehab?

Knowing that he was possibly still upset with her, she chose not to use her key to walk in. Instead she knocked on the door in her usual fashion and waited, cigarettes in hand. What she didn’t expect (but totally should have) was for a teenage girl to open the door.

She was shorter than Lav by about an inch, brunette, and absolutely stunning. Lavender's heart fell into her stomach. “O-Oh,” She stuttered, “I thought-”

“He’s not home.” The girl said in a somewhat flat tone. She had learned all about the person in front of her from Jughead. He filled her in on all of Sweet Pea’s doings while she was gone. “But you can come in and wait for him. He’ll be back in a few minutes.”

The door opened wider and Lavender looked inside, noticing that now the trailer was littered with baby clothes, toys, and assorted things necessary to take care of a child. The scene made it all too clear to Lavender that Lily, who she assumed opened the door, was now living with Sweet Pea. Suddenly she was breaking all over again and the progress she made in therapy was virtually gone.

“I should go.” Lavender mumbled, unsure of where she fell in this new hierarchy. “Can you just tell him that I came by? I need to talk to him.”

“You’re Lavender, right?” Lily asked and she nodded in response. “I’m Lily. I think we should talk. Come in, it’ll be easier than standing out here. Daisy is asleep so don’t worry about her.”

Lav did not at all feel comfortable talking to her, but the backfiring of a nearby car put her so on edge that she had no choice but to hide inside. She felt idiotic by being set off at a time like this. The intense need to hide somewhere where she felt safe overrode her discomfort with the situation at hand.

Lily seemed to have some knowledge of what was going through the other girl’s head. She noticed her jump and frantically check her surroundings at the loud sound. Jughead and mentioned her PTSD and that Lily should tread carefully for the time being. After knowing what happened with the Ghoulies, Lily ultimately felt pity for Lavender and not contempt...Though if she were completely honest, there was a little of that too.

It was clear to Lily that Lavender was very disoriented by the sudden amount of baby things around the living room, as well as an open suitcase that had all of Lily’s belongings in them.

The current girlfriend sat down on the chair that Sweet Pea fell asleep in way too often and sunk down into the cushions as if she were trying to disappear from sight. Lily took a seat on the couch, wondering if the awkwardness was going to go away any time soon.

“So you live here?” Lav finally asked, nearly flinching under the look Lily gave her. The question seemed much too obvious, of course she was living here. She had nowhere else to go.

“Yes.” Lily said, her voice a little more curt than she initially intended. “We needed a place to stay since my mom stayed in Toledo. Sweet Pea said it was okay. Is there a problem with that?”

“No! Not at all.” Lavender said quickly, wishing she had turned and ran when she had the chance. “Sweet Pea just didn’t tell me…”

Lily huffed, of course he didn’t. “We need to talk about that.” Of course, she still had residual feelings for the serpent. He was the father of her child. And the way he had ended things were so messed up. Plus he had said when she came back they could start all over. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen now.

“I get that you’re his girlfriend now. I mean, I never expected him to pick a Northsider over…” She stopped, seeing the hurt expression on Lavender’s face brought on a wave of guilt. “You really had no idea about me, did you?”

“No…” Lav said, her voice so soft that Lily almost didn’t hear it. “We never talked about past relationships. Look, I really need to go. Can you just give these to him for me?” She asked, motioning towards the carton of cigarettes in her lap.

“When did you start dating?” She asked, her tone serious.

“Three months ago but we hooked up the July before that….” Lav admitted, not wanting to withhold anything.

“July?” Lily asked and Lav sensed the anger in her voice. “I knew he was cheating on me. I knew it.” She hissed under her breath, not meaning for Lav to actually hear her.

Pain ripped through Lavender’s chest. He had still been in a relationship with Lily that night? She felt like she was going to throw up. She abruptly stood. “I-I’m sorry, I…” She didn’t know what she could say to make any of this better.

“I’m not blaming you.” Lily quickly said after a small sigh. “You didn’t know….How could you have known that I was about to give birth to his daughter? Of course he’s so fucking selfish he didn’t even say anything about it to either of us.”

Lav was holding back tears to the best of her ability. The thought of being the other woman, even for just one night, made her want to lock herself up and drink herself into oblivion. Really she only stayed away from the unhealthy coping mechanism when Sweet Pea was around. Right now, it didn’t seem as if he’d have time to be around for very long. He had a baby to take care of.

“I’m sorry,” She apologized again, really just having no idea how to handle this situation. She backed towards the door, reaching for the handle when it swung open. Sweet Pea was there, looking as tired as ever. A confused look crossed his face when he saw the tears threatening to fall from Lavender’s eyes.

“Shanna?” He asked, not knowing what Lily had done to make her upset...if she had done anything. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to apologize but.” She was too upset to be angry at anyone other than herself. “I need to go home. I got you some cigarettes...here.” She shoved them into his hands before nimbly squeezing past him and running off.

Sweet Pea looked down at the carton before looking up at Lily. “What did you do ?” He asked, his voice threatening to raise.

“You slept with her before you broke up with me.” Lily said, her voice low but angry. “You didn’t end things until August. You said, you said we could start over if I came back, Sweet Pea. You promised me that we would try for Daisy.”

He felt utterly lost. He had loved Lily so much but her leaving had him feeling so alone that he needed something . His dad had started his first stint in rehab and had been in and out since. He was so completely alone with no one to hold at night. Initially he had felt terrible about it but the guilt went away because in the end she had left him when she said she never would.

“You left, Lily. What did you expect?” He asked, his voice icy. “You abandoned me like everyone else did. How did you think I could continue to love you after that?” Her hand reared back and slapped him hard across the face, the sound bouncing off the walls of the trailer. And deep down he knew that he deserved nothing less.

Lavender returned to her trailer, attempting to put herself back together. She had truly wanted to work things out with Sweet Pea and didn’t have the strength to curse him to hell when she saw him. And the look on his face when he saw her. Past his confusion was definite regret. The softness of his eyes made her want nothing more than to be held by him. She wasn’t sure if that was ever going to happen now.

She eyed the bottle of rum on her kitchen counter and she knew that she should resist it’s calls. Did she really want to wake up with a hangover tomorrow? It seemed better than feeling heartbroken at his point.

As she reached for it, she heard a knock on her door. Lav let out a sigh of relief to have been stopped before she drowned herself yet again. She went to the door to see her boyfriend standing there, looking equal parts pissed off and broken down. His left cheek was bright red and starting to bruise and she knew that Lily must have hit him.

She said nothing as she opened the door for him and he walked in, hands clenched into fists. He was clearly agitated but not at her. That was evident enough in him not screaming at her when she opened the door. He saw the bottle of alcohol sitting out in the open and made a straight line to it.

Lav felt as if she were about to cry again, this time for him. Because like her, Sweet Pea also had a habit of hitting the bottle when he felt like the lowest of the low. Of course, she was still very much heart broken by his actions before but seeing him in pain was a whole new kind of ache. It was one that she found herself hating more.

“Wait,” She called out just as he grabbed the bottle by the neck. “Pea, can we talk first? I promise not to yell at you…” Her voice showed her weakness, but she didn’t really mind since he was the one hearing it.

Sweet Pea let out a tired sigh and nodded. He carried the bottle to the couch and sat down with a heavy thud, keeping the rum in hand as if in case of emergency. Lav gently sat down next to him, turned sideways on the seat to face him fully. “Can you just...explain to me what’s going on?”

“I fucked up.” Sweet Pea said, scowling at himself, “again.”

She knew his biggest fear right now was her leaving him. While she thought she had abandonment issues, his own were far worse. “Just tell me what happened.” She said, her voice gentle to show that her being upset wasn’t as important as what was going on with him currently.

“I loved her, you know? I didn’t mean for her to get pregnant.” Sweet Pea said, his voice extremely quiet. He very rarely opened up like this. And him doing it sober was a first. “Then she left. She left like everyone else leaves. And you’re probably going to leave too because I always mess everything up. I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend or baby daddy or whatever. I’m just a teenager. I just don’t know.”

Lav put a hand on his leg, moving closer to him as a few stray tears escaped her eyes. “I’m not leaving you. I just want to know everything. That’s it. I’m sorry I blew up on you the other day. I should have let you have a chance to explain. It seems that I don’t know how to be a good girlfriend either…”

He let out another sigh as he set the bottle down on the table in front of him and pulled her into his arms. He hated for anyone to see him like this, but he hated being alone even more.

He buried his face into her blonde roots and just breathed in the scent of her vanilla shampoo. Lav nuzzled her face into his chest, listening to him breathe. "I told her I'd try, Shanna. Before you. Before everything. I promised her."

Lavender squeezed her eyes shut, having no idea why she was going to say what she was about to. "If you have to," she couldn't even say it. "I understand, Sweet Pea. It's okay. I'll be okay."

That wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he appreciated her willingness all the same. "Can I stay here tonight? One last time?"

She couldn't stop the silent tears from coming and in truth she didn't want to. "Of course, Pea. One last time."

The next morning, Lavender awoke to find herself alone in her bed. The spot where Sweet Pea had slept the night before was still warm. She sighed softly, not having the emotional energy to even cry over the loss of their intimate relationship. Could they even function as friends? They weren’t friends before they started dating, so how could she expect them to be after? She had no idea what she was going to do without him by her side almost every night. Perhaps it was time to talk to Fangs again.

She called him over after attempting to shower the sadness off of her. She put on clean underwear and lounge-wear as she waited for him to come over. Fangs came crashing through the door like a puppy who had missed his owner, grinning at her and quickly making his way to the couch.

He stopped grinning when he saw the forlorn expression on her face. “What’s wrong, babe?” He asked, taking her hands into his.

“We broke up last night.” She muttered. “Because he...he promised Lily before we were together that they could start over when she returned.”

Fangs was frowning. While he loved both Lily and Sweet Pea, he had long since come to the conclusion that they were much better as friends and not as lovers. But, he also knew that Sweet Pea intended to keep any promise he had made if he could. And though he could tell his friend was visibly upset, he was surprised to not find her crying and drinking. Despite it being only ten AM.

“I wish I had told you, Lavie.” He said in a quiet voice, pulling her into his chest to try and soothe the heart he knew to be aching in her chest. “I’m so sorry. You deserved to know. I just thought...you were doing so well…”

“It’s okay, Fangs.” She mumbled, her voice muffled by his t-shirt. “You had made a promise too. I just...I just don’t know where to go from here. I mean, I thought that I might...you know…”

He pulled her away, looking over her flushing face. “That you might love him?”

She groaned, “please don’t say it out loud. It sounds so stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He bit back, almost angrily. “It’s not stupid at all. Come on, let’s go to the quarry. It’s finally warm enough to swim!”

Lavender froze. She had many plaguing thoughts about wearing a bathing suit in front of others. While all her wounds had healed perfectly well, she still had long, thick bands of scar tissue across her thighs and stomach, with a few smaller ones on her chest. Sweet Pea was so far the only one she had let see them since she was able to shower alone and clothe herself. The thought of anyone else possibly seeing them made her sick to her stomach.

“I don’t feel like getting wet, I just took a shower.” She lied, hoping he wouldn’t call her on it. Unfortunately today was not a day that Fangs was feeling particularly intuitive.

He cocked his head to the side, “but you love to swim. It’ll cheer you up!”

“I don’t have a bathing suit that fits.” She lied again, hoping that maybe he’d either catch the hint or drop it. “My boobs got bigger over the winter and mine are all too small now.”

His eyes looked at her chest as if to examine it. If it were anyone else, she’d be offended, however it was him so she knew it was not meant to be explicitly lewd. “They look about the same to me. You can always wear a bra or something instead.”

Lavender wanted to hit him upside the head for being so dense. She knew he wasn't purposefully being obtuse but it was still grating her nerves. “Fangs. I don’t want to go swimming.” Her voice was a little more firm now in an attempt to get through to him.

A puppy-dog look crossed his face as he pouted at her. “But...Lavie...it’ll be fun…You can wear some of my trunks if you want?”

She let out a sigh of defeat, “alright. Bring me some with a drawstring so I can tie them tight otherwise they’ll just fall right off.” His pout was replaced with a broad smile as he all but cheered with success.

Fangs left but was back five minutes later with a pair of black swim trunks for her. He happily handed them over as she went into her room to change. She put on a purple bikini, which still fit perfectly fine, before putting on his pants. She then put on an old form-fitting T-shirt that kept all of her scar tissue covered.

As she looked herself over in the mirror, she frowned. She looked utterly ridiculous but it was better than exposing the truth. She didn’t want anyone to be reminded of that day back in early January.

She finally came out of the bedroom to see Fangs packing a bag of snacks and a cooler of beer for them. “Jones and Topaz are meeting us there. I hope that’s okay.” He said, his back turned to her.

“That’s fine…” Lav mumbled awkwardly. She had already forgiven them as well, and hoped that they’d help her forget about her ruined love life.

They made it to the quarry, the sun shining high above them. Toni and Jughead were on the small beach, clad in their swim gear already. They both gave Lavender strange looks at her attire. “My, uh...bikini doesn’t fit anymore.” She said, but the only one to catch the lie this time was Toni who gave her a worried look.

“Lily will be here in a few with Daisy.” Jughead said as he typed a message onto his phone. A panicked look crossed Lavender’s face.

“Jughead...why would you do that?” She asked as Toni elbowed him in the ribs. He looked up, appearing like a deer in headlights. It hadn’t really occurred to him how awkward it might be for her. Really he just wanted to hang out with her, having missed her all these months. It had almost been a full year since he’d seen her last.

Toni sighed, obviously aggravated by his lack of thought. “Lily is cool, Lavie. Don’t worry about her.”

Lavender tried not to think about their only interaction. Lily had called her a Northsider, reminiscent of Sweet Pea back before they were dating. It was an insult that she hated. She couldn’t help that she had grown up mostly on the Northside or that she didn’t dress like a typical Serpent. She enjoyed soft colors a bit too much and flannel looked terrible on her.

“Okay.” Lav forced herself to say as she plucked a can of beer out of the cooler Fangs had brought. “I guess meeting Sweet Pea’s daughter would be kind of cool.”

“That’s the spirit!” Fangs said cheerfully as he stripped off his shirt. “Let’s go!”

He attempted to pull her into the water. “Fangs! I’m trying to drink, I’ll join you in a minute!” She pleaded with him, trying her best not to spill any PBR in the process.

“Oh fine, you have five minutes so you better chug it or I’m throwing you in.” He let her go, shaking his head before him and Toni raced to the water.

Jughead was quiet. “You broke up with him.” He said, his voice low so that the others wouldn’t hear. “So he could be with Lily….”

“Yea.” Lav replied as she took a gulp from the can.

"I know why you're wearing that ridiculous get-up, Lavie." He mumbled to her. "You don't have to hide it from us. I'm sure they're barely noticeable."

She frowned, refusing to look at him. "I didn't want to come at all. This was a compromise with Fangs. He was too dumb to figure it out."

Jughead grabbed a beer for himself and sat down, motioning her to join him. She sat down next to him on the makeshift log bench. "Figures. At least his heart is in the right place."

They watched Toni and Fangs splash one another. "How are you holding up, really?" He finally asked.

She opened her mouth to answer when she saw Sweet Pea, Lily, and Daisy approaching, she quickly shut it. "Don't worry about it." She said, throwing her head back to finish off the beer in her hand.

Jughead frowned, wanting her to open up but also knowing that she wouldn't now. Who knows if she ever would. He knew that the progress she had made was about to backslide thanks to her and Sweet Pea no longer being together. Despite the rocky beginning, they truly were good for one another.

He wanted to say something encouraging, but failed at the sight of Lily. This did not go unnoticed by Lavender who was sure to bring it up later.

Sweet Pea wouldn’t look at her. He was carrying Daisy, who at nine months looked exactly like him. Lavender wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to stand the sight. Her chest was so heavy that she was worried that she’d sink when she got into the water. If she got into the water.

Lily gave her a strange look. “Are those Fangs’?” She asked, nodding her head towards the trunks Lav was wearing. It wasn’t mean spirited, rather just honest curiosity.

“Yea. My bikini is too small so I asked to borrow his shorts.” Lavender said, her tone even and not bearing any ill will. The atmosphere surrounding them was completely uncomfortable and Lav had no idea what to say.

“Jug, can I talk to her alone for a minute?” Lily asked, her voice gentle and there was a small smile on her face. Jughead nodded and stood, patting Lav on the back briefly before walking closer to the shoreline.

Sweet Pea glanced at the two of them, wanting to listen to whatever Lily had to say but also knowing she’d probably yell at him if he did. He begrudgingly moved towards the water with his very excited little girl.

Lily waited until both boys were out of earshot. She turned and looked at Lavender who was toeing the dirt with the tip of her shoe. “Thank you.” Lily said, her voice genuine. “You didn’t have to break up with him.”

Lavender couldn’t help the hurt sigh that left her, “Yes I did. He made a promise and I wanted him to keep it.”

“I mean, you didn’t have to because I’m not taking him back.” Lily said. She wasn't hostile but there was anger hidden somewhere in her tone. Lavender mistook it to be directed towards her when it was truthfully towards Sweet Pea. “He cheated on me. And to be honest, I can’t be sure that he won’t do it again.”

“You left him.” Lavender said back, jumping to his defense. “What did you expect?”

Lily’s gaze hardened. “I expected some common decency from the man who told me he loved me. What I didn’t expect is for him to stick his dick in someone else just because things between us got hard. All he had to do was talk to me. He could have broken it off first before pursuing other people.”

Lavender was sitting rigidly on the log, daring to look up at Lily. Her hazel eyes encapturing a mixture of rage and pain. But Lily wasn’t done. “I’m sorry for what the Ghoulies did to you, I am. But he can’t fix you. And it’s not fair to put that responsibility on him either. He needs to be a father to Daisy right now. That’s what’s important.”

She was speechless, unable to come up with anything to say in return. While Lily had a valid point, it hurt tremendously to hear it. Lavender stood and Lily backed up to give her space. “This was a mistake.” She said, obviously talking about coming to the quarry. She took a few steps before stopping and turning back towards Lily. “And for the record. You don’t know a single thing about me. So maybe you should stop assuming the type of relationship I had with Sweet Pea. That’s between us. Not you.”

She turned back, grabbing Fang’s keys from his pile of things and leaving. The only one to notice her departure was Sweet Pea, who failed to mask the pained expression on his face at the sight of her go.

-----------

Tag List: @the-gargoyle-queen, @alexa-playafricabytoto If you want to continue to be tagged in the sequel, just let me know!

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#sweet pea #sweet pea x oc #thekillingtype #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea fanfiction #purpuraserpenta #lavender rhodes #swavie #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale imagine #lily owens #jughead jones #fangs fogarty #toni topaz #sweet pea fanfic #jordan connor

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nyrator · 3 years

Text

another long vent post about depression/anxiety

extremely depressed tonight

first made the mistake of driving myself to the grocery store at 6pm, first I had to try scraping the ice off the windshield with nothing but a broom and bare hands, then driving itself was nightmareish, the car feels like a death trap to me, very loose and sloppy compared to my last car, so loud and uncomfortable with no audible music to calm my nerves. My eyes have worsened to the point where I can’t see anything at night- glare takes up my whole vision, even with anti-glare shades. I was driving well below the speed limit the entire time and still almost hit three pedestrians who were all recklessly out on the roads in all black for whatever reason. My nerves are completely shot from it, my chest feels like I’m in a vice and can’t breathe, my eyes are wide open and hunched over the steering wheel, and my body feels both like I’m about to wet myself at any moment and that I’m too stiff/tense/frozen to function as a human at all, it’s that fight-or-flight response at its extreme. Meanwhile, my skin must be weak- my knuckles bleed when driving, and my wrists bled just from carrying in bags of groceries.

then getting home and just dealing with personal drama of someone I know who is so depressed and self destructive and too smart to reason with, who refuses/is unable to seek professional help, who just doesn’t understand or just can’t help venting to me nonstop, no matter how much I beg them not to over and over- their life is so terrible that suicide seems like the only option to them, and I don’t want them to do so, but I can’t keep suffering like this either and I feel like the only thing preventing them from doing so, as poor a job as I do as a human being anyway. But I can’t help them if they can’t help themselves, even if they were just ate a bit better, or just had a journal or someone anonymous they could talk to, but it seems inescapable and impossible to change anything and all we do is argue over it until I snap at them to leave me alone. That person is probably reading this right now and probably hating it, but I doubt anyone on this site even knows who they are.

Tuesday morning, I couldn’t sleep at all from anxiety- it was so severe and inescapable, I laid in bed for four hours feeling like I was dying until I was finally able to sleep for two hours. I can’t seem to stay asleep longer than two hours anymore. Was supposed to hang out with friends that day, but between lack of sleep, depression, and my absolute terror at driving in a snowstorm, I ended up just staying home.

Anxiety has gotten so bad again. I know a lot of how the mechanics work behind it, I know a lot of pains are from tension and lack of breathing. But my old coping mechanisms don’t work anymore. I can focus on breathing for several minutes straight and then fall right back into suffocating. Music, counting things, meditating, none of it helps anymore.

One way to describe the feeling of anxiety- it’s kind of like when you fall asleep on your arm, and you feel all the blood rushing back into it and that tingling sensation. Imagine that, maybe a bit less, but throughout your entire body (especially chest), your body is stiff and not numb, and your entire body is vibrating or shivering/shaking or something.

I still spend 16+ hours laying in bed every single day. When I got home from shopping, the walking around (and the stress of driving) was enough to send me straight to bed, I was so tired and weak. It’s probably why I don’t sleep properly, I’m half awake in bed all the time, what need is there for sleep

I have mail I haven’t opened, taxes I still have to do, messes to clean, and don’t care for any of it. Can’t even talk about some things I’ve been doing to myself out of spite or general depression, the way I’ve been abusing. I promise to try not to do anything too crazy or directly harmful, but even then I worry about slipping up- I tried one thing I shouldn’t talk about, which wasn’t too serious, but still seriously concerning how easy it was to try doing

still haven’t contacted a therapist, my fear of calling someone is so strong I can’t overcome it, especially not after just waking up. Talked to some friends, some agree that I should, at least one thinks it’s a waste of time and money- up to $125 per session to just get a glorified phone call thanks to covid restrictions. I just don’t see the point if I’m still stuck in my apartment at my computer, especially if I have an internet addiction already.

The lack of doing anything is driving me insane, I think. I’ve played four single player games in 2020- ACNH, KH MoM, Panel de Pon, and Picross. In terms of things watched on my own, probably just Japan Sinks and whatever else was on Netflix the few months I had it. Don’t feel motivated to play or watch anything anymore, nothing seems interesting, and mostly just do things with friends if at all

Even ACNH, the game I play the most, I barely do anything in it- mostly just get new items from stores, that’s it. My island decorating has come to a hard halt, mostly because I barely have any furniture I’d like to embellish it with, and mainly because I have no ideas to layout most of it

I want to create, but don’t have the energy to make anything at all. Rotten Nyan is still my current goal, but anxiety has made it next to impossible to work on. I’ve tried several times the past few weeks, all met with failure- the anxiety’s too much, half the time I don’t even know what’s causing it, but my body just gets too tense and cramped without even doing anything, and I just can’t breathe at all while working on it.

Thought about making an omake comic for it, then realized what a terrible idea it was, and how hard it is to draw comics in general. Or anything in general. Wrote down the entire comic while laying in bed one day, went to draw it, was unable to, tried making it a yonkoma, gave up, and felt sick thinking of all the gross things in it that I just made a vent description of Middle Lave and just posted that to the RN tumblr instead.

I can’t think of any ideas, I feel like my art has regressed- I’ve taken more shortcuts for the sake of my hands tensing so fast from anxiety, and I’ve gotten decent at drawing middle Lave I feel, but anything besides a character standing is impossible for me- any environments or character interactions that I’d love to do just feel impossible, let alone my inability to write good ones. Anything I try to think of writing-wise always ends up the same gross content that burned into my memories that I just can’t feel comfortable talking about much at all, nor do I think it’s content people want to see at all.

There’s a lot of detailed kind of art I’d like to do. I kind of want to loosen my restrictions on myself and just draw whatever suffering I feel like, maybe once I use the RN twitter more I might get a little more courage to do so. I see many artists draw detailed scenes in single images, and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t capture that feeling.

Part of me feels torn about it being an autobiography for people to relate to, and being a suffering experience for people to find some weird enjoyment out of. I feel like I’ve lost sight of what it was originally meant to be and now just enjoy “bullying” Middle Lave half the time I guess, but unfortunately for me, bullying makes me feel like vomiting and is hard to draw consistently- maybe I’m too nice. I don’t know, I’m just rambling at this point. The comic is still laid out and just meant to explore the life of Lave, but it’s just so hard to work on.

In terms of other things, I have no idea what to do

Vtuber/streaming? Hate my voice, can’t focus on learning what I need for it in terms of rigging and texturing models. I only know the basics of making 3D things and nothing else.

Console art? I already designed all the ones I’m mainly interested in, but like I mentioned before, can’t think of any character interactions at all that I feel like drawing.

Making a game? I know 2k3 well enough to make anything in it event-wise, though never got over my map failings, and I can’t commit to anything long-term. Godot or another program, or programming in general? Good luck.

I just want to make something, work on a project without losing steam or letting anxiety prevent me from learning. Can’t focus on anything long enough to learn it- Japanese, making a game, programming, a new hobby, anything. I just don’t have the drive to do anything and will give up anything I even try to start, so what’s the point in even trying anything. I have books I haven’t read that I’ve been meaning to read for years, and still don’t have an ounce of energy to want to even organize them on their shelf, let alone open it

At the very least, I got my first big commission (second one ever), designing an OC for someone, and it’s going well, though tonight I’ve lost steam to finish it, and I hope I can get it back tomorrow to try to finalize it.

I’ve mentioned it before, but I really wish I just had someone guide me with art- I miss doing those 30 day challenge kind of things, or “send a number/emoji” kind of asks for OCs, but tumblr’s so inactive that I don’t see them on my dash anymore, and don’t know how to even look for them, especially not on sites like twitter these days. Though, the problem is, no one knows exactly what I like, and I feel awful letting people down if they ask for something I don’t want to draw

I can’t focus on exercise long term, and I’m so out of practice that exhaustion is too strong to beat. I’ve been trying to walk up and down on a step stool for exercise to get me back into basic movement, but even that’s too tiring. Want to do it while watching something, then I realize, I don’t watch anything at all, not even youtube, just an occasional artist stream that I mainly chat with rather than watch

I feel like I’m going to collapse if I turn or move too suddenly, and my eyes are absolutely terrible- glasses are okay, but without them I’m completely blind now- not just blind, but it’s like my eyes see at two different angles sometimes, like one is slanted or something, very disorientating.

It’s 7:30AM, and no desire to sleep at all. Terrified of laying in bed and letting anxiety take over me again. Part of me wants to become completely nocturnal and just avoid everyone during the day and just respond to messages in the AM hours, just wake up at midnight each day and avoid dealing with people. Go to sleep when everyone starts to get active and just isolate myself entirely from society.

I feel like I exist with no purpose whatsoever, and it’s driving me insane- not that life is meant to have a purpose, but I could at least be doing something more than laying in bed all day every day for a year

#text stuffs #nyrants

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cynicalrainbows · 4 years

Text

The Next Best Thing Pt 3

So this is a very long rambley chapter of this Catalina-adopts-babey-Cathy au. I’m not sure if I’m entirely happy with how it turned out- I was trying to do a few things, really: get better at writing from the POV of actual small children (which is incredibly difficult and also quite fun) and also have a go at describing what an absolute headfuck grief is.

Like, I cannot get over how when people die, you’re expected to get around the angry and sadness and confusion...and ALSO just sort of....live your normal life. And it’s especially difficult that those two things then get mixed up: I remember sitting by my dad’s deathbed and watching him die and just feeling sort of....fine? A bit numb but also very concerned with extremely mundane things like did I remember to say thank you to all the nurses and did I remember to wash up the cups we’d made tea in? And then the next morning, I was on the edge of going into the road to throw things at the inconsiderate bastards who were just driving around and going to work like it was a normal day. And then three months later, I was sobbing hysterically while I made paninis at work because of some minor comment my absolute cunt of a boss made. And even now, years later, I had a sudden moment the other week when it suddenly hit me that I was never ever going to be able to say thank you to dad for the lovely things he wrote in my birthday cards. AND a moment of anger that I was never going to be able to have it out with him for lots of stuff I’m still angry with him for.

And then to have to deal with that as a child? Sweet Jesus. I honestly don’t know how children manage.

I was also trying really hard to get across the absolute mindfuck that is just being a 6-9 yr old girl. Like...I only vaguely remember being seven but still. And watching the children at my work? Good god.

SO i hope you all like it. I probably went overboard with making Aragon soft but I refuse to apologise because soft Aragon is the best Aragon.

Enjoy!

****

She used to like school, back before, but that was back when everything was different, when she had a Mum to collect her like everyone else and when she could write about going to the park and the library and the swimming pool in her newsbook just like everyone else.

Catalina has taken her to the park, to the library- but she can’t let herself enjoy it now. She keeps hoping that her parents will bob up from behind a bush or a bookshelf and tell her that everything was just a big misunderstanding- but they don’t. They never do, but she can’t stop herself hoping it, even if doing so feels like prodding a wobbly tooth- just as painful, just as impossible to resist.

Even the idea of school feels wrong now- school belongs back then, toher old normal.

Now, normal is staying at home with Catalina, trips to bookshops (new ones with cafes and shiney displays, old ones where the books are tired and tattered, with yellowing pages that smell of old paper and dust) which she likes, trips to church (which she wishes she liked) and trips to see a therapist (her therapist) which she has decided that she definitely doesn’t like.

She doesn’t like the stuffy waiting room, she doesn’t like the waiting room toys- the books with pages torn out and scribbles all over the cover, the sad barbies left lying with their legs splayed and half their clothes missing, the jigsaw puzzles where all the pieces are mixed together.

There are better things in the actual therapy room- paints and a real easel, better craft supplies even than at school- but after the first session, when she’s meant to be fetching her coat, she hears the therapist lady (Doctor Jenny, she is meant to call her) talking to Catalina about her, asking how she’s settling, asking if they’re coping….and she hates the thought of being discussed so much that she decides not to talk there again. Not even for the sake of the easel, and she rips the painting she made in her session into pieces in the backseat of the car on the way home. She wants to throw them out of the window but that would be littering and she has sat through enough school assemblies about littering to know that it is one of the worst, worst things you can do (aside from drawing in library books and pushing people into traffic) so she doesn’t, just holds the balled up painty scraps of paper in her fists until she can drop them into the bin where they belong.

School isn’t her new normal- but now apparently Catalina has to go back to work and she has to go back to school whether they want to or not.

‘Can’t you keep teaching me here? I did all my workbook-’ She quite likes filling out the booklets that the school had sent ‘in the interests of not falling behind’, although it feels funny to fill them out sitting on the sofa and wearing her weekend clothes.

‘I’d like to, querida.’ Catalina looks tired- she’s been frowning and looking at papers, then typing, then frowning again and pressing the back space key very, very hard- but now she swivels her chair around to look at Cathy properly. ‘I really would. But we wouldn’t be allowed.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s the law, you have to be in school...and I have to go back to work…before everything just completely falls apart without me….’ She looks at the papers, drops them back into the pile. ‘You’ll be able to see all your friends again- you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

She shrugs. She would like to see Anne- but she hasn’t seen her properly since before then, only talked to her on the phone and Anne had kept talking about Anna, the new girl, about how she’s sitting with Anne til Cathy is back, about how she brought in a big cornet of sweets to share on her first day, about how there was something called Katjes that was really liquorice…. and even thinking about it makes her chest feel tight and scared because what if Anne doesn’t want to be best friends any more? (What if Anna is more fun?)

Catalina takes both of her hands in her own and kisses them. ‘It will be ok, querida. I promise.’

(Catalina always tells the truth but it’s harder to believe her this time.)

She watches from the doorway that evening as Catalina lays out clothes- stiff suits and high, high heels, skirt and blouse and school jumper- and feels sick.

She sleeps badly, picks at her toast and doesn’t hug Catalina back when she says goodbye. She’s not even allowed to go into the playground before the bell rings- instead, she has to go into the headmistresses office because there are ‘special circumstances’ (although what these are she isn’t quite sure.)

Mrs Jardin says things about grief and loss and settling in. No comment seems to be required from her so she stays quiet until the bell releases her.

Anne walks into the classroom with a girl she hasn’t seen before who she thinks must be Anna. This girl- this new girl- gives Cathy a friendly smile, as if she isn’t stealing her best friend while her back is turned…. and she pretends not to see.

(She doesn’t know why she should smile at a friend stealer.)

It doesn’t feel right to sit in her old class, as if everything is the same….but then, a new teacher comes in to take the register and she doesn’t like that it’s different either.

Anne whispers that she’s nice, that she let them make get well soon cards for their usual teacher rather than having to do the usual Friday spelling test, and she thinks that of course that would make Anne like her.

(Unlike her, Anne does not enjoy the spelling test.)

There’s dinner money to hand in, then a boring assembly about road safety and looking both ways. There’s literacy hour, like usual; numeracy hour, like usual. No gold stars for anyone (although their old teacher always used to have them- this new teacher just does boring ticks in red pen)- and then a change: they’re going to make cards.

For Mothers day.

Which is in a week.

Suddenly, she feels very cold. Mothers day.

She doesn’t want to think about last year- daffodils picked from the garden, carrying a tray not-to-spill-carefully into the bedroom, being allowed to boil the kettle and make the toast herself, the picture that kept coming out wrong and the poem she wrote herself in place of it.

She wants Catalina to come- to take her home or even just to BE there… but then she remembers that Catalina has abandoned her, that she’s the one making her have to go to school at all.

(And besides, Catalina is at work now anyway, doing whatever she does at work. She pictures meetings and shouty phone calls and wavy lines in red on graph paper, like when she and Anne play office.) (She wonders what games Anne plays with Anna and decides they’re probably all boring anyway.)

The teacher finished explaining- about spelling and sharing the felt pens and taking turns with the glitter, as if they’re babies, as if they’ve never made cards before when everyone knows that even the Nursery school children make cards at Christmas and Easter….and she turns to her blank sheet of construction paper and wishes she could tear it up.

‘What are you going to do?’

Anne’s whisper catches her by surprise.

‘What do you mean?’

Anne looks uncomfortable. ‘Because- well-’

She understands what Anne means, all at once, and it’s like cold water being poured on her- of course she can’t make a card for mum because mum isn’t there to have it and she knows this, but this realisation still feels new and suddenly she’s thinking of all the other things she won’t ever be able to give mum or dad ever again, birthday presents and Christmas presents and-

Anne is almost quivering next to her, her hand waving high in the air, and Cathy just KNOWS what she’s going to ask- what about if you don’t have a Mum to make a card for?

She knows that’s what she’s going to ask, and it makes her so angry (angry that Anne is asking, angry that it’s a question that applies to her now, angry that Anne and everyone else get to still have parents, angry that they have to do this stupid project in the first place when everyone knows that it’s meant to be history workbooks after break) that she’s burning hot all over.

The teacher suddenly stops her monologue on the necessity of Putting Lids on Felt Tips, as if she’s heard the question through the waving of Anne’s hand, and she smiles like she’s swallowed a tin of golden syrup. Her voice is syrupy to match.

‘Of course, for anyone who doesn’t have a mother-’ She pauses. ‘What I mean is, if you’d like to make a card for someone else- maybe an auntie….well, that’s fine’.

She even looks at Cathy as she says it- but she doesn’t want to make a card for Catalina. She isn’t her auntie, she definitely isn’t her mum.

‘Because of course, you don’t have to be a mum to do mum-things!’

(Her mum wouldn’t have abandoned her at school, she thinks first….and then she wonders if maybe her mum has abandoned her after all- except worse and more forever. It’s not a nice thought to have.)

‘People can be your mum in spirit and that’s fine!’

(Does that mean Catalina has to take the place of her mum now?)

Part of her still wants Catalina to come and make things ok again (although she’s not sure how she would)- but part of her is angry too.

She’s angry with Catalina, for doing all the ‘mum-things’, angry with herself that she’s been letting her. (Can her own mum see her letting Catalina tuck her into bed and run her bath and hear her spellings? Would she be cross if she could?)

She feels more mixed up than ever, and it’s all Anne’s fault, it’s all Anne’s fault (for asking the question, for putting the thought into the stupid teacher’s head, for liking Anna better) and when the teacher turns her back (because someone has somehow broken their gluestick like an idiot), the anger bubbles up and she kicks Anne as hard as she can under the desk.

She’s not sure what she’s expecting- Anne to kick her back maybe, or to jump up and tell on her and get her into trouble, but instead Anne just bursts into tears.

Part of her wants to say sorry….but part of her thinks it serves Anne right for sitting next to stupid new Anna with her stupid shoes that light up and her stupid purse shaped like a dog. (They’re definitely not cool and she definitely isn’t going to ask for either for her birthday.)

Within seconds, the teacher is bearing down on them both.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing, young lady?’ (She thinks spitefully that the teacher has probably forgotten her name already, something that their usual teacher would NEVER do.)

She just scowls back.

‘You’re going to say sorry to- your friend’ (Clearly she’s forgotten Anne’s name too) ‘-and then you’re going to sit and get on with your card nicely where I can see you-’

‘I don’t want to.’

She folds her arms and the teacher huffs.

‘This is NOT the sort of behaviour I expect from children in this year group! Imagine what your mother would-’

She says it and then freezes, her face going bright red- and it’s this freezing that makes it worse, like a big loud reminder that mum CAN’T see her, that she’ll never see her again, that the teacher has made a big mistake by mentioning it…. And there’s a roaring in her head as she picks up her paper, rips it into pieces and throws them into the woman’s face.

When the teacher tries to take her hand and pull her to the front of the room, she pulls away and pushes all her things- her pencils and pens, her rubber that smells like strawberries onto the floor and stamps on them and feels the crack of plastic under her school shoes- until a hand closes around her wrist and she’s dragged away and deposited into the corridor.

(She’s never been put out into the corridor before because that’s something that only the really bad children have happen to them, and she’s never been one of them….except she also never used to be the child without parents, she never used to want to make Anne hurt, so maybe now everything is different, it doesn’t matter what she does because nothing will make it better, and there’s nothing to do but scream and scream and scream.)

She’s acting crazy, not like herself at all- and the scary thing is, she can’t seem to stop, though her throat is raw and sore and her head is aching.

It hurts worse than when she had flu, and had to drink cups of lemon and honey and suck on horrible tasting lozenges (that didn’t taste anything like cherry no matter what the label said)...except when she had flu, she knes she’d get better but can you get better from something like this that isn’t an illness?

It frightens her that she can’t stop but then perhaps it doesn’t matter because everything is ruined anyhow, her parents are never coming back (she knows this, she knows this), all her pens are broken, everyone in her class saw her tear things up like a really bad kid and Anne will sit next to Anna forever and Catalina will be so angry with her…...she’ll be in so much trouble and what if Catalina doesn’t want her any more, what if she decides that she’s too much trouble because of this-

The thought has her curled up into herself, her face pressed against her drawn-up knees because it’s so scary, scarier than roller coasters and dogs that bark and the dark space under her bed, scarier than the little bit of a horror film that Anne’s sister showed them once when she slept over with the man that had knives for hands, scarier than anything-

The click click click of high heels sound down the hall- and it’s a new sound to hear at school because those aren’t the sort of shoes that the teachers or the dinner ladies wear, they’re not even the sort of shoes the big grown-up girls in Year 6 wear, she only knows one person who wears those sort of shoes-

‘Querida-’

When Catalina crouches down in front of her and puts a hand on her arm, part of her wants to cling onto her and make her promise to not ever leave ever ever- but another part of her tells her that she’s being stupi,d that of course her godmother won;t want her any more, that she’s probably just come into school to tell her that- and so she pushes the hand away roughly and won’t look up.

‘What’s the matter?’

She says nothing.

‘I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, carino.’

She doesn’t want to talk.

‘I need to make sure you are ok, querida. Can you tell me what made you so upset?’

She doesnt sound angry, she sounds like she always does- and it’s all wrong, she shouldn’t even be here, school shouldn’t be calling Catalina . No one else has their godparents called into school….cxcept of course they have to because there’s no one else, there’s no one else at all-

‘I hate you.’

She even means it. Perhaps if Catalina wasn’t around to fill in and do all the mum things, then mum would still be alive (because how could she have died if there was truly no one else?)

‘Why querida?’

‘It’s your fault. You should have died instead of mum.’

She means that too, but as she says it, she hides her face in her arms so she doesn’t have to see if Catalina looks cross or sad or (and this would somehow be worst of all) like she doesn’t even care.

(Not that she cares how Catalina feels. If she hadn’t ruined everything by making her come into school- if she hadn’t ruined everything by existing at all-)

She wonders, in the darkness of her arms, what will happen next- shouting (except Catalina doesn’t shout, apart from at traffic lights that change too quickly or spiders that come out of nowhere) or just the click-click-click of her heels leaving...but there’s nothing.

Nothing at all.

Just quiet.

It’s so quiet for so long that she wonders if perhaps Catalina has actually left after all- it would make sense for her to leave- and the thought gives her a little frisson of fear.

Despite everything….she doesn’t want to be all by herself. Not really.

She waits for a long, long time.

Eventually, she risks a glance up- steeling herself for the empty corridor.

But Catalina is still there, sitting on the wooden floor with her high shoes sitting next to her and the nail polish on her toes showing through her tights.

She doesn’t look cross, only very sad and tired…. but she makes her face into a smile when she sees she’s being watched and the relief- that she isn’t being shouted at or sent away or hated is enough to make her start to cry all over again.

She knows she’s probably ruined everything already by saying those things- and she can’t escape the feeling that she’s doing something wrong by wanting by wanting her godmother in the same way she used to want her mum (like she’s betraying her, like she’s making her sad in heaven)......but she’s so very tired and lonely, and Catalina looks so warm and safe and comforting that she reaches out to her without meaning to, half wondering if she’ll be pushed away.

She isn’t pushed away.

Warm hands gently draw her close until she’s being held safe in her godmothers arms, one hand stroking her damp tangled hair away from her hot face while she tries to burrow far into Catalina’s smart silk work shirt and stiff black blazer.

She knows she’s making them both wet and disgusting but she doesn’t care and Catalina doesn’t seem to mind either, just gently rocks her back and forth and murmurs things that must be in spanish but it doesn’t matter that she can’t understand, she just wants Catalina to keep holding her and keep talking because if she’s doing that, she can;t be planning on getting rid of her, at least not now, at least not yet-

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry-’

‘Oh querida. It’s alright. It’s all going to alright.’

She should explain herself- that’s what adults always say ‘explain yourself’, but she doesn’t know if she can and when she tries, it comes out wrong and she starts hiccuping in between sobs.

‘Shhhh, carino. You don’t have to talk yet.’

She whimpers and presses her face back into Catalina’s chest and feels a kiss be pressed into her hairline.

‘It’s alright. We’ll sort this all out, I promise.’

She’d like to say that some things can’t be fixed- but she’s too tired. She actually doesn’t feel very well at all, and now she’s noticing it- not just the way her throat is sore, not just the being tired, she feels sick too, and her head aches and she’s shaking a bit all over like she has the flu except she doesn’t- but Catalina’s arms are warm and safe and so she makes herself just think about that, about that instead.

A long, long time passes before she feels like she can talk again- there’s a heaviness all up her arm and legs and in her head.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.’

‘It’s alright, querida. Do you want to tell me what happened? What made you so upset, hm?’

She doesn’t want to tell her at all but Catalina won’t be able to fix it if she doesn’t so she does her best- the Mother’s day card and Anne trying to ask her stupid question, Anne sitting with Anna instead of her, the daffodils last year, never being able to make another Mother’s day card again, the way the teacher looked at her, the anger and Anne crying at being kicked and all her own pens being broken.

Catalina listens and nods seriously and doesn’t interrupt, even though Cathy knows it’s a bit jumbled and she has to keep stopping every so often to sniffle into the tissues Catalina hands to her from the little packet in her purse.

When she finishes, Catalina nods slowly, like she’s working it all out in her head.

‘That is….quite a lot, querida.’

It actually makes her feel a (tiny) bit better, that Catalina doesn’t laugh or tell her she’s making a fuss about nothing…..but she knows what it also means- it isn’t all going to be fixed right away. Perhaps Catalina can see she’s disappointed because she squeezes her hand.

‘Would you like to hear my thoughts so far?’

She would.

‘I think your parents loved you very, very much. And that if they can see you, they will be thinking how very proud they are that you have been so brave and done so well, even without them there. I think they’d be proud to see how well you’re coping with having to live in a new place and do things differently.’

‘You don’t think they’d….mind? Do you think they’d be upset that I- about today?’

It hurts to ask but she wants to be sure.

Catalina shakes her head.

‘I think that you are having to work through a lot of things that are difficult. Very, very difficult. There is no easy way to lose people. And sometimes it will make you sad, and sometimes it will make you angry….like today-’

There’s a tiny lightening in her stomach at Catalina says that. She doesn’t feel better exactly...but it helps to know that perhaps she isn’t a really bad person after all. That it’s not badness, just grief. That maybe it’s even a bit normal.

‘Does everyone…..feel like this?’

Catalina looks down at her. ‘In one way or another….yes.’

‘Do you?’

‘Sometimes...yes.’

The thought makes her eyes go wide. She tries to imagine Catalina throwing pens on the floor of her smart office and it’s almost enough to make her smile again. Almost.

‘It doesn’t make you bad, it just part of grieving, carino- the hurting’ She pauses. ‘Not that you don’t need to try and make sure you don’t hurt other people too of course. I think perhaps you owe Anne an apology, hm?’

She shrugs and burrows back against the blazer and it feels cold and damp. ‘I don’t think she even wants to be my friend anymore-’

‘I can’t believe that, querida.’

‘It’s true. She has Anna now.’

‘Well’ Catalina changes position, stretching a cramped leg. ‘Why don’t you ask her?’

She isn’t sure what she means- and then Catalina gives her a tiny nudge and she looks up to see Anne’s face peering anxiously through the pane of glass in the classroom door. When she sees Cathy looking back at her, she looks enormously relieved- before she stops herself and makes a silly exaggerated cross face instead and mimes hopping up and down in pain.

Cathy finds she’s laughing in spite of herself- and Anne laughs too and sticks out her tongue, before a summons from inside drags her reluctantly away from the door.

‘Seems like she still wants to be friends to me.’

And she thinks perhaps Catalina is right.

Perhaps things aren’t as broken as she thought.

(Perhaps she can live with Catalina and let her do the mum-things that her own mum isn’t around for, but also keep thinking of mum-as-mum in her head. Perhaps she doesn’t have to feel guilty for doing normal things- perhaps she can feel proud. Perhaps things will work out mostly alright- not as alright as they’d have been if mum and dad were still alive but….close. Close enough.)

(Perhaps she’ll even ask Anna if she wants to play one day.)

(Perhaps.)

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfiction #sixfic

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