#in like a month because he’s been going through some mental health issues which I respect u know but he hasn’t responded to any of my texts

[alicerosejensen]

I love your page so much omg. I‘m literally obsessed with your work😭🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Also I have this imagination in my mind going on about how Leon would try to help his girlfriend from recovering from her mental health issues since she’s always helping him. I was recently thinking about how he would react finding her not moving on the bathroom floor and trying to bring her back! I rewatched American horror stories and the scene with tate and violet in the first season episode 6 (ig?) is always in my head. I‘m still recovering from my past and my unhealthy habits and tbh recovery never felt better.

If this is too much for you or triggering please ignore this.🫶🏼❤️

I had a terrible period in my life when I was a few steps away from doing something like this in my life and unfortunately this shit often comes out. I'm not sure that such texts help me work through my psychological traumas, which were, in fact, inflicted on me and continue to be inflicted by close people who do not consider me a person, but at least such works help me to vent my pain, which I cannot permanently bury in myself.

I have been postponing this request for a long time because I was probably waiting for the right moment to write this text.

There are mentions of suicide, psychological trauma, severe self-doubt and anxiety, so if this is not acceptable to you, then please just block it.

Perhaps there is a similarity with my previous texts, but I am writing this with strong emotions now that I am trying to cope with it again.

the text is chaotic, I repeat, written while I was under the influence of strong heavy emotions. Maybe I'll delete it later, when my brain gets back to normal a little bit.

If a songbird doesn't sing well, they wring its neck.

Maybe it was the costs of Leon's profession and the result of his constant missions, after which something human is gradually dying in him despite the constant struggle to save everyone. Raccoon City was supposed to teach, if not to survive, then make him begin to understand that some are doomed to die.

Leon Kennedy was taught not to offend, but to protect the weak, especially weak women. But it is difficult to calm the flow of disordered thoughts and put aside the fear that has seized him in order to clamp bloody wrists and apply something to them to stop the blood. Leon knew many strong women: Ada was perhaps the first among them, he did not know either her past or her real name, only the present that pushed their foreheads against each other; Claire, a fighting friend of misfortune that he met in that ill-fated city; Ashley, who turned from a baby eagle into a proud eagle; Angela Miller and others…

Your strength dissolves in the water, coloring it scarlet while your heart stubbornly still beats, let the rhythm noticeably shorten.

In truth, over the past few months it became clear that this was the only way out. When even your loved ones considered you an expired product and did not hesitate to remember this and remind you every time. In the end, their words turned into an obsessive worm that settled in your head, slowly day after day, month after month, devouring you and the circumstances seemed to be not in your favor. Instead of support, you somehow faced reproach, as if the universe was screaming that you were an wrong person, nature's mistake who had no right to live.

Escape attempts were doomed to failure. At first you tried to suppress it in yourself, helping Leon, because, in your opinion, he was the only one who had the right to complain about life, although he did not do this in front of you, because everyone said that you had no problems: you have everything limbs, there are no fatal diseases, all loved ones are healthy and there is a roof over your head, as if this is enough to not fall for nonsense and not walk around forever with a sad face.

This was the last time you shared your experiences. You didn’t even bother telling Leon, but everything inside was torn from constant pain. The feeling was as if you were being beaten by two extremes that led you to the edge of an abyss where you ultimately voluntarily jumped.

no, you really loved him, it was just other people’s words and your own speculation that convinced you, despite your strong relationship with him, that Leon would find someone better, someone more confident in himself, someone who would not be you because you had already missed the chance for a good life because it moved too slowly. Ultimately, a couple of sips of alcohol with sleeping pills and a sharp blade in his hands simply promised to correct the mistake in the form of you with your own hands.

You didn't have the courage to do it any other way.

But you really didn’t think that if you could try to open up to your loved one, you would meet support and not condemnation. Perhaps in a mad world he would be the only one who would heal your wounds as you healed him in your time. Leon clenched his teeth, feeling tears flowing down cheeks, seeing these crimson stains, when he pulled your body out of the bath, holding you close to him, repeating “I’m holding you. It's allright"

He so carefully laid you on his lap, managing to pull out a first aid kit and then bandages to tightly, albeit carelessly, wrap them around your wrist in order to somehow stop the bleeding. At least you were still breathing, thereby giving him hope that everything could still be fixed. the darkness and emptiness came to life, calling in a whisper to dissolve into eternal silence where there is no pain or condemnation. Your body will be in a grave under a gray stone, while the remains of your soul will float like a small grain of sand in infinity.

For Leon, everything happens in a fog; he tried more than once to save people, but he had no right to lose in this battle, even if you yourself surrendered to death. Shaking his head, brushing away the tears, he wrapped your body in a large terry towel, kissed your temple and picked you up, trying to somehow warm you, pressing you closer to him. the ability to provide first aid in the field and pull suicides out of the other world is not the same thing. Leon would have thanked God if he had believed in him, convinced that blood loss was the least of the evils that you had caused yourself, until he saw the remains of some substance at the bottom of the glass that stood on the table along with an almost full bottle of alcohol.

You really didn't give him a chance.

The ambulance took several minutes, which seemed like an eternity. In fact, Leon wasn't sure if it was worth trying to make you vomit when you'd already lost so much blood that it was already seeping through the bandages. Surely you would need a transfusion and Leon is ready to give you all his blood if only you would wake up. Holding his breath, he carefully looked at your chest, watching whether you were breathing and fortunately, your heart was still beating, slowly, but it was still fighting for life.

He stroked you on the head, kissed you, promised that he would take you somewhere else, quiet, where no one would dare to offend you, even if it was your family. You could have just asked him for help, just cuddled up to him and he would have protected you from other people’s attacks, but you preferred to remain silent. Kennedy was tired of waiting for the medical staff to let him in, although relatives should be allowed to see the patient first, but the position of a government agent sometimes had its advantages, and they concerned not only the high salary. When he was let in to you, it seemed to him that you had become half your size while you were lying on the bed, curled up under the blanket. It didn’t work out to pull off a beautiful suicide, which meant that soon angry relatives would come here with new sweat of bile especially for you. They won’t care about your feelings, but Leon sat down next to you, trying not to intrude too much into the space in which you imprisoned yourself, as if this blanket cocoon could be a separate world where you could hide. He spoke to you carefully, hating himself for not being able to understand in time what was wrong with your behavior; perhaps if he had been more attentive to you, the incident could have been avoided. You would see a psychotherapist, take a course of medication, and your environment would definitely be taken care of.

You cry, not letting him come to you, hating how you weren't just left to die and how much you hate this world. Hysteria after hysteria, nervous breakdown after nervous breakdown, in the hospital you repeatedly tried to commit suicide, but the attentive staff managed to prevent this before you inflicted fatal injuries on yourself, and if after some time Leon still managed to carefully break through your armor, then your loved ones This did not concern relatives in principle. You only allowed one person to visit you while you were undergoing psychological treatment and you behaved calmer and calmer, listening to the velvety words that soon all this would be behind you.

“We’ll go home soon,” Leon smiled, gently holding your hand and kissing your forehead, just glad that you’re alive, that you’re breathing and that your psycho-emotional state is slowly but improving. “You know, I have a surprise for you, I think you’ll like it when we get home.”

Soon what happened will become another nightmare in his life, a blessing with a good ending, but for the sake of this happy ending, Kennedy is ready to descend into hell at least every day.

You nod at him and smile a little, fearing that the gift is some kind of party on the occasion of your discharge. In fact, the last thing you want is to see someone’s faces, especially those who diligently hammered into your head how insignificant you are. Why do you even hope that the doctor will postpone your discharge, but the plans for your further treatment were completely different.

On the other hand, after taking antidepressants and psychological help in a special medical institution, how many men are ready to stay with their girlfriends who have been there for several months? For Leon, it seems this was not a significant problem, or he simply carefully did not show it. However, there were no parties, no calls, you simply returned now to his home where there were new interior items. it became somehow more comfortable... but something else surprised you.

Puppy. A small puppy of a couple of months old ran towards you and Leon to meet both of them, but stopped and began sniffing your shoes, while something thawed in your heart.

“Animals seem to help us well, They feel when we feel bad, it seems to me a good idea to get us a little companion,” Leon said quietly, stroking your back while you were busy with the puppy, rejoicing at the little living soul who will love you with the same pure and devoted love.

Ultimately it should have a happy ending too. Leon is ready to go to great lengths so that his beloved songbird starts smiling and singing happy songs again, even if it is necessary to remove other birds from her family who sleep and see how to pluck all her wings again.

You and he also have a chance for a happy ending.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy resident evil #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon resident evil #resident evil leon

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for asking my spouse to open up our relationship?

Tl;dr: He said no years ago but our sex life is non-existent and I'm climbing the walls.

Full story:

Me (early 30s, NB) and my partner (late 30s, M) have been together for over a decade. We have a kid, a mortgage and enough interests in common to keep each other entertained. He's a genuinely good person and the last thing I want to do is hurt him. BUT.

We met before I hit 20, and he was my first ever serious relationship. Our sex life tanked about two years in, but we both had other things going on, and over time I blamed many different factors: living conditions, shift work, my weight gain, health issues, differences in upbringing, levels of queerness - you name it. In the last few years I helped him through a serious medical condition (think two surgeries and a long recovery), but once he was nominally in the clear my mental health went down the drain and I haven't really been back to normal since.

For a while, I had a really good counsellor and for once got to talk about some of the less savoury shit going on in my noggin. It all ended up on a Realisation that we only had sex while sober on a laughably small number of occasions, and any and all attempts on my part to spice things up ended at best with affectionately confounded denial or just a straight up brick wall. I got sober a few years before he did (I'm talking 'uh oh maybe we're having too many too often' rather than 'out of control alcoholism'), which effectively ended our sex life altogether. At this point I'm looking at a solid year since my husband last touched me, and even then it was after he came home from a pub in a silly mood so neither of us ended up getting much out of it. And it's not even the longest stretch.

I floated this as an issue a number of times, and every time he agreed it's something to work on then did precisely zilch. I told him point blank once that I wouldn't be opposed to an open relationship, but he was vehemently against, because that's the first step to a break up in his mind. I suggested he might be ace (there are several clues to that, not just my increasingly unhinged internet history), bought the book as a way to start a discussion - he put it on a shelf and never looked at it again.

After my Big Bad Breakdown earlier this year we ended up in family counselling. It quickly became clear that there are so many things he just Didn't Consider that the sex thing didn't even get mentioned, then we ran out of slots and he hasn't followed up on any of his revelations from the sessions, so I feel like digging in is a lost cause.

I love him, don't want to leave him and quite frankly couldn't even if I did because the UK is a financial ruin. I also have some extremely unfulfilled needs, and can't even rub one out in peace because he finds it weird (???). Even if I didn't find cheating morally Too Far it sounds exhausting and I already have too much going on. I haven't been the easiest person to be around for the last few months, but this has been a years-long issue. So, WBITA to start the conversation on the open relationship again, despite the negative feedback I had previously?

(If it helps, we both have different flavours of neurodivergence, although mine is under treatment and his largely ignored.)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[forest-hashira]

2 Be Loved

this has sat in my drafts for... idk exactly how long, a month at least, because i was trying to decide if i even wanted to post it here. i wrote this for myself when i was Going Through It with my depression. now that i've sat on it a while, and i've generally been doing better, i've decided it's time to go ahead and share this. i hope you all enjoy it, and that it brings you some level of comfort or reassurance if you need it 💜

read on ao3 here | wc: ~2.4k | cw: gender neutral reader, plus size reader, mental health issues (reader is in a depressive episode), emotional hurt/comfort, some fluff at the end, really this is very self ship coded

You’d spent practically the whole day in bed. And the day before that, and the day before that, and probably the day before that, too. You’d lost count, honestly; all the days bleeding together and blurring in the fog of your mind. 

This was far from the first time this had happened, and you knew it would also be far from the last. Your emotional state had been a rollercoaster for most of your life, and had only become more volatile in the last few years. You would be fine, until you suddenly realized you were decidedly not fine, with some realizations being more gentle than others.

Like this time, for example. You hadn’t suddenly buckled under the weight of the world, but instead had woken up one morning and felt paralyzed; even just the idea of getting out of bed, for any reason, felt insurmountable. So you simply… didn’t. You stayed in bed and slept between episodes of your favorite TV show, grasping for anything that might stop you from sinking further into the depths of your depression. 

Satoru had been as patient as ever, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and whispering a little “I love you,” before he’d left for work. He knew you struggled this way sometimes, and had never been anything but supportive and loving. Suguru had called in “sick”, opting to spend the day taking care of you, which mostly consisted of slipping in and out of sleep all day and occasionally bringing a snack from the kitchen. Satoru had joined you back in bed as soon as he got home from work, effectively squishing you between himself and Suguru, where you were helpless to do anything but let them love you.

It had reduced you to tears, shoulders shaking as ugly, half choked sobs tore themselves from your chest. They had let you cry, not rushing to try and quiet you as they might have done when they were younger; they let you get it out of your system, only stepping in to comfort you when you started to speak. 

“I’m sorry,” you’d cried, eyes shut tight as you tried to avoid their gaze. “I’m sorry I’m…” you’d struggled for words then, losing them between your hiccuping sobs and the darkness that clouded your mind. 

“I’m too much,” you’d come up with eventually. “My emotions are too messy, and my mind doesn’t work right… I feel like all I do is cause problems for both of you. Like all I do is hold you back and drag you down.”

You hadn’t seen the look they’d exchanged, the pain that pinched their features, but you had felt the way they pressed in closer, as if they could crush the depression out of you. 

“You are not too much,” Satoru had murmured, gently tilting your head up to meet his gaze, his cerulean eyes sparkling in the low light from the lamp on your bedside table. “You could never be too much, not to me – to us.” His thumb brushed lightly along your cheekbone, delicately wiping the tears from your skin even as they were replaced with more. “We love you so much, y’know? I love you so much. Taking care of you is not a chore, or a burden.”

You’d shaken your head, unable to believe his words. “You can’t possibly mean that.”

“But we do,” Suguru had been the one to speak that time. “You mean it when you tell me the same thing when I’m depressed, right?”

“Of course I do.” There wasn’t any hesitation as the words left your lips. “Taking care of you is a privilege.”

“Then why can’t you believe we feel the same way about taking care of you?”

His words had left you reeling, so much so that you almost didn’t hear Suguru when he continued. 

“Satoru’s right, angel. I love you. We adore you, and we want to take care of you. Always.”

As Suguru had hugged you tighter with one arm and pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, he’d placed his other hand on your white haired lover’s hip, keeping him as close as possible. Satoru had been eager to oblige, snuggling into you as much as possible. He’d brushed your hair from your face and pressed a kiss to your forehead, one hand cradling your face while the other reached across you to settle on Suguru’s hip. They had effectively caged you in, both with their bodies and with their love. It had shattered you, reduced you to tears again, but they hadn’t minded; they were there to hold you together, to pick up the pieces when you couldn’t do it alone. 

Through some unspoken agreement, your boys switched places the next day; Suguru had gone into work while Satoru had called out “sick” to take care of you. They did their best not to leave you alone for too long whenever they could help it, but they could only get away with calling out sick when everyone knew the two of them were perfectly healthy; when the higher ups knew that you were the one keeping the two special grades and teachers from fully doing their jobs.

A few days passed with your lovers taking turns staying home with you, until one day they both called out to stay home, though you didn’t realize that at first, since Suguru was quick to return to you in bed, holding you close as you drifted off again, faintly away of the sound of the front door closing and locking before you were fully asleep. 

When you woke up again, the first thing you were aware of was the fact that you were alone in bed. At almost the same moment, though, you heard music coming from what you guessed what the kitchen, though you couldn’t quite tell, since the bedroom door was shut; wherever it was coming from, it was definitely upbeat pop music, so you knew for certain Satoru was the one who had turned it on.

With no small amount of effort, you pushed yourself into a sitting position, rubbing your eyes for a moment and yawning before you crawled off the bed on Satoru’s side. You shuffled over to the dresser then, opening drawers and grabbing clothes pretty much at random. You wound up in a black sweatshirt and a pair of light blue sweatpants, both of which were at least two sizes too big for you, which even your fuzzy brain knew meant they weren’t actually your clothes; they belonged to your two giants of lovers.

Once you were dressed, you turned back to the nightstand, grabbing one of Suguru’s hair ties to pull your hair out of your face with, and, after a deep breath, you decided to brave the kitchen.

Opening the door to the bedroom allowed you to fully hear the music that was playing, and you were a little surprised to realize it was in English, rather than Japanese. Satoru liked to listen to anything that was happy and upbeat enough, but he – understandably – had a bit of a preference for J pop music. 

Still a little surprised by the music choice and a little foggy from sleep, you make your way to the kitchen in a bit of a daze. Both Satoru and Suguru were in the kitchen: Suguru at the counter, mixing something in the stand mixer, while Satoru danced around to the music, occasionally trying to steal a bit of whatever Suguru had in the mixing bowl, and being effectively swatted away every time. You stood in the doorway for a few moments in silence, just watching them in utter adoration.

Eventually, though, Satoru noticed you, and he got a bright grin on his face as he raced over to you. “You got out of bed!” he gushed, wrapping you up in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m so proud of you, mochi,” he murmured against your scalp, and something about the nickname in combination with the praise made you feel like you were going to melt into a puddle right then and there. 

Just as suddenly as he had engulfed you in a hug, the white haired sorcerer was releasing you, lunging for where he’d left his phone on the counter by the bluetooth speaker he was using for the music. You watched curiously as he opened his playlist, hastily skipping through a handful of songs before he got to the one he was apparently looking for. Seeming pleased with himself, he made sure the song was playing, turned the volume up a little bit, then turned back to you with that sparkling grin of his. 

You blinked in surprise when you heard the singer’s voice, and you looked up at him with a look of complete bafflement. “I didn’t know you listened to Lizzo.”

He sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “No, baby, you gotta listen to the lyrics!” he insisted, taking your hands and doing a very small little dance with you right there in the doorway. 

Though part of you wanted to argue, you had never been good at resisting your energetic lover, and this time was no exception. Before you even nodded, Satoru already knew you’d given in to him, and he pulled you a bit closer to himself as he started singing along with the lyrics. And not quietly, either: he sang them with all the enthusiasm in his body, and though you hated to admit it, it was contagious, even in your depressed state.

By the end of the first verse, you were smiling, a small laugh escaping you at your lover’s almost puppyish behavior. When the chorus came around, you started singing along as well, and you noticed belatedly that Satoru was singing the lines of the background singers, rather than the main chorus, like you were. 

“Am I ready?”

“You deserve it now.”

“‘Cause I want it!”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Am I ready?”

“You gon’ figure it out.”

“To be loved, to be loved.”

Your singing faltered then, and you stared up at Satoru for a moment, suddenly realizing why he’d picked this song to serenade you with. He stopped singing as well, smiling gently down at you as he watched you fit the puzzle pieces together in your mind.

“We’ve always been ready to love you.”

The sound of Suguru’s voice from behind you caused you to startle a bit, but you looked up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. 

“Are you ready to let us love you again?” His tone held no resentment, no bitterness, only gentle adoration, and you were certain that if Satoru didn’t still have a solid grip on your hands, you would have sunk to your knees with the overwhelming realization of how much these two men adored you, despite how much your mind sometimes tried to convince you they shouldn’t.

Unable to find your voice, you nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks. You allowed your eyes to flutter shut for a moment as Suguru leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, but just a few seconds later, Satoru was tugging you back into his space, spinning you around so your back was to his chest. The song was still playing and he was apparently still determined to get you to dance with him.

Suguru laughed softly at his lover’s antics, shaking his head slightly at Satoru and offering you a slight shrug when you looked up at him for some sort of explanation.

Now the subject of Satoru’s whims, you allowed him to dance around the kitchen with you in his arms, still singing along with the song, though now his volume was lower, as he sang the words down at you. You smiled, allowing yourself to get lost in the warmth of his love, even if his fingers were cold where they wrapped around your own. 

“He call me Melly, he squeeze my belly.”

Your eyes flew open as Satoru sang the words, his chilly hands coming down to squeeze at the soft flesh of your stomach, the touch pulling a rather undignified squeak from your lips, but he just continued to beam down at you. He wasn’t going along with the lyrics of the song to make fun of you – he’d expressed to you enough times that he adored the soft pudginess of your body for you to know he meant it – but it still surprised every time he made sure to pay special attention to the squishier parts of you.

The sound of your squeak pulled another laugh from Suguru, and though at first you were planning to glare at him, you couldn’t go through with it; not when his expression was full of so much love and relief. He crossed the kitchen to reach you again, whatever was in the mixer long forgotten in favor of you. When he reached out for you, going to him was easier than breathing. He pulled you close, pressing his lips to the crown of your head as he swayed around the kitchen with you. The movement didn’t match the energy of the song at all, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You were safe and secure in his arms, and Satoru had enough energy for all three of you; it was impossible not to watch him as he danced around the kitchen, white hair and blue eyes shining, and he flashed you that brilliant grin of his every time he caught your gaze. 

Things weren’t suddenly perfect; Lizzo and dancing in the kitchen was not a magical fix-it for the irregularities in your emotional state, but it was certainly a stepping stone back to your normal. And you knew, without any doubt in your mind, that you would have the support and full confidence of your lovers behind you every step of the way. They were your way back to yourself, after all. Suguru was your anchor in stormy seas, tethering you to something real, something sturdy; Satoru was the lighthouse calling you home when the waters calmed enough for you to move again.

i hope you guys have enjoyed seeing some of my other stuff i hadn't yet shared here! though i can't promise when i'll have anything new, know that i am working on things now + am preparing things for my upcoming milestone event!!! take care of yourselves as best you can 💜. divider by cafekitsune

tagging: @kentohours @mitsuristoleme @marinnnnnnnnn @witchbybirth @peachdues

#fallon's fics #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo jjk #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #geto x gojo x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #geto jjk #jjk geto #geto suguru #geto x reader #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jjk reader insert #jjk hurt/comfort

[aesterblaster]

Bad Dogs Can Learn New Tricks

Which Blue Lock Characters Have Gone To Therapy, In My Humble Opinion. (+ Who Desperately Needs To But Hasn't + Who Might In The Future)

Warnings: Some spoilers for way past the U-20 Arc, also not an extensive list of characters, honestly kind of funny. I wasn't trying to be TOO serious

Songs: Falling Behind / Laufey , The Main Character / Will Wood , Nothing's New / Rio Romeo

Has Gone To Therapy And Loves Their Therapist Gang

-Anri, There is no way she is able to have that much patience and take that much shit from corporate without having a therapist. I think she uses like 1/5th of her paycheck on books about improving your life and stuff like that LMAO. Her therapist is also a woman so it helps her to have someone who understands her frustrations with not really getting credit despite being one of the founders of Blue Lock. Also sometimes she gets worried she's unethical towards the boys so that weighs on her.

-Kenyu, Look it's still in progress ok? He was just starting before he came to Blue Lock. Once he realized he was going to lose his vision he started working with a professional and found it really helpful. In fact they were the one who encouraged him to go after Blue Lock in the first place. One of the reasons he was so quick to say sorry to Isagi is because he has those #coping skills.

-Gagumaru, After having a run in with a bear in the woods he kept having nightmares and his parents made him go to therapy. Well it was kindddd of therapy..it was a hippie who's a family friend. That doesn't mean he doesn't know grounding techniques. He even taught Naruhaya how to calm down from a panic attack once. But yeah, he doesn't really tell people that he went to therapy

-Snuffy, After his best friend's death he went to therapy ASAP. The type to only call his therapist once every 5 months and still have a rock solid relationship with them. His therapist helped him break his womanizing habit and realize that he's enough all on his own. 100% did some soul searching and stepped away from the scene. He also combined the therapist with a personal trainer to really max out his healing process. 100/10 dude for it.

"I Have Gone To Therapy And It Didn't Work" Crew

-Chigiri, Similar to Kenyu, his parents thought he might need some mental health help after the trauma of thinking he'd never be an athlete again. But he was one of those cold shoulder my mom is forcing me to do this cases. He never actually worked through what he might do if this whole thing falls through. Also snarkiness 100, his therapist almost quit because he was so insulting to them. Chigiri just felt ashamed that his parents even thought he should go in the first place and convinced his sister to also beg them to stop taking him lmao.

-Isagi, Okay at some point his parents realize he takes faliure wayyy too hard and tried to get him in therapy. When he talked to the therapist though the dude was like "Yeah, he's just competitive. Nothing wrong here." Alas, he's been masking for so long that he's incapable of revealing his issues to anyone who hasn't known him for 3 years or plays sports with him. Also, he convinced himself he doesn't need it and then idly imagines just going apeshit and killing his enemies to cope with stress...like bro...

-Noa, Why do you think he gets along with Isagi? All jokes aside, his PR people probably asked him to do it and he went and then secretly never went back. It honestly didn't work because he wasn't willing to give it a chance. And still isn't!!!! Would rather backflip off of a yacht than tell someone in a lounge chair about how growing up in intense poverty still haunts him sometimes, makes him question his worth and avoid conflict in day to day life. Sometimes he wonders if one day he'll wake up and find out it was all a dream....But nah he doesn't need therapy!

-Oliver, He was soooo close to actually getting his mental health in check but then his therapist retired. After that he got another really seasoned one and saw the amount of case files in his desk and just felt like a straight up burden. One of those "other people have it worse" and "it is what it is" guys. He's very open about his emotions and feelings so he just talks to his friends when he's really struggling. (Even though Sendou never says the right things-) Like yeah it's their job but why bug these nice people when sex?? Why talk about issues in sessions when he can get drunk or go train for 4 hours??? Riddle him that?

The "I Need Therapy And I Know It" Team

-Ness, He has so many fucking issues. Honestly, despite his devout worship of Kaiser he does realize that his behavior isn't quite healthy or normal. Dude tries to show you a funny video on his phone and all of his ads are for Betterhelp. Genuinely trying to figure out a diagnosis. Yes he has looked up all sorts of personality disorders and no he doesn't think he has any of them (He has at least two). But again, Ness is self aware enough to know that some help or someone to talk to who sees him as an actual human being would be nice.

-Niko, He cannonicaly describes himself as very very introverted and nerdy, also he hides his face. Tell me you were bullied in school or at least had an extremely traumatizing incident without telling me. Kind of never had anyone, just people who hung around because of his soccer skill or avoided him like the plague. He is that guy who will rant about "society" online for hours and fantasize about moving to a different country thinking he'd get better treatment there. Cripplingly lonely and self conscious at the end of the day, in all honesty. Also he genuinely wants a therapist but just can't afford one.

-Hiori, Obviously his parents are the ones who stop him. He tries to go and his mom realizes where he's making her drive him and swerves off. Even when he gets his license, you just know they're tracking everywhere he goes. He doesn't have enough privacy to really get better like that, Hiori has to wait until he moves out. Still genuinely fucked up by the fact that Gagumaru has gotten therapy and he hasn't. Just listens to emo music and plays video games and pretends that that fixes everything. He's totally releasing a top-selling book about his horrible childhood after Blue Lock.

-Bachira, Is he outgoing and silly? Yes. Does he need better coping skills? Also yes. Men will tell you the most horrible and traumatizing childhood memories about getting jumped and then laugh it off, and it's him, Bachira is men. He ties to brush off his trauma with humor but it never really works. He knows that he genuinely needs to talk to someone other than Isagi or his mom about the Monster and how it was by his side for so long. But also never goes through with getting professional help, just thinks about it sometimes.

The "What's Therapy? Fuck You!" Group

-Kaiser, Oh god, don't even suggest it to him. I headcannon that mental illness kind of runs in his family. He's watched family members be taken away for being too out there and openly mentally ill so he has a reason to not trust doctors. Just associates therapy and things like it with abusive institutions. If he told a therapist all of his issues, he'd probably be sent to a psyche ward. Just the threat of being sent there single handedly kept him from killing himself or talking about his feelings when he was younger. He will continue to just be slightly abusive to the people around him thank you very much.

-Ego, Bro's got the government banning him from soccer and you think he's thinking of therapy? When Anri tells him he needs it offhand, he's like, revenge is my therapy. Insane as fuck but thinks that it's a good thing. He is not willing to talk about his issues to anyone, but especially not someone who will write it all down. Genuinely ruined a few relationships in his past because the main people he attracts are the "I Can Fix Him" people and it just never works. Suprisingly unself aware for how much he analyzes others.

-Barou, His main issue is just shame and failed gifted kid syndrome. But as soon as he's back up he's convinced he doesn't need help. Barou suffers from really high highs and really low lows but he also has the mental fortitude to handle it. He is a well adjusted and kind enough person outside of the soccer field so he never considers that he needs therapy. When he feels bad about himself he hits the gym but he's never really opened up to anyone and he sure isn't going to start once he gets more famous. Especially when he's seen as one of the best right now, can't risk his reputation.

-Rin, He's would rather gut himself with a sword than admit that his mental illness doesn't make him a cool loner wolf and just a lonely person who hasn't healed his inner child. Kind of just wants someone to baby him and tell him everything's going to be alright but in the mean time his barriers are up 24/7. He disdains therapy, thinks that he'd just be seen as a pay check and he kind of isn't wrong. Rin would rather pay money for expensive cleats than spend it for someone to suggest him breathing exercises. He also had a traumacore phase, but he'd rather not talk about it.

#every once in a blue moon my brain works #blue lock #bllk #blue lock headcannons #bllk headcannon #bllk anime #feel free to add on in tags #rin bllk #isagi yoichi #barou blue lock #ego jinpachi #kaiser michael #bachira bllk #hiori yo #niko ikki #ness blue lock #bluelock #chigiri blue lock #bllk fanfic

[mazeinthemiroh]

you need a holiday. [part 2]

pairing: hongjoong x best friend! reader

genre: friends to lovers, slow burn / slow romance, slight angst, and, of course, a sprinkle of crack

word count: 1.2k

warnings: cursing (mainly the f bomb), allusions to mental health issues + insomnia, hongjoong being stubborn af, helpful wooyoung <3

summary: hongjoong has been told to take some time off work, which he wanted to resist. confused and stressed, he tries to figure out what to do [part 1, part 3.]

author's notes: for those who missed it. i reckon this series will have 4 or 5 parts, just fyi. thank you for joining for part 2, and thanks for those of you who have supported me in part 1! let me know if you want to be tagged in the rest of these :] otherwise, enjoy the rest of them! <3

It wasn't that Hongjoong didn't trust your judgement. Of course, he did. It was the reason why he came to you in the first place. But it didn't sit right with him to take time off.

He knew that everyone needed time off but it was just bad timing. Although, if he was being honest, it was always bad timing. Whenever he had a break or a vacation, he could never fully relax. It was always right after a comeback and on to the next one, with things still very much in the air in terms of promotions.

He always felt restless. Like he should be doing something. Sitting and just... existing was a weird sensation. Not to say that Hongjoong is a man of action. He is usually calm and collected and fine with little stimulation. But his mind was always working. It felt hopeless, trying to relax during his breaks, because his mind naturally goes haywire. Thinking about the next comeback or the song he hasn't quite completed or the important photoshoot coming up next month. He thought about all these things.

"He's driving himself crazy, you realise that?" You were on the phone with Seonghwa, talking about your shared concern for Hongjoong. "I don't think I've ever seen him fully relax. Like... fully let go of all the things worrying him. It's so frustrating."

Seonghwa sighed through the phone, "Try living with him." He loved Hongjoong dearly and you could sense it through the concern in his voice. You were glad, at least, that Hongjoong wasn't alone. Seonghwa being there to keep an eye on him always put you at ease, because you couldn't always be there for your friend in the way you wanted to.

Meanwhile, Hongjoong slaved away. Hunched in what looked like the most uncomfortable position ever, he leaned over his desk and stared at the blank sheet of paper before him. It felt like he'd been sitting there for hours in the studio, and yet he had written nothing. No lyrics for the new song. Not a single thought. His brow was furrowed deeply as he closed his eyes. Thoughts swirled around in his busy head, and he couldn't make sense of anything.

He hadn't eaten or drunk anything in hours. His throat was sore and parched, his eyes dry from the air-conditioned room. Numbness took over him.

"Hongjoong."

He turned around slowly to see Eden, making his way back to the studio to gather some paperwork he'd left behind.

"I thought you'd gone," Hongjoong stated, his lifeless voice attempting to sound vibrant. Eden's jaw tightened.

"I don't want you here, Hongjoong. You don't look well and I think you need a break."

'Oh, so now Eden was telling me I need a break? What was up with everyone,' Hongjoong wrestled with the urge to fall asleep as he blinked his eyes open to stare at Eden's genuine expression.

"God, I'm not dying, geez. You've never taken any concern before," Hongjoong tried to snap back, but his tired voice and his weak state made him seem as threatening as an angry kitten.

"Well take it as a sign then," Eden replied back abruptly, before setting a hand down on Hongjoong's shoulder. "Go home, get some rest. Take a couple of days off."

"I don't need days off, I need to finish this!" Hongjoong exclaimed, his eyes now wide with exasperation. He felt heat rising to his head.

His phone buzzed on the desk. A notification. And when he eyed the phone screen, he saw your name:

Flight leaves tomorrow morning. I already bought your ticket so you might as well join me ~

His eyes wavered as he calmed his breathing, before looking back at Eden desperately.

What was he going to do...

"Help me pack my fucking case."

Hongjoong's weak body chucked the suitcase to the floor of his bedroom. 1 o'clock in the morning. At this hour, he could be writing another song. He could be perfecting the new album. He could be working on Ateez's new concept. But no. He was packing. Packing.

"Huh?" Wooyoung looked at him, wide-eyed and confused, "Are you going? You're actually going?"

"I don't fucking know okay? Everyone's telling me to leave so maybe I fucking should," Hongjoong shouted, his breath hitched in his throat. He could barely breathe as scrambled for clothes and shoes and necessities of all sorts. His mind wasn't thinking straight and yet he persisted.

"Calm down," Wooyoung urged, "you and your colourful language can hush. There are people trying to sleep!"

"You're one to talk about colourful language," Hongjoong hissed, quieter now. He was usually so considerate of being quiet when he got back at late hours, but his brain wasn't working the way it used to.

Wooyoung saw his desperation and came to his rescue, folding through his chosen clothes and placing the efficiently in his suitcase. He was surprisingly good at organising where everything went. Why, if it was his own suitcase, he would likely shove everything in there and hope for the best. But he knew Hongjoong needed clarity, so that's what he strive for.

"Where are you going by the way?" Wooyoung asked in order to ease some of Hongjoong's tension.

"Spain," replied Hongjoong, his voice blunt and tired.

"With who?"

"Y/N."

Wooyoung slowed his movements, a grin forming on his face. "Ahh."

Hongjoong whisked his head around to face his friend.

"And what the hell does that sound mean?" Hongjoong's eyes may be tired, the bags under them dragging, but they were still piercing beyond belief, dangerous if you looked for too long. Which is why Wooyoung didn't bother looking up at all.

"Nothing, nothing," Wooyoung's playful voice sounded as he tried to contain his massive smirk.

Hongjoong shook his head and huffed, finally zipping up his suitcase and collapsing on his bed.

Was he really going to do this? Just Go? Leave everything and everyone behind for a bit? It felt wrong. It felt unnatural.

Wooyoung made his way onto Hongjoong's bed and snuggled up to him, which made the captain grimace and turn away slightly.

"I'm not in the mood, Wooyoung."

"Well, you're welcome for helping you pack," Wooyoung poked his sides aggressively, making the man squirm a bit.

Then they both lay there. Hongjoong was too exhausted to protest Wooyoung's affection, who was readily offering it. Not to annoy the captain, but to reassure him.

"Okay, I'm going to leave now," Wooyoung stated, deciding he had had his fun, and felt he did what he could. Hongjoong lay there unresponsive, and the younger member couldn't tell if he had drifted off to sleep or had just ignored him.

"Goodnight," he whispered loudly in Hongjoong's ear, before getting out of bed and stretching slightly, yawning as he did so.

Hongjoong stayed in his slightly curled-up position, blankets hugged to his chest.

"Have a safe flight if I don't see you," Wooyoung didn't hear Hongjoong's whispered 'thank you' as he closed the door.

Hongjoong lay awake for a little bit figuring out his next move. His next plan of action.

But the temptation to drift off into slumber was beyond his resistance, and soon he was snoring softly in a comfortable, dreamless state, the question of tomorrow awaiting him.

taglist: @a-wandering-stay, @xlovehwa, @yeosangsbiceps, @anyamaris, @acciocriativity, @hawaiian-angel, @toolovelyforyou, @dutchessskarma, @saltedplum-squid, @dandycharmer, @baek-at-it-again95, @whatisnttakenbynow, @yeosxxx (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

#hongjoong #kim hongjoong #ateez #kpop #atz #hongjoong x reader #ateez x reader #hongjoong fic #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong imagines #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfic #ateez fics #hongjoong fics #ateez fic #kpop x reader #kpop x gn reader #ateez x gn reader #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #kpop fic #kpop fics

[munson-blurbs]

feel free to totally ignore this if it sounds weird! but, could you maybe write some hurt/comfort where post-vecna!eddie has been gaining weight (injury recovery, depression, adjusting to eating again, etc.) and feels insecure about it? and the reader comforts him? thank you either way! i love your writing.

I hope y'all enjoy this 💚 a lil friends-to-lovers, perhaps?

Warnings: weight gain, body image issues mentions of injuries/Eddie's experience in the Upside Down, depression/mental health issues, language

WC: 1.5k

--

Eddie squints, wincing, as sunlight streams through his window. His clock reads 7:05, which means he’s gone another night without sleeping. He prefers staying awake these days, because sleep often brings nightmares of dark red clouds, screeching demobats, and your tear-stained cheeks as you screamed out for help over his pale body.

A sugary smell permeates the air, and he realizes that you must’ve snuck out of bed to make breakfast. You’ve been spending the night ever since he’d come home from the hospital. Initially, you’d slept in a sleeping bag on the floor until his wounds healed enough. “I’m a restless sleeper; wouldn’t wanna hurt you, Eds,” you’d insisted, but after two months, you reluctantly agreed to join him in his tiny twin bed. 

He sits up with a grimace. All he wants is to curl up under the covers and shut out the world. He’s exhausted, but not just from a lack of sleep. It seems like merely existing tires him out now. His body still aches four months after Spring Break, but the pain goes beyond the injuries. It’s like he’s hurting from the inside out.

Maybe if I actually get dressed, change outta these goddamn sweatpants, I’ll feel a little better, he thinks. It’s a longshot, but he figures it’s worth a try. He rummages through the crumpled clothes in his dresser drawer until he finds his favorite pair of jeans. Sliding the light-wash denim over one leg, then the other, he hoists them around his waist to fasten the button.

But it won’t close.

“What the fuck?” he hisses through gritted teeth. No, these fit back in March. He remembers, because you told him that he looked good in them. He’d felt like he was walking on clouds for the rest of the day. Eddie looks down at his waist now, noticing some pudge where his stomach was once flat. 

“Son of a bitch!” he groans. It’s louder than he intended, and his cheeks redden as you burst through the bedroom door. 

“Are you okay?” you ask breathlessly. There’s pancake batter smeared on your hands and you’re still in your pajamas, but Eddie thinks you’ve never looked cuter. 

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” he mutters, trying to cover his waistband with his shirt. 

Your worried look dissipates as you breathe a sigh of relief. “You scared me; I thought you fell or something!” Though your tone is scolding, the smile on your lips indicates that you’re not actually angry. “So what’s wrong? Or are we just swearing to ourselves for fun now?”

Eddie briefly considers lying, but you’ve been friends too long for him to pull one over on you. “My pants are too tight,” he admits sheepishly. He can’t even say they shrunk in the wash, because he hasn’t worn them in months. 

“That’s all?” You wrinkle your nose in confusion. “That’s not a big deal. If you’re feeling up to it, we can go to the Gap and get some more. They always have a sale going on.”

His eyes widen at your indifference. “The pants aren’t the problem here!” he protests. “My body’s, like, betraying me, or some shit. First these ugly scars, then the soreness from the fall, and now this!” He gestures to his undone button and little potbelly before sitting back down on the bed and letting out the most self-pitying moan you’ve ever heard. 

You giggle involuntarily, clapping a hand over your mouth as quickly as you can. “I’m sorry, Eds. I’m not laughing at you.” You plop down next to him and put your arm around his shoulders. “The scars are gonna fade, and the pain will go away gradually. That’s what all the doctors said, right?”

Eddie looks down at the ground, refusing to make eye contact with you. “Yeah, I know,” he mumbles. “But what about—“

“Gaining weight?” You cut him off, and he nods. “Remember when you first came home, and you weren’t eating anything? How scared we were that you would just waste away?” It was a sight you’d never forget. Your best friend, normally full of energy and charisma, half-alive and covered in his own blood. The way your own voice warbled as you pleaded with him to stay with us, hang on. Seeing him with tubes in his nose, torso wrapped in bandages as he lay still in his hospital bed. He’d slept most of the time, waking up occasionally to cry. And now that he was home, he never left the trailer. You’d probably never have seen him again if you weren’t practically living there, too.

“That’s clearly not an issue anymore,” he huffs, trying and failing to button his jeans. “‘S like, just when I thought I couldn’t get any uglier…”

Now it’s your turn to be shocked. “Eddie Munson, you’re not ugly, you’ve never been ugly–not even when your head was shaved,” you add with a grin, “and you’ll never be ugly.” You take his hand in yours. “Think about it: if the roles were reversed, you wouldn’t want me calling myself ugly.”

“‘Course not,” Eddie murmurs. “I’d still think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.” His lidded eyes snap open at the confession. “I-I mean…”

“And I think you’re the most handsome man in the world,” you tell him, and it’s the truth. You’d never admitted it to him before, but his smile always made you smile, and you couldn’t deny the way your stomach flip-flopped when he gazed into your eyes with his own brown orbs.

“You do?” Eddie questions incredulously. “Even…even like this?”

“The only thing I’d change is…I just wish you were happy. Happy Eddie is my favorite Eddie.”

He pauses, gnawing on his lower lip. “Sometimes,” he starts, “I feel like I’ll never be happy again.” Tears trickle down his cheek as he rests his head on your shoulder. “I want to be happy; and I feel little, like, pings of it every once in a while, y’know? Like when you cook for me, or comb my hair, but then it’s just replaced with guilt.”

“Guilt?”

“Yeah, like, I feel bad that you have to do all this stuff for me. And I can’t do anything for you in return.” He wipes his face with the back of his hand. “‘M fuckin’ pathetic.”

“Please stop saying that about yourself.” You feel yourself choke up and you swallow a sob. “You’re brave, and wonderful, and sweet, and beautiful. Scars or no scars; weight gain or no weight gain.” You continue, rubbing his back with your palm. “I feel frustrated knowing that no matter what I do, I can’t take away your sadness.”

“‘S like, it never leaves. And I can’t even talk to someone about it, unless you know any shrinks who specialize in post-alternate dimension trauma.” He offers a sliver of a smile, and it warms your heart.

“How’re you funny even when you’re dealing with so much?” you hum, running your fingers through his hair. The two of you sit there like that for a few moments before you pull away. “I should get back to making breakfast,” you say finally, though you truly don’t want to move.

“Wait,” Eddie blurts out, and you turn your head to look at him. “Did–did you mean what you said earlier? About me being handsome?” He blushes at his own statement.

“I believe my exact words were ‘most handsome man in the world,’” you tease, “and, yes, I meant it, Eds.”

He takes a second to absorb what you’ve just said. “I meant what I said, too. About you being the most beautiful girl in the world. Felt that way for a long time, actually.” He shifts his body slowly and brings his hand to cup your cheek. “Was gonna ask you on a date, but my plans got kinda…derailed.”

“Me?” you squeak out.

“Yeah, you,” he chuckles lightly. “Just didn’t think you felt the same way.”

You scoot closer to his body. “Can I show you how I feel?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you lean into him, parting his plush lips with yours. You’re wrought with nerves, and the kiss is quick, but it feels like your heart’s exploding in your chest.

“You have the best lips,” you tell him, speaking against his mouth, “and the best neck,” you press a kiss right above his collarbone, and you feel him shiver, “and the best tummy.” You swoop down and blow a raspberry into his stomach, making him cover his torso with his hands.

“You know I’m ticklish there!” he whines, but he’s laughing as he says it.

“Oh, are you?” You wiggle your fingers mischievously, but he grabs your wrists before you can make contact.

“I was thinkin’,” Eddie says, tugging on your hands to pull you towards him, “maybe I could take you up on that shopping trip? We could, um, go get something to eat after?” His lips meet your forehead, and a tingle shoots through your spine. “‘S not exactly how I pictured our first date, but…”

“I’d love that,” you jump in, peppering his face with kisses. “Wanna help me make breakfast first?”

“Depends.” He’s smiling from ear to ear. “Can we put chocolate chips in the pancakes?”

--

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #requests

[fkinavocado]

DADDY ISSUES ANNOUNCEMENT

ok guys. let's recap. i've been writing on this fic since august 2021. i was gearing up to wrap it up for its 2 year anniversary in august, but my mental health got in the way of writing in general, not just for this fic.

however, there has been another major block in my way.

many of you might remember this if you've been around long enough, but i got a lot of backlash at one point in the story. some felt it wasn't going in the direction they had hoped for (a typical happy ending, picket fence, kids, etc- the whole package).

and ever since, this has been bothering me- but not just because of the obvious reason (which is, that this is my fic and i should get to decide what the storyline is ultimately, and who doesn't resonate can just move on instead of sending me hate for something i share on here for free and for us all to enjoy- me writing it, and you, hopefully, reading it)

no, the real, or should i say, bigger reason is that i was upset with myself.

because, honestly... i wanted to end the fic where part 1 ended!

but... i gave into the pressure. so many ppl were pleading for more, and although the initial plan was to just write extras going forward, little check-ins mainly based on prompts, i felt like i owed it to you all to give you the happy ending everyone was rooting for... when, in reality, i'd meant for it to have an open ending all along.

yes, the check-ins would have had them be together etc, but no major plot developments such as... getting married, babies, etcetc. because i just didn't want to give them a typical story. i wanted this to be based on their dynamic, their relationship, them working on it, but not have it be the traditional story with a happily ever after.

(very many insisted a lot on the baby plotline, and maybe that's why i went with that twist in the story... because i didn't see it for them in the immediate future. and writing it in a linear timeframe without too many timejumps meant that i had to find a workaround... which only infuriated people more!)

so i'be been debating this for months now... should i go on and just wrap it up in a lame way that i didn't feel did the story justice (aka another timejump where they're finally settled, have a kid and another one on the way, and describe their happily ever after) orrrrrrrrrrrrrr backtrack to where i feel i deviated from my original plan, and take off part 2 and 3.

basically, go back to where they were on his front porch and part 1 ended:

Harry looked at you for a long moment, towering over you- you could barely see his facial features in the dark. 

But what you could make out clearly was the glistening in his eyes and the way his lips turned ever so slowly into a smile, his dimples on display. He was so handsome when he smiled, it hurt. 

You slowly smiled in return, your worried expression fading away, and you just stared at eachother like that, smiling after months of nothing but.

You didn’t need to say anything, your eyes had their own secret language. Once more, your bodies were doing the talking for you.

He held out the palm of his hand.

And… you knew.

this... this is how i wanted the main story to end. and then to just write extras, prompts you guys send in, whatever you wanted to see more of- but maybe not them having kids etc because fjdhfksd this is just not that kind of story to me! i just wanted this to be about them, the two of them rekindling their relationship after so much time apart and all they'd been through!

so... i finally took the decision, and as a result, you may have noticed that just the first 25 chapters are still listed in the masterlist (essentially, just part 1)

this was a hard decision, one i've been debating for ages, because, well... i hated having to just erase so many chapters. chapters i worked on, chapters i still see as genuine and true to their story but just... not what i wanted to write for them as a whole. i wanted to just focus on little moments. not have it be a chronological recount of their story, going further.

i had to let go of so many special moments that i loved writing! who knows... maybe i'll save some of them and integrate them into extras

that is, if any of you still want me to keep writing extras for them! i know many will still want to see snippets of them, but i am well aware most have probably given up on this fic and i honestly don't blame them. it's taken me forever to reach this decision, but honestly, i'm taking the advice of so many lovely people who came into my inbox along the years and encouraged me to stay true to what i'd envisioned for them in the first place

so this is me doing that ❤️i love their story, and all the love you guys have for it and it's just so so special to me. i couldn't bear giving it an ending that would just feel like i was wrapping it all up and putting a pretty bow on top when i have so much i wanted to explore with them, otherwise. thank you all for your patience and all your kindness. it means a lot, and i hope this news makes you happy because... it makes me happy knowing i stayed true to myself in the end.

now i can finally move on and write more for them. let's have some fun! if needed, go back and at least give chapter 25 a re-read so you know where things left off. i'm still not doing well mental health wise so please bear with me- i'm trying. i promise i am. i desperately wanna write, i love writing. writing extras is so much easier logistically- little fun check-ins that i don't have to overthink. i'm hopeful that this will prove to be the right decision going further ❤️

#daddy issues #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #daddy harry

[persephoneflowerpetals]

Sorry for not being very active on here

Just wanted to give an update because a lot has been going on with me and I haven’t even had the time or energy to think about writing or being on this blog because of everything lol.

So, I recently got into a car wreck on the 14th on my way to work. Some guy was trying to make a left turn into the neighborhood I live in on the highway and his engine stalled and (even though he saw me coming and knew that his 20+ year old car had engine problems) he pulled out in front of me to cross but because his engine stalled he didn’t make it and I crashed into him. I’m okay btw!!! Luckily and thankfully I only made it out with a bruised leg, but my car is in bad shape and is most likely totaled because the engine went out after the crash and I couldn’t move my car out of the road nor could I even get out of my car from the driver’s side, I had to escape from the passenger side.

So…yeah, there’s that and I’ve been dealing with a lot of mental health issues because my work has been overworking me and pushing me to my limit and I’m honestly getting really tired of giving my all and breaking my back for this store and getting nothing out of it, like not even a raise (when I asked for one they said it was “being processed by corporate” and apparently this raise has been in the works for me since December so…I don’t think I’ll be getting a raise any time soon tbh and even if I did get a raise it probably wouldn’t be enough to keep me there). Like, just last Wednesday I had a stressed induced illness because I was so burnt out from work and worried about stuff that it made me physically ill so (for the first time ever in 1 year of working at that store) I called out sick (and then that same week I got into the wreck so that was great).

I’m currently working on finding a new job because what I’m dealing with now is getting ridiculous and I honestly really want to be on here and talk to you guys and make posts like I used to, but I feel like I can’t anymore because of life and that sucks. Legit, my boss is making me work 35 hours this week (AFTER MY CAR WRECK 😑) even though she knows what I’m dealing with right now and knows how overworked I am. She had the nerve to say “I don’t want to overwork you” as she adjusted my schedule for the 3rd time because someone who is CONSTANTLY calling out in the store (and they refuse to fire her for some reason AND there’s another employee that’s going to be out all month) can’t come to work for the rest of this week so I have to cover for her. Oh yeah…and you know what else??? I have to train a new employee on top of all of that. I’m not a manager. I’m not even full time. I don’t get vacation time or sick days or paid holidays (even though we literally only get 2 holidays off and that’s Christmas Day and Thanksgiving Day, so not that it even matters anyways) or any kind of benefits. And I don’t get paid extra for training new hires. It’s ridiculous. My boss even asked if I felt comfortable training a new employee after what I’ve gone through with the wreck and how stressed I am (which I respect) and I told her no because I really am dealing with a lot and don’t need the stress of training someone on top of that, yet here I am so…I’m just tired of being a doormat for this company and letting them treat me like a workhorse. It was fine at first because I needed the money (and I still do), but the lack of sympathy after the wreck and being so overworked and stressed that I became physically ill is concerning and I think it’s a sign that I need to move on and find something else.

So yeah, sorry for the rant there but I just wanted to share what I’m dealing with and what I’m going through. Like, I still have stuff at home I have to deal with too and financial issues (and getting in a car wreck certainly doesn’t help that at all), so yeah. I have an interview tomorrow for a job that would really be beneficial to me and would be a perfect fit for me and I’m really hoping and praying I get the job because it’s would just help me so much and it’s such a good job!

Anyways, I know I share updates a lot, but I realized I haven’t really been active on here and I just wanted to share why and kinda release some tension because I’m really going through it lol.

#update #kind of a rant #sorry I’m not one to rant about personal stuff on here but…I got a lot going on lol #it’s not super personal but it’s stressful to me

[zestingbloodorange]

The thing that has been getting to me the most in these mental health conversations these days, is westerns who keep acting like we are being insensitive to their disabilities and mental health issues when we say it's not an excuse to be ignorant or to be silent and to do nothing and to keep a blind eye for comfort and for some to not to trauma dump on palestinians and on pro palestine people of color on social media.

People keep assuming that palestinians and pro palestine people from other parts of the region that have been destroyed by the west are able-bodied and have ok mental health just because they don't talk about it much or don't talk about it. we have suffered and we are suffering because it doesn't end with a ceasefire it doesn't end when you grow up it doesn't end when you leave the country it doesn't end when you get help it doesn't end even if you were born outside of those countries and never stepped a foot on your mother land it doesn't end.

and we are still privileged because palestinians in gaza are keeping us updated and are keeping up with the west bank and with the rest of the world whilst being under one the worst bombardments in history and going through a genocide that in itself should make you feel embarrassed to even bring this up.

I grew up with American airstrikes non stop dropping on my neighborhood and my SCHOOLS because we kept evacuating from schools because they kept getting bombed, watching my family and friends and classmates and my neighbors get kidnapped and killed get blown up to bits watching limbs fly into our house and into our school playgrounds then watch almost everyone i know that lived flee the country in the worst conditions possible then live through daesh...etc I could go on and on for months and I'm only in my early 20s and we didn't get mental or physical help. my uncle just died a couple days ago because of his disability he was poor and he got diagnosed way too late he lived such a hard life that when he died it was relief. most of us don't have access to the most basic human rights which medical help and therapy.

and we are expected to always be well spoken have patience and be comforting for people that we are spoon feeding information or otherwise we are aggressive and barbaric and ungrateful and we are pushing people away from our movements.

I keep seeing people send anons and dms of their suicidal thoughts because of the news to every palestinian i follow on every social media platform and some other pro palestine people of color including myself which is crazy because I don't even have a big following, the news that they have the privilege to turn off because for the gazillion time western countries are committing massacres far from the west especially americans who are in the stomach of the beast.

Have shame.

#this is a #rant post #i hope this came off right and sorry if it didn't #palestine #فلسطين #free palestine #فلسطين حرة #gaza #غزة #mental health #disability #america #united states #iraq #العراق #swana #mena #middle east #southwest asia #north africa #assyrian #current events

[bunnyseahorse-blog]

I don’t feel like my therapist is listening, so I fired him, and I don't even feel bad.

I have half a dozen serious mental illness diagnosis and medical issues. When I applied for disability I was approved in three months (usually takes longer from what I'm told) and almost immediately moved from their metaphorical “she might get better” to “she’s going to be receiving benefits for life” pile.

The doctor I saw from age 7 to 30 advised me not to drive because of my condition that causes me frequent fainting.

She suggested I not live alone because I have delusions, mood swings and sometimes need to be hospitalized. I saw this doctor for 23 years, and also went to other specialists that agreed with her. I saw her until she was retired.

My general doctor says that even though I am overweight she is pleased with my glucose and cholesterol levels. My old, and also my new psychiatrists agreed with her.

My parents say I can live with them and have support. They are actually creating an expansion on the house so I can live on my own sort of and still have them nearby. My eldest sibling is inheriting the house when my parents die and they will rent to me until I die. We don't always get along, but I am trying, and we are navigating our unique dynamic so we can make it work.

This new therapist I’ve been seeing keeps insisting I go off disability, get a job, move out of my family’s house, live alone, and lose weight. Because I’m too old to “mooch off my parents.” He made comments from the get go about my weight. I am overweight yes, but he's not a doctor or nurtritionist. I am not experiencing any health issues because of my weight, which is partly due to my medical conditions and my meds. He made a comment once that i should show some pride in myself and not wear a beanie to sessions "do something nice with my hair." He told me once my shoulders looked smaller and I must be doing better. I was thinking.... do I have fat shoulders too??

I am going to a session today to explain to him nicely that he needs to let me set my own goals, and also educate him on how my life really is. I don’t think therapists should require educating. If he doesn’t get it, I’m leaving the session but I’m giving it a shot anyways.

I’m scared and I’m angry. Wish me luck? I don't want to be a project for him. I want to talk about things in sessions that i need to, not what he considers on his own agenda.

EDIT: I went to the session and voiced my concerns about he got a little defensive, but eventually seemed to see what i was saying and switched his focus to what I told him my goals were. However... I wanted a therapist to help me work through my abandonment issues and trauma, not a life coach to push me. I think i might find someone with a different focus is good. (plus him getting defensive isn't a great sign to me) he also insinuated that my little sister, who he has heard off, never met and never examined, is mentally handicapped because of one of her birth parents. We've had her tested, and everyone seems to be saying she's very sharp and doesn't have what her birth mom has. He also asked what my doctor of 23 years even did for me. I was like... diagnosed me with everything I have? Oh but according to him, diagnoses aren't relevant. I have a condition similar to schizophrenia, and yes you should know if you have that....

Also... I signed something saying he could have access to the last notes of my previous therapist, since I have extensive history but he apparently never got it, never told me he didn't get it, and wants me to go through the process again. I feel like the office dropped the ball, because I signed it already.

I think it might be time to move on... I canceled my next appointment. I feel like I should be able to find someone who listens better, and is there to help me, not fix me into things I am not capable of. Having him insist I am wrong and lazy for excepting my limitations, after the long grieving process that came with becoming permanently disabled at 26, has been upsetting, because I keep doubting myself, even though I know I have done the right things.

#Therapy #Personal post #mental heath #disability

[mega-ringsandthings-world]

I know we’ve talked about this via messages, but I wanted to ask again about health issues (mental aside) they’ll have to deal with from being tortured for two and a half years straight.

Not just that, but also the scars they accumulate—do those cause issues? Is part of their bedtime routine putting on scar cream so the skin can move less stiffly through out that day? Is it a ritual every night that they try to perform without fail? Does Mihawk let Shanks get his back? Does Shanks let Mihawk treat his Haki burns?

Are some of their joints messed up from being dislocated so many times? Do they hate cold weather and winter islands most of all? Can they feel an oncoming storm or the weather patterns just from the aches in old broken bones?

Are some days so bad for Mihawk's hands, which are scarred and broken to hell and back, that his fingers just shake all day? Does Shanks get crippling migraines from all the times he was punched in the head?

Do they take medication? For the pain or for their mental illnesses? Now I’m just imagining them dragging themselves miserably to Drum Island for a checkup to make sure nothing’s going to kill them physically or have long-term effects from their captivity, and Dr. Kureha just taking one look at these two miserable kids absolutely riddled with PTSD and going, "Okay, whack that shit out," and prescribing them Lexapro.

Not to mention the stress probably rewired their brains, and the brain damage from getting beaten around so many times. What about their immune systems? High stress and lack of proper nutrition can mess that up forever. Oh, and weight gain is going to be different as well as bone density and muscle loss. They are going to be a mess.

There's also the grief that comes with the loss of bodily autonomy in this way. They had a bright future and young, healthy bodies that have been traumatized. Now, not only will they live with the mental scarring but also the physical scarring that will affect them in fights, breathing, or just being for the rest of their lives. Think of Mihawk just staring at himself in the mirror, grieving the health he had before, how he's scared he’ll never be the world's greatest swordsman, that they taken that away from him like so much else. Think of Shanks crying over the thought he might not get to explore the world because of his migraines.

But at least they have each other! Hopefully, they also learn to lean on each other when shit gets bad and take up accommodations for their issue. I don't know; Mihawk is headstrong but more about efficiency, and if wearing a brace or taking a certain med means he'd be at his peak, then I can see this Mihawk swallowing his pride and doing it. Shanks, on the other hand... I don't know, maybe?

Ooh, more logistics. Bodily logistics, that it. The severest issues come from the initial healing process, like the scar on Mihawk's leg which keeps him bedridden for months. When they heal, it falls to the people who are treating them to maintain continuing treatment for the scars that are left, because they won't be in a fit state to do that at first. But yeah, they get into a routine of care for themselves as they get better mentally, Mihawk especially. And while he wouldn't let Shanks near the scars on his back for quite a while, he'd insist on treating Shanks. The Haki burns are going to be something he's guilty about, naturally. Hm, Shanks' left arm was fractured at the elbow and the burns on Mihawk's knuckles would have damaged the tendons there, and they both have dislocated a shoulder/wrist/rib/knee numerous times. Cold weather/pressure drops/high humidity all exacerbate injuries, so yeah, they'd avoid all of those if it could be helped. Shanks spends a lot of time slumming on beaches for that very reason. Mihawk would probably like cold better than he does heat, so his preferred basking spot is Kuraigana, which was picked for its atmosphere. Yes to them sensing storms. Shanks in particular actually finds that useful. So, dislocated wrists, damage to the nerves/tendons from the burns on Mihawk's knuckles would cause tremors even if his hands were never broken outright, and those mixed with stress/anxiety/sleep depravation can get nasty. Shanks develops migraines due to the head trauma, that come in varying levels of severity. Suffice to say, there's days when neither of them are in any state to do any daily tasks, or much of anything. (they still push themselves to, though) Pain meds, mostly, Mihawk self-medicates on Haki, Shanks alcohol. Sedatives in the early days, when they need to be calmed down. They do get taken to Drum Island at some point, and they'll get a cocktail that takes them off the edge. More on that later. (Kureha would have stock of Lexapro somewhere lol) Speaking of which, they might need short-term anxiety medication and help mitigating (they won't go away) the stress responses they've developed. They amount of head trauma would probably mean permanent damage in real life, but memory issues here, probably. They're kept marginally well-fed, seeing as how they need to be kept alive, and they get enough that their growth isn't stunted to the extreme, but it's not the nutrition that's up to par for two-young men. They'll grow up leaner, having to work to put on muscle definition. Their on and off EDs don't help, and neither does getting sick more frequently until their immune systems regain full health. It looks hopeless to them at the very start of their recovery. Looking into the mirror at every flaw and bleeding wound, feeling utterly weak in every cell, it'll be hard for them to imagine returning to even a shadow of their former selves, let alone advancing past that. Which brings it's own mental issues, of course. And the horror of having to be so weak in front of each other. Which makes them reluctant to have a hand on each other's recovery, at least up until the need to be with each other takes over. After a while Mihawk treats the accommodations he needs as just another thing he needs to do to stay on top, like exercising, doing sword drills, sparring. In canon Mihawk obviously takes care of himself and it's the same here (mostly). He adds it (braces, pain meds, exercises) into his meticulous routine and that's that. Shanks, on the other hand, tends to lean more towards curing the issue than preventing the issue, he'll wait until something can't be ignored to do something about it, out of his own pride. And then it's fuck it we ball and washing down pain meds with liquor, which always gets Mihawk pissed at him.

#one piece #op #opla #dracule mihawk #akagami no shanks #hawkeye mihawk #red haired shanks #mihawk one piece #shanks one piece #mishanks #mihawk x shanks #op marines #loguetown au

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I refused to hang out with my ex even though we are trying to still be friends?

🐟 so I can find it

So I (27M) met my ex (26M) when I had just turned 18 and he was 17 - we met through a mutual friend, and ended up in a long-distance relationship. Both of us had mental health issues that put a lot of strain on the relationship over the course of the several years we were together, and eventually the spark we had kind of inevitably died - when we broke up, it was pretty much mutual. We were young when we met and had realized as we grew older that we wanted different things out of life. We had a couple of disagreements over the years, but for the most part there was no animosity, although I will admit I had let some resentment build up (I rarely expressed this out loud - we struggled to communicate feelings like that).

Both of us ended up getting into new relationships pretty soon after - for me, I ended up finding a new partner (25M) whom I've been with ever since (it's been a number of years and we are very committed by this point - there is no possibility I would choose my ex over him). Meanwhile, my ex went through a series of short relationships and I'm uncertain of his current status - he hasn't mentioned his partner in a while, and I know he's had a couple of breakups after me. I do know he started using drugs/alcohol after we broke up despite previously being very straight-laced and never having anything stronger than caffeine (more on that later).

When my partner and I first got together, it was very soon after my ex and I broke things off, and I had a bit of a bad habit of badmouthing him. I said some pretty uncharitable things - nothing that was untrue per se, but things that were very much interpreted from my point of view and not his e.g. attributing certain things to malice that were probably just incompetence, neglecting to mention ways I had behaved badly, etc. i had just ended my longest ever relationship - in retrospect, obviously I was feeling some type of way and trying to work through it as best I could. But because of all that, my partner knows these stories about my ex and has formed his own opinions - I try not to talk about him so much anymore, but I can tell my partner does not like the idea of him and does not trust him. I don't think it's jealousy either, because I've explained that I will never go back to my ex and I'm certain he believes me - I think he's just gotten the impression that my ex is a threat somehow (he's not, tbh) and probably won't ever see it any other way. He's fine with me still talking to him and I'm fully honest about that - he respects my autonomy, he just has no interest in meeting the guy.

So anyway, my ex and I didn't talk very much for a while after the breakup because I wanted to put some distance between us because my feelings were pretty raw over it for a while, but in the last year or so that's been changing as he's been messaging me a lot more - 90% of the time, it's him initiating, although I do occasionally send him memes or whatever if it's something that reminds me of him.

The messages have been increasing in frequency and now I get them almost daily where I used to only get a few per month before. I respond to him and I'm friendly and casual in my responses, as I have no desire to be mean or inauthentic, but I'm getting the vibe that he's trying to start being friends in person again and that he wants to meet up. Last week he asked me if I had contact with an old friend I had bought drugs from once (I do not and have not had a contact for that drug in years, but it sounded like he was trying to coordinate a sesh if I had said yes).

This week, he asked me about my plans for the upcoming solar eclipse. My family and I and my partner made plans many months in advance to go to a particular city in the path of the totality, which I explained. Then my ex drops that he was considering visiting a very nearby neighboring city (like ~30min driving distance) at the same time but didn't have firm plans, I guess maybe trying to coordinate a meetup or something (I don't know where he expects to be able to book a hotel this late, but that's not my problem honestly so I didn't bother to ask). He is very into astronomy so maybe he was just sharing his interests, but I'm kind of scared he's going to ask me to hang out or view the eclipse together, or worse, ask if we have spare room at our hotel or something. Knowing him, it's possible he will make a request like this very last minute, maybe even the weekend of the eclipse, because he has probably not actually bothered to check if any hotel/motel has any vacancies (given how things were around the 2017 eclipse I would be completely shocked if anywhere has any availability at all).

This would extremely harsh my vibe. to be blunt, I really just don't want my ex to be there because I feel like I wouldn't have a good time if he was - this is probably the last time I'll ever see an eclipse in my lifetime and I don't want weird tension between my ex, my partner, and my parents (I have a strained relationship with my dad and have gone low-contact with him since moving out - it is already going to be hard to deal with, and my ex being there would make it exponentially worse because my dad and ex got along extremely well and I know my dad would use his presence as ammunition).

I feel kind of bad though, and I don't want to just turn him away and refuse for no reason, because he's done nothing wrong and I know he's really looking forward to seeing the eclipse, and that he values the time we spent together and wants to be able to be friends with me. And I still want to be friends with him too, honestly, because he has a lot in common with me and I know him extremely well - I just don't really see a way that his presence is compatible with my life right now, particularly at this time. He will want an explanation if I try to refuse to see him, too, and I just don't have any good ones.

TL;DR ex is trying to come back into my life and might ask to hang out at an event I've been looking forward to for months. I have nothing against being friends with the ex, in fact I have told him before that I do value his friendship, but don't want his presence to mess up my time. WIBTA if I refused to see him if he asks?

#aita #am i the asshole

[skippyv20]

Hi Skippy! I was thinking this morning about how blessed  this entire community is to have you as our fearless leader. I’ve followed you for years, and have often sought your advice and counsel on many very personal issues. You never fail to come through with wisdom, empathy, and kindness. So thank you for being you and shining some much-needed light onto this world. 

I wanted to give you a long-overdue update. I am the attorney anon who wrote last year about mental health, job, and family struggles, including a challenging marriage, a child with special needs, and a new diagnosis of bipolar disorder after suffering 30 years with wrong diagnoses and medication.

First the good news: my moods have stabalized on a new cocktail of meds, and I haven't had a severe depressive episode for almost a year! My mania is better too, but I do have some uncomfortable side effects. I am on lithium, and I worry about kidney issues and/or developing diabetes, which are two possible side effects.

Second bit of good news - I'm now working back at my old organization. If you told me that this time last year, I'd never have believed you. I was convinced my days as an atty were over because of my mental health issues. I considered filing for disability. The role is one I haven't held in 8 years, I had moved onto a prestigious position in that org before jumping ship to another org for a promotion. So it's a bit humbling to be back in this role, but I'm grateful to be here. I was stuck in a nightmare at my last job, which included at the end fighting disability discrimination.

Bad news: I still worry about my son, who is now 7, and doesn't seem to be where he needs to be. I've done everything for him, 4-5 different therapies a week since his premature birth. He has a physical disability and, while he is very smart and can keep up with his class, he just seems different than other boys his age.

My husband is incapable of providing emotional support, and I do think sometimes I'm in an emotionally abusive relationship. I am not happy, he is not happy, but I'm so afraid to cut the cord. My brother is going through a divorce and I know if I do too it'll cause my elderly parents even more distress. But this is a guy who - get this - snapped at waiters who came to the table carrying (free) cake to sing  happy birthday a few weeks ago. It was crazy and scary, and i just don't want to deal with a person like this anymore. I'm 42 now, not in my mid-30s like when you told me to be strong and leave him years ago...is it too late? I see signs of aging when I look in the mirror and I've gained some weight. I'm worried I've lost all of my appeal and don't want to be alone. My husband is very responsible and does do a lot of things around the house and for our son. If he didn't, it'd be a no brainer to divorce, but maybe it's worth salvaging for the help with things I can't always get to because of my issues? Not to mention our son would be crushed. 

Hi! So nice to hear from you. Thank you for such kind words, but I must say…I am NOT a leader. I am just here struggling along with everyone else. We get through one day at a time, together! Nice to know some things have changed. That is so wonderful your meds are working so well. Don’t spend time worrying about the side effects. If you focus on those you are robbing yourself of joy. If you just keep going for your scheduled appts with your doctor, he will be watching for you.

I understand what you mean about being in one job and going back to another. I was working as a secretary in the government. I was chosen to create a new intake position, that was non existent. It was a six month term. At the end of the six months, I was back as a secretary being supervised again, by the same woman I had been supervising for six months. Everyone thought it was so strange. I didn’t though. I look at things differently I guess. A job is a job, and whatever it is, as long as you know you are doing the best you can….it doesn’t matter what the job is. You just take it one day at a time. After all, a job is not your whole life…right?

Children are strange little things. They do things at their own rate. He sounds like he is doing very well, he is keeping up! Great job! Seems different than other boys? That is ok…your child is who he is….it’s not a contest. Different is ok. My daughter was different as a child, an old soul. She is different now as she is bipolar. There are quirks….makes life interesting…..embrace him, just as he is….

I will always advise anyone who is being emotionally or physically abused to leave. You say you aren’t happy, and he isn’t happy? Perhaps a marriage counsellor? People get too comfy in their lives, and don’t want to change things. No one likes the unknown future. You mention your parents, and your son being distressed? Timing is always a problem…when is the best time? You say your husband is a great help…see to me…there must still be something there, I couldn’t find one good reason to stay with my ex, and believe me…he did all the cooking, he cleaned like no other, he did everything….that was one of the biggest problems for me…I couldn’t do anything, he told me that all the time.

Bipolar people can see things differently. They can hear things said one way only….it will be negative. It takes time, love and patience to communicate with someone who is bipolar. People don’t understand that unless you tell them. I have had to learn to speak to my daughter differently. Maybe you need to explain that to your husband. If you want to save this marriage, it will take work on both sides. Communication is everything. I know some think being bipolar one just needs meds….no…not true. It’s much more involved than that.

Anyways, I am so proud of you! You sound so much better. I really, really appreciate you dropping by, so nice to hear from you. You are in my prayers. I send love and hugs….and…thank YOU for staying with me!🙏🏻❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[hargrove-mayfields]

Disabled Billy and Steve Week

Day 5- New Diagnosis

My prompt: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder in Billy

-•-•-•-

For what must be the tenth time in the last month, Heather is parked outside of the hospital, her baby girl in the backseat, but the passenger side empty, waiting for Billy to get back.

The doctors have been running tests and screenings at appointment after appointment. He’s been… struggling. Ever since Isabella was born, his mental health had plummeted. It was never perfect, but for the first time, Heather was genuinely afraid.

Watching her husband pick his scalp until it bled and turned his golden hair red, or wash his face until he got a rash because his freckles started bothering him, was terrifying.

The fear isn’t eased when Billy walks out with a prescription bag, and red eyes that make it clear he’s been crying.

“What did they say?” Heather asks, as soon as he opens the car door.

Billy takes his time answering. He seems like he’s in shock.

Heather would hold his hand, but he has to sanitize, take off his mask, then sanitize again. An obsession.

Somehow, Heather isn’t shocked when Billy finally mumbles, “It’s ocd.”

Honestly, she doesn’t know what to feel. She’s been researching, scrolling on a tablet for hours after Billy is asleep to see what professionals all around the world would diagnose her husband with. But none of that preparation had told her how to feel.

Some part of it is relief, to finally have answers and be able to help Billy manage his symptoms. Another little piece of her heart is scared for how Billy will be feeling through all of this.

She decides to let him tell her, “Is that a good thing? A bad thing? Talk to me, sugar cube.”

“I just need a minute Hetty. That’s all.” Billy tries to smile, but it’s more like a grimace. It hurts to see him like that, but Heather will give him his space.

Instead of bothering him more, she just checks on him every now and again, seeing him glance back at the baby using the mirror that points down at her rear-facing car seat literally every few seconds.

When they get back home, which isn’t far since they knew their array of medical issues would require them being close to a hospital, Billy takes the baby straight inside and lays on the couch with her, just closing her eyes and cuddling her as tight as he feels safe to cuddle her little body.

Heather gives him a kiss on the cheek, and goes to take her own meds, calling from the kitchen, “What are you feeling for dinner tonight, baby?”

Silence. She comes back in, and Billy is in tears. Their little girl is biting his shirt and dozing off, and Billy is trying not to shake too hard with each sob.

His red eyes lock onto her, his lower lip wobbling, “Am I a bad dad?”

“Biscuits for dinner it is.” Heather declares softly, deciding he needs one of his comfort foods at the moment. Additionally, she takes the baby in her arms and comforts Billy with her words, “And no. Sweetie, you’re the best dad in the world.”

It barely helps anything. Billy is spiraling, “But I’m the reason the baby room is so plain. It takes me three times as long as you to change a diaper and I can’t cook for my wife and my kid because I have panic attacks if the oven timer is the wrong number. I can’t clip my baby’s nails cause I might go too short, I can’t hold her when she’s hyper and moving too much- I can’t even fucking be trusted with myself, let alone her little life!”

After all that, Billy takes a shaky, tear-filled breath in, “This OCD shit sucks.”

“None of that means you’re bad though. Your way of doing things is particular, but baby, you’re still here, and you’re doing your best for our girl.” Heather soothes gently.

He scoffs at himself, wiping his eyes more aggressively than necessary, “That’s the bare minimum.”

“Some parents can’t do that. Your mother didn’t.” It probably stings, but it’s reality. One of Billy’s biggest fears when they got pregnant with Isabella was becoming like his parents, or worse. Heather needs him to know that’s not the case.

“Hetty-“ Billy’s face pinches up, like he doesn’t know whether to be hurt or not.

So Heather decides to offer a little bit more insight, and maybe lessen the blow of the brutal reality, “My mom didn’t either. She drugged herself out of her mind and missed my whole childhood. I don’t have any memories from before I was ten. But Bella’s gonna have so so many with you.”

It seems to work, with Billy even smiling as he looks at their little girl and takes it all in, “Do you think she’ll think I’m weird?”

“Honey bun, every kid thinks their parents are weird at some point. But I do know she’s going to think you’re the most loving father a little one could ask for.” Heather chuckles softly.

Now it’s her turn to feel a little bit of panic.

See, Heather has a secret, and seeing as Billy could use a little cheering up, she decides to let him in on it. She takes his hand in hers, and places it on her stomach, right above her scar, “Two little ones, actually.”

Instantly she sees the difference in Billy, and the way his eyes light up. He sits bolt upright and hugs her tight, crying now but for a much better reason.

“Holy shit, baby! How long have you known?”

“Four days. But I’m six weeks along.” Heather enthuses, combing her fingers lovingly through his long curls.

Billy looks like he’s calculating, then he gasps, “Six weeks- Hetty, that’s almost a quarter of the way!”

“I know! Hopefully it’ll fly by like the last one.” Heather laughs softly in pure joy.

Her pregnancy with Isabella was relatively easy, and the number of seizures she had even stayed consistent since her epilepsy medications were safe for her and baby. The worst thing was the morning sickness, but it passed early on enough that she’d somehow enjoyed pregnancy.

Billy had been a wreck, between his emotions and his fears. It took days of promising that she’d be okay when she was nine months in and he’d been scheduled for a work trip before he felt safe to leave her by herself.

At the moment, he doesn’t seem as panicked as he’d been before, but he does fret- “No, no, no, no- I need time. I need to work on stuff.”

Heather cups his face sympathetically, “Bubs, I already told you-“

But Billy interrupts to tell her she’d misinterpreted, “Not personal stuff, lover. I mean I literally need to work on fixing this shitty house up if we’re gonna have two littles running around.”

“First, we need dinner.” Heather happily changes subjects then, but sternly puts her hands on her hips when Billy gets up to help, “Don’t even think about it. This baby bun is literally the size of a grain of rice, I don’t need you butlering yet.”

“Please let me. I feel like I’m buzzing inside.” Billy begs, pouting his bottom lip out in that way that’s always made Heather feel soft.

She rolls her eyes playfully, and hands him a snoozy Bella back, the little one year old reaching for her daddy too, “Put baby girl in her high chair. I could use your help washing fruit.”

“Fruit and.. biscuits?” Billy looks absolutely perplexed by her dinner choices.

Oh how Heather loves this boy.

“No, silly. I’m making you biscuits. Bella can’t eat stuff like that yet though.”

A flush strikes Billy’s cheeks a deep red color- Heather's favorite since she met her soulmate in a pair of swim trunks the same shade- “How the hell do you remember all that stuff?”

Heather just shrugs, though her point is that it’s not as easy as it seems, “Because I don’t have two hundred other things to remember in a day. That and I read a lot of books when I was bedridden. C-sections give lots of time for learning.”

She also goes out into the kitchen, fishing ingredients out of the pantry and measuring utensils out of the cabinets. Billy steps behind her, his hand on the small of her back so she doesn’t bump into him, to reach into the fridge for some strawberries, blueberries, and grapes.

“I’d probably lose my marbles trying to keep track of what’s real and what’s pseudoscience garbage.“ Billy huffs, while portioning out fruit to clean.

It makes Heather recall a time when they were about to be parents and she couldn’t, “Right? Remember when I thought it was bad to sleep on my side when I was pregnant?”

“Changed your tune real quick when the back pain hit.” Billy laughs lightheartedly.

Heather takes the opportunity to reiterate what she’d promised Billy before, “Exactly. Nobody gets everything perfect on the first try.”

She looks over, and Billy is just staring at her lovingly. That was exactly what he needed to hear. Heather smiles back, and blows a kiss, a little puff of dough flour coming from her hands.

Billy acts like he catches the kiss, and puts it to his heart. Nothing beats flirting like dumb, lovestruck teenagers.

Until a piercing wail cuts it off.

Bella over in her high chair starts crying her little head off, Heather guesses because she missed a nap earlier while they were waiting for Billy to finish his appointment.

That sound to them as new parents is instant panic, all the time, and Heather isn’t sure when that feeling will end. Until it does, she knows it’s been hitting Billy harder, and decides to let him take care of it, in the form of an offer, “You wanna get her, bubs?”

Just like she predicted, he’s already drying his hands on the apron not around his own waist, but on Heathers, and running to grab the baby, “Already on it.”

Heather just smiles after him, proud and fond all at the same time. Throw any new diagnosis their way, and they can handle it. Just Billy, her and Isabella, and their little bean on the way. An unbreakable family.

~~~~~

Interested in helping the community? Today’s organization that I’ve chosen to highlight is the Peace of Mind foundation.

POM is part of the international OCD foundation, which means they are recognized as being on of the most beneficial sites for individuals with obsessive compulsive disorder.

On the site, folks can access information about their disability, seek positive affirmations, reach out to care teams, and provide education to family members or carers to make sure the individual is getting the best treatment.

While the site uses language that I personally see as demeaning, I still thought it was important to highlight what they do for the community. I also couldn’t find a single charity or organization that didn’t use the word “suffering” to describe living with our disorder. I personally don’t see my OCD that way, but as I said, I wanted to show that there is a foundation out there trying to support us.

The site accepts donations, saying they will go towards families, therapists, support teams, and of course individuals with OCD. If you’re interested in reading more on your own and forming your own view, click here and the link will take you to the site!

#disabledbillyandsteveweek #hollogrove #billy x heather #ocd billy hargrove #heather holloway has epilepsy #my writing #ej writer #tw unhealthy coping mechanisms #<- I don’t know what else to tag this as because it goes into detail about Billy’s symptoms and how they can be self destructive #but ultimately this is a fluff fic and the angst is very temporary

[marvelmaster69]

Just some random headcanons for Tony, Peter, and Bruce, revolving around their mental health and sexual/gender orientation.

TW: Mentions of self-harm in Tony and Bruce's parts.

Tony definitely has ADHD along with PTSD, anxiety, and crippling depression. Because of his ADHD, he often hyper fixates on his projects in the lab. When he does get hyper fixated, he won't leave his lab unless it's to use the bathroom or get something to eat, and even then, it's a very delayed process. The only people who can get him out of his lab when he gets like that is Pepper, Bruce, Natasha, Happy, Rhodey, Morgan, and Peter. He's also Pansexual. During his teenage years, he self-harmed quite frequently. He usually used a blade, cutting his arms but sometimes cutting his thighs and stomach instead if there was the looming threat of someone finding out. He only started his playboy persona after all the scars had faded a bit, so when he was around twenty-two or so.

Peter is a transgender man and openly bisexual. He came out to his Aunt May a few months before he came out as trans, so when he was twelve or thirteen. Tony helped pay for his top surgery and scouted out the best surgeons he could for Peter, and because of his extra fast regeneration, he healed extremely quickly and didn't even scar afterwards. He was so glad not to have to wear a binder during patrol anymore, as it was causing great damage to his ribs and lungs. Even years later, he still randomly gets heartburn, chest pains, and shortness of breath. He doesn't feel like he needs bottom surgery because packers and strap-ons seem to work well enough for him, and MJ doesn't very well care what he does with his privates. He also has ADHD, anxiety, and mild depression. MJ always makes sure to set alarms for him, create a detailed electronic and physical color-coded calendar for him, and send him reminder texts to help with his horrible time blindness. For the most part, lots of reassurance from Tony, Aunt May, MJ, and Ned is enough to kind of help him with his depression enough for him to continue on with his normal day-to-day life without any major interference. To convince Aunt May to put Peter on puberty blockers when he was twelve, he worked together with Ned to create a PowerPoint with the pros and cons and alternatives for puberty blockers.

Bruce is demisexual and asexual, and he's only ever been in three or four relationships in his adult life (as he had a middle school girlfriend that he doesn't really count as 'dating'). He has crippling anxiety, severe depression, and once checked himself into a mental hospital because he felt like he'd end up hurting himself or others around him. He's also very private about his issues, he's one of those people whose thought process is 'well, this could be worse, there are always people out there that have it worse than me'. This is totally random, too, but he hates the color green, it reminds him too much of The Other Guy. He hasn't relapsed in years, but he used to cut almost every week. Tony was actually the one to help him stop, as Tony himself has a history of self-harm and understood everything Bruce was going through, or at least tried to understand, unlike a lot of other people in Bruce's life, which he appreciates more than Tony will ever understand He doesn't have any scars on his arms, though, as he would often works closely with children and didn't want to taint their innocence, so he usually stuck to his stomach and thighs.

Sadly, that's all I have time to write but I'll definitely be back sometime within the next few days with another one of these with some other characters. I want to eventually do all The Avengers in a series of sorts. By the way, how are we liking the colored text?

#tony stark #peter parker #bruce banner #adhd representation #anxiety representation #depression representation #transgender representation #trans representation #pansexual representation #bisexual representation #asexual representation #demisexual representation #trans!peter parker #transgender!peter parker #pansexual!tony stark #demisexual!bruce banner #asexual!bruce banner #bisexual!peter parker #mentions of self-harm #mentions of self harm

[foundtherightwords]

The Simple Thought of You - Chapter 2

Pairing: Billy Knight x OFC (Esme from "The Quiet Chaos")

Summary: Billy and Esme have been dating for nearly two years, and naturally, their thoughts turn to the next step in their relationship. But when it turns out that their future plans may not align, can they reconcile their differences and stay together?

Warnings: angst, discussion of children and being childfree, mentions of mental health issues, non-explicit smut (in this chapter)

Chapter word count: 4.2k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Things went back to normal after that—at least on the outside. There was no more talk of kids. But Esme felt something had changed in their relationship, and not for the better. In the following months, she noticed—or thought she noticed—little things in Billy, things that perhaps had always been there but only now become clear, now that she knew he wanted kids. Whenever they babysat for Priya, or when they saw a family with children during their walks, she would catch Billy looking almost envious or wistful, if not downright dejected, as he watched the parents and kids interacting. Then he would catch her eyes and quickly look away, while the needles of guilt pricked and prodded at her again.

It wouldn't have been so bad if they could talk about it, but it seemed Billy was trying to avoid her. He had taken to stay later and later at the studio, saying he had some big project to finish, but was strangely evasive when Esme asked him what the project was. At home, he was rather distracted and would sit at his table for hours, whittling and carving something, only to discard it with a frustrated huff.

Worse still, their two-year anniversary was coming up, and Billy made no mention of it. Granted, they didn't have an "official" anniversary—neither could remember exactly when they'd started going out, only the general month, so both had agreed to have the day Esme officially adopted Angua as their anniversary. Not just because it was conveniently written down, but also because it was the day Esme finally asked Billy out—though they had been seeing each other for a while before that—and after all, Angua was the one that brought them together, so it felt only right. The previous year, they hadn't done anything special, only recreating their first date—the successful one—with a picnic, but Billy had been the one to remind her. Now it was as if he didn't even remember.

Esme knew that Billy's condition made it difficult for him to concentrate and remember things, especially when he was stressed, but she couldn't help wondering if the changes in his behavior had anything to do with their recent discussion—she wouldn't call it a row, exactly. She'd never dream that Billy could cheat on her, but her ex-fiancé had cheated and the wound remained, if not in her heart then at least her pride, and it made her wary.

On the day of the anniversary, a Tuesday, Billy came home—late, as usual—with some roses and a quick kiss and an absentminded "Happy anniversary" for her, which, if anything, actually made Esme feel worse. She'd rather he completely forget than have him go through the motions without putting his heart into it. But she didn't say anything, didn't want to be the needy, entitled girlfriend, didn't want to put more pressure on him than what he already had to deal with.

The following weekend was a Bank Holiday. Esme was a homebody, and Billy didn't like crowded places, so on Bank Holidays, they preferred to stay home or have a poke around at a flea market or an antique shop. That day, however, Billy suddenly asked Esme if she felt like taking a trip.

"To where?" she asked, trying to sound interested.

"It's a surprise."

"Billy, you know I don't like surprises! What are we going to do there, what's the weather like, what should I wear—"

Billy laughed, unfazed. "The weather looks fine, you can just wear that dress you're wearing, and we're going to have a picnic—among other things. Look, Angua's excited already." The little dog saw Billy pick up the picnic basket and was up from her bed in a flash, her tail thumping like crazy.

"That's because she knows the picnic basket means food!" 

"Come on, it'll be fun."

There was a wild glint in his eyes, but it was different from the feverish look of his hypomanic episodes, whose signs and symptoms Esme had learned to recognize, and he was smiling too, an eager little smile like that of a kid with a secret. Esme felt her heart soften—for the first time since the wedding, things between them seemed back to the way they used to be—so she smiled back and helped him pack the basket.

They went to Paddington and took the 1:50 train to Bristol. When Esme asked, rather mystified, if they were going to Bristol, Billy only said enigmatically, "Not as far as that." An hour later, as the train pulled into Swindon, he signaled to her, and they got off.

It was one of those days when the weather couldn't seem to make up its mind and kept shining a little and raining a little until everybody was thoroughly irritated. Now Esme stood on the platform, blinking in the watery sunlight of late August, while a million questions ran through her mind. What were they doing here? Billy grew up not far from Swindon. For a moment, she wondered hysterically if he still had family in the area and was going to introduce her to them. But no. That was impossible. The only family Billy had left was Jimmy, and he was still in prison after trying to attack them a year ago, good riddance.

Before she could raise a question, Billy had flagged down a cab. "To the Horse, please," he told the driver.

Esme froze, staring at Billy in shock. The Horse—the White Horse of Uffington—was where Billy, as a child, had witnessed what he thought was a murder, a traumatic, horrific incident that had haunted him for the rest of his life. When they first met, he hadn't even been able to talk about it. He had gotten a lot better since, but even so, he didn't like to mention the Horse. Yet now he was taking her to it! What was going on?

"You'll be going to the Scouring then?" the driver asked, as he pulled out of the station.

"That's the plan, yeah," Billy replied. "We still have time, you reckon?"

"Oh, plenty. They'll be going until four."

Esme remained quiet, too perplexed for words. She had seen the Horse once before—her family was big fans of Discworld, pretty much the only thing they had in common, and the Horse was featured in one of the books, so when Esme was about twelve, shortly after the book came out, her parents had taken all four kids to see it—but she had no idea what the Scouring was.

Soon enough, the familiar figure of the Horse appeared, stretched out like a white ghost on the green hills on their right. Even from this distance, Esme could see that the hills were dotted with colorful spots—people. She glanced at Billy. He was swallowing with difficulty and kept wiping his hands on his jeans. The oddly childish gesture went straight to her heart, and she reached over, took his clammy hands in both of hers, and gently rubbed his knuckles. He smiled at her, briefly but gratefully.

By the time they arrived at the foot of the hills, the sun had finally decided to come out in full force, and the clouds were clearing up, showing the pale blue sky above. The cab dropped them off at the car park, where people were crowding around a table, like some sort of signing-up station. Billy pulled Esme toward it.

A rotund, rosy-cheeked woman, looking like she could be a dead ringer for Discworld's Nanny Oggs, beamed at them. "Good afternoon, dearies," she said. "Here for the Scouring?"

"Yes," Billy said. "Two, please."

"Capital! Here's your instruction and assigned section"—she gave them a laminated sheet of paper, with a chart of the Horse printed on it—"and there's your gloves and your kneelers, and you can pick up your chalk and hammers over there. You've got half an hour, and once you're finished, just drop everything off here. Ta!"

From the hills above came a steady sound of soft tap-tapping, and Esme finally understood what it was—hammers breaking up the chalk so it could be worked into the surface of the Horse, cleaning and refreshing it.

They joined the line of people climbing up Whitehorse Hill. Volunteers were handing out buckets of white chalk and hammers. Since Esme's hands were full with their picnic basket and Angua's leash, Billy picked up two of each and led them toward their assigned section. Esme set their picnic basket down on the grass and wound Angua's leash around the handle of a chalk bucket so she wouldn't run away, not that there was any danger of it—the dog had sniffed the chalk and the hammer with great interest, and was now sitting down to watch them work. Kneeling on the provided pads, they started hammering away at the chalk, only stopping occasionally to clear away the grass that had poked through the old chalk.

The work was harder than it looked—the hammer was heavy, and it was difficult to spread the chalk smoothly and evenly. So they worked in silence at first, though Esme kept stealing glances at Billy. He was bending over the chalk with the same concentration he had with his woodcarving, the tip of his tongue poking out between his teeth. Was this why he had been so nervous and secretive lately? Was it because he had been planning this trip, working up the courage to return to his hometown and revisit his painful past? When Esme imagined how much effort this must have cost Billy and how he had chosen to share this important occasion with her, all her irritation with him over the past few months vanished. But even as her heart brimmed with love and affection for him, that voice in her head was still whispering its poison in her ears. Look at how far he's come, how much better he is. He doesn't need you. He deserves someone that will let him be a father, someone that will make him happy...

"So this is the Scouring of the Horse," she said to Billy, to drown it out.

"Yeah." Billy nodded. "I'm surprised you didn't know about it."

"I don't remember it being mentioned in the Tiffany Aching books at all."

"I've always been afraid of the Scouring when I was a kid," Billy said. He looked up for a moment, his eyes fixed on the horizon, where the town of Faringdon was just visible. "I thought all that bashing and hammering were going to wake the Horse up and it would come for me."

"Oh, Billy," Esme said, voice cracking.

"It's all right." Billy flashed her a reassuring smile. "I'm all right now. You know, from far away it may seem scary, more like a dragon than a horse, but up close it doesn't look like nothing at all. Just lines of chalk on the grass."

After their half-hour slot was over, they returned the buckets and hammers to the volunteers and filled in the horse chart to show which section was complete. Esme's arms ached, her back was sore, and her dress was dusted with chalk, but she felt peaceful, the peace she often felt after a good workout or a thorough cleaning of the flat, satisfied with a job well done. She and Billy were amongst the last to finish. While the volunteers cleared away the hammers and buckets of chalk, they returned to the windy hillside, took Angua for a walk along the path, and sat down by the Horse's neck, overlooking Faringdon, to have their picnic. Some people lingered as well, but when the sun started to dip below the hills, they all went off, until the car park was completely empty.

Even then, Billy showed no sign of wanting to leave. He sat in silence, gazing at the town beyond the hills, which had started to lose its colors and outlines under the gloaming, a distant look in his eyes. Esme, guessing what was going through his mind, said nothing either. If Billy wished to tell her, he would, in his own time. So she put her head into the crook of his shoulder, held his hand, and sat with him. The only things that moved around them were the wind and the grass. Even Angua had gone to sleep, curled up between the Horse's neck and front leg, exhausted after a whole afternoon of excitement.

When darkness finally descended on the hills, and the lights of Faringdon started twinkling to life below them, as did the stars above, Billy turned to Esme. "Do you want to go up to the eye and make a wish?" he asked. There was a slight tremor in his voice. Esme knew why—the eye was the very spot where the supposed murder had taken place.

"We don't have to—" she began, but he tugged at her hand.

"But I want to," he said, and Esme let him pull her to her feet.

Bending their heads against the rising wind, they clambered up the hill and stood on the chalky eye of the horse. There wasn't nearly enough room, so they had to squeeze together, her face pressed into his neck, his arms tight and warm around her.

"All right, now close your eyes, and turn clockwise three times," Billy said.

Esme did and felt Billy's arms move so he could do the same. They stumbled against each other, and both opened their eyes. She giggled quietly against his neck. The wind blew the sound away.

"What did you wish for?" she whispered.

"I'll tell you in a minute. You?"

Esme realized she hadn't made a wish. It felt silly, and she'd been too caught up in the moment to think of anything. But now, looking at Billy, at his eyes glowing softly in the starlight and his little smile, and feeling his warm embrace around her, she knew what she would've wished for. "This," she said. "The two of us, like this. For always."

Billy exhaled, as though he had been holding his breath, and his smile got wider. "Then I'm sorry, but you've wasted your wish," he said.

"How?" asked Esme, baffled.

"Because we'll always have this. It's a guarantee. No need to wish for it."

Her heart swelled, squeezing her throat and pushing tears to her eyes. How could she have doubted him? How could she have let her insecurities drown out her love for him? He loved her and would always love her. She was enough.

While Esme looked at him, unable to utter a word from all the emotions swirling in her heart, Billy brushed a tear away from the corner of her eyes and said, "That's why I brought you here today, you know. I know you weren't really convinced when I said you're all that I need. So I wanted to show you. Without you, I would never be able to come back here." His voice hitched. He swallowed, and continued, "For too long, I've been afraid of this place, of all those memories... But not anymore. Now I want to make new memories here, happy ones, with you, so I can remember it with joy and—"

He didn't get to finish. Esme threw her arms around his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him with all the pent-up fears and longing of the past two months. Billy responded in kind, tightening his hold around her, bringing her closer, his mouth pulling at hers until she felt like she was going to melt in his arms from the sheer heat of his kisses. And when he paused briefly to take a breath, she did melt, her knees having gone so weak that she ended up sinking to the ground. Billy didn't pull her up. Instead, he knelt down with her, covering her with yet more kisses, not just her lips but her neck and shoulders and breasts as well, his mouth like a furnace over the fabric of her shirt. She yanked impatiently at the buttons and guided him to the triangle of bare skin underneath her collar, gasping when he lightly nipped at it, the bite sending a lightning bolt that went straight through her and settled at her very core, making her pant as he kissed his way further down. She had never known him like this. In bed, he had always been passionate but gentle and shy, needing her guidance to show him what she wanted, what she liked. Now he was still gentle, but there was a newfound confidence in his touches and kisses and movements that intoxicated her, even more than the illicit thrill of being out in the open. 

Her back hit the grass. Billy went down with her. With each hand behind her knee, he lifted her legs to hook them over his waist.

"What if someone comes along?" she whispered into his mouth.

"Then that would be one hell of a memory, wouldn't it?" he grinned.

She laughed as well, but her laugh turned into an excited gasp when he settled himself between her legs. To feel him there, his heat, his hardness, so close and yet so far away still, was excruciating, and she only waited long enough to fumble with his jeans, before squeezing her thighs close, bringing him to her.

The first stroke of their bodies coming together drove all doubts from Esme's mind. Then Billy picked up the pace, and there, on top of Whitehorse Hill, while the wind murmured through the grass, blowing cool on her skin but unable to chill her, not when his mouth and his hands and his whole body were keeping her warm, the voice in her head was silenced at last, and she believed that she was enough, that this was enough, more than enough. And then pure pleasure exploded through her and light burst behind her eyelids, joining the glittering stars in the night sky above and the gleaming of his eyes in a constellation of bliss.

Afterward, Billy lay down on his back while Esme nestled against him. The wind was getting colder, but the hilltop remained quiet, save for Angua's snuffling in her sleep, and neither felt inclined to move. Esme threw an arm over his chest and laid her head on his shoulder and thought she'd never felt so close to anyone before.

"I'm sorry, Esme," she heard Billy say.

"For what?" Esme propped herself up to fix both her and his clothes, and to get a better look at him. "For involving me in the desecration of a national monument?" she said with a cheeky grin.

He grinned back. "If anything, I'd say we've consecrated it," he replied. Then he sobered up. "No, I mean sorry for the past couple of months. I've stressed you out with all that talk about having kids and made you feel like you're not good enough—"

"No, no," Esme interrupted, squeezing his fingers. "You don't have to apologize. Or, rather, if you are, then I apologize too. I should've just believed you when you said you didn't mind not having kids." She put her head back down on his shoulder with a sigh. "I'm thinking I may need therapy to deal with all these problems. It's not fair of me to make you bear the brunt of them."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Billy said. "About therapy, I mean. Not the other part. I would bear anything for you."

He reached up to tuck a strand of hair, which had come loose from their tumble, behind her ear. His fingers brushed down her neck, caressing the hollow of her throat, where a silver pendant in the shape of the Horse nestled. In the starlight, his face looked so dear, so tender, that she couldn't help leaning over to kiss him, gently at first, then again, not so gently this time.

"Hope tonight was memorable enough for you," she whispered, pulling back.

"Maybe we can make it a bit more memorable," he said.

She looked at him, not understanding. Billy, still holding on to her hand, got up on his knees and rummaged for something in his pocket. "Thank God it didn't fall out while we were—" He blushed crimson and pulled at her wrist. "You have to stand up if we're to do this right."

"To do what right?" Esme asked, mystified.

And then she saw the ring box in his hand.

"Oh," she breathed out.

She scrambled to her feet, but when she stood up, her shadow fell across his face, and she wanted to look at him, never wanted to take her eyes off of him, so she hunched down again, and they ended up in an awkward half-sitting, half-crouching position, facing each other. What happened next was a blur. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, so she couldn't really hear what Billy was saying. Tears dimmed her eyes, so she couldn't really see him or even see what the ring looked like. But the warm grip of his hand on hers and the sweet kiss he placed on her lips told her all she needed to know.

"Now do you believe me?" he asked.

"Yes—yes—yes," she sputtered. She didn't know whether she was answering this question or the other, more important one, but it didn't matter. He knew what she meant.

Esme didn't even know why she was so emotional. It isn't the first time I got proposed to, for God's sake! And last time she'd responded just as enthusiastically. She realized back then she'd only wanted to get married, it almost didn't matter with whom. But it did matter now. It mattered a lot. She didn't just want to get married, she wanted to marry this man who had just slipped the ring over her finger and was gathering her into his arms, laughing and crying with her.

Their noises woke Angua up, and the little dog ran over to them, yapping and licking their faces, not knowing what was going on but sensing excitement in the air and wanting to join the celebration anyway. This made them laugh, and in the fuss over Angua's antics, Esme's tears finally dried. Still, it was a while before she calmed down enough to look at the ring, and when she saw it, a new flood of tears threatened to blur her eyes again. It was a ring made out of dark, polished wood, carved into the shape of a rose vine, with a blooming rose in place of the stone. She could only imagine how much love and care Billy had put into each delicate petal of the rose, each dainty leaf, each exquisite curve of the vine. If it hadn't been for the dark color and the small size, she would've sworn it was a real rose.

"Do you like it?" Billy asked anxiously.

"This is what you've been working on all those nights at the studio, isn't it?"

"Yes." He looked at her with a sheepish expression.

"You idiot!" She slapped his chest, though she was not really angry with him anymore, hadn't been since that afternoon, the moment she realized where they were going. "Why didn't you say anything? Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry." He caught her hand and kissed it. "I wanted it to be a surprise. I've never worked with anything so small before, so it took a while to figure out the right sort of wood and the right tools. I know it's not a traditional ring, but—"

"No, I love it," she said, and now it was her turn to lift his hand and kiss his calluses. She had always loved them, but now she loved them even more, because each of them was evidence of his love for her. She wouldn't care for a traditional ring anyway. "But—are you sure?" she asked, suddenly frightened. "Are you sure you want to get married?"

"I don't want to just get married," he said, pulling her to him for a kiss. "I want to marry you."

Those words, the exact same thought she'd had just a moment ago, went straight to Esme's heart, renewing her tears. "Let's get married tomorrow," she said with reckless abandon. "I don't want a big wedding, and I know you don't either. Let's just go to a town hall and have it be done with."

Billy stared at her. "Who are you and what have you done to my Esme?" he said in mock consternation, but all she heard was the easy way he said "my Esme". It set her pulse fluttering. "You don't want six months to plan? You don't want a ten-page spreadsheet so you can have the satisfaction of crossing things out?"

"Stop it." She laughed and smacked his shoulder, and he caught her with another kiss, a long, lingering one, and there was no more talk of wedding planning that night, there on Whitehorse Hill or on the late train home.

Epilogue

A/N: The ring Billy carved for Esme is based on this. It's by Giles Newman, an amazing woodcarver/sculptor - do check out his other works. They're pretty much how I imagine Billy's works would be like.

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