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snoozepotato · 1 year

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We’ll Be Fine -2- (Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader)

Disclaimer: I do NOT own the original source material or any of its characters.

she/her pronouns

Congratulations, I have gifted you a younger brother for this story!

Category: slice of life, slow burn, mutual pining

Warnings: swearing, anxiety, therapy mention

Masterlist

Summary: Your brother and his friends barge into your flat while you're distracted playing video games.

Part 2

~CHAMPION~

The door to your flat bursts open as your brother loudly makes his way into the space, two of his ‘little friends’ following reluctantly but not far behind. You make a mental note to move the spare key… Again.

Maybe ‘little friends’ wasn’t the best term to describe them… They were all absurdly enormous men who looked ridiculous standing in your wee apartment. Creating a massive wall of muscle now blocking the entryway, Soap, and Ghost having stopped just beyond the door.

The lot of them spot you from across the room huddled on a sofa sitting tailor-style, game controller in your hands. Your bewildered gaze shifts to them for a moment, eyes bright, pupils constricted. Suddenly movement erupts on the screen before you, attention snapping back instantly.

The unaware enemy crosses your path, before getting the chance to unholster their weapon you are on them. Crosshairs lock on

and you pull the trigger. A burst of bullets spraying from your P90, each making contact with the offending player's skull. Starting at the throat making a vertical line up between the eyes as you fight against the recoil, you pull the trigger once more riveting another round of bullets into their cranium.

They crumble to the ground and you are already on the move, reloading, readying yourself for the next altercation. Focus solely on the screen in front of you, and the distant sound of gunfire guiding you to your next victim. Doing your best to block out the three sets of eyes now watching intently, and the drumming of your heart.

“Oh SHIT it's been a while, didn’t know you started playing again since therapy, I wanna watch you kick some ASS!” Your brother boasts loudly, making his way across the small room, hurdling over an armchair, and plopping down beside you on the couch carelessly. The sudden force ripples across the surface, rocking you both back and forth on the seat.

Thankfully the action doesn't faze you, you've gotten used to this kind of behavior from your sibling. The group watches as you ambush enemy after enemy, ducking between cover, and healing a few scrapes till the words ‘YOU ARE THE CHAMPION’ appear across the screen in bold white lettering.

“CHAMPION!” Your brother exclaims loudly, throwing his fist into the air. The movement once again rocking you back and forth from your position next to him. The action is more startling this time now that your focus is broken.

You haven't spoken a word the entire time, sitting rigidly in your spot on the sofa. Your body feels as though it's vibrating, coming down from an adrenaline high. You attempt to let out a held breath but it comes out shakier than desired, mentally cursing, feeling warm color pool in your cheeks.

This had been an attempt at something normal, something you used to enjoy… But the current situation brings on a wave of nausea, finding the stale air suddenly hard to cloak down. Clammy hands trembling as you maintain your grip on the controller, you needed to calm down.

Head downcast, loose hair falling like a curtain around either side of your face. Thank God for muscle memory, with a few button presses you exit the match and slap the controller into your brother's outstretched hands.

“wanted to watch you play,” he grumbles lips pressing into a thin line, narrowing his eyes at you. You let out a breathy laugh, rigid shoulders slumping, a small amount of the tension lifted from the room.

“You just did, why don’t you play with your friends,” you say while getting up from the couch and heading into the adjacent kitchen, anxiety still bubbling in your stomach.

Soap moves to take your spot while Ghost stays near the door, silently observing as you make your tea. You take a moment to tuck your loose hair into the hood of your sweatshirt before picking up the steaming cup on the counter.

“Please knock next time,” you announce, a request shot towards your brother.

Heading out of the kitchen, mug in hand, you give them a quick thumbs-up before silently disappearing behind the door on your left.

“She used to play this game a lot, she’s REALLY good, I mean you watched her play, that rampage,” your brother laughs as they fumble around in the game's menu.

Half-lidded eyes study the closed door, Ghost wonders why you stopped playing, wonders if you have ever shot a gun before. None of this should matter to him, he finds the fact that he's dwelling on it to be mildly concerning.

Thanks for reading <3

@tallrock35

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schizoid-culture-is · 24 days

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szpd+avpd culture is the two big reasons for not wanting to get treatment from a Therapist is 1) stigma and lack of knowledge and 2) if I open up to someone/ask for help I will just Die

#personality disorder #schizoid #schizoid pd #schizoid personality disorder #scpd #szpd #cluster a #cluster a pd #schizoid culture is #avpd #death mention #therapy mention

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sp1rit-realm · 4 days

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healing <3 (please do not repost without credit!)

i, for the first time in a very long time, am feeling true happiness. over the course of the last ten years, i felt my joy slowly leave me. i was only a kid when i felt myself start to deteriorate, and thats such a scary feeling. i reached my lowest about four years ago, and for the past three, ive been working to get better. i was in therapy for five days a week at one point, ive tried thousands of different medications, ive gone through hundreds of journals, and ive cried to my therapist about one million times. i have hit rock bottom too many times to count, but im standing here today. i still have bad weeks--bad months, but i smile now. i smile genuinely, and i do so for so long that my cheeks begin to hurt. its gotten better, and it will for you, too <3

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fella-lovin-fella · 2 months

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my therapist is crazy man. she says i have "performance anxiety" just because i cant brush my teeth around other people bc im so afraid im doing it badly and that i start to panic whenever someone walks into the room while im doing dishes (or literally any chore) because im afraid im doing it badly, and because i cant talk to other people without always feeling like everything i say is the wrong option. like get a grip 🙄

#help im so afraid of everything ajd everyone #anyway im going to do the dishes #and im going to be okay #because i know i can pause whenever i need #also typing all this out made me have realizations #ugh i hate those #not mlm #dantes talking again #therapy mention #therapy memes #mental illness #mental illness mention #mental illness memes #anxiety memes #anxiety mention #mental health

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crash-bump-bring-the-whump · 10 months

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Just a little successor to this piece by @brinkofdiscovery! Just thinking about how Miguel and Mariano's relationship evolves with therapy :)

TWs: Mentions of trauma

Dark fingers wound into Miguel's shirt as Mariano's face pressed into his shoulder with a dream-fueled mumble. Lying on his side and breathing slow, he'd been asleep for a little while now. His hair was up, the blankets were tugged up to their waists, and one leg was hooked around Miguel's.

There was no tension in the loose relaxation of his limbs. There were no lines on his face. He breathed Miguel in with every inhale and soaked in their shared warmth as the winter chill managed to seep into even the war mages' shared home.

This wouldn't have happened even a few months ago.

Miguel had still felt dangerous, then. The feeling of being loomed over would activate old survival instincts. Passing headlights that danced along the walls would wake him, heart hammering but breathing habitually still slow and deep.

Their therapist had suggested ways to start working through it, though. Wearing Miguel's shirts to bed or borrowing his pillowcases, to start associating him with safety and rest. Lying down together in a bed during the day, and getting used to being close in that environment. Miguel taking a nap next to Mariano during one of those midday lie-downs. Miguel holding Mariano, with his hands on the fragile skin of his sides and his arms keeping him in place.

It had helped.

Mariano even managed to doze off on Miguel's shoulder during a movie night at the end of a long week. He hadn't meant to, he'd just been leaning up against him. Miguel's shoulder had been soft and comfortable and the perfect height to use as a pillow. When he'd blinked awake again, Miguel was carefully staying as still as possible and his voice had been tense and thick with emotion when he dismissed Mariano's resulting apology.

The next time they'd laid down together to cuddle during an afternoon, they'd both fallen asleep.

Mariano hadn't slept on his back with his hands folded at his chest in ages--or at least not when he and Miguel shared a bed. Now, instead, he draped himself over Miguel. He tugged himself closer, and clung to him, and frowned if Miguel needed to untangle himself to get up for any reason. It was like he couldn't get enough of Miguel. Like he was making up for lost time.

When Miguel's arm tightened around Mariano's waist, he sighed and smiled without waking. Muscles that weren't tense in the first place relaxed further. His dreams weren't filled with looming, piercing eyes or the threat of an agonizing, unstoppable death. They were filled with the smell of Miguel's body wash and how his laugh sounded.

It had taken work from both of them, but now Miguel made Mariano feel safe.

#whump #comfort #therapy mention #trust #working through trauma #mariano and miguel both had to work through some shit #it was a ROAD to go from 'i could kill Mariano now' to 'nooo no i don't want Mariano too afraid to sleep next to me :('#also no time to be stoic here mariano it's time to melt into your sweet sad boyfriend #mage of violence #miguel

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kiwisandpearls · 8 months

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something I find so funny is when antis say “go to therapy” because like number 1, therapy isn’t going to available for everyone even for some who do want to go to therapy. Number 2, what if they are going to therapy? What if their therapist encouraged them to continue making whatever fictional content they’re making as it makes them happy? What then? Tell them to stop doing what is objectively helping them and making them happier at the cost of…what? Icky fiction?

#Proship #proship safe #proship please interact #proshippers please interact #anti anti #pro fiction #profic #profiction #therapy mention #I think I post to much lol

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thatkidwholikesthunderbirds · 11 months

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Therapists: Try making a comfort box that you can use when you're upset. :)

The box:

Based on an actual task I need to do for group therapy this week.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderfam #gordon tracy #thunderbirds fanart #comfort character #therapy mention #kidthunder's art #sfw interaction only

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the-cabin-complex · 16 days

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Tony and Esrah: *talking with our therapist about why Thor's our resident in-system ambassador, since he can make things work even with the most bigoted seeming alters*

Our therapist: Wow, it seems like he really has a gift then

Us: Yeah, his gift is being built like a Soviet era fridge

#tony’s tag #esrah’s tag #therapy mention

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galaxywhump · 1 year

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Another Arrival

[SV-240 masterlist]

Timeline: set after Difficult Conversations, Part Two.

contents: recovery from slavery whump and forced relationship, illness, medical setting (medbay on a space ship), mention of therapy, very vaguely implied past death.

Disclaimer: Nathaniel is an abusive father. Neither he nor Wren ever addressed the abuse, so they sporadically kept in touch after Wren moved out. Because of that Nathaniel will be appearing in a few post-captivity pieces. There will be a resolution to this arc later on, but for now every piece featuring him will be tagged with his name, as well as #tw childhood abuse and/or #tw childhood trauma where applicable. Stay safe!

~~~

About twenty-four hours before arriving on Earth Wren wakes up shivering, feeling as if his head had been stuffed full of cotton, pressing against his skull, causing constant dull pain.

“That… was to be expected,” Vitkus says after taking his temperature. “You caught a cold.”

“Just a cold?” Wren looks at her in disbelief, wrapping the blanket he’s been given tighter around himself. “I feel like shit.”

“You spent a long time on a whole different planet with alien viruses and bacteria,” Vitkus explains, pulling a chair closer to sit by his side. “Your immune system is… struggling.”

Wren hums, letting his eyelids drop for a moment. It makes sense. It’s been years, but he can still vaguely remember the fever after being bitten by an alien animal, and Daniel telling him afterwards that it must have been caused by the bacteria on its teeth. Then he must have gotten used to them, and now… now this ship is an alien environment, and Earth will be too.

“Great,” he sighs. “Defeated by the common cold.”

“You’ll feel better soon. But that reminds me… You might not like this, but once we’re on Earth, you’ll need to first spend a few days in the hospital.”

Wren winces.

“Because of my immune system?”

“Among other things, yes. We also need to make sure everything is alright in general, this medbay can’t do everything. Besides, it will give you some extra time for you to get used to being on Earth again. And…” Vitkus pauses for a moment. “You’ll need to receive psychological help as well.”

This time Wren flinches, his heart suddenly beating faster.

“Oh,” is all he manages to say at first. “Really?”

It’s a dumb question, he realizes as soon as it leaves his mouth, but somehow he hasn’t really thought about that, despite Johnson telling him he was going to receive the help he needed. And this is the kind of help he needs, isn’t it?

Vitkus nods.

“You can take all the time you need, Wren, but therapy will be strongly advised. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

“It’s okay, I get it,” Wren replies even as strange pressure in his chest makes it harder to breathe. He decides to blame it on the cold. “I just haven’t… Yeah. It’s a lot. But it’s okay.”

Vitkus silently nods again with a sympathetic smile, and Wren closes his eyes and grimaces when the pounding in his head gets stronger.

“I-I think I should rest a bit. I don’t really want to be half-dead when we reach Earth,” he manages a dry laugh.

“Of course. And… you can do it, okay? We’re here to help you.”

“I know.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you.”

~~~

For a few minutes he contemplates going to the observation deck to watch Earth get closer and closer, but in the end he decides against it. He doesn’t trust himself not to start crying - he’s close to tears just picturing the planet in his mind.

Breathing is a struggle as he’s walking down the corridors towards the main hatch, accompanied by Johnson. He’s trembling, and he can’t even blame it on the cold - he really is feeling better already. Everything around him is a blur. He’s aware of the other crew members looking at him as he walks past them, probably saying something, but he doesn’t hear them and barely sees them, only focused on the feeling of the spaceship slowing down, gently moving downwards to dock.

There is nobody else near the hatch, and he’s glad that the crew has decided to give him space. Perhaps they simply don’t want to witness his reaction, which he suspects will be anything but mild, but he appreciates it nonetheless. He stops and crosses his arms, taking deep breaths, and his stomach sinks when the spaceship stops completely with a barely-there tremble. Silence rings in his ears.

“Are you ready?” He hears Johnson’s quiet voice. At first he shrugs, then forces himself to take another deep breath, and nods before he can change his mind.

A hiss reverberates in his ears and the hatch opens.

He can’t see much through it yet, only the - familiar - dock, and he feels like his feet have been encased in concrete, making it impossible to take a single step. He throws a glance at Johnson, who smiles and nods towards the hatch. They want to give him space too, then, allow him to leave the ship at his own pace, when he’s ready.

He will never be ready, so there is no point waiting around for something that isn’t going to happen.

Every step requires inhuman strength, but he keeps walking until he leaves the ship, his body tense to the point of pain, his heartbeat almost painful.

His gaze is immediately drawn to the sky and he forgets how to breathe.

It’s a cloudy day, but that doesn’t upset him in the slightest. The sky is obstructed by a soft layer of silvery clouds, but in one spot there is a patch of bright light, only one star lighting the planet up, a star he knows well.

His legs threaten to buckle under him, but he forces himself to stay standing, and he manages to tear his gaze away from the sky and look forward at the lone figure standing motionless like a statue. His throat is squeezed tight and he loses the battle with tears gathering in the corners of his eyes; he laughs in disbelief and walks down the gangplank, his steps getting quicker and quicker as Nathaniel Rackham smiles and approaches as well. Wren’s feet touch the dock, touch Earth, and he breaks into a run, not caring about acting stoic. Nathaniel nearly stumbles when Wren embraces him.

“Hey, dad,” Wren says, laughing through tears. “I’m back.”

Nathaniel hugs him back tight, laughing too.

“You’re back,” he repeats. For the first time in his life Wren can hear tears in his voice. He doesn’t even mind that his father’s embrace is so stiff and awkward, and he chooses not to pay any mind to how few times they’ve hugged throughout his life.

He doesn’t want to let go, scared that all of this is going to disappear, that he’s not really on Earth, that this is just a cruel trick, but he knows he can’t stay like this forever, even though time seems to have stopped at the empty dock. With a sigh he pulls away from the hug, looks at his father’s face and immediately shakes his head with a choked laugh, trying to wipe his tears away.

“Sorry,” he says, fighting to stop crying, but it proves to be an impossible task. Nathaniel just smiles slightly, his eyes glistening with tears too, which is a sight so absurd Wren’s still not sure he’s not dreaming.

“It’s alright. You- I-” Nathaniel frowns, unable to find the right words. In the end he simply rests his hand on Wren’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Wren whispers. “I-I have to go to the hospital first, though, I don’t know if… you know?”

“I know.” Nathaniel nods towards where Wren still remembers the exit is. “There’s a car waiting for when you’re ready to go. I’ll go with you, of course.”

“Okay.” Wren looks up to take in more of the sky. The air filling his lungs isn’t cold, but it’s not very warm either, and he frowns. “What… month is it?”

“August. The fourth.”

“The fourth…” he repeats. The day he came back to Earth.

It’s… different. He knows, of course, he’s painfully aware, that over two years have passed, but learning the exact date feels like an unexpected punch to the gut, a bitter reminder.

He left Earth in November, but it was a November forever ago.

Lightheadedness overwhelms him. He’s on Earth, but Earth has long moved on. He’s found himself back here on an unfamiliar day. All of a sudden he feels so small here, so lost, strange terror grips his heart, but he shakes his head to clear his mind and looks back at his father.

“Let’s go,” he says quietly.

On the way to the car he stares at his own feet, emotions tearing him apart. Anxiety, melancholy, the ice-cold feeling of being completely lost, of not belonging - but above all, still able to overshadow them, are happiness and relief. He’s back. He’s on Earth. Nothing and nobody can take that from him again.

He gets in the back of the car, which feels almost ridiculously mundane. With a deep breath he dares to look out the window when the car starts, but quickly has to look away when dizziness hits him again from the sight of all the buildings, all the vehicles, all the people-

Small steps. He looks down at his hands folded on his lap and smiles.

It will be okay. I will be okay.

Back at the docks a cryopod is carried out of the ship, but at this moment there is no place for it in Wren’s thoughts.

~~~

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#recovery whump #medical setting #slavery whump #forced relationship whump #illness cw #therapy mention #wren rackham #terese vitkus #sterling johnson #nathaniel rackham #sv-240 #my writing #as expected once i finished the previous chapter my motivation came back #amazing

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