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wordslostforever · 1 year

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Couples Therapy

Ch. 1 "Work with me"

Pairing: Wanda/fem!reader

Summary: When your marriage with Wanda starts to fall apart, you both decide to have a last chance by going to a professional, for your son's sake, and your own.

Warnings: 16+! Established relationship, Angst, mentions of cheating, mention of Vision, implied sex (not smut), arguments, cursing, gaslighting, mentions of divorce.

A/N: Honestly, this is the first Wanda fanfiction I’ve ever written, and I hope I did somewhat okay, plus a little warning, I made up everything about couples therapy, apologies in advance.

Also, my first language is not english, so I’m sorry for any grammatical mistake.

Word count: 2.9k

You don't remember the last time everything with Wanda seemed fine, right.

Little by little, your marriage was becoming untenable with the constant fights and stupid arguments about things that weren't an issue at all, it was as if you didn't know each other, as if your wife didn't know you anymore.

Little by little, the love you once had was vanishing into thin air like smoke in the wind. You tried wearily to pick up those pieces, but they slipped from your hands.

"I never asked you to give up everything for me."

Everything was falling like leaves in autumn, from the ground you tried to grab the dying leaves that changed color.

"I never said you did, Wanda. I gave up everything for you because I wanted to, because I love you. If you brought that up, it's because you resent yourself for it."

So green, so full of life, the leaves turned brown, dry and empty.

"You're unbelievable. I resent myself for what? For making you stay? You're so unbelievable, so damn egocentric and narcissistic" Wanda paused at her words, red eyes crystallized with tears. Her lip quivered as she glared angrily at you, so angry at your straight posture and frown. "I don't even know how I got with you in the first place, you are so full of yourself that I don't know if I fit there with you."

Those eyes looked at you with nothing but resentment, and the love that was hidden in them, faded amidst all those thoughts.

"Jesus Christ!" you said, offended, as you tried to not let out a louder scream. Wanda looked at you indifferently with a raised eyebrow. Your heart was breaking at her gaze, wondering if you would ever see the love you once possessed. "If you want to go and fuck Vision, you should have done it long ago then! Maybe I shouldn't have wasted my time on you either as you seem so fond on thinking that I suck and I'm not worth your fucking time."

"And you brought that again, what the hell is your problem with me and Vision?"

"The problem is that you screwed him all over and I had to forgive you, I had to forgive your crap all the time, but when it comes to me doing something wrong, for once, you're at my neck annoying the crap out of me."

"I can't- You keep making me feel guilty about it, we said- You said you were over it. I'm over it, that's why I stopped apologizing."

"I was never over it, you made me get over it with your shitty apologies and excuses. Fuck! You even made me feel guilty about it." Maybe those were the words that ended what little patience your wife had, maybe your simple words broke what little was left of your marriage. "'Oh, Y/n, We have children together, Tommy and Billy will be broken, we can't do that to them' So full of crap, you're so full of crap."

Tired, it was all too exhausting for you, for her, the words coming out of a part you both didn't know existed.

"Get out." Wanda said ending the conversation, and you laughed indignantly. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at you, firm, letting you know she meant it this time. "Get out! Leave!"

"And there you go running." At that you turned around grabbing your jacket from the couch roughly, and shook your head. "Again. You're unbelievable."

"Screw you, y/n."

With that you walked out of the house, closing the door delicately trying to calm the rage gathering in your chest. Wanda, on the other hand, burst into tears, frustrated tears covering her cheeks. It wasn't until a sound came from the staircase that she wiped the drops from her face with her palm, trying to fake a smile.

"Where's momma y/n, mom?" The little boy looked at Wanda in confusion, one of his hands gently scratching his eyes as a yawn escaped his mouth.

"She had to work, honey, just go to bed. Is Tommy awake too?" Wanda asked softly, watching him nod. Her heart broke at the images of her children listening to the fight. "Go to bed, I'll go with you in a few minutes, okay? I have to turn the lights off."

You didn't know what happened, how it happened. You loved Wanda as much as she loved you, but from one moment to the next, days passed from fight to fight and everything fell apart. Maybe it wasn't so abrupt, maybe you should have seen it coming after everything that happened between you.

One of the things that you loved most in the world was slipping through your fingers and you had no idea how to fix it... You had no idea if you wanted to fix it.

You spent the night out at Natasha's house, your best friend and co-worker. Tired, you couldn't sleep and when it was time to get out of bed it was almost an impossible mission, but you still did it, and with a forced smile you went to work.

You needed the distraction, work until your brain couldn’t remember the reason why your heart felt tight and broken inside your chest.

“No, what do you mean by that?”

“I mean, maybe if you try to listen to her and put yourself in her shoes, there may be a way for you two to stop fighting.” You gave your best friend an inexpressive look, making her roll her eyes in annoyance. You sighed, fixing your gaze on your plate with salad, rethinking the point Natasha brought up.

“That’s all I have done since that day, I have listened to her. The problem is not me, it’s her. She is the one fighting, she is the one that complains about everything I do. At this point, I think she just hates me.” You said with a grimace, meeting Natasha features, who resembled your expression. “What?”

You turned around in your chair as soon as Natasha pointed with her head at the door of the restaurant. Your eyes fixed on the figure of your wife, who looked around trying to find you, making you bite the inside of your cheek with irritation.

Wanda found your eyes and she walked to you.

Instinctively your eyes roamed through her body, looking how the red dress she was wearing hugged her curves.

"Wanda." You said her name as soon as she approached you with dark circles under her eyes, but you didn't change the serious look you were giving her. "What are you doing here?"

"Can we talk?"

You bit your tongue trying to hold back the words of rejection that threatened to come out and nodded. With a regretful look at Natasha, you got up from the table grabbing your jacket.

You and Wanda walked out of the restaurant in silence and all the way to the small park nearby. You sat down on one of the benches with Wanda next to you. Your gaze remained fixed on the scenery and the people passing by, feeling Wanda's gaze on you, however, you didn't look at her, you didn't want to, knowing perfectly well that all the anger you felt would vanish in those green eyes.

"The kids are asking for you," The mention of your children made you turn your gaze to her and lock your eyes together. Wanda let out a shaky sigh before swallowing the ball that formed in her throat. "And I don't know if they are buying the work excuse anymore, Y/n, they are asking if you are leaving the house."

"I'll pick them up today and we'll go out. We can discuss what to tell them about us now."

"So, you're moving out? Are we done forever this time?" Wanda winced in pain in her place, hands shaking. You looked at her with your head tilted, feeling your chest constrict as her eyes moved from yours closing.

"Isn't that what you want?" Your eyes met Wanda's again, and you sighed when she shook her head. "Then, what do you want?"

"I want to keep loving you."

"I want that too, but this, my love," Your gaze softened at her and you gripped her clenched fist gently as you opened it. Wanda looked at you intently, melting at the nickname, and opening her hand letting it intertwine with yours. "this is not working anymore, you know we aren't."

“Do you want to divorce?”

"What choice do we have? All we do is fight, Wanda." You saw a tear come out of Wanda's eye and you wiped it away with your finger, trying not to cry. "We have a beautiful family and wonderful children, but our marriage is so broken. You're not happy anymore and neither am I."

"We can try to be happy, we can make it work, we always do. Why should we stop now?"

"Because maybe it's too late. Maybe we're too far apart."

"Do you love me?"

"Of course I do."

"Then let's try one last time." Wanda said, placing her hand on your cheek. You closed your eyes feeling the touch and the warmth her hand transmitted. "I want to be with you, Y/n, I want to fix this."

"I want to be with you too." You moved closer to her, your forehead meeting hers delicately as her thumb brushed your lip. Your hands traveled to her waist squeezing gently as you felt her body tremble at the sadness and despair building up in her.

"Please work with me." You felt the warm air of her breath as Wanda whispered the words above your lips as closed her eyes.

"I always will."

*___________________*

After washing your hands, you looked in the mirror one last time, running one of your hands over the dark circles under your eyes and pinching the top of your nose with irritation. Leaving the bathroom, you walked down a long hallway, if you didn’t know what the place was, you would have assumed it was a hotel, but it wasn’t one.

Couples therapy.

How ridiculous. You knew you were doing it for Wanda more than for yourself, you knew the last thing you wanted to do was talk about your marital problems to a complete stranger who would start judging your every decision. You didn't need this, you didn't, but Wanda did, so once again you decided to put aside what you wanted to do for her.

Wanda seemed excited, you would even say happy to be there when the two of you met in front of the office door. She smiled at you and you forced a smile.

"I left the kids with Pietro and Monica."

"Are they back together?" You asked confused as you opened the door and made way for Wanda to enter, before walking in yourself.

"They never broke up, they just took some time apart." Wanda answered, before greeting the woman sitting on a couch, which happened to be across from a longer couch. "Hello."

"Welcome, you must be Wanda Maximoff. Please, take a seat." Wanda sat down on the couch and patted her side looking at you encouragingly. You sighed defeatedly before sitting down as well.

"She is-" Wanda started, but you cut her off with a polite smile toward the woman who nodded while writing something down in her notebook.

"I'm her wife."

"Y/n Maximoff?"

"Oh no, uhm." You stopped in your place clearing your throat at the situation, you knew the last name issue had been a problem between you and Wanda in the past. "I didn't take her last name, it's just Y/L/N."

"We decided after a couple of talks that we didn't want to change them." Wanda explained and you had to bite your tongue to hold the words that formed in your mouth.

The therapist tilted her head and settled back in her seat, looking intently at your actions making you feel self conscious. Wanda looked at you with narrowed and steady eyes, and you scratched your neck tensely before you heard the therapist's voice.

"Why don't we start now then? Y/n, you were about to say something about what Wanda said, but you held the words" You sighed as the therapist looked at you encouragingly. "You can talk here, this is a space where you two can talk freely, say what you really want."

"It's nothing really, it doesn't matter."

"No, I want to hear it." You looked at Wanda incredulously, irritated at the condescending tone she used.

"You decided that we shouldn't change our last name."

"No, we both did, you agreed."

"Because you made me agree, you barely let me say anything."

"Well, it's not my fault that you can't express your mind."

"You don't let me do it. You always overstep on what I say or turn it into something totally different from what I meant." The look in Wanda's eyes made you sigh tiredly, shaking your head in denial. Your gaze softened as you looked back at her, having no energy to fight. "I wanted your last name."

"Fine, then, let's change it."

"No, it's too late. We have been married for eleven years, it wouldn't make sense now."

Wanda rolled her eyes in irritation before crossing her arms in front of her chest and falling silent, turning her attention back to the therapist who seemed to be listening intently to the conversation. You, on the other hand, clenched your fists in frustration looking back at the therapist.

"I see, maybe we should start with the beginning. What do you think is the problem here? I want both of you to be really honest about this."

You snorted at the question before you felt a soft smack to your side from Wanda scolding you for your behavior. You clenched your jaw for a second, then settled back into place and feigned a smile.

“I don’t know, there are many things that could be or… maybe there’s none and this is useless.”

“Why do you think this is useless, Y/n?”

“Don’t you see it, isn’t that supposed to be your job? Figure out what’s wrong?”

“Don’t be rude.” Wanda scolded you, and you frowned. “She is trying to help.”

“I just don’t want to waste my time on this, you know, I’m not even sure if this will work.”

“We could just try.” Wanda said angrily, scoffing when you shook your head. “Just answer the damn question, Y/n.”

“You answer it then because I can think of a million reasons why everything is wrong.”

“So, there are millions of things that I do wrong?”

“I didn’t even say your name, why do you keep doing that? This is not only about you, it’s about us.”

And so the session continued until the hour was up. The truth is that you were tired, tired of the fights and the useless progress you had made. Wanda assured you that it was only the first session and with that you stayed quiet for the rest of the way home after picking up your kids.

Dinner passed as normal, you and Wanda, Billy and Tommy at the table eating and living like a completely perfect family. That wasn't a problem for you, pretending everything was fine with Wanda in front of your kids, pretending the fights behind closed doors didn't exist. That wasn't the problem. The problem came when you had to go to your room and close the door, at that moment the perfect facade of the perfect marriage fell from your hands.

Again, it was back to the same thing, the meaningless fights, the condescending tones. All that was killing you slowly, so slowly that you thought it didn't exist, but the tiredness would come, the headaches, the pain in your chest that prevented you from breathing. The sadness that invaded your being completely.

“You said you’ll work with me.” Wanda said while she took her clothes off, and you stopped in place, dropping the shirt you were trying to get off. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying, okay? I’m trying.”

“It doesn’t seem like you are.”

“Really, Wanda? Now?” You bit the inside of your cheek looking at her as she pulled the oversized shirt down her body, falling closer to her knees. You took off your pants before shaking your head and taking off your shirt. “I’m tired, just please, don’t start.”

“I’m not trying to pick a fight,” Wanda said once you had your pajamas on, and turned to her. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking at you. “I want us to work.”

You tilted your head towards her as you saw tears falling from her eyes. You approached her gently, kneeling down in front of her as you grabbed the hand that was on her thigh, and giving her a small kiss on the knuckles. Wanda looked up at you, wiping away the tears with her other hand and calmly grabbing your neck, nuzzling you.

That was the first time in months that you saw the love in her eyes, the love that was hidden in between the anger in those fights, the love that you thought no longer existed.

“I love you.'' You released the words naturally, softly, and before standing up, you left a short kiss on her thigh. “I will always love you.”

“I love you too, y/n” Wanda opened her legs to grab you from the waist, pulling you close to her. You smirked when your eyes locked together, watching her eyes darkened slightly and her cheeks take a soft pink color.

Your hands went to her neck after, and a sigh came from your lips when her hands slipped inside your shirt.

You at least had to try, for her and for the love that you had.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff fic #wanda x reader #mcu fanfiction #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch x reader

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horseshoegirl · 1 year

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Damn Those Dog Tags: Part 17 - Come a Little Bit Closer

📖 One of my friends who beta-read this for me pointed out there is a scene in here that is very similar to one in Ted Lasso (I've never seen it, though there are a lot of people in my life telling me I should now); so I'm just mentioning there might be a similarity.

There is also something in here that people have been waiting for. Albeit, it's probably not the one scene everyone wants, given recent events. But someone(s) gets karma'd 👀

❗️+18, strong language, godmother reader/original female character, mentions of an original child character, angst, mentions of shitty family dynamics, physical fights, Ruthless Dagger Squad, violence, verbal fights, and mentions of blood.

#7k words

Part 16 | Masterlist | Part 18

“Are you a fucking idiot, Bradley?!”

You slapped Rooster hard on the back of his head, the thwack anything but satisfying.

“He is, indeed, a fucking idiot,” Nat quipped next to you. Bradley frowned at you, rubbing the back of his head. “I thought you would be happy I got to him!”

“You do not invert over another pilot on your team, catch them in a fucking corkscrew, and make them hit the fucking hard deck! Regardless if they are my ex or an asshole!”

It was hopeless to think you could ever stop swearing in Penny’s bar, not when Bradley was still pulling stupid shit like that. Therapy was a big step, but you knew deep down it would take a little more than a few sessions to make him less impulsive.

Maybe even more so from behind the joystick of his jet.

Rooster threw his hands up defensively. "I was just trying to teach him a lesson. You know what he did to you!"

You shot him a look.

Bob rolled his eyes and leaned against the bar, crossing his arms. "And what exactly did you accomplish, Rooster? Besides nearly killing yourself and him?"

Bradley gave him a death glare.

“I don’t care why you did it!” You snapped, tapping the end of the bottle opener hard on the top of the bar as you made your point. “You put yourself and a teammate in danger! You’re lucky Maverick stepped in before you got kicked out!”

You spun the tool in your hand while rolling your eyes, quickly popping the caps off the row of beer bottles lined up in front of you in frustration. Placing one in front of Nat, you handed Bob’s to him with a stern look.

“One, Robert,” You said, holding up your finger. “One, and then I am cutting you off.”

He grabbed the neck of the bottle, nodding and throwing his hand back in what seemed to be a 'yeah, I get it' kind of way. You held back on Roosters, holding it out of his reach, engaging him in a staring contest.

"Promise me."

"Liz."

You shook your head.

"This is not something I'm being funny about, Bradley. Promise me you will not pull that shit again."

"You're being unfair; it was just a dogfight."

You raised your eyebrow, purposely glancing over at the barbell for a split second. "I'll ring the bell on you."

Bradley cocked his eyebrow at you. The bell was something he prided on, never happening to him before. "I'll tell your manager you've been providing bad customer service."

You shrugged. "Go ahead."

Penny would legitimately not care. She'd do more damage to Bradley by chewing him out than you ever could.

"You should see the Yelp reviews when they mention me when I ring the bell on assholes. I don't care. Promise me you won't put yourself in danger anymore just to prove a fucking point."

Rooster made no effort to tear his eyes away from you.

"Bradley Bradshaw, do you promise me?!" you tried again. When he didn't reply for the second time, you raised your voice, "Lieutenant Bradshaw! Do you promise not to risk your fucking life over proving a point?!"

Bradley blinked.

"Yes, Ma'am."

You thumped the glass bottle to the top of the bar, sliding it towards him with a huff.

“Liz!” Jimmy called out. You turned in his direction with a smile, though you were anything but happy right now.

“The Jukebox is doing that thing again. Can you see what’s wrong?”

“Did you try hitting it?” you called back.

“Several times!”

You sighed. Walking to the other side of the bar, you stopped in front of Bradley, pointing your finger into his chest.

“You pull that shit again, therapy or not, I swear to god, Bradley..." You couldn't even formulate the rest of your sentence, throwing your hands up in frustration and letting out a garbled yell as you walked away.

You approached the Juxebox with a huff, grabbing the sides as you peered into the glass. The machine was turned on, but the needle hadn't touched the spinning disc.

Someone slung their arm over the top of the machine, startling you with an almost empty beer bottle in their hand.

"First, it was the keg, now it's the jukebox. What else is on your hit list, darlin'?"

You stiffened.

You hadn't seen Jake since that night. The minute you managed to get the courage to leave Rooster's Bronco, you cleared out your house of anything to do with him, his overnight bag sitting on your porch when you went to pick up Sadie.

It was gone when you came back home.

And It was suddenly like he hadn’t existed. You hadn’t found yourself going through what you assumed was the traditional aftermath of breaking up with someone. You hadn’t eaten a tub of ice cream, binged rom-coms or cried your eyes out except on the drive home.

And that had been it.

No calls. No texts. No apologies.

Without turning to face him, you remarked sarcastically, "Your over-inflated ego, but something tells me I'm going to need something bigger than a broken jukebox to take down."

Jake glanced at the machine, knocking it hard with the side of his boot.

You don't know what was worse, that the machine came to life or that it started up in the middle of the song, 'Come a Little Bit Closer' by Jay and the Americans, started up in the most ironic part.

Come a little bit closer. You're my kind of man, so big and so strong.

The quip fell easy from your lips. “Oh, what do you know, a knight in shining armour, solving all my problems.”

You don't know what you were trying to achieve by being like this. You just wanted him gone. But Jake didn't leave. Instead, he smiled at you. "You always have a way with words, don't you?"

You rolled your eyes. Snatching the bottle from his grip, you turned on your heel.

"What are you doing here, Jake?" you called out, knowing he would follow you.

"I just want to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you."

He quicked his pace, jogging up and interrupting your path. You stopped, gritting your teeth and twisting your hand away from him in frustration.

"Liz, please."

You huffed. You finally met his eyes, your gaze hard. “What is there to say, Jake? What could you say to me other than I was another bartender on your list? I just wish you had the common decency not to involve my niece in this, you asshole.”

He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a shout across the bar.

"Jake!"

George had called out to his brother, surrounded by a group of women. When Jake turned at the mention of his name, George was already waving him over.

You couldn't blame the women shooting him flirty glances, eyeing him up and down like a piece of meat. You just wished the pang in your chest didn't hurt as much as it did.

"Go ahead," you offered with a tense smile. "You made your intentions known. You are free to do whatever the hell you want now."

Jake faced you, his expression faltering as the edges of his mouth twitched, failing miserably to hold on to some semblance of confidence.

"You don't think I know that?" he remarked. "I think about it all the time."

“You should've thought of a lot of things before, Jake," you sighed, stepping backwards and away from him. "Don’t start on my account now.”

---

Why George had decided to stick around, Jake had no idea why. Maybe it was insurance that the damage he had done was permanent.

Jake just wanted him to get the hell out of dodge.

He wasn’t even paying attention to the conversation he’d been roped into when you walked away from him. He had no other choice but to walk over and let George introduce him to the two ladies he had been flirty with.

Jake knew what George was doing. He was trying to entice him back into his old ways. It was clear as day to anyone George would be going home with this woman tonight.

The other one, he thought her name was Bree or something along those lines, was trying to engage him in a conversation, batter her eyes or flirt. But he hadn’t so much as blinked, too caught up in how you shot him down and walked away from him.

It wasn’t until George opened his mouth to answer a question that Jake snapped out of his trance and caught the last end of his sentence.

“I guess having played football in high school makes it easier. My throwing hand is awesome when playing darts, though.”

That pipped his interest.

"Since when have you played darts?" he finally spoke up.

"Since we hired a few new ranch hands,” George shrugged. “All they want to do is drink, sleep, and play darts. It's great for introducing yourself to other ranch owners. I practically win them over each time," he remarked, trying to throw in a bit of modesty.

The gears started to grind in Jake's head. And slowly but surely, the cocky-ass Mona Lisa smile came back.

He nodded towards the dartboard. "Wanna play a game?"

George raised his eyebrow, taking a swing of his beer, "Want something else to lose your dignity to?"

Jake's grin didn't lessen. In fact, there was a certain glint in his eyes when he replied, "Something like that."

---

A crowd had gathered around the dart board while they had been playing. Practically, the whole bar was suddenly invested in this little game.

And you, leaning up against a pillar next to Bob, who had ushered you away from your post for a few seconds to watch the end of the game. Your arms were crossed, and you had a slight frown, watching him with sad eyes.

It was clear you wanted to be back behind the bar, not standing here, watching the person responsible for your broken heart play a fucking game of darts.

It wasn't even really a game. Jake could land a bullseye with his eyes literally closed. The regulars knew it, too. So, why was he purposely throwing darts with his non-dominant hand? You had no idea.

From what you could tell from when you were behind the bar, he still played well enough. They went for the long haul, starting at 501 points and slowly working their way down. Coyote and Rooster had decided to keep track, using the chalkboard on the side. George had led throughout the game and was still leading, but Jake was always close by enough to make it interesting.

Then George landed enough points that if Jake didn't get exactly what he needed to on his turn, George would win the game with his next. You didn't know why Bob pulled you over here; maybe it was to see Jake lose. Or to see George fail.

You have yet to determine which would be the better option at this point. And yet, you still couldn't bring yourself to step away.

You leaned over to Bob to ask, "What does he need to win?"

Bob sighed. "Two triples in the 20 slot and a bullseye. The bullseye needs to be last."

"What are the stakes?" you frowned.

Bob only shook his head next to you. "Nothing, from what I know."

George spun from his position, smiling at everyone cheering for him. He came to stand next to Jake, patting him hard on the back a few times.

"I don't know if you were trying to prove something, brother," he laughed, "But good game. We should do this again sometime."

Jake did the one thing he wanted to do his whole life.

He laughed at his brother.

"George, I never understood why you've had this grudge against me for my entire life," he said, stepping out of George’s grip on his shoulder.

Jake twirled the dart between two of his fingers, shaking his head. With a little sleight of hand, you watched as he switched his grip, the dart now in his dominant hand. You stood from leaning against the pillar and uncrossed your arms.

"You had it all. Dad's approval, the football career. All the girls flocking to your side in high school. You’ve spent your entire life under his thumb, chasing approval.”

He cut his eyes to you, seeing the frown on your face, and knew he had to continue. Stepping up to the mark, he squared his shoulders, eyeing the board.

“Trust me when I say this - you might've been the chosen one in Dad's eyes, but out here, in the real world? That doesn't mean shit."

Jake threw his first dart, the spike landing within the safety of the triple twenty. Everyone watching caught their breath in surprise.

Jake's smirk grew bolder, the fiery confidence he was known for blazing in his eyes as he looked back at his brother. "Do you want to know what I would have said to you the day you were talking shit about Liz and Sadie?"

A quiet gasp escaped your lips.

George's mouth twitched.

“I agreed with you for one thing and one thing only. I know I won’t be welcomed back,” he stated. “I couldn’t give a damn if I am.”

Something burned deep inside Jake’s chest as he pushed on, needing George to hear what he was saying desperately.

" Sadie? She sees right through your bullshit. But she will not hesitate to stand up for someone if she thinks they are being mistreated. She’s so mature for her age, and I am damn proud to be her uncle.”

He knew he shouldn’t have called himself that but was too caught up to care.

“And Liz? The world throws so much bullshit at her, and she still chooses to be kind, even when she still buries her grief, because she doesn’t want her niece to see her cry.”

Jake shook his head, a sad smile on his face. “I found people who, despite knowing my flaws, chose to stand by me. Not hold them against me.”

Jake threw the second dart, hitting the board next to his previous dart within the rim.

"I remember all the nights you came home, mirroring Dad's words, telling me how worthless I was.” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “Now I just realize you were literally copying everything he had to say to you from that day. Making yourself feel better.”

He'd never admit Rooster forcing the both of them in a Corkscrew is what made him realize it. He had been regurgitating every diminishing word and sentence his father had screamed at him growing up back at Rooster's face, hoping it would make him feel better.

He picked at the tail end of his dart, the weight of it familiar and comforting, before glancing at George's face.

"You ever heard of Roosevelt?" he asked nonchalantly. George eyed him carefully, "What does a dead president have to do with a game of darts?'

Jake had a conceited grin on his lips. "Well, he had this quote, and I'm probably butchering this, but he said critics don't count. Or the person who points out how we stumble or how someone could have done something better."

Jake twisted from his mark on the ground, standing square in front of George as he continued to explain his point.

"Because the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly... and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly."

Jake's voice was steady, but his eyes bore into George's with a fire. "All my life, George, I've been in that arena. I've stumbled and failed, but I didn't listen to someone from the sidelines telling me how to live my life."

Jake lifted his hand, never taking his eyes once off George.

"It's time I remembered that," he said, thinking about Sadie. "You shouldn't have to either."

He flicked his wrist forward, letting his dart fly.

Bullseye.

He heard the thump of the dart hitting the board, and cheers erupted throughout the Hard Deck. Jake had thrown a dart enough times to know whether or not it had hit its mark; he didn't need to look. Even Rooster was laughing at the utter shock and disbelief across George's face.

"I'm living my life, George," he said, patting him on his shoulder, leaving his hand there. "It's about time you did the same."

For once in his life, Jake had managed to stand up to his brother. But the moment wasn't as satisfactory as he might have imagined - He found himself thinking it didn't matter.

Because as he stepped away from George to look back to where you had been, he realized you hadn't been there to see it.

---

Your shift came and went in a blur after Jake and George’s dart game. The squad still hung back well past closing hours, watching and even helping as you closed up the bar, except Rooster, who was messing around on the piano.

Jake was still here. And George.

They had been out on the patio for over an hour now, simply talking. You tried not to pay them much mind as you tried to get through your remaining tasks quickly, but you couldn’t help but look out the back windows occasionally, unable to take your eyes off the Seresin brothers for long.

George approached Jake soon after he escaped the crowds. There had been no fights, no punches thrown or someone storming out. In fact, every time you looked up, the two seemed to be inching closer to each other.

Damn him and that cocky grin. Why'd he have to be so... Jake?

You didn’t want to be a spectator to Jake’s theatrics during that display during their dart game. Leaving before he threw that last dart, you were now questioning yourself… if you walked away to shield yourself or to punish him.

While he stood up for himself against George, in the back of your mind, there was an insistent voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, that display was also for you too.

Some of you ached at the idea of him seeking validation and needing to prove himself. And that's what hurt the most: that deep down, under layers of stubbornness and hurt, you still cared for him.

If it was, you weren’t ready. Not for this. Not for answers or explanations. You deserved more than whatever that was.

But you still heard him. Heard everything he said to George.

You really didn’t know what to make of it.

The sound of the front door slamming up against the wall, rattling some of the portrait frames, startled you from your thoughts. There was a momentary thought of remembering you really needed to lock the front door when you were closing, but it was washed away just as quickly as it came.

You couldn’t take your eyes off Tyler’s body as he charged forward, finger pointed towards you with a seething glare. “You fucking bitch!”

You stepped backwards, the sharp edge of the sink hitting your spine hard. A few glasses jolted from the force of it, sliding off the ledge and shattering to the ground. Rooster’s playing stopped immediately, and the piano bench toppled to the ground.

Was it anger? Shock? Disbelief the past few weeks of not seeing him coursing through your veins responsible for your reaction? You knew Tyler was dangerous, but deep down, you hated how easily you cowered at his appearance.

Tyler didn't get very far in his effort to get to you. Bradley came out of nowhere, something out of a comic, with his fist flying, punching Tyler square in the jaw.

“That was for Sadie, you bastard!”

Unfortunately for Bradley, Tyler only keeled over briefly before taking a swing. Rooster had not been prepared for him to retaliate, thinking his punch would have been enough to put the asshole on the ground.

Tyler had taken more punches and hits to the face as a football player than the average person would in their life. While Jake had managed to get him on the ground when he tried to kidnap Sadie, and Rooster was fitter than the average person, it would take much more than Jake and Bradley combined to keep Tyler there.

The uppercut to Bradley’s jaw could be heard from miles away, and you could only stand there, watching helplessly, as Bradley crashed backwards into a wooden table, his name a cry on your lips as the pieces scattered.

Whether or not they heard your cry or the commotion, the rest of the Daggers swarmed the island bar as Tyler watched Bradley roll on the ground amongst the splinters in some twisted sense of pride.

Whether you could realize it at the time or not, that would be his biggest mistake.

Nat was the first one there, the first one to put herself between you and Tyler, readying herself in case he tried to leap over the bar to get to you. Javy, Fanboy and Payback had run from opposite sides of the room to surround Rooster and Tyler, Bradley finally rolling himself off the broken table on the ground and pulling himself up.

And Jake, almost breaking the sliding door as he bolted inside to get to you, George on his heels. Rooster was too happy to stand beside him as Jake placed himself before everyone else, this hand twitching in anticipation of a fight.

"This is the one who did all that?"

Jake side-eyed George as he came up from the back to flank him on his other side.

"What?" he remarked, puffing out his chest and not once taking his eyes off Tyler. "I'm not that much of an asshole to know that's not how we treat women. Or children. We should drag his ass back to Texas and show him some southern hospitality."

Nat cocked her head at Tyler, speaking up from her spot next to the bar. "You must be a complete idiot to walk back in here after what you did to them."

Tyler shrugged, a sickening smile on his face. "I've got nothing left to lose. Literally."

"What, Daddy cut you off and kicked you out?" Rooster asked, spitting out the blood pooling in his mouth.

With the presence of your friends, you managed to calm down a little bit. You were still scared, which would never change as long as you could see his face, but you could take in Tyler's state more clearly.

Dark circles under his eyes. Blonde hair, greasy. He was still wearing that same freaking white sweater, only it looked like it hadn't been washed in days.

Rooster was right. Tyler had been cut off, indeed.

Fanboy and Payback, having realized what was going on, went to either exit to stand guard. You weren't sure whether to keep people out or keep someone in. But Tyler hadn’t noticed. He was too preoccupied to remove his eyes from Jake.

You watched as Tyler glanced at everyone around the bar, obviously bothered by Rooster's remark but not addressing it. "Seeing a lot of protectors here. Must be that 'Navy bravado,' huh? All show, no substance. We've all seen how they fail when it matters most.”

Ironically, it was George who intervened first. “This isn’t your place, man. Walk away before you get hurt.”

Tyler flicked his eyes between Jake and George, a smirk playing on his lips, “This is interesting. Another misguided soul ready to join this little squad over here?”

George smiled at him, nodding at Tyler, cracking his knuckles, “Just somebody who doesn’t like your face.”

Your voice was hoarse, vocal cords feeling like they were being dragged over jagged rocks, when you asked, “What the hell are you doing here, Tyler?”

He didn’t even give you the courtesy of looking at you when he replied, “Respect! What else?

Jake scoffed with amusement, "By wearing that dirty sweater and showing up here drunk and messed up? You're doing a great job, really. I applaud you."

Tyler doubled back with that all-too-familiar smug smirk, " Alright, saw through that one, did you,” He chuckled before he teased. “I came to see how Sadie's holding up. It must be hard, having her favourite play-hero away. Unless you've moved up from being her 'uncle' to something more."

Jake's face immediately paled, his entire demeanour changing from cocky to pure rage in a fraction of a second. The atmosphere in the room grew dense with tension. "You say her name again, and I'll make sure it's the last word you ever speak."

Still grinning but with an undercurrent of faux uncertainty, Tyler raised his hands in mock surrender, "Just stating facts, Jake."

George, sensing the danger in his brother, whispered a warning, "Easy, Jake."

But Jake's voice came out as a dangerous whisper, all restraint seemingly gone, "You wanna dance? Let's fucking dance."

Jake charged, tackling Tyler to the ground as you stood there wide-eyed and in shock. Rooster and Coyote flanked the grappling pair while George kneeled, calling out to Jake all the spots Tyler was leaving himself open. The sound of flesh hitting flesh accompanied Jake’s punches, and you couldn't bring yourself to look away.

A startled cry escaped your lips as you felt someone put their hands on your cheeks, turning you away from the fight and wiping away your tears. Bob had somehow found his way into the bar with you and was currently forcing you to stare at his face.

“Nope, you don’t need to witness any of this.”

"How much trouble are they going to get into because of this?" you asked, scared out of your mind. Bar fights were a thing that could get you kicked out of the Navy.

Bob glanced over to the fight. Nat was walking towards the back door, her phone pressed to her ear, no doubt calling the police. As his eyes tracked back to Tyler, George and Javy had now joined the fight, the elder Seresin brother grabbing Tyler by the back of his neck and his belt, tossing him like a bale of hay onto the top of a nearby table as Rooster surprisingly helped Jake up from the floor.

The legs splintered under the force with a sickening crack. It wasn’t until you shuttered at the sound and let out a soft whimper between his hands he remembered you asked him a question.

"None," his voice was firm. "As far as anyone knows, he walked in here like that."

"Bob..." you whimpered. He stroked a piece of hair away from your face soothingly. "I'm not going to be the one that says he doesn't deserve what's coming to him. Tyler’s not walking out of here now. He literally signed his own death sentence."

Deep down, you knew that. Tyler against not one, but three navy pilots and Jake’s brother? There was no way he was walking away from that.

The sound of glass shattering caused you to jolt again.

"Penny's so going to fire me after this," you managed to say through tears. Bob gave you an affectionate smile. "No way, you're the best bartender she's had in years. You put up with so much shit, and Sadie would no doubt give her two cents. She seems to be doing that a lot lately."

"Bobby..." you huffed through a sob. "You've never heard you swear before."

He shrugged, wiping away one of your tears. "I guess there's a first time for everything."

Bob hadn't covered your ears. He was only keeping your eyes off the ongoing violence. So you could hear everything going on. There were no more crashes, glass breaking, or wood splitting in two. You could only hear the rhythmic sound of flesh hitting hard flesh.

The next cry out of Tyler's mouth made you stiffen.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth!" he gave an almost whine as Bradley laid a punch to his stomach. "I'm sorry for all of it!"

Oh.

Fuck.

No.

Where you were once scared, pure anger builds in your stomach. You pull Bob’s hands away from your face, swatting away his feeble attempts to reach for you. You marched towards the exit doors of the bar, rounding the corner to get to the group.

Jake saw you approaching first with a sharp lift of his head, tapping George on the shoulder, who looked up at his brother before his eyes landed on you, catching on instantly. He grabbed Tyler by the back of his sweater, hoisting him up onto his knees before changing his grip to the middle of his back. Jake gritted his teeth as he tugged Tyler's head back with a vice grip on his hair.

You kneeled down in front of him, taking in his face.

Even bruised and bloody, Tyler looked nothing like the egotistical sociopath you knew him to be. Nothing like the villain that stalked you months before this or when he walked into the bar all those weeks ago.

This version of Tyler looked desperate, unhinged, but on the verge of a last straw. You couldn't say seeing that white hoodie stained red was unpleasurable. To say he had nothing left to lose was one thing, but seeing it across his battered face was another.

“You’re sorry?” you snarked. “You’re sorry you abused my sister? Are you sorry you killed her? Sorry, you tried to kidnap my niece?!”

You wanted to nail him across the face. You wanted to know the absolute pain and heartache and suffering he had put you through. He took Ridley from you. He hurt Sadie. He hurt you.

But then you took in the room, Jake and George kneeling behind him. Bradley and Javy standing by, ready to pounce the second he might try to escape. And the state of the bar, the damage sobering your thoughts.

No questions asked.

You noticed the ties of his sweater were out of place. Lifting your hand, you fixed one back into place, smoothing the string down before looking him dead in the eye.

"I could fucking care less."

Approaching sirens could be heard outside the bar, making everyone hold their punches. You stood, turning your back on the display to rejoin Bob, who had followed you out from the relative safety of the bar.

You wouldn't give Tyler the satisfaction. Ultimately, he was still a narcissist, wanting a reaction.

"Tie him up," you heard Jake command. Despite Bob urging you not to look once again, you couldn't help yourself. You needed to see this. To see Tyler caught and unable to do anything but accept his fate.

You needed to know you and Sadie were safe.

Coyote was handing George a sailor's rope he had torn off the wall, having pulled the twisted pieces apart. Jake pressed his knee down onto Tyler's back, pinning him to the floor as George quickly hog-tied his hands together, not that he'd be going anywhere. The group of men had done enough damage. Tyler wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.

Everything happened so quickly in the moments after. The police burst through the front door. George was holding up some sort of badge, and you were suddenly rushed out into the parking lot by Bob and Nat.

Penny was already there, greeting you outside with extreme worry in her eyes, sweeping you up into a hug the second she saw you. She was trying to console you, tell you Sadie was safe with Mav and that you would be alright. You didn’t realize you started shaking until she pulled back in concern to ask what had happened.

Your breath hitched as you shakily joked, “I promise I’m not purposely wrecking your bar. I don't know where these assholes come from."

Penny huffed out a laugh and a sad smile. Biting her lip, she reached out and stroked your hair at the side of your face as only a mother could. She tugged you into her hold, refusing to let you go.

You don't know how long you stood there until Nat tapped you on the shoulder. She pulled you into her side and looped her arm around Penny's, holding you upright as the front door of the Hard Deck opened. A pair of Police officers were dragging Tyler out, still hog-tied and a mess. George was behind them, following them while speaking to another officer.

When you watched the police car containing Tyler in the back seat roll off into the distance, and a tow truck rolled that stupid white piece of machinery away, you finally felt like you could breathe.

Tyler's frightening hold over both you and Sadie was over.

And yet, it wasn’t as much of a relief as it should have been.

---

You wanted to stay away from the Choas unfolding in and around the Hard Deck.

Taking the first chance you could, you escaped when nobody was looking, eventually finding yourself sitting in Penny's chair on the beach.

Less than a year ago, you were sitting in the chair, unaware of what was about to happen to you. You who were desperately trying to get through a book by reading the same page twice. Gawking at a pilot playing Dog fight football who you knew was off limits, trying to get by till the following Saturday night.

Then Ridley's ex came for you and Sadie. You had fallen in love with said pilot. Learned your sister was murdered. Your best friend hurt your feelings. You had gotten your heart broken by said pilot.

You didn't know what was worse, the fact you had seen and experienced all this trauma, or that Ridley's death and abscene were still triumphing over all that.

You jolted when someone placed a blanket around your shoulders.

George Seresin retracted his hands just as quickly as he placed the blanket around you, holding them up in surrender.

You didn't have anything to say to him, choosing to remain stoic as he lowered himself into the sand, sitting with his back in front of the armrest of your chair.

It was a full minute before he finally spoke.

"I need to apologize, Liz."

You scoffed, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. "Apologize for the derogatory display of how you treat women? Or what you said to Jake to make him act the way he did?"

At least this time, George had the decency to look shameful.

"If his words at the dart game weren't any indication, I know you egged him on. He was trying to get you to back off, in his own twisted away.”

"I still need to apologize. For all of it," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "It wasn't my place to do that to the two of you."

"Yours is not the one I need right now," you spat, lifting your feet off the ground and curling into the depths of the chair.

Either one of you spoke for a few minutes after that. George seemed to ponder his thoughts, scanning the horizon but not finding anything. The waves were both loud and quiet, making the world smaller than it actually was.

You couldn't handle it.

"Do you realize the gravity of what you did, George?" you said heatedly, uncurling yourself from the chair and submerging your feet into the sand. "You weren't just egging him on. You were meddling in someone's relationship because your father asked you to."

"Yes, I know."

"Do you know how fucked up that is?"

"Jake doing that grand display with the darts painted a pretty clear picture in my head."

You rolled your eyes. "When was the last time you asked yourself if you were truly happy, George?"

George thought about it for a second before he replied, "When I became the livestock official back home."

"And let me guess, you made that decision all on your own, without any influence from your father?"

He looked down at the sand, grabbing a handful before watching it fall back to the ground. "Kind of. When I got the ranch, it wasn't by choice. But this felt like the first one I could make by myself."

"You just proved everything that Jake said, right."

You huffed, frustration evident. "How do you plan on making up to him?"

George took a deep breath, steadying himself. "By supporting Jake genuinely in whatever he chooses. And by ensuring our father doesn't come between you two again."

Your eyes searched his for any sign of deceit, but all you saw was raw honesty.

"Jake loves you. It's clear as day. Don't let this get between the two of you."

You spat out a laugh, a high-pitchy sound you hoped would tell him you saw right through his bullshit. "Right."

"Liz, he didn't agree with the BS I was spilling to agree with me. Don't hold it against him."

"But he went through with it," you countered. "Even if it was some twisted idea of dealing with all the bullshit you and the rest of your family throw at him save Janet, he still said those things. He still hurt me."

You threw yourself back into your chair instead. "I don't know anymore, George. I don't know what to think anymore."

George dropped his head to his chest, furrowing his brow. "You know, you didn't allow him to explain that day. Or today even."

That made you sit up. "Are you saying I should have?"

"I'm saying," he replied, "Whatever happened to giving someone a chance to know that people care? Even when other people think they don't deserve it?"

"That's different."

Maybe," he nodded. "But something is missing. I think that's only rooted in what other people think, not when they've done something to you."

George's words made your voice catch in your throat.

"Give him a chance to explain, Liz. Just listen to what he has to say. Then make your decision."

Suddenly you were wishing for the asshole from a week ago. Because, deep down, you knew he was right.

"George, I mean this in the nicest way possible. You have potential. Listen to what your brother told you. You can't have your father tell you what to do for the rest of your life."

He glanced down to the sand but tilted his head towards you so you knew he was still listening to what you had to say.

"Ridley and I... My sister... We went through the same thing with our father. And I was so young, I didn't know any better. But she got us out before any more damage could be done. You still can get out. You don't need him in your life."

"Is it wrong for me to want his approval?"

You bit your lip, surprised at his question. "No. He's your father. It's natural you'd want that. But you shouldn't have to change who you are. You shouldn't have to seek his approval when he hasn't been someone worthy of giving it."

George nodded, more to himself than to you, finally managing to mumble, "Jake is lucky to have you in his life. Sadie, too."

Even after everything that happened today, you still gave him a soft smile. "You're not that bad, George,” you said before adding, “When you want to be.”

He shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning upward slightly. "Don't let it get to my head. I might end up like Jake."

You reached over and patted his shoulder. "That wouldn't be a bad thing."

---

George left you a little while ago when an officer sought him out to take a statement. The night air was nipping at your skin, even with the blanket around your shoulders, and yet, you didn’t know how you would sleep after this, the adrenaline spike still showing no signs of slowing down.

You didn’t know what to feel, the myriad of emotions thrown at you over the past week, month, and even year - any one of them would have sufficed. But you couldn’t bring yourself to figure it out. To live through any of them.

You just wanted to get through the rest of the day.

Dragging your feet through the sand, you made your way up the back steps of the Hard Deck’s back patio, shutting the door behind you. Shrugging the blanket off your shoulders, you gently placed it on the pool table, readying yourself to take in the true extent of the damage Tyler had wrought on the place.

The bar was dimly lit, save for the neon flashes of red and blue pulsing through the windows. There were splintered pieces of wood from the broken tables still littering the room, chairs overturned and scattered menus. With shards of glass and the thick smell of alcohol, you hated seeing the bar in such a state.

And in the middle of it all, Jake, sitting on a barstool with his head bowed and his hands resting on his knees. It was a stark image, seeing Jake’s knuckles bloody and bruised, his hair dishevelled. Looking less than himself. Utterly defeated.

It was a moment you weren’t supposed to see. A moment nobody was supposed to see.

And yet…

He didn’t hear your footsteps as you went behind the bar to grab a clean cloth, nor did he hear you take a metal bowl from under the sink and fill it with water. Or the ruckus as you fought with the first aid box.

It was only when you reached for one of his hands, having come to stand in front of him to run that cloth over his skin, that he jolted out of whatever stupor he had found himself in.

“Liz, I…”

You shook your head, shushing him. “Not now, Jake. Not tonight.”

He let you clean the blood from his hands. Let you dab at the split skin surrounding his knuckles. He was stiff as you worked, eyes tracking your every movement, from how you delicately held the bottom of his hand to watching you ring the cloth over the bowl. The water had already turned red by the second time you’d cleaned the fabric.

You reached for some antiseptic from the first aid kit, tilting the bottle forward as your finger held the cotton swab in place. Jake hissed when you placed the soaked cotton swab on his raw skin, his other hand shooting out quickly to grip your wrist tight.

His touch did feel like Sandpaper. But it wasn't as coarse, not as rough as you made yourself believe. You halted your fingers, the cotton swab falling to the floor at the shock of his touch.

“Sorry,” a quiet murmur on your lips. Jake eye’s darkened, a flicker of something passing through. He loosened his grip on your wrist but didn’t let go, letting his fingers slide loosely down to your wrist. You followed his touch, watching as careful fingers caressed the palm of your hand.

"You don't have to do this, Liz," he stated, his voice rough.

"Yes, I do," you replied softly, keeping your eyes fixated on his hand. "Someone has to. You certainly won’t."

"You're always caring for me."

You reached with your free hand for another cotton swab, but Jake stopped you, meeting your hand with his. He brought it down, and you let him pull you gently into the space between his legs.

"Do I deserve it?" He whispered, playing with your fingers. "Especially from you."

You swallowed hard. "That's up to you. But I can’t stand by and watch you be hurt."

You finally gathered the courage to look up at his face. It was a miracle Tyler didn’t do much damage other than a slight bruise along his forehead.

“Otherwise, you’ll go crazy,” he remarked, recalling when Sadie was in the hospital. "Even when I've hurt you."

"Jake..." his name a quiet plead on your lips.

He let his hands glide up your wrists to your forearms, the air between the two of you heated as he leaned forward, hooded gaze intent on your lips.

"If not tonight, when?" he whispered.

Your foreheads met, you more than him, allowing yourself to press your weight against his skin. The two of you came together like this, a series of almost kisses and burning moments that left the two of you wanting more.

Except that was when you thought you couldn't have him when everyone was screaming at you not to get involved with him.

You're not sure what it is now. Because the person who swore so long ago never to let Jake be in a position where he could break your heart was crawling out from the depths, insisting you push him away and run for the hills.

But Jake's breath, mixing with yours, lulled you into his gentle pull, hands tugging you into him as you felt him lightly graze your lips with his.

What would it be like to memorize the touch of his lips one last time?

Penny’s voice startled the two of you, making the both of you jolt back and away from each other.

"Come on, all this wait till tomorrow."

Whether she was referring to the mess in the bar or your relationship, you couldn't tell.

You cleaned up the first aid supplies as Jake switched holding an ice bag you gave him between his hands and face. Penny locked up the bar behind the pair of you once you finished, always standing between you and Jake.

He followed the both of you hesitantly into the parking lot, unsure what he could say or do.

At the last second, you turned. You looked up at him, really looked at him for the first time since you yelled at him that day in the Hard Deck, a quiet mummer and a sad smile on your lips as you said, "Thank you, Jake."

Then, with Penny guiding you with a hand around your shoulders, you left towards your car, keys in her hand.

He could only watch every step you took, watching as the distance between the pair of you grew, left wondering if there was still hope for him to make things up to you after all.

Tag list: (I think I'm missing a few people, so if you want to be tagged, please let me know!)

@blue-aconite @tinytotontheoversizedpony @djs8891 @caitsymichelle13 @startrekfangirl2233

@mayhemmanaged @ereardon @dempy @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @daggerspare-standingby

@phantomxoxo @formulapierre @eli2447 @fulla02 @blckgrl-sunflower @mizzzpink @ohgodnotagainn

@bubblegumbeautyqueen @sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @lynnestra44 @memoriesat30 @penwieldingdreamer @mxlanciia

@bradleybeachbabe @bobby-r2d2-floyd @lavenderbradshaw @roosters-girl @lovinglyeternal @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @dakotakazansky @

@keyrani @craftytrashprincess @hisredheadedgoddess28 @abzidabzy @memeorydotcom @vicsnook @taestrwbrry

-Wickett ;)

Part 18 - Sapling is in-process

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cairavende · 1 year

Text

Worm Arc 9 thoughts:

Not enough of my daughter. Where is my baby girl? Though I do enjoy getting different PoVs. It'll work for a little bit.

Weld is neat. Didn't feel great about him at first but he grew on me. His scene with Vista made me love him. He's a good kid. (He should probably have learned Aegis, Gallant, and Browbeat's names before talking to the team the first time though)

On the note of that scene - THEY HAD A THERAPIST THIS ENTIRE TIME? The Wards had a therapist available to them and no one was having them see said therapist after 3 of their teammates died? Piggot is so bad at this.

Me reading Flechette's chapter with the aim of making her gay as I have done with everyone else: "Oh wow this is a really easy one!"

I wanted to see more of Parian sooo badly after I first saw her and I'm so fucking glad this is how I see her! Flechette and Parian are wonderful and I hope they get gay married and retire together.

Me saying that probably highly increases the chance that one of them dies in the future.

I'm very glad Flechette gave up on Shadow Stalker. I like Flechette and she shouldn't have to deal with that asshole.

I feel so bad for Clockblocker. He's just a kid and his dad is dying and that sucks. I wanna bake him some cookies or something.

The professor of that class was so clearly identifiable as "one of those professors". All "up until now you haven't had to think, but in Parahumans 103 you'll need to think and I'm not gonna baby you yada yada". It's still just a 100 level course dude, geeze. Get off your high horse.

Clockblocker and Vista are siblings and I love their dynamic.

Despite me feeling for these kids some, the second the Travelers started clowning on them I was enjoying the shit out of myself.

Fucking Trickster is just so much damn fun. His powers are cool and he really lives up to his name. I love him.

Glory Girl getting rocketed off into the sky by Ballistic had me in tears from laughter.

Kid Win has ADHD. I was sure Kid Win had ADHD before I even started on the Kid Win chapter where he says he has ADHD. Someone get this kid some Adderall. And some therapy for all that self doubt and imposter syndrome.

Kid Win also didn't even hesitate to illegally spy on Chariots personal computer by hacking into the wi-fi, so that doesn't give me great confidence in the Wards following rules. Or any heroes. I'm sure that won't ever come up again though.

These Slaughter House Nine guys I'm sure won't be a big deal. They won't do horrible things to hundreds of people. Gonna be taken care of by heroes off screen during the next arc. No worries at all!

Vista joined the team when she was 10? The superhero team that has to deal with death on a semi-regular basis and terrifying violence all the time. That team. She joined it when she was TEN?! Shitty system you guys have here!

Saved the best for last - SHADOW STALKER GETTING FUCKING MEMED ON BY MY WONDERFUL DAUGHTER! (And my daughters friends)

God I wasn't sure about her chapter at first. She is so mean and I didn't necessarily want to spend a long time in her head watching her be mean. But then my daughter showed up in a swarm of bugs and fucked up a bunch of Nazis and I knew everything was going to be ok.

The instant Shadow Stalker started to follow Skitter I knew she was gonna get fucking wrecked. I don't know why I knew, maybe I just know my daughter well enough. But no matter the reason I was so happy to watch it happen. Wasn't worried for Skitter at any moment cause I knew she was gonna bitch slap this asshole.

Just. Damn I fucking LOVE watching my daughter just be a goddess of bugs and go to town.

I could keep going about Shadow Stalker getting absolutely destroyed for who knows how long, so I'll just have to stop myself.

And we see a new person with the Undersiders, did Aisha get her powers? I'm so happy for her! I can't wait to see what they are.

Imp is a great name and it's kinda fucking bonkers it wasn't taken by somebody else already.

Did I mention Shadow Stalker getting clowned?

Cause she did.

Just completely baited and then my wonderful baby girl even got to tase her. I'm so happy for her. Sometimes a little violence is the answer.

#Worm #Worm Web Serial #Parahumans #Cairavende reads Worm #The Wards #Vista is baby #Flechette and Parian are always going to live a happy gay life in my head no matter what actually happens #Parian is too pure for this world #Shadow Stalker getting taken to FUCKING CLOWN TOWN #I love my wonderful bug daughter so much #Seriously though how bad can a group of villains call The Slaughterhouse Nine actually be?

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ditizygirl · 2 months

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omg forgive me for using your askbox as a dumping ground for my rant but you're one of very few people with common sense so I'm sending it in anyways feel free to ignore or delete 🫶

as someone who's been in the mogai community for three whole tiresome years and who has also been heavily involved in communities which literally engage in child exploitation (as a victim LOL I gotta clarify 😭😭) there's a lot of overlap even if some people refuse to admit it

like is it emiko rei asano from the real hit show I Dressed Up As A Drop-dead Gorgeous Model for a Day and My Entire Class Fell In Love With Me?!?!'s fault that predators would decide to target them for their typing quirks and the way they present themselves? no, absolutely not, and it never will be. but is it still relatively their responsibility to make sure that what they're doing doesn't genuinely border on ageplay? yeah, I would say so, because if as many of them are involved in sfw age regression as they claim they should know what's commonly in those sfw communities and what's typically only limited to ageplay—yet they don't.

if you dance around in a landmine field, eventually something is going to explode.

a really common tactic used by child predators which I'm gonna like explain super briefly and avoid giving too much info abt is that they expose people to explicit things under the guise of it still being sfw, and gradually move on from there. if you are a predator and you are entering the editblr community all you need to do is scroll through an anime list, pick one, pick some shitty dividers from canva to slap onto a character and add a psd coloring to it. it isn't that difficult to talk in third person ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡, it isn't that difficult for your one and only idol to start dming u abt how cool && awesome ur work is and how they wanna get 2 know u better ^–^ none of this s××t is difficult to replicate xD

and I'm not saying it's their fault if a predator comes up to them. but I am saying that editblr puts a large focus onto fake personas that everyone holds up no matter what, and a lot of them are all-knowing goddesses who are meant to fear nothing—so what happens when you mix that with someone who knows how to use that to their advantage? an explosion.

I'm not gonna sit here and claim that everyone on editblr is pedobaiting or predators because most of them are lonely afabs with no irl friends looking for a safe community they can reside in and be seen as cool. and that's fine. but when you worship a 15 year old and treat their work as if it's the greatest thing to ever touch the tags.. that is going to cause issues. that could potentially cause disorders, or at least traits of disorders which cannot be "fixed" or "cured", for lack of a better word, without a fair bit of therapy.

teenagers are easy to manipulate. lonely teenagers who don't get attention from anyone other than one community are the easiest, because they'll go all the way to get what they want. and when they go too far, get ostracized from the community and end up alone again.. it opens up more opportunities.

I wholeheartedly believe that the emphasis on the personas, the layouts, the typing quirks, the aesthetics and the most important aspect everyone tries to live up to, perfection, will cause the downfall of the community.

I do also think it's funny that everyone is caught up on the dyslexia thing considering half the people in this community are faking disorders and saying slurs they can't reclaim just because nobody will question them for fear of being attacked but uhm that's a different personal topic !! btw for a group all abt acceptance they certainly do hate it when people aren't white or "japanese" (you know fully well why that's in quotes) .. lol .. kinda funny how that works !

#not adding onto this as its helping me write a post on the same topic

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ateerys-punctuationpanic · 7 months

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Untitled Loumand -> PRACTICE

Was driving home yesterday, which is a super long commute. So I use that time to beat myself up about how I behaved during the day, mostly obsessing over my socials skills and lack thereof. Anyway, a student died in a fire so I was deployed as a crisis team coordinator to respond. Anyway, I got through the shitty day and wanted nothing more than to think about my comfort gays.

So of course, I thought about Louis and Armand and the trouble I'm having with that previously untitled Loumand fic that I've now decided to call PRACTICE.

About Louis. I think of him similarly to a functioning alcoholic. He has his vices and addictions, namely scary, powerful men who should love him more than they love their desire for him. But they don't. In their pursuit of him, they destroy him. Will I characterize that in the fic? Probably not because I'm ultimately a fluff writer that accepts I'm not writing about fluff characters. But that's in my spirit. I don't know what to do with it but it's there.

What I am focusing on in this fic is an analysis of Louis as someone I can never see going to therapy. But I think, or I imagine, his relationship with Armand is the closest thing to therapy he'll ever get. And here's why. In the book, Louis is seeking information from Armand about who he is and how he should approach the world given the implications of self (psycho-education). He also highly values Armand's ability and willingness to listen to him. (affective expression and regulation). Not to just hear him but to listen, which are different. Related, in the show, he was impressed with (among other things) Lestat's ability to see him. Anyway, clearly that wasn't enough to heal him (see again; not loving him more than desiring him).

This all led me to do some research into trauma-informed counseling, which is something I already have to know for my job and I've already had some training. But I've paid more attention to it for this fic than I ever have for work and that's CRAZY AF. Like I wanna submit this fic as my DP (Deliberate Practice - a competency I have to demonstrate for my annual evaluation, which leads to MORE MONEY. A bish is getting a 9.7% raise omg like I NEED it. But my bosses are not about to rate me as highly effective over this snark and smut [hopefully]).

Anyway, I don't know how the fic will end but Armand is about to make Louis do that Donald Trump face:

It's going to be my modern adaptation of the second season 2 trailer conversation they have outside of the murder mansion. I've transcribed it, I have all the points I need them to hit, everything Armand says and Louis' reaction.

While Louis was thinking with his HOLE, Armand was thinking about how Louis has something to hide. Some ... trauma? And he's like well, I'm gonna HELP you. And I'm thinking I can work something out along those lines. I know it's gonna satisfy me but I have no idea if anyone else will enjoy it. Since this is my 2nd post about it, even from this account, I think it's too late to post it anonymously and never think about it again.

#punctuation panic meta #punctuation panic on ao3 #trying to write and have a plan but also what is writing and why do i do it #not to mention the abject fear of sharing creations because i can't predict its reception #and why try if ppl may hate it and be mean #but a bitch has never been scared or has and never let it stop me #still i rise

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onesaltysir · 2 years

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IF I SEE ONE MORE POST ABOUT HOGWARTS LEGACY I SWEAR TO GOD

Cancel culture doesn't work. It doesn't. We've gone from "Hey please don't be an asshole" to "YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE SO WE'RE ALL GOING TO BE ASSHOLES" like all cancel culture does is create more assholes.

JK Rowling is a terrible person. We get it. Can we move on please?

She's not getting any royalties from Hogwarts Legacy. The game devs don't agree with her views and are trying to prove that again and again. You guys can't even call it Hogwarts Legacy, like you have to call it 'that wizard game' like shut up??? There was a literal website where people could track whether or not twitch streamers had played HL, then proceed to harass those streamers to the point where they shut down.

I do NOT agree with JK Rowling's statements. I don't. She's horrible and needs to seek some therapy or something. However you really need to separate the art from the artist, especially if said artist isn't getting any royalties.

Like "oh no you streamed the magic school game, you're transphobic and antisemitic and it'd be better if you'd keel over dead" like stop! Trans people aren't going to feel unsafe around someone just because they played a game!

Harry Potter (Frankly that whole universe really) raised me. It has been a comfort for me when I have had nothing else. When my parents refused to show me any kindness, the next best thing was to feel secondhand kindness from this franchise. I'm serious, I have one friend who's stuck around since the beginning. No one else has proven I can count on them. When you have one friend, and it's hard to make more, your best bet is relying on the comforts that have never once let you down.

Time and time again I can always turn to the wizarding world if I feel an oncoming panic attack, meltdown, episode, whatever you want to call it. I don't give a flying fuck about Rowling, I just prefer to calm down pretending I'm in a world where people actually give a damn, instead of having to try and remain calm and controlled in a chaotic environment where the only real structure is birth, suffering, and then death. How privileged you must be if you have the time and energy to rip the one comfort people have from them.

I don't see people going after One Piece, BNHA, etc. Those are also fictional worlds with shitty creators. How is the Wizarding World any different?

Separate the art from the artist, let people seek comfort in the world that accepted them when they had nothing, and literally shut the fuck up. You can hate me, you can call me antisemitic, you can call me homophobic or transphobic, I really don't care. If you don't give a fuck about me, why should I give a fuck about you lmfao?

How sad must your life be, that you feel entitled to rip comfort away from others.

#salty speaks #hogwarts legacy #I'm so done #transphobia #I'm literally gay and autistic and feel nothing towards harry potter fans #jk rowling #cancel culture #get over yourselves lmao #fuck you all

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hard--headed--woman · 9 months

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i feel kinda messed up rn bc before i got with my ex i had been convinced by the trans community that i was nonbinary and went by them/them for ages.

but my ex was a conservative controlling male basically and started calling me by she/her and my deadname even while i was telling him not too. (but obviously not for radfem reasons lol) eventually during the relationship i got into radfem theory and it was ur post about why a lot of women identify as nonbinary that actually started me thinking about it and i realised it pretty much described exactly me.

issue is, because my ex was so controlling and a lot of people would probably classify him as absuive, i still hate being called by she/her and my 'deadname' by anyone i know. now i just associate it with a control tactic and a way to make me feel shitty. on the other hand, i feel like im betraying my own beliefs and that i should try find a way to reconnect with those identifiers, but bc the wound is so fresh rn it was a far from easy

sorry that this is so long, i'm just kinda wondering if u have any advice, and i've just been considering how many other women probably try to identify out of being female because of trauma related reasons.

Hey, I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me about it! I hope I will be able to help you a little bit!

First of all, please don't feel guilty for not liking being called by your "deadname" or referred to as "she/her". You've identified as non binary for ages, so you got used to it, and because of the abusive relationship you went through (sorry for that by the way, it's terrible and I hope you're doing better), this name and these pronouns remind you of your traumas, of the abuse you suffered, and make you feel bad. This is normal, you're not betraying any beliefs or any cause, it's is a human reaction and you're not doing anything wrong. I think most radfems would agree with me on that. No one can blame you so don't blame yourself.

Before anything else, I'll say that if you really can't hear that name and these pronouns, no matter how hard you try, don't force yourself. Maybe it's not what I should say but at the end of the day, if you try for a long time to accept this name and the female pronouns, and it doesn't work, no one would blame you for deciding to keep using your "new" name (or picking another one) and the they/them pronouns.

Now about your problem in itself. Well it might sound obvious but the best way to reconcile yourself with your name and female pronouns is to heal from your traumas due to this shitty relationship. Talk about it, for example to your friends or family, tell them how you feel, go out, focus on your hobbies and the things you like, meet new people if you feel like it, go to therapy if it helps, find a way to express your feelings... Do everything you need to do to feel better and move on. Step by step. It might take some time but you'll get there!

Same for your name and your pronouns. Do it step by step. Use them for yourself in your head first, or in writing. Try a diminutive of your "deadname" first, or going back to the full name again. Ask just one person to use she/her for you first, so you can get used to it again, and then ask more people to do the same thing. Talk with people who never had to call you they/them or by your other name, they will call you she/her and use your "deadname", it might help you a bit. In your head, try to distance this name and these pronouns from the abuse in itself, try to associate it with beautiful things and memories, or with your beliefs (like, "letting peoole use this name for me would be a feminist act", etc...). Step by step! I am sure you'll get there <3

As you said, the wounds are still fresh, it's normal that you need time. It will perhaps take some time but you will heal and you'll be able to hear your name and pronouns again, I know it. There's no hurry! Take your time. It's already amazing of you to learn radfem beliefs and become gender critical after years of identifying as non binary (and I am proud to have played a role in this haha!).

Have a good day and feel free to send me another ask/to dm me if you need/want <3

#asks #anon #nonbinary #abusive relationships

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blooming-violets · 1 year

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I don't want you to think I'm critical of dancing on her own OK maybe I am but I'm not here to .....make your day worse just give my own two cents I'm glad that peter gets therapy and I'm glad you mention peter is extremely young during all of this it makes me a little bit more empathetic to see his side of the matter and while it's wonderful that our lady character is capable to forgive him despite all this shit he put her through I still don't think she should be romantically involved with him like ever it not that he doesn't deserve her and bla bla (though that is also a very valid point) it not healthy for either of them she has seen him as an escape from her abusive childhood and clung on to the one thing she sees as normal it's quite similar for him to keep her with him because of his abandonment issues maybe there is quite strong love there but is it strong enough to take away the fact that they both view each other as coping mechanisms ? Im also much more optimistic and I like to think if anyone was in th place of the oc would've cut out peter along time ago which is what I wanted for them to go on healing parts separately from one another and find themselves and each other along the way again that's what is my hc for this actually that she views Gabe as the last starw forces him to move out And gets the fuck away from this man whose cut her of from so fucking much just cause he can't stand to have someone else in her life that's so so shitty but then I'm not her I don't even know how I would react if I was put in this situation humans are so weird in this way we are all wired differently while we like to think we want to do something some way we might do the opposite I guess I'm one of those people who like the "but this is the right way to go about things" ending rather than gray ending that don't satisfy me but that's my problem maybe that's what makes this fic so good for me it forces me to confront how I feel about morally Gray characters and complex situations rather than conforming to this good Black and white ending we have something Strange though it is also happy ending just not the one I agree with so yeah....the point of all this is youre a great writer thanks for writing this and I hope peter gets all the therapy he can lives with knowing that he's a very very lucky man cause I would've kicked him out a long time ago. I'm going to go ahead of believing that they never ended up together romantically

Hahaha this made me chuckle because I thought I was bad at rambling, run-on sentences with zero punctuation but I think you have me beat! I need to go reread this line by line because it's so much and I love it. And I'm glad you have your own opinions on it! That's what makes writing fun to me is seeing everyone's different takes and sides and who identifies best with what part. I love discussing my work and other people's work that I love in detail. Sometimes I think too many people just throw out a "this was good!" and then bounce. I want to talk about stuff and hear people's deeper thoughts. Esp for a fic like this, I knew it would potentially be divisive.

When I write, the characters sort of are their own people and I'm just their puppet for them to put their stories on the page. I don't know how else to describe it but I have such a clear picture of who they are, what they do, and why they're doing it that they become their own little entity chillin up in my brain. So when I write, I can say "How would x react to y?" And then they sort of take over from there.

For this particular story, I had two very broken, traumatized people. You hit it perfect by saying they were each other's coping mechanism. She has literally never had another friend in her entire life besides Peter. That is not healthy! None of this relationship is healthy. It starts off with Peter protecting her from bullies, the first and only person in her life to ever stand up for her, so she basically imprints on him as her savior. She views him through rose colored glasses. Even when he's horrible to her, when she looks at him, she only sees that scrappy little boy from the first grade beating her bullies with a stick. She can't separate that image of Peter from the man he's grown up to be.

Peter, on the other hand, is so psychologically broken that he's just as bad (actually, he's worse). He's torn between wanting to always save her but not being able to know how/being too scared of failing/her actually not needing him. He doesn't know how to navigate being a super hero and the deaths that come with that and how to keep up healthy relations. You are absolutely right when you say it's not healthy! It's very much not. His depression also lead him down the path of becoming hardened, bitter, and mean. He emotions are frozen up still.

What's funny is that I don't actually view the ending as happy. It feels almost bittersweet to me. She had been waiting her whole life for Peter to love her how she wants. This is the first time he's expressed that out loud to her. She's been waiting for that kiss for so long that I don't think anything else mattered to her in that moment. She's blinded by her childhood dreams. Peter is blinded by his fear of losing her.

Technically this isn't the "end" also. I mean, it's the end of me writing the story but they would still live on in the fictional universe. I do think that she would lose her virginity to him eventually and I do think he would be really sweet about it. But as for them working out long term, I really don't know. The thing about therapy is that it slowly unveils stuff about yourself that you didn't realize over time. (I also don't think a therapist would encourage this relationship, both hers and his, I think they would tell them to hold off on it). I doubt they will listen, though, because I know these characters. They are going to try before they are ready. They are going to try to force things and I don't exactly see the best outcome for them.

For the ending, it's not exactly happy or a finality of what they will be. It's meant to be hopeful and nudged into the direction of healing but that's where it ends.

The rest is to up to you, my love! Envision their messy attempts at a relationship to fail. Envision her striking up a conversation with Gabe a year into the future and him inviting out to movie. Technically anything that happens after they go back home is up to the reader! It's out of my hands!

Final points because I've rambled far too long, the story wasn't meant to be about what is right but what would happen if you put two messy, traumatized humans together and forced them into different situations. They wouldn't make the right choices because they've never been taught anything different. All she's ever known is Peter so, therefore, all she's ever going to chose is Peter...until she works on that in therapy and, hopefully, finds her own self again and learns how to live without her crutch. For now, they recognize their love for the other, whatever form that takes and, for now, that will have to do because they don't know any other way of living. Bittersweet! Not happy.

Thank you for this ask though. It made me happy that someone could even care enough to feel anger on behalf of a character I wrote and want justice for them. All I want is for people to love the creatures in my head as much as I do.

#asks

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traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors · 2 years

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Hi, this is a very distant problem since I haven't found a therapist by now but I am already afraid that I will overrate our relationship. That's probably the most abused-kid thing but when there's an adult listening to me, being nice to me, I always wish for them to adopt me. I would never tell them or behave different than a patient with better boundaries. When I talked to therapist in the past, when I was in hospital, I hated them talking about their family, having pictures of their kids standing around because I don't want to be reminded, that the person I tell the deepest trauma of my past, forgets me once they leave the door. Of course they don't actually do that, but I am a patient for them, their job. While I imagine a life as their adoptive daughter. That sounds so shitty, I want to clarify again that I would never cross any boundaries. I am very sure none of my therapist knew of that issue. It is all just daydreaming.

Because of my trust issues I need someone that I can really "vibe with" and can't just go to a therapist that I feel neutral about.

I want to start therapy with a plan to not let my therapist get "too close" to me. Because 1. I am ashamed to ask them about the issue at one point and 2 I think it'll be easier if I do it "right" from the start on than to "let go" at some point.

Hi anon,

So it sounds like when an adult expresses interest or care in you, you might experience a sort of transference where you almost want them to become your parent, and perhaps you wish that a parental figure in your life expressed that level of interest in you. Alternatively, you may also have some trust issues that make it hard for you to want to feel close to a potential therapist. Additionally, you might feel envy when you see functional family dynamics, as it's only a reminder of what you may feel you don't have.

Consider that a therapist is there to help you make sense of what's going on in your world, and give you the opportunity to figure out what to do. I think that a therapist could be able to help you work on these feelings, and I know it can be challenging to feel comfortable being open with them about such vulnerable things, but unless your feelings interfere with your therapy (which it doesn't sound like it would since you say you would never cross any boundaries), it should be fine to bring up.

I also just want to say that, at least in my experience with therapy (and I've seen maybe 3-4 therapists in total now) I always felt a mutual personal connection with my therapists. Maybe I just got lucky, but at least in my experience I always felt that my therapists didn't necessarily forget about me after we left the room. One of the things is that therapists usually keep case notes to keep track of what you've shared and what you've worked on in therapy. Another thing is that therapists (generally speaking) do genuinely care about their clients, that's usually the primary reason why they become therapists - because they care about getting to know people and their mental health, and helping them through their problems. Especially having experiences where my therapists have expressed their admiration of my bravery, courage, and intelligence, it helps you feel noticed. I wish those experiences for you.

It can be hard to even seek out therapy, let alone allow yourself to be vulnerable with a therapist. But just know that therapy is not only there to help you, but it is there to help you so long as you are willing. We all resist therapy in different ways, and that's normal. But as long as you are willing to work through them and understand yourself a bit more, that's really what therapy is all about. It's an awfully risky thing to live, and so nothing is without risk, but with risk (in this case, trusting a therapist) comes reward.

I wish you the best of luck in finding the right therapist, and I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

#mod bun #trauma talks #abuse #child abuse #trauma details

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maukuja · 1 month

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I went to see a doctor via occupational healthcare today to get a referral to neuropsych on the public side and that was Not Nice. The doctor seemed reluctant to write it and seemed like she didn't really believe me that I need that stuff. Which like, yeah I get that, I'm having a good patch right now and don't actively want to end it, but it will right back to that when this patch ends. The lines to even get to see anyone on the public side are long, so it's better to try to get an appointment now than later when I'm in the pits.

She also pointed out that I did finish my Master's degree on time which like, yeah, why do you think my mental health is shit? You go do a master's in Physics and then tell me how well your mental health made it through that. I've always had good grades, both in school and in 'I don't want to live anymore, actually', those are not mutually exclusive. I know it might be hard to believe if you've only seen typical depression cases, but my doctor in shitty healthcare, you are writing the referral precisely because my mental health problems are stupidly nuanced and complicated. I fucking wish it was just depression and not some combination of bpd, bd and autism that makes me have depression as a symptom of those issues. Two different psychiatrists, internet therapy for depression and five visits to a psychologist, and we barely know what might maybe be the problem! All of those conditions overlap in symptoms to some degree and I don't have a clear-cut case of any of those!

She did write me the referral, but she did also make it clear that she's not sure that they will actually accept it, since I'm not doing bad enough and it's coming from the private sector. I know she can't lie there about the severity of the issues, but like, man. I've been suicidal since I was twelve. It's a miracle that I'm even still here. You don't think that warrants getting help? Even if right now it's a good patch? You think that maybe I'm actually fine now, despite it being this same loop of fine-suicidal-fine-suicidal for twelve fucking years?

It was already such a struggle to make myself try to get help for these issues because funnily enough, I actually triggered some intervention from the school welfare officer based on my answers in a depression screening in like 8th grade. They talked to me and discussed stuff with me and then told me that well, you already are doing all the things I could teach you to do, so I can't really help you. Which was super cool because I still was really depressed and suicidal. Very nice to hear that you're already doing everything right that you should do to not want to kill yourself, yet you still do. It took me ten years to try to get any help from healthcare because I was so scared that I'd have to hear that again.

This is not even for me to get help with that stuff either. It's just to get some sort of diagnosis on what is going on with my head so that they can have some clue how to treat the problems. I was looking to get therapy, but it doesn't really make sense to get therapy if they don't know what they are treating, so they won't write a referral to that. I need to get a referral to be diagnosed so that I can get a referral to therapy so that it won't cost an arm and a leg to get therapy. And to get that I have to go to the doctor and have her look at me frowning and not understanding. Looking at me like I'm fine and just lazy or something.

Realistically, this just how the situation seems to me. The doctor was probably frowning just because she had to make sense of a lot of text from all those psychiatrists and the psychologist and figure out how to write the best referral, regardless of how much she believed me. I just wish she'd had a more friendly and understanding approach to me as a patient. I wish I could have left there feeling like there is now actually a chance for me to get the diagnoses I need and then the help. I just feel tired and upset now, and I will feel so much more shit and so hopeless when the rough patch eventually hits.

#it's just a rant about going to the doctor and the experience being kinda shit #under cut bc it got long and it handles mental health stuff #and it also gets heavy. don't read if you're in a good mood and want to stay in a good mood this is probably upsetting/depressing to read #gonna go eat cookies and procrastinate on work and luch #FUCK I DIDN'T DO THE CUT RIGHT SHIT IS IT FIXED NOW

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haelsage · 2 months

Text

ALL of IT

Fuck your comments behind my back. I don't actually think I'm all that; I'm not confident at all. Whatever you think you see is my defense mechanism against my own thoughts tearing me down, all day long. I don't need your criticism on top of it. I've had enough in the past and it's something I'm working on overcoming = realizing I'm actually worth something.

Fuck your judgements of me when you have no idea how or why I ended up in this house anyway. If I could have afforded a place that was away from people, I would have stayed where I was. Duh. Fucking DUH! I chose a place (within my budget) with a bigger yard for a reason. You have no business telling me what I should have done if you know nothing about my past. Your shitty assumptions are invalid. And my animals are the reason I'm alive now after what I went through, so re-homing any of them will not be an option, even temporarily.

Fuck your easy solutions, that actually cause other problems, when I have enough just like everyone else. I've been dealing with the "sound" issue for over 20 years; do you really think I haven't thought of headphones? In fact, that was my first defense strategy 25 years ago. I currently have 3 different pairs, and they cost money I don't fucking have. They also make it difficult to have a conversation with my boyfriend or his kids. I can't hear my animals if they're in trouble or need something. That's right, I DON'T LIVE ALONE. And I risk getting an ear infection on hot days because the sweat accumulation causes a breeding ground for bacteria to grow. Yuck. I've got ear plugs too, and again, I can't hear conversations. I've got fancy ones, shitty ones, and some in between. Soft, foamy ones don't block out the sounds I need them to, others hurt after a couple hours. Custom earplugs require an appointment that my insurance only covers so much of + price of actual earplug when it comes in = more money I don't have. So I suffer through with what I've got. I mean, it's SO convenient switching between types of ear protection all day long when I'm home. And I LOVE not being able to have important discussions with my partner. Ear protection doesn't provide limitations AT ALL. I don't want to have to live the rest of my life this way, you know. Not to mention the headaches that wearing constant ear protection causes.

Fuck your "take them off once in a while." If I do that, the anxiety itself sets in and I'm constantly on guard. Which triggers a whole other set of issues that I've gone through extensive therapy to resolve. So I'm stuck in a "pick Your battle" situation, which does not help the small progress I made on other aspects of my "horribleness."

Fuck your white noise. Fans going at all times also runs up my electric bill = more money I don't have. And the loudness at which I have them makes it difficult to have a phone conversation with doctors and staff. Because that fan needs to be next to me at all times, if I can manage not to wear ear protection. So I try to fit this into my lunch break at work, but 30 minutes isn't long enough to accomplish anything when I'm on hold for 20 minutes first, then have to get redirected anyway; because you can't just call the doctor. Such an effective strategy to make the necessary phone calls to keep things rolling.

Fuck your "find a quiet location after work to make those phone calls." I have to get home and let my dog outside. I purposely make my appointments for an hour after I'm done with work, so I have time to let her out. My partner doesn't get home until almost 4pm, so that's almost 12 hours. And I'm not letting anyone else in my house to do this for me. Fuck that.

And fuck the doctors who ignore me until I threaten suicide. Fuck the doctors who keep denying me the help I need because the test results are inconclusive or I "can't handle the noise of an MRI machine." Even though I'll be prepared for it and already know those noises aren't a threat. Or because this problem just isn't debilitating, because I can still go to work.

The fuck it's not. Work is the only place I feel safe from having a panic attack. When I'm home, I'm afraid to do anything. If I can manage to find a spot in my house where outside noises don't reach me, I don't leave that spot. I'm afraid to move away from it in order to clean, do laundry, make dinner, or even take a fucking shower. Because the running water doesn't drown it out either. I've changed my entire routine so that I can shower when there is less going on outside; which causes me to forget other things like feed the dog or pack my lunch, get dinner out for the next day, get the mail, pay a bill on time. The list goes on.

Fuck your "those things just aren't as important then." I've completely changed who I am so that the neighborhood can carry on with their convenience while I sacrifice the majority of my own. My accommodation is causing other stress in my life. Side note for those who have a nice basement: mine is a dirt floor; not a comfortable place to hide for hours at a time. Which would also prevent me from getting necessary tasks done around the house, or heaven forbid, coming upstairs out of my safe zone to eat a damn meal. But thanks for the tip. I'm just stupid little Leah with no real responsibilities or basic needs.

Fuck your "just have the man do it." He has his own health issues that are none of your business. No, I can't just make him do everything. And that's shitty anyway because we're a team: we agree that there's no such thing as one person does everything in this household. We pick up the slack when the other doesn't have enough energy. To have one person pick up all the slack is shitty. Sorry, but neither of us were raised that way.

So Fuck having to leave my house all day long on weekends just to escape. So my home is supposed to just be somewhere I can hopefully sleep? How fucking stupid to be paying this mortgage for just a bed. I have animals to take care of, and a partner that also lives in the house I own, in my name. I still have to wash my clothes and shower. And I'm not hiring someone to mow my lawn and take care of my yard (with money I don't have) while my boyfriend is home doing everything else because I just can't be at home. How fucking stupid?

Fuck having to leave my house after 8 pm, just to get a break from wearing the damn headphones. I wake up at 4:30 am for work. Leaving my house until the outside noise calms down (10pm, hopefully) is the last thing I want to be doing at that time of night. Or taking my dog to the park so she can poop without me having to stand outside my house hoping nothing triggers a panic attack. Take a nap? Didn't I mention that I DO have responsibilities?

Fuck your "I understand" bullshit. No you don't. You have no idea what I'm feeling. As far as my brain is concerned, I'm only trying to defend myself against an assault. The "noise" is not in my ears; it's in the center of my head. When someone is playing music or bouncing a basketball (that one actually causes severe twitching) all I can feel is the thumping. Yes I say feel, because for some dumb reason these sounds actually skip the auditory process. Once the noise is happening, I don't hear it, I only FEEL it. Like someone is kicking the other side of a wall against my forehead, or punching me in the side of my face; except I'm not allowed to tell the person to stop. The sound sends my brain a message that I'm physically being attacked; my instinct is to fight back, which causes a panic attack because I can't.

Fuck the people who keep telling me that this needs to stay hidden. I belong to a support group full of people with similar symptoms and they're also having trouble getting help and finding relief because there hasn't been enough opportunity to research something like this. I've explained my symptoms to an audiologist and multiple therapists and they're all at a loss because no one knows what this is. I can't even get this defined because of the lack of research. If it stays hidden, how do we get more information? How do other people get help? I FINALLY found a doctor who suggested this might be neurological. What a light bulb moment. But again, denial after denial, after denial.

And fuck the therapists who tell me to just keep trying the same strategies that obviously aren't working. Other noises that used to bother me? Mostly taken care of. But not the ones that skip the auditory process and all the filters of it. This is beyond a sound issue; it's a message misfiring issue, and they have no idea how to help me combat it. It's not Misophonia or Tinitus. They can't even find a word for it. But the doctors who might be able to just keep dismissing me. An MRI might show where the misfire is happening but there "isn't enough evidence" that I need one.

Fuck your "stop making excuses." I AM spending money I don't have on these safeguards, strategies, coping methods, therapies, tests, etc. I have the medical debt to prove it, and I don't get breaks. I have looked into programs and what insurance covers is a disgustingly large gray area when I can't get a real diagnosis to get accepted in the first place. All this searching for answers, that no one seems interested in helping me find, piles up a mountain of debt in a hurry, that is quickly becoming unmanageable. So let's add another stressor to the equation. As my budget gets tighter, a smaller place is probably smart, but it might not be big enough for my family, and my neighbors would be theoretically even closer = increasing the intensity of the issues that I'M TRYING TO FIX.

Fuck the US health care system in general. Fuck the insurance companies who don't cover treatments some people need in order to actually live life like others can. Fuck the "not a probable candidate" bullshit. Fuck the doctors who won't let me get an MRI just to make sure it's not neurological. I had to BEG the ENT for even a CT scan that came back "Normal, with no masses." No shit fuckers. So now YOU also know it's not a bone structure or fluid issue. Fuck the ones who aren't even trying to help.

So fuck your telling me that I'm not trying hard enough. I'm at my wit's end trying to get help figuring this out. I've had my ears cracked: no pressure to release = no change. I've had numerous doctors tell me they can't find blockage in my ears. Duh. I hear better than most people. Of course that's not the problem. I'm wishing more and more by the hour that I was just deaf, but I'm afraid that will only make me FEEL the noises more intensely. But I'm also so desperate at this point that I don't give a fuck what other problems that might cause. I really don't. I'm already uncomfortable as fuck in my own home.

Fuck your "just relax" comments. I can't do the things that help me relax. I didn't even want to plant a garden this year because I CAN'T GO OUTSIDE. I can't do any yard work because I CAN'T GO OUTSIDE. When I do manage to get outside, I run back in the house after an hour in case something triggers a panic attack. I can't sit and have a quality conversation with my boyfriend with headphones on, or loud fans running. It's constant "huh, what did you say?" until we finally just ignore each other for the evening. I don't want the kids to come over because I don't want them to see me lose control. I'm afraid of having a panic attack. I'M AFRAID TO COME HOME FROM WORK, but I have to let my dog out since she's like, a major priority in my life. I'm afraid to be home alone, but I'm also afraid to keep burdening everyone at my table, and "ignoring them" with my headphones on.

Fuck your metaphors. I don't even have a glass to fill or pour from. I throw stones because I'm sick of carrying them around in my hand all day, all week, all month. I don't have anywhere else to put them. That shit gets heavy. Especially when people tell you to keep hiding it. Did I mention that the therapists are struggling to find ways to help me? Yes, I believe I've alluded to that already.

And fuck your "everyone has problems to deal with." Yes, I'm aware of that. But mine causes me to have even more inconvenience while trying to live as "normal" of a life as possible. Most days days are difficult at best. It's been almost a year since I wasn't terrified to come home from work, just to be alone for 90 minutes. My animals can't exactly stop a panic attack from happening. My boyfriend works evenings occasionally. I've spent many of those on the floor in a ball sobbing, while I'm holding my headphones as close to my ears as possible; because I just can't take anymore sound invasions in my head. Because my hearing is THAT sensitive that sometimes just wearing them doesn't block it out. If that sound hits me, my night is over.

Fuck your "focus on something else." Think of a time when you've physically been beaten or felt any kind of intense pain. Are you able to focus on anything else in that moment? It's pretty difficult to think of anything else when my brain is telling my body that I'm being attacked. FUCK. YOU. It's my body responding to the message from my brain. This is where I'm at in describing these sensations to others. It took me until rather recently to even realize that what I'm actually doing is having a panic attack. I don't even know what I'm saying when this happens because I'm in PANIC mode. My brain is saying "STOP THE ATTACK! STOP THE ATTACK!" over and over. Do you fucking understand that? I'm not being a "stupid bitch." I'm terrified as fuck in these moments.

Fuck your theories. I've seen multiple therapists and they've all confirmed that I don't have schizophrenia or a personality disorder. My partner can hear what I hear, it just doesn't bother him. This may be Hyperacusis, but that can take years to diagnose. It's taken me 15 years to even get to that theory. I keep getting treated for anxiety and depression, which I most definitely have, but it's a band-aid. No one I've talked to can actually figure out what's going, and only a couple are even aware of the concept of Hyperacusis. But it's not their field, so they have no information. I found that theory on my own, and it fits EVERYTHING that I'm experiencing. So I'm on that path to discovering if that's the root of the issue, and if that may actually be causing the depression in the first place. And how did it develop? Why does it come and go. Why is it more intense and sticking around longer this time? But frankly, this has been such a long process as it is, that I'm not sure I have that much time left. I'm almost 40 and still feel like I've gotten nowhere. There's so little research on treatments of this condition because "it has to stay hidden." Bullshit. How do we get information if we're not allowed to talk about the experience. For fuck's sake.

Fuck your "that should have been your priority." To be clear, this issue comes and goes, as I mentioned in the above paragraph. When it's more intense, I seek help in addressing it; if I wasn't I'd have been in a psyche ward long ago. So I have had times when the sensitivity is less invasive. And in those times, I was enjoying actually living a life. This is by far the longest episode I've had, and also the most terrifying one, for me, to date. This thing has "ruined" my life in the past. But this time I built the life I've needed, and it's ruining this one, too. Instead of living it, I find myself glued to a chair, afraid to move around inside my house. Or I sit and cower in fear of going outside my house. If I leave, I wear headphones just to get the 12 feet to my car. Because God forbid I have a panic attack before I get to it. I'm losing desire to keep going when all I can do to survive an evening at home is hide in fear.

Fuck your "stop being so dramatic." You have no idea what kind of trauma I'm going through daily, hourly. The trauma I've worked so hard to over come, but I end up feeling like I took 10 steps backwards every time a severe panic attack happens.

Fuck your "you're just one person." But I AM human, so why aren't my struggles valid? I've spent my entire life putting everyone first, following the whims of others to keep the peace, accommodating to the convenience of others to the point ignoring my own needs. But if I do speak up, it's a potential argument, because heaven forbid stupid little Leah has anything important to say. I'm sick of being shoved back in a box when I don't conform. I'm such a piece of shit that I'm not even allowed opinions, thoughts, ideas, etc.

So fuck you. I'm tired of suffering. I'm tired of being afraid. You have no fucking idea what I'm actually going through here. If you DO know what this feels like, please share how you get through a day without wishing you didn't wake up when you go to sleep at night. PLEASE.

Shall I continue?

Fuck your I don't knows, maybes, somedays, laters, another time, etc. Fuck the pressure you don't realize that puts on me with everything else. Fuck your "it's not bad enough to be complaining." Story of my life; I keep quiet way more than you even realize. Push it down, hide it, your emotions don't matter. Fuck you. I'm human too.

Fuck your "be more social" suggestion. Every time I try that it causes my depression to worsen and I spiral into suicidal thoughts. I'm an introvert who requires extended periods of solitude and downtime to recharge, especially after a workday. If I can't get this regularly, my energy battery dies and I want to die with it. Like I need DAYS to recover from even a couple hours of being social in public.

Fuck anyone who says my man is a terrible father. The shit you talk about is MY fault, not his. It's because of MY issues. And frankly, unless you're the kids' mom, my issues that I have not mentioned here are none of your business. And, at the end of the day, it's MY house. If I'm the wrong person for him, that's up to him to decide, and also none of your business.

Oh, there's more.

Fuck Covid, Fuck the rising prices of everything. Fuck religion. Fuck your wars. Fuck the upcoming election. Fuck the violence. Fuck your disagreements. Fuck your judgements about things you know nothing about. Fuck your attitude. Fuck your lack of compassion. Fuck your insincerity. Fuck your ignorance. Fuck your intelligence. Fuck the gaslighting. Fuck your underhanded criticism. Fuck your lies, fuck your "I told you so."

And fuck anyone at all that stands in my way when I decide to disappear and forge my own life. When my animals are gone....if I even last that long.

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