#fortunately i have been treated for ptsd

[match-your-steps]

went to get tested for adhd and they saw my ptsd results and were like "um idk if we can do this"

[6ebe]

big pharma antidepressant marketing goes crazy the amount of times I see people on here happily accepting MONTHS of feeling ill every day on a drug bc ‘your body will get used to it one day’ like girl YOU ARE PAYING THEY WANT YOU TO GIVE THE DRUG MORE TIME BC YOU ARE PAYING 😭😭

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Sunk Cost

Pairing: Tom Bennett x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of blood, death and injury. Mild angst and mentions of PTSD. Smut. Word count: ~4.8k

Summary: Following the Battle of the River Plate, she is deployed to the Falkland Islands to tend to the survivors of the HMS Exeter. Some of the naval officers are in better shape than others, and when one in particular makes it his mission to bed her before shipping back home, she decides to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Author's note: Based on this request. No tag list - please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. "Conchies" is slang for conscientious objector.

She had travelled aboard the SS Lafonia to the Falklands, accompanied by two doctors and eleven other nurses to treat the injured of the HMS Exeter following the battle of the River Plate.

Having qualified as a nurse almost five years ago, she was experienced in dealing with blood and injury and, in the days spent sailing across the South Atlantic Ocean, she had been steeling herself for the inevitable carnage she would be witness to.

Nothing, however, could have prepared her for the utter devastation she was met with upon arrival. Pulling back the canvas flap of the medical tent, the smell was the first thing to hit her, pushing her backwards like an invisible, oppressive force; burned flesh and the rancid, yet somehow sickly sweet scent of decay.

Everything from minor burns to missing limbs needed to be treated, but those sailors were the fortunate ones, they still drew breath. Seventy two British sailors had lost their lives defending against German forces.

It would be two weeks until a boat arrived to collect those fit enough to travel back to England, so those able bodied enough to do so assisted with dressing wounds and changing bed pans. She was grateful for the help as, despite there being fourteen medical staff to attend to their patients, it was overwhelming and she was tired, so tired.

She had smiled, though it had not quite reached her eyes, as she’d been introduced to the private that would be assisting her on her rounds.

“Name’s Tom, Tom Bennett,” he’d greeted her with an incline of his head and a lopsided smirk. 

“Nice to meet you, Private Bennett,” she’d replied as politely as she could, discreetly taking him in.

He stood around six feet tall, a mop of sandy coloured hair atop his head. He was classically handsome with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose, and carried himself with a self assured swagger that emphasised the fact that he knew he was good looking. She could have overlooked his vanity, were it not for the fact he was apparently cocky in every other respect too.

Her exhaustion had worn her patience thin, however, she was certain that the sailor assigned to helping her with her rounds would have grated upon her nerves even with a full night’s rest. She found his unwavering smirk and continual stream of flirtatious remarks wholly inappropriate, considering the situation they found themselves in. There was no doubt in her mind that he had fought bravely and his service upon the Admiral Graf Spee was to be highly commended, but it didn’t mean she had to enjoy his company, she merely endured it.

“Private Bennett, I need to give this patient a sponge bath, can you please dispose of these dressings?” She asked, keeping her tone curt as she seated herself beside a cot.

“My turn next, yeah?” He quipped cheekily, causing her to press her lips into a tight line to suppress the urge to sigh.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, her stern gaze wholly unaffected by the way the blue of his sparkled with mischief. “The dressings, Private Bennett.”

“You can call me Tom, y’know,” he said airily, the smirk on his face never faltering as he snatched up the dirty bandages and turned to walk away.

“I’d rather not,” she muttered wearily to his retreating form, turning her attention back to the sailor laid dozing in the cot beside her.

All of her rounds were much the same; Tom trailed behind her, flirting shamelessly, and every remark made her blood boil. For the patients yet to regain consciousness, she could mercifully ignore him. However, for the sake of maintaining a pleasant bedside manner for those who were lucid, she had to smile, laugh and remain polite.

As the days dragged on, she found herself wishing the boat coming to ferry Tom Bennett back to England would arrive sooner. Attempting to keep her temper in check and not give him a well deserved telling off in front of everyone was becoming as exhausting an effort as it was caring for the wounded. He was a pain in the arse.

It had been a particularly demanding day - several of the patients being treated for severe burns had developed infections - by the time the next nurse arrived to relieve her of her duties, she was desperate to be off of her aching feet. Sitting down heavily upon a bench in the rest area, she fished her cigarette case from her apron pocket, flipping it open and placing one delicately between her lips. Before her hand could reach for her matchbook, a flash of flint followed by flame ignited in front of her, illuminating the end of her cigarette into a bright, cherry red glow.

She blew out a tight line of smoke, her eyes narrowed in displeasure as she looked up at the smug face of Tom Bennett. The sight of him was enough to spoil the pleasant taste of tobacco that she usually revelled in upon her first drag. The corners of his mouth were upturned into a self satisfied smile, his eyes crinkled in quiet amusement as he looked down at her. He always looked like he was entertained by a joke that only he was privy to, it drove her crazy.

“Thanks,” she said curtly, taking another drag.

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” he winked, seating himself beside her and lighting up a smoke of his own.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she muttered darkly, gazing off into the distance, her lips pursed.

“Do what?” He mumbled around his cigarette, keeping it perched at the corner of his mouth.

She sighed, pressing at the point between her eyebrows with the thumb of her free hand, an absentminded gesture of exasperation. “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”

Tom snatched his cigarette from between his lips, holding it between the forefingers of his right hand as he raised his palms in a defensive gesture. “Enough misery ‘round ‘ere, ‘int there? Jus’ tryna make you smile.”

“Well, you’re not,” she spat, taking a quick puff, savouring the short burst of lightheadedness that the nicotine rush afforded her.

He gave an easy shrug, fixing her with a dopey grin. “Well, I don’t see anywhere ‘round ‘ere where I can buy you flowers, so my witty charm will have to do.”

She scoffed, flicking away her butt, and rose to her feet, storming off.

“See you tomorra, yeah?” he called after her, “unless you want someone to help warm your cot tonight?”

Fucking prick.

Sleep evaded her that night. Tom had gotten under her skin. It made her furious that with so many men injured and dying around them, he failed to see the gravity of their situation. How could he be cracking jokes and making clumsy attempts to seduce her in the midst of a war? He needed to be taught a lesson, to be taken down a peg or two, and she decided she was the person to do it. Perhaps if the tables were turned on him, then he’d realise just how inappropriate his behaviour was and feel rightfully ashamed of himself.

The following day, as Tom accompanied her on her rounds, she laughed heartily at his flippant remarks, allowed her fingers to linger against his as he passed her bandages, and stared deep into his eyes every time she addressed him.

“Lucky sod,” he’d jested as she’d dabbed gently at the burns on a patient’s chest.

“You’ll get your turn later,” she’d quipped back with a wink, causing his jaw to fall agape. He’d been quick to close his mouth again, averting his attention to the floor as his cheeks had turned crimson.

It was obvious her being receptive to his advances was having an effect on him. All day she saw the way his eyes widened in disbelief, the slight blush that crept into his cheeks when she returned his flirty banter. He was uncomfortable with not being given the brush off, and she was enjoying every second of it.

“What are you playing at?” His voice came from behind her, as she was rifling through the medicine cabinet, searching for a bottle of iodine. It was a quiet corner of the medical tent, partitioned off from the sick beds for medical personnel to replenish supplies and dose out medicine.

“What do you mean?” She asked casually, not turning around as her hands continued to move aside brown bottles. She hoped the clink of the glass was enough to disguise the hint of amusement in her voice, and if not, at least he couldn’t see her smiling.

“You’re flirting with me,” he stated simply, though his voice didn’t carry its usual confidence.

“Am I?” She replied with faux innocence, casting him a glance over her shoulder.

He wasn’t standing as straight as he usually did, his brow was furrowed and he had his hands clasped in front of him. He was nervous.

Good, she thought.

“I–I think so, yeah…”

She rounded on him, closing the distance between them, delighting in the way his posture visibly stiffened as she pressed close, placing her palms against the broadness of his shoulders.

“I guess I finally figured there’s no use in denying what’s between us,” she cooed, “can’t fight it any longer.”

“Yeah..?” He asked, blinking rapidly, lips parted as he stared down at her with wide eyes.

“Absolutely. You deserve a reward, Private Bennett,” she said, reaching up to card her fingers through the softness of his hair. “You fought so bravely, it would be an honour for me to give myself to you. You’re a war hero.”

His face blanched, and for the first time since she’d met him, she saw the corners of his mouth turn downwards, a flicker between anger and sadness causing his brow to furrow and his gaze to dull. He grasped her wrists gently, moving her hands back to her sides, before quickly walking away.

She had expected to feel triumphant in managing to fluster him enough to get him to back down, but she didn’t. It was wholly unsatisfying, a heavy feeling of guilt sat like a stone upon her chest. There was something in her words that had utterly knocked the wind out of Tom’s sails, she had pushed too far. She hadn’t embarrassed him, she’d crushed him, and the worst part was she wasn’t entirely sure what she had said that had caused such an unexpected reaction.

He was quiet for the rest of her rounds, silently following orders, not meeting her eye when he spoke or was spoken to. It was as though all the light had gone out of him. He didn’t hang around for a smoke once she was relieved of her duties, so she was forced to follow after him as he strode back to the sleeping quarters reserved for uninjured naval officers.

“Hey, wait!” She called out, her feet hurrying to keep up with his longer gait, finally falling in step beside him. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

He stopped, huffing out a sigh as he turned his face upwards, briefly closing his eyes, before looking back down at her. “Forget about it,” he muttered, “message received loud and clear. I won’t hassle you no more.”

She was left standing there as he walked off, leaving her alone. Despite what he said, she knew forgetting about it was the very last thing that she would be able to do.

Her rounds were miserable over the days that followed. Tom didn’t laugh, he didn’t smile, he didn’t even speak unless spoken to. As reluctant as she was to admit it, she missed his jokey flirting. Whatever this was, the silence and sadness that hung between them, she hated it. She couldn’t question it in front of patients, and as soon as his obligation to her was fulfilled for the day, he hurried back to the naval quarters, making it clear he had no desire to speak to her.

Even the patients had started to notice it - of course they had - the stony silence that the pair worked in was a stark contrast to Tom’s usual annoyingly proud and jovial demeanour.

“Lover’s quarrel?” A private with a head injury asked playfully, as she pulled away his dressings to check on the wound.

Tom spoke before she had the opportunity to respond, his tone arrogant and steeped in annoyance. “Nope, just focusing on the job, mate. Got a ship coming to take me away from here tomorra, and the quicker I’m on it the better.”

She felt her heart lurch at his words. So preoccupied with the fact that Tom was refusing to speak to her, she had completely forgotten that he’d be leaving soon. Now his departure loomed imminently and the thought of it made her chest tighten uncomfortably. He couldn’t just leave and never speak to her again without giving her the chance to make amends, or to help her understand what she’d done wrong in the first place; that wasn’t fair.

He didn’t even look at her as she turned to him, instead he handed her the clean set of bandages he’d been holding and walked away, leaving her to finish up with her patient alone.

“Must be nice,” the injured private remarked, as she pressed the clean dressing to his wound and bandaged it up. “Wish I was leaving.”

“Me too,” she uttered softly, a sombre feeling settling over her as she realised she was talking as much about herself as she was the patient she was treating.

Tom was nowhere to be seen for the rest of the day, and she was left to complete her rounds by herself. She supposed she would grow used to it once he left. The strain they were under would be lessened by those fit enough to travel on the boat tomorrow being removed from their care. However, she felt like she was missing a part of herself without him at her side; like looking at the wall and not being able to see her shadow cast upon it. The weight of his absence would fade, but the hurt and uncertainty wrought from his disdain would not. She needed to put things right before he sailed away from her tomorrow, or she would forever live with the guilt of it.

She waited impatiently for the rest of the day for nightfall, deciding that if this was a conversation she was going to pursue then it was better to do so without witnesses - or at least when those witnesses were asleep - the canvas confines of both the medical bay and sleeping quarters provided very little privacy.

Once it was suitably dark, she made her way to the large tent that housed the cots of the naval officers. The humidity made the night air sticky and it clung to her skin, feeling as thick as the inky blackness of the sky above her.  A wave of nervous apprehension washed over her as she reached for the canvas flap - what if Tom was already asleep, or refused to speak to her? What if other sailors were awake and questioned her reason for being there?

A simple white lie of delivering pain relief could deal with the latter of those problems, but she had no idea how to deal with the former. Before her pounding heart and trembling hands could convince her otherwise, she pulled back the partition, greeted by darkness and the gentle snores of those who were asleep. A few kerosene lamps were lit by the beds of those who were still awake, their dull glow illuminated the men that were sitting up reading, smoking or playing solitaire with playing cards spread out across their blankets.

Her eyes searched the gloom for Tom, half expecting him to be fast asleep. Finally, she spotted him, and her stomach erupted into nervous flutters as she saw that he was still awake. She felt as if she was intruding upon something far too intimate, seeing him in the tight white t-shirt and briefs of his underclothes. He laid upon his front, the legs of his tall frame almost hanging off the edge of the cot as they crossed over at the ankle. The low lighting that glowed across the sharpness of his features cast long shadows across his corner of the tent, however, it was not dark enough to hide the yellow canary that fluttered around the small cage that he had balanced upon his pillow. His attention was so focused upon the bird and its shrill twittering that he didn’t even notice her as she stepped carefully towards him.

“Who’s this then?” She asked quietly, once she was a few paces away from Tom’s cot.

His head snapped up quickly, brows raising in surprise as he took in the sight of her, almost as if he couldn’t believe she was standing in front of him. He cleared his throat, shifting onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow before responding. “Her name’s Vera.”

“Vera…that’s a pretty name,” she said, offering him a soft smile as she fidgeted awkwardly with her fingers, forgetting everything she had wanted to say to him.

He lifted the cage, placing it gently on the floor between his cot and the tent wall, then looked back at her. “So what brings you ‘ere then?”

“You won’t speak to me,” she replied. Her voice sounded small, sad and vulnerable to her ears, and she loathed it. She had come here to apologise and then leave, not get upset.

“Usually, people take a hint when that happens, they don’t barge in on them when they’re going to bed.”

His reply hit her like a physical blow, and he must have seen the way her face fell, as he was quick to follow it up with; “But I guess I can’t blame ya for wantin’ a peek at me in me undercrackers.”

She felt instantly lighter as she saw the playful grin spread across his face, turning hers away as she felt her skin grow hot.

Silence fell between them once more and she drew in a steadying breath before lifting her gaze to his again. “I couldn’t let you leave without knowing how sorry I am,” she stepped closer, “I don’t know what I said that ticked you off exactly, but what I did I did with the intent to teach you a lesson, to humiliate you, and that was wrong. I was sick of your flirting, but I realise now that after all you’ve been through that you were just trying to make a horrible situation a lighter one. You’re so brave, and–”

“I’m not fucking brave,” he snapped, making her jump.

“What?” She moved to stand directly beside his cot, her head tilted slightly in confusion.

“I’m not brave,” he repeats, his voice turning to the hushed tone he’d used previously. He scrubbed a hand across his face and fixed her with a tired stare. “I’m not a war hero.”

She blinked rapidly, furrowing her brow as she perched upon the edge of his makeshift bed. “Is that what got you upset? Because I called you a war hero?”

“Do you know why I joined the Navy?” He asked, shuffling back to make more room for her to sit within the narrow space.

She shook her head, allowing him to continue speaking.

“Was avoiding the nick,” he uttered, sniffing. “I’m not a hero, I’m a coward dodging a stretch in prison.”

She was surprised by this, but not repelled. He was hardly the first man to join up to the draft to avoid the authorities, and he would be the last. She sighed softly, looking him in the eye. “That doesn’t change any of what you’ve been through, or how bravely you fought aboard that warship. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Well, I’m not,” he said sullenly, “I’m not going back. The minute I get back home that’s it, I’m done with this bloody war.”

“You can’t do that,” she told him softly, suddenly feeling afraid for him.

“Why not? It’s not my fight. I saw people fucking die. I don’t wanna give my life for something I don’t believe in.”

“You could be hanged for desertion,” she argued, a hint of desperation in her voice. Before she had time to think about it, her hand reached for his, grasping his fingers with her own.

“Dad’s a conchie,” he said, intertwining his fingers with hers, “I could be too.”

She glanced down to where their hands were joined, almost wanting to scream in frustration. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Well, what am I s’posed to do?” he seethed, snatching his hand back, leaving her to silently mourn the loss of the contact.

“I can’t convince you to do anything, Tom, but please talk to your dad before you make a decision you can’t take back.”

“Y’know, that’s the first time you’ve called me that,” he said, his expression softening.

“What?”

“My name. It’s usually always Private Bennett. I like it when you call me Tom.”

She averted her gaze, feeling her skin blaze with embarrassment once more. “I guess I should get going. Us talking’s probably keeping people awake.”

His hand shot out, grasping hers once more as she rose to leave, making her freeze in place.

“Stay,” came his softly uttered plea.

“There’s all these other people,” she protested in a quiet voice, though she sat back down.

“I just want you to lay next to me. We probably won’t see each other again after tomorrow, and I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

“I dunno…”

“No funny business, I promise,” he said with a smirk that immediately crumbled her resolve. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright…”

Tom laid out straight and pulled the blankets up around himself, holding one side up in silent invitation for her to join him. She slid underneath, not realising quite how tight the confines of the single cot were until her body was pressed right up against his.

Wordlessly, he leaned over to turn out the lamp, then turned to face her, slinging an arm over her waist and closing his eyes.

She laid there with her eyes open, just about able to make out his features in the darkness. The humidity combined with the heat of Tom’s body and the blankets thrown over them made it uncomfortably warm, and it was an effort not to squirm. But that wasn’t her only means of discomfort. It was difficult to keep her breathing steady and her body from trembling in spite of the heat; she hadn’t anticipated being in such close proximity to Tom to have such an effect on her. The feeling of the long, lithe muscle of his body pressed against hers made her pulse race and her core throb with desire, though the sensation was intermingled with pangs of guilt. He was seeking comfort in her, and here she was lusting after him when she’d spent the last two weeks berating him for doing the same to her.

His breaths fanned softly across her face, and she was convinced that he had fallen asleep, until his grasp on her waist tightened slightly, his fingers digging into her flesh. She froze at the intimacy of it, ashamed of the way desire pooled between her thighs at the gesture, until he ducked his head to bury it into the crook of her neck.

“Help me,” he whispered against her skin, a desperate plea for something, anything to make him feel better.

She reached up tentatively in the darkness, her fingers stroking through the silkiness of his hair. He sighed contentedly in response, and the sensation made her shiver, causing an involuntary tug at his tresses, making him groan and grip her tighter.

“Please,” he murmured into her neck. His hips began to grind against hers, the evidence that he was just was affected by her as she was him more than apparent as it pressed repeatedly against her.

Before she had time to consider the absurdity of it all, she hooked her thigh over him, prompting him to roll onto his back as she straddled him. Her chest rose and fell erratically as she stared down at him. He looked back with wide, imploring eyes, his fingers flexing firmly against the swell of her hips, urging her into action.

The touch was enough to ground her, to give her pause to realise they were in a tent full of sleeping sailors, that she’d rebuffed all of Tom’s previous advances, that come tomorrow she’d never see him again.

She swallowed thickly, trying to move off of him. “We shouldn’t.”

“Please,” he repeated with more urgency, his grip upon her tightening, stilling her and preventing her from moving away.

It was the begging of a desperate man, a man who had seen awful things, who was afraid to die, who was sailing away tomorrow into uncertainty. How could she say no? And how could she deny herself? Over the last two weeks she had seen unimaginable horrors, worked tirelessly, didn't she deserve a little fun?

She allowed the throbbing between her thighs to guide her actions as she reached beneath her skirt of her uniform, tugging her knickers to one side. Tom’s breaths grew unsteady as his eyes watched her in the darkness, his own hands moving to push down his briefs.

As the swollen head of him pressed against her entrance she felt that she was aroused, though not wet enough to make his passage an easy one. She had to rise and sink down repeatedly against the upward thrusts of his pelvis before the tight muscles of her heat finally yielded to him.

Sinking all the way in to the hilt, Tom hissed loudly, earning himself a quiet scolding from her. “Quiet, or you’ll wake people up.”

He bit his lip as she rocked her hips gently, allowing herself to adjust to the intrusion. It had been a while since she’d been with anyone this intimately, and it stung slightly, though the pain was not unpleasant.

She gazed down at him, seeing the crease between his eyebrows as they furrowed against the intensity of his pleasure and the effort to stay quiet. Seeing his face contorted into such a state, even though the darkness prevented her from seeing him clearly, was enough to have her sensitive walls clenching with desire, and she took that as her prompt to begin moving in a steady rhythm, lifting up as she rocked forward, then down as she pulled back.

“Fuck…” Tom murmured under his breath, his fingers leaving indentations in the flesh of her hips.

“Does that feel good?” She asked, her voice breathless with exertion.

“Y–yeah…don’t stop.”

In that moment, none of it mattered; the sheen of sweat upon her skin, the other people asleep around them, it all faded to nothing. Her only focus became the man beneath her begging for more and the exhilarating ache each time the head of him brushed against a sensitive spot deep inside of her.

“You’re so brave, Tom, and you’re doing so well, making me feel wonderful,” she breathed, as she moved atop him.

His expression was one of utter submission and pure adoration, his eyes were glossy with pleasure, his full lips were parted. He clung to her as though he was a drowning man and she was his lifeline, and she supposed she was in a way. She served as a much needed moment of respite when all around him was fear and uncertainty.

She could feel her peak beginning to crest alongside his, his cock pulsed inside of her with each spasm of her core. She pulled off of him as white hot waves of pleasure crashed over her, stifling his groan of satisfaction with a hot, messy kiss - the first they’d shared - as she tightened repeatedly around nothing and he spilled himself across his lower abdomen.

He laid against her chest afterwards, once he’d cleaned himself up, and she cradled him to her breasts, gently ruffling his hair. A satisfied ache had settled between her thighs, and her eyelids felt heavy with tiredness.

“Will you write to me?” He asked quietly.

“If you keep your promise, Tom, then I might not know where to write to.”

He hummed quietly before falling silent.

“You will keep your promise, won’t you? You’ll speak to your dad?”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, almost thoughtfully, “I promise.”

Tom left the next day, and she didn’t see him again, though he often crossed her mind. Six months later, when she was stationed in a hospital in Paris, her heart stuttered in her chest as she looked upon the familiar, yet bruised face of a man laying unconscious in the ward she was working in. She smiled as she approached the bed and looked upon the sleeping form of Tom Bennett. He’d kept his promise. He was a hero after all.

[notallthoseinheadspace]

Little hurt/comfort speculative post-canon TBB piece since I suspect canon is going to be all hurt.

Echo and Tech talk out their time under enemy control. PG, Gen.

CWs: PTSD, panic attacks, grief, mentions of injury

STRONGER

“It doesn’t get better if you don’t talk about it, you know.”

Snarling, Tech whirled around, unaccustomed anger biting under his skin. “You don’t - ah.” Wincing, he ducked his head and leaned back against the wall, ignoring the lights flickering to life across the island as he pushed his repaired goggles up to rub at the scars that spiderwebbed across his face. “Apologies, Echo. I did not realize it was you speaking. And, if you will forgive the insensitivity of the statement, it is… easy to forget that you were once The Algorithm.”

“Really,” Echo answered drily, gesturing to himself with his scomp link. Tech shrugged, slipping his goggles off entirely and letting them dangle from his wrist as he rubbed at his scars further.

“To me, you are as I have always known you, simply in better health than when we… initially met.”

“When you unplugged me from a cryo-tube I was wired into being forced to calculate plans to kill as many of my brothers as possible, you mean.”

“Well… yes.” Wincing, Tech slid down to sit against the sun-warmed paving stones, propping his back against the wall. After a moment, Echo settled beside him, close enough to very gently knock their shoulders together.

“I am aware that discussion of traumatic events can help reduce their psychological impact,” Tech began hesitantly, staring down at the goggles he was restlessly twisting in his hands rather than looking at Echo. “However, that would first require me to have a greater understanding of both my own prior psychological state and recall the conditioning I was subjected to on Tantiss, which I do not, and also comprehend why Crosshair was immune to such conditioning when I was not, and-”

The frantic, ever-hastening tumble of words was halted by Echo’s hand gripping his shoulder, giving him the lightest of shakes - everyone was treating him as though he was fragile, now, as though his scars had not healed.

“Tech, breathe.”

Tech sucked in a deep breath, then winced and coughed weakly, one hand rising to rub at the starburst scar high on his left pectoral, the bacta patch on it not entirely removing the pain. Perhaps everyone’s current treatment of him was not unwarranted.

Echo kept the hand on his shoulder, the gentle grip grounding, until Tech’s breathing had regained a more normal rhythm, and for several minutes they sat in silence, watching the moon-yos scampering about in the trees.

“I don’t imagine Crosshair’s going to use his rifle again,” Echo said softly, apropos of apparently nothing, and Tech exhaled sharply with another wince.

“I am certainly fortunate to have survived. A direct hit from a Firepuncher rifle bolt, particularly one modified as Crosshair’s has been, would typically result in death regardless of the quality of one’s armor.”

“I don’t think he’s ever been grateful to have missed a target,” Echo remarked, “even if you did pop up and declare ‘Crosshair, you missed,’ you little shit.”

“It was an accurate observation! I have not known Crosshair to miss a target without injury being involved, and I was unaware of his tremor at the time, so I had no basis for comprehending such a phenomenon! Also, I did not ‘pop up’ - ”

“No, you stayed down long enough to give all of us heart attacks, because your damn helmet fell off - ”

“I do not understand what the - truly inadequate, I might add - state of the Empire’s armor has to do with inducing myocardial infarctions in the squad - ”

“ - and we saw your face on the assassin Crosshair had just shot - ”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“….he would not be the first of us to kill a clone,” Tech said softly, leaning a little more heavily against Echo’s shoulder. “I would not, in fact, even be the first clone he had killed, and I was willing to give my life to ensure the survival of the squad previously. His actions were objectively correct, even if he had been aware of my identity at the time.”

“If he’d been aware of your identity, he never would have taken the shot,” Echo countered, shifting enough for his head to rest ever-so-gently against Tech’s.

“Not taking the shot would have been illogical. I was a threat to the lives of the squad at the time.”

“Feelings aren’t logical or objective, Tech.”

“I am aware, which is why they are often difficult for me to process. I am struggling to even categorize the emotions my experience as a CX-trooper have left me with, although I have identified guilt, inadequacy, anger, resentment, and what I believe to be grief. I was unable to resist the programming as Crosshair was, despite having been deliberately engineered for my intellect, for the strength of my mind, while Crosshair, who was created to - to shoot accurately - was able to resist the entirety of the reconditioning, and to escape Tantiss with Omega’s help, while I was so fully under the command of our enemy that I not only destroyed our home, I returned our sister to them!”

His voice had been steadily rising throughout, and it shattered into sharp gasps on the last words, prompting Echo to turn and gently pull Tech against his chest, wrapping him gently in an embrace and rocking them gently from side to side, stroking Tech’s hair as the other clone trembled against his chest.

The moon had fully risen by the time Tech’s breathing slowed again and he drew back slightly from Echo’s embrace, turning so that he was resting with his shoulder against Echo’s chest and his head tucked under his chin.

“I should have been stronger.”

“You were plenty strong, Tech.”

“Echo, I am aware you have not been present for significant portions of my - ”

“Tech. I can read a damned report whether I was present for something or not. And I’m not focused on what you did, I’m focused on what you didn’t do.”

“…please elaborate.”

“You landed the charges on the Marauder while Wrecker and Gonky were outside of it and gave them time to get clear, rather than blowing it up with them inside. You didn’t shoot Hunter, you shot down the pilot of the ship he was trying to hijack and let him swim away. You scared the civilians here, but you didn’t hurt any of them.”

“I killed numerous members of Rex’s team on Teth.”

“Do you want me to tell you how many deaths I’m responsible for? Because I’ve calculated that, you know. Should I have been stronger?”

“Echo, our situations were completely different and comparing them would be pointless. Furthermore, you were not deliberately mutated specifically to have a significantly increased intellect which should have offered immunity to - ”

“Have you considered that it wasn’t intellect that protected Crosshair?”

“Clearly it was not a matter of his intellect, as mine did not… ah.”

“He didn’t outsmart it, he out-stubborned it.”

“That hypothesis seems entirely reasonable, yes. However, I shall not endeavor to test it.” Wincing, Tech sat up slowly, bracing himself on one of Echo’s knees to rise to his feet, then offering a hand down, which was calmly accepted.

When they were both standing, Echo jostled their shoulders together gently. “So, feeling better?”

Tech blinked. “…somewhat, yes, thank you.”

“Anytime, brother.”

FIN

Short and kinda bad but I just needed them talking it out and Echo being his good ori’vod self. Tech is Not Coping Well and needed a hug.

The initial idea of this had less talking and Cody was there at the end telling them they both now understood how regs felt after Order 66, but that version failed to materialize when I got to my keyboard.

[freyasilverbough]

The Cave Bear and the White Wolf - the Road to Moonrise Towers

Cw for blood, burns, bruises, canon typical violence, discussions of PTSD and survivor’s guilt

This installment briefly covers the tiefling party, the crèche, and Grymforge. I’m treating it like a prequel of sorts, since all the good stuff happens in act 2 😌 also pls enjoy some hurt/comfort content towards the end

Halsin had just finished his conversation with Zevlor when he noticed that a certain silver haired warrior was nowhere to be found. The hero of the hour seemed to be ditching her own party.

The wizard - Gale, he’d learned - stumbled a bit drunkenly to Halsin’s side. “If you’re looking for Freya, she’s sulking by the pond.” The human considered his next words for a moment before he continued. “She’s a bit prickly, but there’s a heart of gold lurking beneath that stern countenance. You should see her with the tiefling kids.”

“What do you know of her?” Halsin asked him. He’d been plagued by morbid curiosity since he returned from the goblin camp and set about his business in the grove. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew her from somewhere, and it irked him more than he’d like to admit.

“Next to nothing,” the wizard admitted. “Selûnite, that much is obvious with the way she and Shadowheart argue. She hasn’t said, but her magic is a paladin’s. Other than that, it’s all a mystery. We’ve only known each other a few weeks, and she is quite the closed book.”

A paladin of Selûne. Halsin had guessed before that she was a follower of the Moonmaiden, but the depth of her devotion surprised him. From what little he knew of them, a paladin’s oath was the most sacred promise, and so powerful that it imbued their very souls with oathbound magic. Her near refusal to travel to Moonrise Towers was starting to make more sense. The curse that choked that land was the work of Shar, Selûne’s twin and foe.

“Anyway, pardon the pun, but I wouldn’t go poking that bear if I were you. Freya took off with a bottle of whiskey and a rancid attitude. Best to keep out of her way, if you ask me.” Gale stumbled back to his tent as Halsin considered his warning. There were few things in all the realms too strong for him, and someone ought to make sure she hadn’t drowned herself in the pond.

Halsin found her in a secluded spot on the shore, sitting against a tree. Her knees were drawn to her chest and her elbows rested on them, a half empty bottle of liquor in one hand and a ball of silver light floating above the other. She seemed relaxed, more peaceful than he’d seen her all day. Stripped of her armor and cleaned of the blood that stained her hair and face previously, she was just a woman. A woman who embodied the very moon, no doubt. The muscles in her arms and shoulders were on full display in her sleeveless shirt, and her tight pants showcased her powerful legs. Her body was a weapon in itself, and he couldn’t deny that she was radiant in the moonlight.

Something deep within him stirred, feelings that he’d suppressed for the longest time. How long had it been since he’d last taken a lover, he wondered. The shadow curse had consumed his thoughts for the last hundred years, he refused to let himself become distracted for all that time.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare, or did you need something, druid?” Freya’s voice cut through his thoughts like a hot knife in butter. She took another swig from her bottle and held it out in offering to him. Halsin chuckled to himself as he crossed the space between them to sit with her at her side.

“In truth, I rarely imbibe. Before you know it I’d be breaking into song or declaring love to the first person I laid eyes on,” he politely refused her offer as she let out a sharp laugh.

“I fail to see the problem,” she joked.

“Then you have never heard my singing, which makes you very fortunate.” He couldn’t help the smile that crept across his face at their banter. They sat in easy silence for a long moment before Halsin spoke once more, his voice turning solemn. “You’ve seen the ravages of the curse, I gather.” She stiffened at his observation, and took another drink. “I don’t mean to upset you, forgive me. It has just been…a very long time since another soul around me understood.”

Freya fiddled with the orb of light dancing around her fingers for a while. Her blue eyes turned contemplative, as if considering whether to confide in him. “I was there the day Moonrise fell. Don’t ask me to speak of it,” she answered, her voice firm but full of sorrow. “Do me a favor, would you?”

“If it is within my power, consider it done.”

“If I fall in that place, don’t hesitate. Burn my body until I’m ashes on the wind.” She sucked in a deep breath, then extinguished her light as she finished her bottle and rose to stand. Clearly, she held her liquor much better than he did, as her movements remained as graceful as ever. She looked down at Halsin as she stepped past him, eyes swimming with regret and grief. “Lae’zel believes a cure can be found in a githyanki crèche nearby, we’ll start that way come morning. Then, we’ll make for Moonrise.”

————

A tenday after the goblin camp fell, the group that had gone to investigate the githyanki creche returned battered, bloodied, and bruised. Freya’s frustration was written all over her face as she stripped her armor, Lae’zel made for her tent in deflated silence, Shadowheart sported a new mace that looked like the sun itself, and Karlach just hung her head low as she approached him.

“The creche was a bust. The so called zaith’isk blew up, after it just about shredded Freya’s mind. She’s pissed, Lae’zel’s pissed, everybody’s just fucking pissed.” Halsin glanced to the paladin, who was busy untying the braids from her hair as the sun fell behind the horizon. His concern for her must have been obvious, because Karlach hurried to reassure him. “She’s fine, like I said, she’s just pissed. Maybe a bit banged up from the githyanki Inquisitor that tried to kill us, but the old noggin’s intact. For now.”

“Githyanki Inquisitor, eh?” He mused as he lifted a brow at the tiefling. She just laughed.

“Yeah, you should’ve been there, mate. Vlaakith herself showed up and tried to order Freya around. She told us to murder the person who’s been appearing in our dreams, and Freya told her that she could do it herself if she was so powerful. Funny as shit now that we’re out of there.”

Traveling with the party this last tenday had given Halsin much insight into his new companions. A vampire with a newfound ability to walk in the sun. A wizard with such ambition he now carried a weapon of mass destruction in his own chest, one that threatened to flatten the Sword Coast at any moment. A githyanki warrior devoted to her queen and deity. A warlock who made a pact with a devil to save his city. A cleric of Shar, missing all but the most essential of her memories. A tiefling with the best sense of humor and a blazing infernal engine in place of her heart.

A paladin, who would laugh in a goddess’s face and deny her order.

He glanced once more at Freya, who had stripped her gauntlets and chest plate and was now nursing a clearly injured shoulder. He’d been designated as the interim camp healer, for when they came back half dead and their magic depleted - which was actually most days, if he was being honest. Freya, however, always refused his aid. She would make him tend to her companions first, and claim that pain made her strong. She had her own healing magic, as a paladin, but she preferred to use the powers of her oath to smite her enemies rather than keep herself in one piece. Still though, Halsin persisted each time. He’d never been able to keep himself from trying to aid the wounded, it was ingrained in his very nature.

“If you do go talk to her, tread carefully,” Karlach said to him. It was an echo of the warning he’d received from Gale the night of the party, though that had gone well enough.

Halsin watched as she held her hurt shoulder and tried to kick the lid of her trunk open with her foot. A frustrated growl escaped her lips, and Halsin nodded at Karlach once before jogging over to help her. He knelt and lifted the lid as Freya glowered down at him, a usual occurrence these last days.

“What do you need?” he asked her.

She rolled her eyes. Another usual occurrence. Halsin found her snark amusing, and a relief, as it meant she was still herself. “There’s a bag in there with a poultice and some bandages. I’m too godsdamned tired to cast a spell so I need it until I can fix this arm in the morning. Don’t give me that look, the others need your magic more than I do.”

This close, he could see the bruising blossoming on her collarbone and the blood from her shoulder coating her undershirt. Her lip was split as if she’d been punched, and it briefly filled Halsin with a hot rage to picture someone hitting her. He calmed himself when he remembered she’d likely hit them harder. He rose to his feet when he found the bag she was after, but he held out his empty hand instead of giving it to her.

“I’m an Archdruid,” he reminded her softly. “There’s more than enough to go around. Come on now, you’re exhausted and you’ll rest better if you let me help.”

She relinquished her injured shoulder and quickly snatched the bag from his hand, wincing as the movement aggravated her wounds. “I’ll decide what I need, druid.” She stalked toward her tent as Karlach caught his eye with an apologetic smile. The tiefling had tried to warn him, after all.

————

Halsin was reciting his ritual in the makeshift camp they’d set up within Grymforge, the Sharran stronghold Halsin had heard tell of before. Lae’zel, Astarion, Gale, and Freya had gone out that morning to investigate the fortress, but it was hard to tell how much time had passed this deep in the Underdark without the sun to guide him.

After the incident with the githyanki, they’d quickly abandoned the mountain pass and doubled back to the Underdark. They could have reached the shadow cursed lands by an entrance near the monastery, but Freya and Halsin both agreed that the route through the Underdark offered a more direct path with less exposure to the curse.

“Oh, fuck. Hey, Halsin!” he heard Karlach call out for him, and he rushed to the sound. The party had returned, Lae’zel muttering gith curse words under her breath. Freya had one arm around Astarion’s shoulders, and the other around Gale’s, holding all of her weight on one leg. Sweat dripped down her face as her expression twisted in pain. The armor around her other leg had been removed to expose the ruined flesh beneath, and the sight made Halsin’s heart stop in his chest.

The skin on her leg was a patchwork of angry red and blistered flesh, a stark contrast to the smooth, untouched skin that surrounded it. The once graceful curve of her calf was now marred by the ugly, twisted marks of the burn, a cruel reminder of the fire that had ravaged her skin. The skin was tight and stretched, as if it was trying to contain the searing pain within her.

Halsin relieved the elf and the wizard by moving to her uninjured side and carefully lifting her in his arms. She opened her mouth in protest, but he stopped her with a sharp glare before she could speak. “We’re going to my tent, where you’re going to let me heal that leg. Unless you would prefer to be bedridden for days while it heals on its own, which I doubt.” He spoke with the authority of an Archdruid, the authority that he shed weeks before and refused to enforce until now.

Freya’s eyes flashed before clouding with suffering once more. The rest of the camp was silent as he carried her to his tent and laid her gently on his bedroll. He got to work removing her boots and the rest of her armor, stripping her until the plate was removed from her body. The metal was hot to the touch, it must have been cooking her alive.

“Fucking…lava,” she croaked out as he whispered a cantrip to cool her down. “Drow pushed me. I caught myself before I fell in, but it got my leg…fuck it’s hot.” She propped herself up on her elbows to assess the damage, and her bright sapphire eyes went wide as they landed on her mangled flesh.

“Deep breath, Freya,” he ordered her softly as he carefully laid both of his hands on her leg. Blue light radiated from him and she groaned as her skin and tissue began to mend back together. He knew that the healing process was just as difficult, if not more so, for the one being healed as it was for the healer. Halsin paused his work long enough to fill a basin with water and use his magic to cool it to near freezing. He wet a rag, and laid it across her forehead in the hope that it would bring her heated skin some comfort.

“Thank you,” she moaned in relief. He returned his hands to her leg and looked in her eyes, waiting for her consent. She nodded once, and he began his work once more. “They were keeping slaves in there,” she whispered. “The duergar would beat them for the smallest inconveniences, and the drow killed a gnome woman just for being unlucky enough to get trapped behind a rock slide with him. The drow was a ‘True Soul’ too. He carried a busted lantern full of pixie dust. I’d wager that’s how the cultists navigate the curse.” She hissed her discomfort as his magic continued to repair her injured limb.

“Are you afraid?” he asked her gently. They would be entering the shadow curse the next day, and it weighed heavily on his own heart and mind. She closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath.

“I would be lying, and therefore a poor paladin if I said no. I’m terrified. Every instinct I have is screaming at me night and day to leave this path and find another way.” Halsin’s throat tightened as she spoke. “But,” she continued, “I would be a worse paladin if I abandoned this cause now, after we’ve come so far. My…someone once told me that bravery is not the absence of fear. Bravery is choosing to face it, regardless of how hard your bones tremble or your stomach churns. I owe it to every single soul we lost that day to see this through.” Freya flexed her leg as Halsin finished. “You do good work, druid.”

He could only stare at her like a dumbstruck fool. She was far wiser than he gave her credit for. “You’re right,” he chuckled. “True courage lies in facing your fears. You may be the bravest of us all, paladin.”

“That’s not true. I’m just trying to make it out the other side of this thing with my mind intact.” Her expression turned contemplative. “You’ve spent the last century working to banish the curse. I’ve spent the last century trying to forget it even exists. I’ve killed more Sharrans in Selûne’s name these last decades than I care to count to rectify my failure at Moonrise, but my true failure lies in my cowardice. Perhaps this parasite is my penance.”

Halsin rested a hand on her healed knee and gave it a light squeeze. “Nothing about you that I’ve seen thus far could even remotely be considered cowardly, Freya. Do not punish yourself, it’s not your fault the world is wicked.”

“Yes, well, it’s my duty to defend the innocent and banish evil where I see it. Anyway, we have a long day ahead of us. I should probably give you your bedroll back.” She moved to stand, but Halsin gently pushed her back down onto the fur.

“Rest here,” he ordered. “Your tent is clear on the other side of the camp and that leg will feel better in the morning if you stay put. I’ll take the first watch.”

“The last thing I want is to put you out of your own-”

“You are not a burden, Freya. Far from it. Rest, now.”

He expected her to argue with him further, but to his surprise, her eyelids drifted shut and her breathing slowed as she almost instantly fell into a deep slumber. Elves didn’t often truly sleep, Halsin had only done so himself a few times in his long life, but he knew that the events of that day had exhausted her mind and body. He reached over and removed the rag from her forehead, brushing a stray lock of moonlight hair from her face as he did. He was starting to understand her better, and he very much admired the glimpses he was getting of the woman behind her shield. She was brave and compassionate and powerful and resilient, though stubborn as an ox and more sarcastic than even the vampire at times. Freya was a puzzle that he couldn’t work out, but damn him if he wouldn’t keep trying.

[missvelvetsstuff]

Where you goin, Star?  

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader meets Bucky when the truck hauling her show horses breaks down as she is trying to leave for an event and he works for the mechanic. Passionate, secret love affair ensues. After a confrontation with her father, Bucky decides she deserves better than a poor biker like him and leaves town with his friends Steve and Sam.

Three years later, reader is trapped in an abusive relationship and about to give up hope of things ever improving, when Bucky comes back.

Chapter 10

Warnings: swearing, angst

The next morning Star spent 2 hours with the physical therapist, who gave her stretches and exercises she could use to build her strength back up.

Then she spent an hour with a nutritionist to help learn how to gain the weight she had lost, healthily.

Then a psychiatrist who specialised in addiction and PTSD.

Each one left her with a stack of papers and scheduled appointments for the coming week.

By the end of the day she was released from the hospital and taken in Tony's car to Stark Tower. Pepper showed her to a beautiful suite with a small kitchenette, fully stocked with healthy snacks and treats.

"You can make your own meals but we have a chef who can whip something up any time you need." Pepper smiled at her.

Star teared up. It had been so long since anyone even tried to be nice to her that she felt overwhelmed. Everything felt like too much. "Thank you Pepper. I think right now I could use some sleep."

Pepper gave her a gentle hug "Of course. There's a Stark phone on the desk with instructions included. It has the numbers you will need here. Me and Tony, the chef, the detectives. That sort of thing."

She showed Star the dresser and closet, filled with clothes.

"I guessed on your sizes but these will get you started and we can go shopping when you're up to it. Try to get some sleep and I'll see you tomorrow" and left Star alone with him.

Bucky sat on the couch in the living area "Do you want me to leave too? I don't wanna-"

"No, please stay" she blurted out then covered her mouth. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to be alone."

Bucky shook his head "You don't have to apologize to me, I'll be here as much or as little as you need.

I know that we need to have a talk but no pressure. I'll be here when you're ready. Do you want me to put my number in your phone? In case you need me?" He looked at her hopefully.

She handed him her phone. "I think I'm going to take a bath, wash that hospital smell off." And grabbed some pajamas.

The bath was wonderful, deep tub with jets and never seemed to run out of hot water. When she left the bathroom she saw Bucky dozing on the sofa so she gently laid a blanket over him and went to bed.

Star crashed hard but woke up in a cold sweat and ached all over, her head pounding. She shook her head, which made it ache more, and reminded herself that this was just part of the withdrawals and they will pass with time.

When Star was up to it a few days later the detectives and a couple of attorneys that Tony recommended came in to discuss her accusations against John, a divorce, her inheritance from her grandmother and her fathers fortunes. Everything was all intertwined.

The divorce papers were drawn up quickly and were very simple. The majority of John's possessions were in fact hers and she was giving him nothing since she had evidence of infidelity and abuse. She braced herself for the drama because she knew John wouldn't just walk away. The last 3 years with her father's money and connections had emboldened him. She was honestly surprised that he hadn't shown up already.

Star wasn't doing well emotionally. Going over the horrible things that John and Brock did to her was difficult and reliving it all was giving her nightmares.

Bucky held her hand through all of it, she really didn't have anyone else but the more she remembered the more questions she had for him. She wasn't up to dealing with that yet. While she felt safe in Stark tower she worried about her horses so Tony sent a security detail to keep them safe.

On the third day, after lunch, she received a text from Tony's bodyguard, Happy Hogan. John was downstairs in reception demanding to see her and Happy was asking what she wanted him to do. She called her attorneys to see if they could come in and when they both confirmed, had Happy tell John to come back in 2 hours, so she had time to eat, shower and wait for them to show up.

After her shower, Star looked through the closet to find something comfortable but not too casual. She found a short sleeved green wrap style dress and sandals, impressed at how perfectly the dress fit. She made herself a mental note to thank Pepper and compliment her eye for size and style.

Bucky had told her he had business with Tony, Steve and Sam today so wouldn't be around until the evening. She had gotten used to having him around all the time so felt a little exposed seeing John for the first time but she knew that Happy and Rhodey would keep her safe. She did send Bucky a text to let him know John was coming over.

When Happy knocked on her door she had been sitting on the couch, daydreaming about getting back to her horses and the life she wanted. None of her dreams gave her any insight on how or where Bucky would fit in all of it.

The knocking startled her out of her thoughts so she stood up, smoothed her dress down and took his arm as he escorted her down to the conference room where she saw Rhodey waiting. He gave her a quick hug and whispered reassurances in her ear.

Star took a deep breath and entered the room to see John sitting and Clint standing behind him. She wondered briefly where Brock and Jack had gone but was relieved they weren't there and figured John had fired them for letting her survive and get away from them.

John stood and smiled at her "Sweetheart I've been so worried about you" he reached towards her which made her flinch and Rhodey stepped up between her and John.

That pissed him off "Whats this about? I cant even get near my wife? What the fuck is this game, Y/N?"

Happy looked at him coldly "I already advised you of the conditions for this meeting. If you try to touch Ms Pierce again, you'll be escorted out of the building."

John tried to look loving but didn't have it in him "Ms Pierce? I don't understand. My wife has been missing for days and I just want to take her home."

"Why? So you can finish the job?" She spat at him then Star sat, with Happy on one side, Rhodey standing behind her and her attorneys on her other side.

John forehead wrinkled "Finish what job? I'm just glad you are safe and-"

"No thanks to you. Don't play innocent John. We all know what you've done. I was willing to let you walk away with your secrets but you had to try to hurt me even more."

Her lawyer, Jeri Hogarth stood up "Alright folks, lets get started here.

Mr Walker, I'm Jeri Hogarth and this is my associate Desmond Tobey. We've been hired by Ms Pierce to handle your divorce and her inheritance.

Did you receive the divorce settlement that was sent to your office?"

John nodded but before he could speak she continued.

"Good. Have you retained someone to represent you in the divorce?"

John shook his head "No one will be getting divorced here. I'm taking my wife home with me."

Y/N shook her head and chuckled.

John smirked at her evilly. "Now sweetheart, you know what happens if you divorce me. You'll lose everything. So let's go home and work this out."

Star scoffed "Work this out? You tried to kill me you bastard, there's nothing to work out."

John chuckled condescendingly "Honey, you know I would never hurt you. Your drug habit has gotten out of control and now you've brought all these other people into our personal problems, your delusions. You know how I feel about that."

Jeri interrupted "Mr Walker, unless you intend to sign the divorce settlement as is then you should hire an attorney to represent you."

John shook his head "Don't need one."

Jeri sighed "Very well then the notes from this meeting will indicate that you have declined representation at this time." She looked at her associate "Desmond"

Desmond Tobey stood "My client has indicated that the settlement as written is the only offer that she will make. If it has to go before a judge she will produce evidence of Mr Walker's infidelity and physical abuse. Meaning the media will soon have access to said evidence which will affect his current job." He looked John in the eyes "Do you understand that, Mr Walker? She is willing to air out all of your dirty laundry for the world to see. Based on what I have seen so far it would be enough to destroy your political ambitions and make finding any employment difficult."

"But her father wanted-"

Desmond cut him off "Mr Pierce is deceased and the allegations would affect the stipulations of your inheritance."

John looked at Y/N "Are you sure you wanna do that honey? Tell the whole world you're a drug addict?"

Y/N glared at him "I wouldn't have even taken any pain pills if Brock hadn't beat me until I miscarried, while you watched. I wouldn't have kept taking them if you hadn't worked so hard to make my life miserable. I've been clean for almost a week and have no desire to take them again. I wouldn't have overdosed if you hadn't had Brock drug me."

John shook his head "No honey, that's not what happened. Brock caught you when you fainted after taking too many pills and drinking alcohol on your lunch with Pepper." He looked to her attorneys "The drugs made her confused but I'm so glad you're getting clean, baby."

Jeri sighed "We have a syringe with traces of morphine and two sets of fingerprints one belonging to Brock Rumlow and the other Jack Rollins. Ms Pierce was drugged"

"I told Brock to take her to the house and meet our doctor. Brock must have done something after her left with her. I had a meeting with an important donor that I couldnt miss." He made himself tear up "He worked for her father and was her bodyguard for years. I thought I could trust him." He looked at Y/N "Baby I'm so sorry that I-"

Jeri cut him off "The NYPD picked Rumlow and Rollins up at a motel near the airport this morning. They had tickets to Rio. No extradition treaty with Brazil." She looked through some paperwork "Rumlow isn't talking but Rollins on the other hand. We'll just call him the Canary because he won't stop singing."

John laughed nervously, his face visibly paling "He's just making shit up to save his own ass."

Jeri nodded "I can see how one might think that, he has admitted to some heinous crimes but he has all kinds of proof. Claims he knew Rumlow couldn't be trusted and he wanted to cover his ass. Pictures, paperwork, recordings, it's pretty extensive."

Desmond spoke up again "Are you still sure you don't want to sign the settlement?"

John gulped loudly "I'm sure. I think you're bluffing. If you really had all that evidence then you would just arrest me."

Y/N sighed "I just wanted this over. I don't want to spend months dealing with divorce court and a criminal trial but if that's what it takes to be rid of you and keep what is rightfully mine, I'm in." She looked at Jeri "I think that's enough for today. I need to rest."

John stood and hit the table angrily "Absolutely not! Y/N you are my wife and are coming home with me. Today. Right fucking now! I don't know who you people think you are but you have no right to keep me from my wife." He reached for her but was slammed against the table, hands held behind his back before he knew what hit him.

Happy had to hold back a laugh as John started squirming and yelling for Rhodey to let him go. Clint stood back with his hands up, giving Y/N an apologetic look before quickly leaving.

Jeri looked at him squawking like a chicken and shook her head "Looks like we're done for today. Mr Walker, there are two NYPD detectives waiting outside of this room who will be taking you in to be booked. I would recommend you find an attorney asap. Tomorrow I'll be speaking to a judge about returning the Pierce inheritance and properties to Ms Pierce so if you do make bail you'll need to find a place to live quickly. If you have any questions, feel free to call me. After you get out, of course, I don't take collect calls, unless it's a client."

Y/N stayed where she was while John was handcuffed and read his rights. Someone had called the press so John's perpwalk would make it to the evening news.

Happy looked to her once John was on the elevator "You ok ma'am?" She looked at him and nodded "Lets get you back home then." He helped her up and they took the elevator up to the top floor.

When they entered her suite, Bucky was waiting at the table with take out for dinner. He looked at Happy questioningly, Happy nodded that she was ok, just shaken up and left her with Bucky.

Bucky smiled gently at her "Hey Star. I heard you had some company."

She grimaced "I knew I would have to see him again eventually but it still caught me off guard." Bucky helped her sit on the couch and sat across from her waiting for her to continue.

"John refused to sign the papers, insisted he did nothing wrong. Even when they told him that Rumlow and Rollins were arrested and Rollins is singing. He still seems to think my father will somehow protect him."

She sniffed "something smells good. Did you make dinner" and smirked at him.

Bucky feigned shock "Now Star, you know damn well I can't boil water on my own."

She giggled "I thought you might have learned something in 3 years. Poor Peggy having to feed all of you all this time."

Bucky shook his head "I'm afraid the only thing I learned was that I can't live without you."

She rolled her eyes "Yes, I'm sure you were terribly lonely. Even Dot wasn't enough to assuage your loneliness."

Bucky looked confused "Dot? Why would she be with me?"

Star shrugged "Beats me, she was with you when you came to my father's wake. Brock said you took her with you when you left town"

Bucky shook his head "We know how trustworthy Brock is. We stopped at the clubhouse the morning of the funeral, she was there and claimed she wanted to pay her respects and be there for me. First time I saw her since we left. I barely even noticed she was there."

Star rolled her eyes "I'm sure. It wasn't Dot that kept you away so long? Your letter said a year at most but you were gone 3 years."

She looked at him with tears in her eyes "I kept thinking you would come back and tell me it was a mistake. That you would save me. I thought you'd stop the wedding but you never did and I gave up."

Bucky reached out to hold her hand and was encouraged when she didn't pull away.  Tears forming in his eyes as he answered. "I meant to come back sooner, I just I just. Everything got all fucked up." He looked at the floor.

Star sat quietly as he composed himself. He finally looked back up at her. "I planned to be back sooner. I figured I'd get the Harley mechanic certificate and then take some business classes here.

When Wanda told Peggy about your engagement it hit me hard. I was almost convinced that you were better off with John. He had your fathers support and was on his way up. Steve and Sam talked me down after a week long bender, reminded me that it was your father telling me I wasn't good enough. Told me Brock probably hadn't had the chance to give my letter to you. I threw myself back into the classes and was really doing well.

Then you got married and it was all over the news, up and coming candidate and heiress marry, wedding of the year, fairytale romance and all the other bullshit the media put out.

I saw your wedding picture on the front of one of the tabloids. You looked so beautiful but your eyes still looked so sad. I felt like a failure. I left you to your father's devices and it was my fault you weren't happy. I told myself you had the letter but still chose John."

He stood and started pacing, running hus hand through his hair.

"I thought you deserved better than a man who ran away like I did. I knew that I would never deserve you again, could never be good enough. I dove into a bottle of Jack Daniels and refused to leave. For months I barely left the house except to the liquor store. Finally one day I saw some tv interview with John and lost it. Tore the house up, put my boot through the tv.

Peggy came home that night and that was it, Steve tossed me into the shower until I sobered up and read me the riot act. Told me that a violent, drunken asshole definitely didn't deserve you and I better get it together or I would lose the few friends I had. So I cleaned up, joined AA and haven't had more than a couple of drinks since." He paused for a breath "Ok full disclosure, I got a little drunk after I tried to talk to you at your stable. I went to your parents house to confront you and Brock but John's car was there and Nick showed up to stop me. He bought me a couple of drinks after that."

"I'm so sorry, Star. I failed you so many times that I'll understand if you can't forgive me." He sat back down and took her hands "I didn't know what to do. When I met you I was sure I'd never be able to settle down. I figured any real relationships I tried were doomed to repeat my parents history. Dad in jail and mom forever alone because she couldn't bear another heartbreak.

You just blew me away with your free spirit and how you loved me so easily regardless of the fact that I was a dirt poor biker who couldn't afford his own apartment. The world felt brighter when I was with you. I thought we had a real chance.

Then we came home to your dad and I felt like he was reality showing me how impossible we were. I tried to stay hopeful that I could make myself good enough for you but obviously didn't do a great job.

I know now that I will never be good enough in some people's eyes including my own but I'm gonna try. I realized that the only opinion I care about is yours. If you think I'm good enough then I will keep trying to be. I don't want to live without you again, even if we're only friends. I haven't touched anyone else since you and I meant it when I said you're it for me. I love you, Star and I'll spend the rest of my life showing you how much. If you let me."

@pattiemac1

Before Star could respond they were startled by loud banging on the door.

Chapter 11

[modyuki]

🎸 HERE! Soo did your eye get better? I hope it is.

And do you know about anime Oshi no ko? D*mn, I cried when I watch the anime.

But I get an idea, How about honami with S/o that has ptsd because the s/o saw their mother died(get killed) in front of them when they only kids? (Like 5/6 years old)

Thank you again and I love your writing! (It's really okay if you don't want do this anyway :D)

✧ · 𝐈'𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 · ✧

notes: HI THERE HAPPY TO SEE U HERE AGAIN , so about my eye well no it did not but I went to see a doctor and I'm using some kind of medicine and he said if it doesn't work they will need to cut it ' ^_^ , well I don't think I've heard of it before but I'll make sure to watch it :3 , and THANK YOU SO MUCH IT MAKES ME VERY HAPPY TO KNOW YOU LIKE MY WRITING :) , I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it :3

TW: mentions of Death, PTSD, Panick attacks, Abuse

Summary: Honami with an S/O that suffers from PTSD due to seeing their mother die

⋆ When you were a kid your dad was extremely abusive towards you and your mother

⋆ you didn't like how he treated her at all , he would always hit your mom if she did one simple mistake and he would do the same thing to you if you did a mistake yourself

⋆ One day you were helping you were helping your mother in the kitchen to help her make you a cake since it was your birthday , one of the only days in the year you truly feel happy but your father had other plans for that day

⋆ After you and your mother finished celebrating your birthday in which you turned 5 years your father entered through the door and saw that none of you waited for him

⋆ When your mother saw the look in his face she told you to run quick and hide , she would distract him

⋆ luckily for you , your father didn't see where you were hidden , but before you noticed it he walked in to the kitchen dragging your mother by the arm

⋆ He had a strong grip on her you could tell , she was trying to get out but nothing worked

⋆ With that he took a knife from the drawers and stabbed her multiple times

⋆ After your mom stopped moving your dad left the house thinking you ran away and when he close the door you went out the closest

⋆ You were shaking and crying so much

⋆ You didn't know what to do , you were so scared what if he were to find you again what if he kill's you too

⋆ That same night the neighbors called the police for a noise complaints 🙄 which lead to the police finding you laying crying close to your mother's dead body

⋆ After that you stayed with your aunt and fortunately your father was putted in prison

⋆ But things weren't the same after that you were different

⋆ When you turned six your aunt said there was a few children that always played in the park close to the house so if anything went wrong you could come back

⋆ and you actually went , and this was were U met your childhood best friends Saki , Ichika , Shiho and Honami

⋆ Ever since that day you felt happier than you have ever been you felt happy to spend time with them

⋆ That was until Saki was sent to the hospital in middle school and had to stay during Junior high as well

⋆ All of you got separated well except you and Honami your mental health still got worse tho since some kids found out about what your dad did and because of that they thought you were gonna become just like your dad

⋆ Middle School was hell being constantly reminded about what happened that day over and over again just because some stupid classmate found out about it

⋆ You were on the verge of tears on your way to class until you heard a soft voice behind you catching your attention

S/O are you ok ? your breathing very fast is something wrong?

Oh Honami .... It's fine don't worry we should be heading to class anyway

⋆ It was your childhood friend and now girlfriend Honami

⋆ She confessed to you not to long ago actually she even gave you homemade apple pie she made herself to you

⋆ She knew about your past and how you had PTSD because of this she always made sure to comfort you

⋆She was always by your side when you had trouble sleeping , her hugs were always so soft not even your nightmares were able to fight against that

⋆ Apple pies became your comfort food , especially when your birthday came around instead of cake she would make you an apple pie since it helped you get your mind of it

⋆ She always did everything she could to make sure you didn't think about it

⋆ When Saki finally got back from the Hospital during High School They all fixed their friendship bods specially you , you were all so happy that you were all back together

⋆ A few days later they started noticing your behaviour change to what it seemed to be scared ? , but they didn't pay much mind to it since you've always been like this specially on your birthday .... How odd

⋆ After School Honami got asked by Saki

Why does (name) always seems so scared during the day's close to their birthday?

Oh about that...

I think it's better if you asked them yourselves since it's a very sensitive topic and I don't know if they are ready to talk about it

⋆ Now if they ask and you decide to tell them yourself , Honami will be beside you rubbing your back to comfort you , if you stop mid sentence she'll ask if you want her to finish it for you and she will tell that you were very brave for telling it to them

⋆ Now if you tell Honami to tell them she'll be very careful while telling them and also give them advice so they don't overwhelm you

⋆ Over all Honami would take very good care of you , she is an amazing girlfriend to have and she loves you no matter what all she would like in return was your affection and maybe a few apple pie pieces from her favourite bakery

notes: I'M SORRY IF THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭😭😭 I GOT BUSY AND I'M SORRY IF THIS GOT TOO SHORT OR TOO LONG I'M STILL GETTING USE TO WRITING, Still make sure to drink water eat something and get some sleep ok :3 have a nice day/night

[whisky-tango-foxtrot-biteme]

Healing

To me, healing is an odd thing when you've experienced verbal, emotional, or psychological abuse. Trust in others has been broken, your abuser will go to some extreme lengths to protect himself, and you can lose relationships in the process. People you felt were your family, friends, or "tribe" walk away in silence because either they have something in their relationship to your abuser that is rewarding to them. or they don't want to rock the boat, or they themselves may fear the abuser.

So a victim of this kind of abuse has no physical wounds to say "hey, look at what happened to me." It's difficult to prove. Your abuse may have occurred privately. Your tribe may silently ignore the situation. One key idea to keep in mind is trauma is anything that makes you feel unsafe--physically, emotionally, or psychologically. Emotional abuse is also closely linked to complex PTSD.

There is a large number of folks out there who believe "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me." That is false. Verbal abuse is aggression and it is emotional violence. It is often hidden in the shadows, where your abuser wants you. It can cause you to self-gaslight. When you have been gaslighted, you are put in a position where you question your own reality. You will ask yourself if "was what happened to me really that bad?", "am I really a bad person?", "did I exaggerate?" This is self-gaslighting. The answer to all of these questions is NO. If your abuser was actually concerned about you as a person, you would have been treated with respect, honesty, and without humiliation or deceit. Abusers do not care about their victims.

Healing is not easy. It requires that you acknowledge to yourself it happened. You need to validate yourself and use positive self-talk and make your well-being a priority. Document your abuse. Write about it. Be specific. That way, you are less likely to doubt yourself.

Remember that words DO have a physical effect on us. Words have specific meaning and they convey thoughts that can be absolutely cruel and demeaning. Words that are intended to harm you will cause a fight or flight response in you. Cortisol levels rise. Anxiety will rise. This causes real physical issues: migraines, increased blood pressure, digestive issues. It also causes further psychological issues: you are unable to recall details, you may ruminate, you are much more likely to experience depression.

Do not blame yourself. You likely absorbed an untrue message from your abuser or maybe his flying monkeys from a smear campaign that you are a bad person or that you deserved the abuse. That is absolutely 100% false. It is not about you, but about your abuser's need to control you. Do not engage with your abuser if they ever reach out and do not respond to any flying monkeys. You are not under any obligation to justify yourself. What your abuser wants is to trigger any response out of you for their own egotistical purposes. They desire the attention brought to them. Again, this is a tactic to shield themselves, to prevent the sunlight placed on their malicious behaviors.

In my situation, my abuser absolutely hated that I grey rocked his ass. It made him increasingly angrier. It made him lash out at the end with a humongous smear campaign and a string of viciously insulting texts. If you cannot remove the abuser from your life completely, be aware that this type of behavior will continue until you can. Find someone who can help, someone you can talk to, someone who appreciates you. I was fortunate. I had a sister who saw through all of this and was there to witness some of this behavior and who supported me both in person and via text and phone. I understand finding that person may be difficult. Call 988 or get therapy ASAP. You need to process this emotional trauma and understand it was never about you and it was not your fault.

Healing is not easy. You will feel anger, resentment, loneliness, guilt, lack of self-esteem, shame, a ton of negative emotions. This is EXACTLY what your abuser wants to you experience. These are emotions that can isolate you, break you mentally, and cause you depression and anxiety. Your abuser wants to 100% break you. Do not let them do that. Reach out, ask for help and support. It is a form of self-love. There is no shame in letting the world know you need help and letting the world know your truth. Develop a powerful compassion for yourself by kicking your abuser out of your life and out of your mind. Communicate and connect with others who will model love, wisdom, compassion, and acceptance to you and reflect that back out into the word. Do not let an abuser put you in a place where you are in a place of hate, fear, and anger.

[douxlen]

There Are No Good Treatments for PTSD. MDMA Can Change That

New Post has been published on https://douxle.com/2024/08/10/there-are-no-good-treatments-for-ptsd-mdma-can-change-that/

There Are No Good Treatments for PTSD. MDMA Can Change That

On a cold night in November 2001, I locked the bathroom door of a residential women’s trauma center. As I climbed into the bathtub and began to choke down a large bottle of pills, my phone rang. It was my mother calling to say she was worried about me. “I’m fine, Mama, don’t worry,” I said. “I love you.” I set down the phone and picked up the razor blades.

My suicide attempt was the culmination of a two-year journey spent mostly in institutionalized psychiatric care for symptoms of complex post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) due to childhood sexual abuse and terrorization. I went into hospital care willingly and stayed hopeful, but after a litany of psychiatric drugs and months of abuse by a medical professional, I became despondent. There was no treatment that worked for me, no escape or safe place to turn to for care. Suicide seemed like the only option.

Fortunately, the paramedics were able to resuscitate me, and my journey of recovery began. Coming so close to death made me choose life and gave me the motivation to spend 20 years trying every clinical and alternative therapy I could find to learn to cope with the symptoms.

I promised myself back then that I would find a way to help some of the 13 million Americans who suffer from PTSD, a chronic disorder that can strike after a traumatic situation and disproportionately affects women and veterans. Untreated PTSD can make you feel like you have no other option but suicide or living in a medicated stupor of depression, night-terrors, anxiety, and addiction.

Help is harder to find than it should be. There have been practically no innovations in PTSD treatment for more than two decades. But that, I hope, is about to change. The U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) will soon determine whether to approve MDMA to treat PTSD. It is our best hope to help people who are currently struggling.

Read More: Inside Ibogaine, One of the Most Promising and Perilous Psychedelics for Addiction

MDMA-assisted therapy would be an entirely new model of care. Over the course of 12 weeks, this treatment uses outpatient psychotherapy plus three day-long therapy sessions during which patients take MDMA. Neuroscientists say the drug elicits pleasurable feelings of energy and openness, which clears the way for processing trauma. Though its use would be novel in modern times, MDMA has been around for more than a century and was used in psychotherapy for years before it was made illegal.

There’s been a resurgence in scientific interest in psychedelic drugs for mental-health conditions, and the results of recent clinical trials of MDMA-assisted therapy are nothing short of astounding. In a 2023 study published in Nature Medicine, 71% of people in the treatment group had such marked improvement that they no longer qualified for a PTSD diagnosis, and 86% experienced clinically significant reductions in their symptoms. The results show that using MDMA in sessions is almost twice as effective as therapy sessions without the drug.

As the leader of a philanthropic fund that supports PTSD research, I am a frontline witness to the urgent need for effective treatments. One in six women experience sexual abuse, which can lead to PTSD. I receive desperate pleas for help from women all the time, and have nowhere to send those in need. That’s why this could be so game changing.

Although I am not an investor in Lykos Therapeutics, the company that is trying to bring this treatment to market, I philanthropically support several research centers that conduct MDMA-assisted therapy. I have witnessed the transformational impacts on participants. “Sexual trauma frequently keeps women locked in the cycles of shame and silence with no real hope of change,” says Kim Roddy, COO at Sunstone Therapies and a recipient of one of our grants. “The participants we have treated have found greater agency, reduced their PTSD symptoms which allowed them to make different choices, and changed the course of their lives by breaking the cycles that kept them trapped.”

Read More: The Evolutionary Origins of Psychedelics

Despite its promise, MDMA’s path toward approval has been rocky. In June, an FDA advisory committee made the surprising decision not to recommend approval of MDMA-assisted therapy, citing concerns about the design of some of the studies, among other things. The committee was not accustomed to including psychotherapy as a variable in assessing the effectiveness and risks of a medicine. In a statement on July 7 respectfully disagreeing with the committee, scientists and clinicians who have expertise with drug-assisted psychotherapy argued that the concerns about study design aren’t large enough to “call the main clinical trial findings into question,” that “serious adverse events are rare,” and that “MDMA is now approvable for use with therapy in the treatment of PTSD.”

I couldn’t agree more: We are on the threshold of a breakthrough treatment for trauma. 

Since the advisory committee’s recommendation isn’t binding, the FDA will consider their recommendation, the voices of experts, and the profound unmet needs of the PTSD patient populations when they decide in August whether to approve MDMA-assisted therapy. Now is the time for survivors of trauma and their families to demonstrate support for this new approach.

Cristina Pearse, a clinical trial participant who testified before the FDA advisory committee, was only five years old when she was sexually assaulted. “PTSD is no longer my life sentence,” she said. “How many more people need to die before we approve an effective therapy?”

Read More: What MDMA Taught Me About Human Connection

The push for approval has bipartisan support. Members of Congress from both parties—along with veterans groups, some of MDMA-assisted therapy’s strongest advocates—called on the FDA to “follow the science” when they gathered July 10 at the Capitol. There, they unveiled a tombstone displaying nearly 150,000 dog tags to bring awareness to the fact that more soldiers died by suicide than were killed in war since 9/11.

I feel lucky that that cold night in November more than 20 years ago was not my last. Since then, I have built a meaningful career and raised a beautiful family. But every day the scars on my wrists remind me to seize the gift of this second chance and to dedicate my life to helping other victims become survivors who can truly thrive. MDMA-assisted therapy can offer a new path forward, if we are brave enough to open our minds to it.

The person who abused me threatened to torture and kill me if I ever spoke about it. The fact that I am writing this speaks to how much I believe in this treatment. I even plan to try it myself. Based on what I have seen from the outcomes of both these clinical trials and several investigative studies, I hope to do a full protocol of MDMA-assisted therapy when it is legal. 

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had had access to this breakthrough treatment two decades ago. I wish my younger self and my fellow inpatients had been able to receive it. But it’s not too late to save those who are suffering now.

If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental-health crisis or contemplating suicide, call or text 988. In emergencies, call 911, or seek care from a local hospital or mental health provider.

[sa7abnews]

There Are No Good Treatments for PTSD. MDMA Can Change That

New Post has been published on https://sa7ab.info/2024/08/09/there-are-no-good-treatments-for-ptsd-mdma-can-change-that/

There Are No Good Treatments for PTSD. MDMA Can Change That

On a cold night in November 2001, I locked the bathroom door of a residential women’s trauma center. As I climbed into the bathtub and began to choke down a large bottle of pills, my phone rang. It was my mother calling to say she was worried about me. “I’m fine, Mama, don’t worry,” I said. “I love you.” I set down the phone and picked up the razor blades.

My suicide attempt was the culmination of a two-year journey spent mostly in institutionalized psychiatric care for symptoms of complex post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) due to childhood sexual abuse and terrorization. I went into hospital care willingly and stayed hopeful, but after a litany of psychiatric drugs and months of abuse by a medical professional, I became despondent. There was no treatment that worked for me, no escape or safe place to turn to for care. Suicide seemed like the only option.

Fortunately, the paramedics were able to resuscitate me, and my journey of recovery began. Coming so close to death made me choose life and gave me the motivation to spend 20 years trying every clinical and alternative therapy I could find to learn to cope with the symptoms.

I promised myself back then that I would find a way to help some of the 13 million Americans who suffer from PTSD, a chronic disorder that can strike after a traumatic situation and disproportionately affects women and veterans. Untreated PTSD can make you feel like you have no other option but suicide or living in a medicated stupor of depression, night-terrors, anxiety, and addiction.

Help is harder to find than it should be. There have been practically no innovations in PTSD treatment for more than two decades. But that, I hope, is about to change. The U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) will soon determine whether to approve MDMA to treat PTSD. It is our best hope to help people who are currently struggling.

Read More: Inside Ibogaine, One of the Most Promising and Perilous Psychedelics for Addiction

MDMA-assisted therapy would be an entirely new model of care. Over the course of 12 weeks, this treatment uses outpatient psychotherapy plus three day-long therapy sessions during which patients take MDMA. Neuroscientists say the drug elicits pleasurable feelings of energy and openness, which clears the way for processing trauma. Though its use would be novel in modern times, MDMA has been around for more than a century and was used in psychotherapy for years before it was made illegal.

There’s been a resurgence in scientific interest in psychedelic drugs for mental-health conditions, and the results of recent clinical trials of MDMA-assisted therapy are nothing short of astounding. In a 2023 study published in Nature Medicine, 71% of people in the treatment group had such marked improvement that they no longer qualified for a PTSD diagnosis, and 86% experienced clinically significant reductions in their symptoms. The results show that using MDMA in sessions is almost twice as effective as therapy sessions without the drug.

As the leader of a philanthropic fund that supports PTSD research, I am a frontline witness to the urgent need for effective treatments. One in six women experience sexual abuse, which can lead to PTSD. I receive desperate pleas for help from women all the time, and have nowhere to send those in need. That’s why this could be so game changing.

Although I am not an investor in Lykos Therapeutics, the company that is trying to bring this treatment to market, I philanthropically support several research centers that conduct MDMA-assisted therapy. I have witnessed the transformational impacts on participants. “Sexual trauma frequently keeps women locked in the cycles of shame and silence with no real hope of change,” says Kim Roddy, COO at Sunstone Therapies and a recipient of one of our grants. “The participants we have treated have found greater agency, reduced their PTSD symptoms which allowed them to make different choices, and changed the course of their lives by breaking the cycles that kept them trapped.”

Read More: The Evolutionary Origins of Psychedelics

Despite its promise, MDMA’s path toward approval has been rocky. In June, an FDA advisory committee made the surprising decision not to recommend approval of MDMA-assisted therapy, citing concerns about the design of some of the studies, among other things. The committee was not accustomed to including psychotherapy as a variable in assessing the effectiveness and risks of a medicine. In a statement on July 7 respectfully disagreeing with the committee, scientists and clinicians who have expertise with drug-assisted psychotherapy argued that the concerns about study design aren’t large enough to “call the main clinical trial findings into question,” that “serious adverse events are rare,” and that “MDMA is now approvable for use with therapy in the treatment of PTSD.”

I couldn’t agree more: We are on the threshold of a breakthrough treatment for trauma. 

Since the advisory committee’s recommendation isn’t binding, the FDA will consider their recommendation, the voices of experts, and the profound unmet needs of the PTSD patient populations when they decide in August whether to approve MDMA-assisted therapy. Now is the time for survivors of trauma and their families to demonstrate support for this new approach.

Cristina Pearse, a clinical trial participant who testified before the FDA advisory committee, was only five years old when she was sexually assaulted. “PTSD is no longer my life sentence,” she said. “How many more people need to die before we approve an effective therapy?”

Read More: What MDMA Taught Me About Human Connection

The push for approval has bipartisan support. Members of Congress from both parties—along with veterans groups, some of MDMA-assisted therapy’s strongest advocates—called on the FDA to “follow the science” when they gathered July 10 at the Capitol. There, they unveiled a tombstone displaying nearly 150,000 dog tags to bring awareness to the fact that more soldiers died by suicide than were killed in war since 9/11.

I feel lucky that that cold night in November more than 20 years ago was not my last. Since then, I have built a meaningful career and raised a beautiful family. But every day the scars on my wrists remind me to seize the gift of this second chance and to dedicate my life to helping other victims become survivors who can truly thrive. MDMA-assisted therapy can offer a new path forward, if we are brave enough to open our minds to it.

The person who abused me threatened to torture and kill me if I ever spoke about it. The fact that I am writing this speaks to how much I believe in this treatment. I even plan to try it myself. Based on what I have seen from the outcomes of both these clinical trials and several investigative studies, I hope to do a full protocol of MDMA-assisted therapy when it is legal. 

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had had access to this breakthrough treatment two decades ago. I wish my younger self and my fellow inpatients had been able to receive it. But it’s not too late to save those who are suffering now.

If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental-health crisis or contemplating suicide, call or text 988. In emergencies, call 911, or seek care from a local hospital or mental health provider.

[lunaprincipessa]

ENTRY FIFTY-NINE

It's always interesting when someone asks me what it's like working in the cannabis industry.

The first thing I mention is being at the age of 41 and never thinking it would be possible back in the day. If I could go back in time and tell my younger self that someday I'd be selling legal weed, I probably wouldn't have believed it! I'm still adjusting to the legality somewhat, but it has been so exciting not only interviewing for cannabis jobs but working them as well.

The interviews are awesome because instead of hiding it and hoping they never find out, you get to talk to the employer about your passion for cannabis and cannabis products. I've been in the cannabis industry for 3 years. I've done multiple interviews for cannabis jobs and they're always fun and exciting.

Working the job has been an amazing experience for the most part. Most of the clientele is pretty chill but every now and then you get a Karen or two. It is still customer service and retail after all. However, knowing the medicinal patient successfully treated their pain and stress, knowing the recreational patient had a safe and fun-filled evening makes it beyond worth it.

Then there's this little part...

😱 Being middle-aged and going back to retail (yes it's medical but a dispensary is still like a store in the way that you have similar responsibilities like cleaning and making sales for example). 😱

My first career path was to become a forensic psychologist. Long story short, I got screwed over by student loans and couldn't continue my education beyond my Masters of Science in Psychology, which merely provided a foundation for the ultimate goal I was attempting to work toward.

Once I knew I was officially done, that there were no more classes, no way to afford to keep going in college, no way to achieve what I already worked so hard for, I wanted a job I'd enjoy to ease the sting of dead dreams and crippling debt.

I wanted a job that would be good for the mind, heart, and soul even if it wasn't good for the wallet. I'm just so done with working my ass off at jobs that make me miserable on a daily basis.

Can I enjoy at least one thing in life? Can I at least start to live MY life for ME a little bit?

My only other occupational interest besides forensic psychology was cannabis. I have been using cannabis medicinally to help with my ADHD and C-PTSD. I also use it to help with redecoration, art projects, lots of other things aside from medical treatment. I thought, "I can still help other people, just in a different way now."

So that's why I am a middle-aged woman working in retail. My original plan didn't pan out and I wanted to do something I'd enjoy. We can't all be doctors, lawyers, famous actresses, or heirs to huge fortunes. Some of us are worker bees that need to find a job. And if I am going to be stuck working for the rest of my days, especially since my generation may not have anything to retire on, then I am going to need to be in a place that I don't dread for the sake of sanity.

And so, here we are! I'm a budtender. This is the career path I chose after the first one didn't work out. It's been quite an experience so far. Entering the industry, meeting all the characters in it, sampling different kinds of products, it's been fun! And currently, I am learning and sharpening my skills as a purchasing manager to my favorite dispensary in town of all places!

However, I have complaints. Two of them.

Complaint One:

We all want to hire the right people. We all want to bring on people that will be honest, reliable, and who will take the job seriously. Totally get that. BUT that won't be achieved through making the industry impossible to get into. It took me over a year to get my foot in the door! It is a little disappointing if the person doesn't have experience but how are they supposed to gain experience if no one gives them a chance to do so? Be willing to train! You might be turning away a great potential employee for a completely fixable reason!

Complaint Two:

I wish when legalization hit that the hippies had the money to invest. This is cannabis, weed, ganja, tree, Mary Jane! This should be a hippie industry with good vibes but it's not. Who did get to invest? Fucking car salesmen that made the cannabis industry horribly competitive and cut-throat.

My POV: I don't see other budtenders and dispensaries as competition. I see us all as cannabis enthusiasts trying to get the people some damn good weed. There's no place here for spitefulness and making moves against one another to cost people their jobs or companies.

On another note, talk to some women working in the cannabis industry about the ample amounts of sexual harassment they've dealt with and we can take this little convo into a whole new direction! There just shouldn't be any place in the cannabis industry for that type of stuff, but there is unfortunately.

That's pretty much the industry in its entirety and I hope it changes someday.

More thoughts later.

[fedorahead]

the difference between a right and a privilege; and why categorizing things like "not being murdered by the police" a white "privilege" has disturbing implications (a usa-based perspective)

the us constitution calls the unalienable nature of the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness to be self-evident. but what does "right" really mean? or unalienable? or self-evident?

self-evident is the easiest one to define: it means fucking obvious

rights are, in short, what every human being is entitled to by nature of being born. the document goes on to say that governments are instituted to secure the rights outlined above. so, basically, de-americanized, a right is the bare minimum you and every other human being should have, the uncompromisable access to which governments are meant to be formed to protect.

now, while rights are philosophically unalienable, as in, nobody can take away your *right* to anything, they are clearly physically alienable. people, corporations, and even governments alienate people from their rights all the time. for instance, cops often murder suspects and bystanders, without regard for the philosophical or legal assertion that life is an inalienable right of everyone. people are often held against their will without charges around the world, violating their right to freedom. there are many basic rights, but the US constitution really just started out with The Vague Three, and even then those ones are violated on a large scale.

The violation of another person's rights is abuse. The systematic violation of rights is oppression.

so then what is privilege?

privilege is a benefit, a bonus, an elevation or opportunity that extends beyond their rights and gives them something extra. maybe getting the nice parking space at work, maybe being extremely sexually overrepresented in fortune 500 company leadership boards.

privileges can be taken away.

ok, so are you saying white privilege isn't real? or is some kind of right?

no, not really. white privilege is entrenched globally as a result of the violent colonization and oppression of many peoples around the planet. white privilege is a result of oppression; the rights of the majority of human beings on this planet have been violated, and that violation created large centers of wealth and power, and very long tendrils of that power reaching into corners they had no business being.

white privilege creates many of the things experienced in every day life of white people and people benefitting from white supremacist hegemonies. one example is that video game systems are cheaper in the US and Japan than they are in the countries that produce the minerals necessary to even build those game systems. the privilege in this example is cheap access to gaming systems, where the mineral producing countries are actively being oppressed by the economic practices that give them less access to the products of their own labour and land.

privilege and oppression are often two sides of the same coin, but not always.

when i was a kid growing up, i had a lot of emotional struggles because the adults around me did not understand my neurotype or trauma. this was not dealt with well; i ended up dropping out of high school with a boatload more trauma from the way i had been treated by authority figures. what i didn't have to face during any of my meltdowns or ptsd-triggered fits of rage were armed members of the police. however, many undiagnosed or even diagnosed autistic/adhd kids and teens do have armed police involved when they have meltdowns or ptsd episodes, and the primary difference between us is that i was a little blonde white girl* and they're black, or brown, or boys.

i did not experience an ounce of privilege in the way my disability was handled. it was handled poorly and my life is still impacted by this into my 30s. there is no bonus opportunity that i had that would make the world a better place if it had been taken away. HOWEVER, other children who had a worse experience than i did because of their race or sex absolutely were facing oppression.

there is a line where white privilege ends and it's just all oppression. calling an absence of police involvement in that particular aspect of my childhood a privilege is doing a disservice to my friends who deserved the shitty treatment i got at the barest minimum.

sometimes white privilege comes without a direct and obvious oppressive foil. street vendors would randomly try to give me samples of their wares, like incense or flowers, when they wouldn't do the same for people who were darker skinned than me. there wasn't anybody directly losing from that situation, but it's an oddly common life experience for me that just wasn't the norm for a lot of my peers walking past the same vendors on the same streets. us culture and beauty standards venerate young white girls and women on a very shallow level, and that's a presentation of white privilege that, while the cause of it has far-reaching and awful consequences, was symptomized by largely harmless interactions of people not just treating me as human but going out of their way to treat me extra well. And that is absolutely a privilege.

how to tell whether something is a privilege or a right, lack of privilege or oppression

again, i'll start with the easiest place to start: if you lack a privilege, you're not actually losing anything.

if all the privilege in the world disappeared, nobody would be genuinely worse off. it was nice having positive attention from strangers as a kid, but i didn't need it and nobody genuinely benefitted from it. the price of game systems going up because the work going in to making them is being paid fairly also wouldn't actually hurt anyone. it might take longer for an american to get one than it did before, but paying the same for a ps5 as someone in brazil buying the same game system isn't unfair.

the easiest way to tell the difference between a right and a privilege is this:

would the world be a better place if resources were allocated to bring people up to the same experience, or if the people benefitting were brought down to everyone else's level?

so, for the videogame systems, one population has cheap gaming systems and one population is being exploited for their minerals and labour, and then having to pay more. there is clear oppression going on here, so taking away the american discount would make the world a better place. the discount is a privilege.

for the classroom experience, i had a bad experience while some kids in similar positions are arrested or killed. raising a gun at me wouldn't make the world a better place, but protecting the rights of kids regardless of their skin colour and making sure they get at least the bare minimum help i got absolutely would. there is no privilege here, only rights being violated.

as for me being approached by strangers more often than non white kids, really we don't need anyone approaching kids even if they're giving out freebies. that was absolutely a privilege and while it felt good to feel approved of and seen and appreciated, that shouldn't need to come from strangers and since there's a racial disparity for those experiences, fuck that. nobody's being actively oppressed but everybody would be better off if little white girls weren't being given free shit by strangers all the time.

i hope this makes sense, and to conclude i'm gonna fail to answer the question in the title by making you answer it.

given the difference between rights and privileges, is not being shot by police an aspect of white privilege, or is it a right every person should have, that is currently being oppressed?

[freetriumphwasteland-blog]

Pitambari Neelam (Blue Sapphire):-Benefits, Healing Property & Uses

Introduction Malachite is a copper carbonate mineral, with the chemical formula Cu2CO3(OH)2. It is often found in large crystals, but can also be found as granular or massive aggregates. The name comes from the Greek words for "mallow" (malache) and "green" (chiton). Malachite has been used since ancient times to make jewellery and ornamental objects such as vases, cups and statues. It was also used as a pigment in paintings by artists such as Titian until about 1800 CE when it was replaced by synthetic green pigments like cobalt blue and emerald green. Healing Properties Malachite is a stone of physical healing. It can help to heal broken bones, sprains and injuries. Malachite also helps to detoxify the body by removing toxins from the blood stream. Malachite has strong emotional healing properties as well. It can be used to help with depression and anxiety, as well as any other mental health issues that you may be experiencing such as PTSD or OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder). Malachite is also a great stone for spiritual growth because it helps us connect with our higher self or soul purpose in life! Meaning of Malachite Gemstone Malachite is a stone of transformation. It helps us to release what no longer serves us and move forward into the next phase of our lives with grace and ease. Malachite also provides protection against negative energies, especially those directed at you by others. It helps you stay balanced in the midst of chaos, so that you can see things clearly and make wise decisions about your life path. Malachite has been used throughout history as an amulet for protection against evil spirits or bad luck; it was also thought to bring good fortune if worn around the neck or carried in a purse. Uses of Malachite Gemstone Malachite is a beautiful stone that can be used to create jewelry, home decor, and meditation tools. Malachite has been used as a healing stone for thousands of years. It's believed to have the ability to boost your energy levels, improve your mood and help you overcome depression or anxiety. How to Choose the Right Malachite Gemstone When you're looking for a malachite gemstone, there are several things to consider. The first is color; green is the most common but it can also be found in shades of blue and brown. If you want to make sure that your stone has not been dyed or treated with heat, then look for one with a vibrant green hue. You should also consider size and cut when purchasing your stone; larger pieces will cost more but they can also be used as an investment piece because they hold their value well over time. Smaller pieces are easier to wear every day so if this is something you'd like to do regularly then go ahead and purchase one that's small enough not to get lost in amongst other jewelry items (but still large enough so people know what it means). Finally, when selecting between cut options keep in mind whether or not any imperfections will show up on either side of where light hits them since these may affect how much light reflects off each side differently depending on where those imperfections are located within each faceted surface area. Instagram Gallery 4500 416 5908 809 5653 420 5193 84 9525 736 9816 296 4228 307 5338 814 6778 344 7784 781 9658 228 4464 477 6151 916 2422 321 1822 295 1686 809 6599 6 1415 395 Recent Posts - What to know before wearing a Garnet stone? - What is Blue Sapphire? Why Blue sapphire is the most Powerful Gemstone? - Can I wear Emerald stone (Panna) without consultation? - Unheated Ruby vs. Heated Ruby Malachite For you - Natural Malachite Gemstone 10.15 Carat Lab Certified ₹4,000.00 ₹2,030.00 - Natural Malachite Gemstone 8.90 Carat Lab Certified ₹3,400.00 ₹1,780.00 - Natural Malachite Gemstone 8.25 carat Lab Certified ₹3,200.00 ₹1,650.00 Contact Us FIND YOUR BEST STONE FROM BELOW COLLECTION Blue Sapphire Yellow Sapphire Emerald Ruby Opal Amethyst Catseye Blue Topaz Yellow Topaz Feroza Garnet Malachite Pearl Red Coral Akik White Coral Peridot Citrine Aquamarine Round CVD Cushion CVD Oval CVD Princess CVD Heart CVD Emerald CVD Radiant CVD Asscher CVD Baguette CVD Pear CVD Marquise CVD Round HPHT Cushion HPHT Oval HPHT Princess HPHT Heart HPHT Emerald HPHT Radiant HPHT Asscher HPHT Baguette HPHT Pear HPHT Marquise HPHT 1 Mukhi 2 Mukhi 3 Mukhi 4 Mukhi 5 Mukhi 6 Mukhi 7 Mukhi 8 Mukhi 9 Mukhi 10 Mukhi 11 Mukhi 12 Mukhi 13 Mukhi 14 Mukhi 15 Mukhi 16 Mukhi 17 Mukhi 18 Mukhi 19 Mukhi 20 Mukhi 21 Mukhi Gauri Shankar Garbh Gauri Shankar Savaar Sidhha Mala Jaap Mala Indra Mala Ganesha Ganesha Read the full article

[sixofpomegranates]

STRANGERS TO LOVERS READER AND SPENCER WHERE READER MOVES INTO THE APARTMENT BELOW SPENCER AND HEARS HIS LATE NIGHT CRIES FROM NIGHTMARES AND THEN ONE DAY SHE HAS ENOUGH AND GOES UP THERE WITH BLANKETS AND COMFORT FOOD AND IS LIKE "IDK YOU AND YOU DONT KNOW ME BUT YOU'RE SUFFERING AND I HATE IT SO MUCH PLEASE LET ME BE HERE FOR YOU"

♘ 𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 ♞

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

A/N: Love it. Wanted to make it smut, refused to because it wouldn't have been healthy. Listened to this song: In the middle of the night by Elley Duhé. Made it the title of this one shot. <3

CW: Angst & Comfort | Mentions of Spencer's Canon Trauma, PTSD, Nightmares, Consumption of Food, School/Exams, Storms/Thunder, Making out,

**********

*picture does not describe the looks of the reader*

**********

Living in DC is expensive. No, technically living anywhere on your own is. I think you only ever truly learn to appreciate living with family once you're on your own and have all those freaking bills come in every month.

That was why I was very glad to have found this new apartment. Rent was a dream for my broke grad school student's butt, there were no cockroaches, and the neighborhood was safe.

The first three months were amazing to get settled in... Then, out of the blue, it started.

Every single night I would wake up to someone's crying and screaming coming from the apartment above mine.

The first time I had woken up to it, my whole body had started to shake and I was sure I was involuntarily becoming a witness to a gruesome murder.

As my hands finally stop shaking violently, I called the cops. I didn't know what was going on up there but I wasn't risking the possibility of somebody desperately needing help and not getting it.

Sitting by my window, I watched the police arrive and walk into the apartment complex. Ten minutes later, they walked out accompanied by a man. The streetlights weren't bright enough that I could make out his face but I noticed that he was significantly taller than the cops.

He seemed to know the policemen, waving them goodbye as they drove off again. Then he walked back inside.

I had expected him to knock on my door, be rather annoyed that I had sent him the cops, but no. Nothing. Not even crying or screaming.

Half an hour later I went back to bed and hoped to be able to sleep again after that scare.

This was now happening every day for the last week. In the middle of the night, I would get woken up by desperate screams and cries. By now I had heard them often enough that they didn't scare me anymore but rather became an annoyance.

I had started sleeping in the living room since it seemed like our bedrooms were right above each other's, giving me a first-row seat to whatever was going on upstairs... But sleeping on my couch hadn't been enough to block out this new nightly occurrence.

Work and grad school were hard enough as it was. I knew it sounded selfish but I really didn't need this man keeping me up all night with his night terrors.

One morning, I had just treated myself to some McDonald's breakfast, I met my next-door neighbor Mr. Brown. Having run some errands for him before, it was safe to say that I was on his good site. Therefore, I decided to ask him about the neighbor that was stealing away my precious hours of sleep.

Mr. Brown was fortunate enough not to hear the screams, so it really had to be the location of my apartment. He also told me that the man living there was a doctor working for the FBI. He had helped out Mr. Brown before I moved here but a few months ago had vanished. Just as of recently, he had returned and that was something I knew first-hand.

My neighbor seemed to think very highly of this doctor, so I held the conversation short and didn't mention just how upsetting my lack of sleep was becoming.

*****

Nine nights. Nine nights I had now been the victim of my neighbor's screams.

In two days I had a very important exam and I just couldn't lose any more sleep than my nerves already made me do. I needed to be in top shape but due to the lack of sleep the last two weeks, I struggled with headaches almost every day.

So as night nine woke me up at 3 a.m. I did something completely against my nature. I put on some shoes and walked upstairs to complain.

Knocking against the door of this Dr. Spencer Reid I was desperate for just two days of calm sleep, but the man opening the door seemed like he could use them as well.

"Yeah?" He asked groggily, making me realize that his seriously troubled-looking appearance had taken the wind out of my sails.

"Hi, Dr. Reid, is it?" I ask rhetorically and he nodded. "I live in the apartment below you. I'm [y/n] [y/l/n]. We didn't have the pleasure to meet yet."

"How can I help you?" he said, the dark bags under his eyes baring witness of the last nine days that seemed to have him even less rested than me.

"I- I can't sleep," I told him, the confused look on his face had me realize just how stupid and like a blatant pick-up line it sounded.

"I- I can hear you. Every single night. I know it is really unsympathetic of me to ask of this but please, please I really need to sleep. I am a grad student and I have an exam coming up. I-"

"I understand," the doctor said, interrupting me while brushing through his messy mane which seemed to once have had curls until they weren't cared for anymore. "I have some rough few months behind me. I'm sorry for the inconvenience I was causing you. It won't happen again."

I couldn't quite read this man. He seemed sorry and ashamed but every emotion seemed drained of energy. He really seemed to need some sleep.

"Thanks. Goodnight," I told him out of politeness, walking down the stairs and going to bed.

Goodnight. What a stupid thing to say to him.

*****

I was so ready for the weekend. My exam was written, homework done, and the next few days I didn't have to work.

The doctor had also kept his word, the last two days I had slept like a baby. I was already starting to forget how disturbing the past two weeks had been but coming home, I was hit with more information about my new neighbor than I was comfortable with.

Just before I could enter my apartment, the doctor walked up the stairs supported by a dark-haired woman while another blonde one walked after them.

"I can walk on my own," he grumpily tried to assure the women, the brunette shaking her head. "Reid, you collapsed today. We're going to get you to bed and you're going to get some rest."

Like the nosy bitch I am, I slowly started walking after them, only to hear the doctor answer, "I can't." "Yes, you can. We're gonna make you some tea and then you'll sleep a little," the blonde replied motherly, only to have him shake his head.

"I- I can't sleep," he told his friends as they opened his apartment door. "Why not?" The dark-haired woman asked.

The doctor snapped around to look at her. "Because-" Then his eyes met mine as he noted me standing by the staircase. "Because I'm a burden for the people around me when I try."

The answer had been for his friend but he said it while looking at me, making me realize that he had forced himself to stay awake the last few days so I could peacefully sleep without getting woken up by his nightmares.

"Hi," I mumbled, the guilt for being so self-absorbed spreading in my chest. He echoed in reply, "Hi."

As his friends turned around to look at me, he cleared his throat, standing on his own like he hadn't needed help up the stairs mere minutes ago.

"How- How was your exam?" The doctor asked me in a clumsy but surprisingly sweet attempt at small talk.

"Good," I answered, and once again he echoed me. "Good."

I forced myself to smile through the guilt I felt. I had been so annoyed by the nightly wake-up calls that I hadn't considered the tall they must be taking on the man living through them.

After staring me down for a moment, the blonde looked back at the doctor. "A friend?" She asked pleasantly surprised, but he shook his head promptly.

"Neighbor," he answered, getting into his apartment but forcing his friends to stay outside. "Thanks for driving me," he told them before closing the door and leaving all three of us alone.

Sighing deeply about it, the brunette shook her head. "I need a coffee."

Then she looked at me, reaching out her hand. "Emily Prentiss and that's Jennifer Jareau," she said, her blonde friend waving a little. I shook her hand, answering, "[y/n] [y/l/n]."

My one toxic trait was definitely that I was a fixer. When I saw something that simply didn't work, my instinct told me to fix it. In this case, it was the doctor's hopeless attempts of sleeping. He had forced himself to stay awake for me, now I had to find a way to fix his problem.

"Can- Can invite you to coffee?" I asked the women, and they smiled at each other.

"I smell a bribe," Emily chuckled, having seen right through me.

"I just..." Taking a deep breath I said, "He didn't sleep the last two days because of me."

Jennifer smiled at me. "Please don't think that this is your fault," she said. "Spence has been through a rough patch lately. It is normal that he has troubles sleeping."

Shaking my head, I answered, "No. It really is. I- I live in the apartment below and I heard him having nightmares – or whatever is going on when he tries to sleep – every single night the last two weeks. Two days ago I told him that it was keeping me up and I had an exam..."

Emily nodded, finishing the story for me. "And he decided to stop sleeping so he wouldn't wake you up anymore. Oh, Spencer..." She sighed.

"I just feel guilty and wanna help." "That is sweet of you, really. But the help he needs is therapy and some time," Jennifer smiled.

What the hell had happened to this man the last couple of months?

"Where was he the last few months? Some job for the FBI?" I blatantly asked, making the women stare at me. "Gossip travels fast amongst neighbors," I said.

After a while of silent stares being exchanged, Emily looked at me. "Prison."

Then she started walking down the stairs while a cold shiver ran down my back. "Are you coming? You promised coffee," she called back at me.

I looked at Jennifer for a moment before hurrying after the brunette.

*****

Laying in bed that night, I couldn't sleep. Not because of the doctor having nightmares again but because of all the things I had gotten told by his friends.

Wrongfully imprisoned, beaten, attacked, mother kidnapped, the fear of her being dead, and having to face the psychopath who did all this to him.

These three months have been more traumatic for him than some complete lifetimes for others. His friends clearly troubled by all that happened too.

Watching TV in the future, I wouldn't wish for a more adventurous life or daydream about being an FBI agent because of some show I had seen. Thinking about it, I was pretty happy with the life I had.

As I rolled over for what must've been the hundredth time, I could hear it once again. The doctor was having another nightmare. Just this time it was only 10 p.m. Normally, I'd get woken up around 3 a.m. which made me believe that he most likely had tried sleeping through the day so that he would wake me up at night.

Contemplating for a while about what to do, I got out of bed. Soon he would wake up and stay in the stressed out and tired state for the rest of the night.

I should've just minded my own business and not force myself into a situation I couldn't relate to anyway... But my helper's complex really started hitting me harder than ever before.

Grabbing my keys, I walked over to the pizza place across from our apartments, and armed with food I walked back upstairs.

I had to knock a couple of times, but finally, the doctor opened the door. Rubbing his eyes, trying to hide away his tear-stained cheeks, he greeted me. "Ms. [y/l/n]. Hello. I'm sorry. I- I know."

"Was a bad one, huh?" I simply asked, cutting all this polite bullshit.

He gave me a tortured smile, "I'm starting to get used to them. I'm sorry I woke you up... again... I just was so tired. I thought... I don't know."

Lifting the cartons of Italian food, I said, "I happen to have a bunch of food. Would you let me in so we can share it?"

He looked at me bewildered, for a moment seeming thankful that I didn't plan on leaving him alone with his mind again, but then shook his head. "I- I can't accept that offer."

"Why not?" I asked, making him sigh. "I like my privacy and- and I am not good at the whole 'meeting new people' process."

That rejection wasn't directed at me but at himself. I already knew he thought himself to be a burden, so I decided to ignore it and decide on his behalf.

"And I like my sleep," I smiled. "Guess we're both going to pass out on some of it."

"[y/n]..." he mumbled, startling me a little. I really liked how my name sounded on his lips, it was almost like poetry begging me to leave him suffering.

Pressing the food into his arms, I walked past him into his apartment.

"Oh, wow," I mumbled, realizing that our apartments had the completely same layout. "That's like I just entered the library version of my apartment," I said more to myself than the doctor, staring at all the books on the built-in shelves.

"I- I like to read," he explained, looking at the stacks of books on the floor who hadn't found a home on the shelves yet... Or rather, a place. Those shelves were packed.

"Thought so much," I answered, watching him put the food on the dinner table.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered, looking at me for advice, and I smiled. "Some plates and cutlery would be smart."

Nodding, he walked off into the kitchen. When he came back, a little upset, putting the plates down. "Why are you doing this? Why- Did Emily or JJ ask you to check on me?"

They had given me their phone numbers for the case I noticed him struggling, but no.

I shook my head. "They didn't." "Then why?" He asked again.

Letting out a sigh, I answered, "Look, I know we don't know each other, but you're suffering. And I hate it so much hearing it every single night." Taking a step towards him, I noticed the tears in his eyes. "Just please let me be there for you. I don't think I could forgive myself if I'd just left you to suffer alone."

"That's called a savior's complex, or messiah complex, or Christ complex," he blurted out, hands moving up to gesture with them. "It- It's a state of mind in which an individual holds the belief that they are destined to become a savior today or in the near future. The term can also refer to a state of mind in which an individual believes that they are responsible for saving or assisting others."

I stared at him, making him blush. "The- The second one is the one applying to you." "Okay," I answered since I had already figured that much.

"I'm sorry," he said, making me shake my head. "Don't be, Dr. Reid."

"Spencer. Please just... Just Spencer," the doctor corrected me, almost embarrassed over me using his title.

I smiled at him, looking at the dinner table. "Okay, Spencer. Can we eat while you psychoanalyze me?"

He nodded and I could swear he tried hiding the emotion about not being alone. Both taking a seat at the table, I began opening the different boxes and put them onto the plates.

*****

"So, what is it that you dream about?" I asked while we ate our desserts.

Emily and Jennifer, or like Spencer called her JJ, had done us a favor by telling me about what had happened to him. I had mentioned that they had told me about the last month as I had bribed them with coffee, and Spencer seemed remarkably glad about it although he refused to talk about these things himself.

Instead, he just kept on rambling about TV shows and books. He was telling me so much after having eaten his first plate that I felt that he hadn't had somebody to talk to like this in a very long time.

Also, he devoured the pasta and pizza like it was his last meal. Maybe it had been the prison food or not wanting to eat alone as he came back home, but he seemed to really have needed it.

Now, that I was seeing his face light up and smile, I was also to notice that he was quite handsome and sweet under all that sleep-deprived trauma of his.

Poking his tiramisu with the fork, he said, "I- I am back in my cell and although I know it's a dream, I cannot wake up. I just keep getting jumped and am afraid. It feels like having an anxiety attack while I am sleeping."

"Isn't anxiety a part of PTSD?" "They call it PTSS now," he corrected me. "But, yes it is."

"Than what is causing the anxiety?" I asked, making him sigh.

"That this might be the dream, he murmured. "I- I know it sounds absurd, but I haven't really slept in so long that I'm afraid that every time I wake up in my cell is the reality and being back home is the dream."

Taking a sip from my coke, I looked at Spencer. "Is it so hard to believe that it's over?" He nodded. "I thought I'd die in there. And to think that now I am eating Italian food with a pretty woman who barely knows me and still wants to be here..."

His face started to turn the deepest shade of pink I had ever seen on a face. He had just called me pretty and although I wanted to squeal, I played it down cool. "You're just saying that because I brought you food," I giggled.

A grin on his lips, he slightly shook his head, looking down on his dessert.

"So," I started to stir the conversation back to his nightmares, "You're subconsciously thinking that once you're having a good nighttime's rest, you'll wake up back in prison? That won't happen, Spencer."

He nodded, smile vanishing. "You can't promise that."

"Yes, I can. Logic is on my side in this case," I retorted stubbornly, making him conclude the obvious. "You're a stubborn woman."

Soft laughter was broken by the loud sound of thunder and the felt vibration of its intensity. I didn't mind storms, I actually found them quite soothing.

Yet, I exclaimed giggling, "That was loud." Looking over at Spencer, I could see his hands shaking, face having gotten pale. "Are you okay?"

"Loud," he answered quickly, putting the fork aside.

"Do you want me to put the food away?" I offered, trying to navigate through this burst of anxiety he felt.

As Spencer nodded thankfully, I got up and began cleaning up. Washing the dishes, I did with him standing next to me. Another loud thunder had made him join me in the kitchen. He looked tired, the warm food seeming to have given him some comfort, but he was still on high alert. No chance he would sleep once I left.

Maybe I should just stay, I had spent a fair share of the last two weeks on my couch, another night on one wouldn't hurt.

"I have an-" I started, the same time he began stepping closer and saying, "Can you-"

We both stopped, and I gestured at him, "You first."

"Do- Do you think you could stay the night?" He asked quickly and uncertain then shook his head. "That was inappropriate of me to ask. I'm sorry, you have better things to do."

"I actually wanted to offer it anyway."

We smiled at each other a little stupidly, then another thunder roared through the night. Spencer closed the distance between us, practically jumping into my arms.

"Hi," I exclaimed in surprise, looking at him. "Hi," he answered, arms wrapped around me so tightly I feared he'd snap me in half.

Standing there and staring at him, I noticed his eyes beginning to focus on my lips, his tongue licking over his own. Watching his eyes become dark and face coming closer, I closed the distance between us.

That had definitely not been part of my plans, sex wasn't a good coping mechanism, and yet, I didn't fight against it. Our lips were pressed roughly onto each other's. Violently hungry he backed me against the kitchen counter, hands starting to roam my body, making moan into his mouth.

"I- We need to stop," he growled into the kiss.

"Why?," I whispered back, letting my hands wander into his hair.

Ripping his lips from mine, he answered breathlessly, cupping my face in his hands, "Because I'd use you to get rid of my build-up tensions. You deserve better than that, to be courted properly. You're so precious."

"I'll still stay the night though," I answered, making him lay his head back and chuckle. "You're so stubborn."

I nodded, "That's part of my appeal."

Placing another soft kiss on my lips, he smiled against them, "It is. And once I am no longer a complete basket case, I promise I'll pay you back for it with the best dinner date possible."

That night I didn't spend on Spencer's couch but in his bed. As he had requested, nothing more had happened than sweet kisses in the dark. We had fallen asleep with our limps entangled in one another and only once I had to wake him up gently, having awoken to his cries.

In the morning, I was up before him, taking in the view of his peaceful face. As he opened those beautiful hazel eyes, a soft and weary smile followed when seeing me next to him.

"Not a dream," he whispered, pulling me closer and pressing his lips against mine.

Yet for me, it felt like it was one that had only just begun.

[tellerluna-stories]

a lover’s oath (valentine's 2022!!)

PAIRINGS: childe, kaeya, diluc, gorou, n thoma x reader (separate). totally not biased at all!!!! //hides simp list discreetly

DESCRIPTION: scenarios depicting how they would show their sincerest affections for you. pure fluff for the most part, hurt/comfort + fluff for kaeya and gorou.

TW/CW: teensy mention of blood in childe's scenario, implied ptsd in gorou's.

A/N: hAPPY (belated) valentine's day! this is the first time I've written something for a holiday that more or less happens to be on time for said holiday. these days I've been really stressed out bc THESIS so I wrote these lil scenarios for myself as a treat <3 special thanks to my beta reader for coming up w the title!!

if you enjoy reading my work, pls consider taking this survey or sending in a ko-fi! it'd mean the world to me （*´▽｀*）

tartaglia:

there is nothing that childe would rather do than to give you the world at your feet; why, he’d even give you his very soul if you would allow him. but you had reprimanded him sharply when he brought it up for the first and the last time, saying that you’d much rather have his soul in his physical body, alive and well, than offered up to you as if he were a human sacrifice. a particular emphasis on the words alive and well.

you aren’t like teucer, whose youthful heart is easily cheered with new toys and adventurous stories. so instead childe gives you another gift, one that he knows hold more value in your heart than any gaudy trinket bought with the wealth he has accumulated. he gives you himself.

he gives you his time— no matter how short his visits are, he always makes sure to stop by your home to check on you. he gives you peace of mind on his well-being; childe no longer cares to rip into the battlefield without minding his own safety, for he knows how many sleepless nights you’ve spent dressing his wounds and worrying about him. mind, heart, a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on— whatever he can give, he gives freely, for his heart is his present to you, something that is meant to be yours and yours alone.

oh, but do not be mistaken here; he still longs to conquer the world for you, to make it a kingdom that he and you can reign over and live in happily ever after, like something straight out of a fairy tale. but the harbinger knows that the source of your happiness is not found in grand schemes of fame and fortune, no— your happiness comes from the simple joy of being in a world where you and he are alive at the same time, a happy existence where your loved ones can rejoice with you in peace and harmony. childe’s greatest wish is for you to have what your heart desires, and if he must give mind, body, soul and spirit to grant it, then so be it.

so he chooses to protect that simple, dream-like world of yours, much like how he protects the childhood dreams of his siblings. it is a far cry from the usual sort of striving he does, the one that requires his hands to be stained with bloodshed and misery— but the smile on your face is more than enough reward for childe’s efforts, worth more than any spoils of battle that he’s won in the past. if little gifts such as these are what gives this idyllic world to you, then childe is only too willing to surrender himself wholly to such a cause.

kaeya:

honesty is a rare luxury for kaeya to have— all last shreds of that trait had seemingly withered away long ago, unable to withstand the poison of hollow words and empty promises. for one whose entire life is built upon a foundation of falsehoods, the truth is the most terrifying thing a liar could ever face.

to kaeya, words are many things; weaponry, armour, and a way of getting by in life. lies are nothing but a means to an end, a way to getting the things he wants like the greedy sinner he is— but he doesn’t use them on you. he cannot bear to curse you with the weight of his lies, no matter how desperate kaeya is for your love; that, and he’s afraid of facing his truth, of whatever ill-omened burden he may become to you.

but then again… the truth terrifies him, yes, but what is far more terrifying is a future where you slip through his fingers, all because he was too paralyzed by fear. it is this new, greater terror that pushes him into a slow, tedious crawl as kaeya seeks to discard his cloak of lies; this fear pushes him to become a better man, to win your heart without a single honeyed word from his lips. you were the one to give him your complete honesty and trust, and to break it would break him too.

at first, it feels as if he’s tied one arm behind his back. without his reinforced armour of facades he feels awkward and clumsy, and kaeya admittedly fumbles more than once when he crosses paths with you. there is no-one for him to ask about these things, and to admit that he was lacking in knowledge would be a blow to his pride. but love makes fools out of the wisest men, as the poets say— and kaeya would rather be a courageous fool than a coward. making a fool of himself would make you laugh more anyway, and his dignity was a fair price to pay for a little piece of heaven.

eventually he learns to laugh with you, at the sheer absurdity of it all; no-one could’ve ever imagined the silver-tongued cavalry captain of the knights of favonius quaking like a leaf when he holds the door open for you. nor could anyone have pictured him tucking a cecilia behind your ear, immediately hiding his trembling hands behind his back afterwards like a shy school-boy. straightening your collar right before you attend an important event, giving you the pieces of food that you liked best while stealing the food you hated from off of your plate… these were all silent, domestic gestures that he was certain he was unworthy of, but they tasted like freedom all the same. even if you laughed at him and called him cheesy after.

it was in this manner that kaeya found a way to be honest with you; there was no need to worry about the sincerity behind his words if they remained unspoken. perhaps someday… someday he would be redeemed, and that day he might muster enough courage to become a truly honest man. but for now, kaeya was content with things as they were.

diluc:

diluc is not a man of many words. he prefers to act rather than to waste time talking— in his eyes, there is no point in using up precious minutes to chatter away about senseless formalities when one could be taking action and doing something. in that sense, he is an impatient man; but when occasion comes to rise, he will speak directly from his heart. sincerity is not something to be hidden away like gold in a miser’s safe, and diluc does not wish to be miserly when it comes to his relationship with you.

simple phrases such as ‘your outfit suits you well’ or a sincere ‘you’ve done a good job today’ are the most he can vocalise, for he doesn’t have the courage to spin sugar-coated compliments like a certain cavalry captain; it’s simply not diluc’s style, and whatever part of his brain that is responsible for forming words freezes stiff when he tries to come up with something to say. as a result, he sounds gruff and terse when conversing with you, leading many to the absurd misunderstanding that he harboured some sort of secret grudge against you.

it is only too fortunate for him that you are familiar with the language of awkward shyness; it’s almost impossible for him to fathom how it’s mere child’s play for you to understand the intentions behind his faltering words. he feels safe in the knowledge that you understand what he means, but he longs for a way to speak his truths, his testimonies to you— ah, if only his tongue did not betray him so.

but where diluc’s voice fails him, his pen compensates for the gap; it strikes him like a bolt of the blue one day, while he fills out paperwork. letters, letters, letters.

they are a heaven-sent miracle for one as tongue-tied as diluc, flying down to earth with wings of pale parchment to give a voice to his deepest thoughts. his writing-desk is soon crowded with stacks of the finest paper that money can buy, while quills, ink-pots and the like become an even larger part of the daily expenses of his household; for with each page he writes, he grows more sure of what he wants to say, and each letter he sends is even longer than the last. inked with pure sincerity and sealed with goodwill (and perhaps a loving kiss or two), your mail-box never fails to overflow with his affections for you. now that diluc has found his voice, he decides to use it— and what better use has a voice than to speak to the one you care for most?

gorou:

when one is entangled deep within the horrors of the battlefield, things such as safety and warmth are scarce to be found. touch is the last thing that comforts you, for the most physical contact you will find in a warzone is in harsh blows to your face and body, or the deadly kiss of a blade held to your neck. all soldiers sleep lightly because they fear the sharp sting of enemy steel on their bare skin; it is this fear that propels them to fight for a safer land for both themselves and their people.

for a while, gorou was incredibly wary of being touched after the end of the feud between watatsumi and narukami island— any unnecessary contact would send him in high alert, his teeth baring into a half-growl by instinct. even the slightest nudge in his sleep awakened him immediately, his entire body stiff and tense till he realised that it was just you; it takes time before he allows himself to lean into your touch without flinching, to indulge in the safety he felt only around you. it feels almost too good to be true, and he half-expects to wake up from what feels like a faraway dream.

but it isn’t. the sensation of your hands gently brushing his tail is heavenly, an almost out-of-body experience for gorou, but it is anything but a dream. he wants nothing more but to fall asleep in the warm sunshine as you pet his ears, dreaming of catching butterflies to put in your hair— ahem. the point here was that he felt warm and safe with you by his side.

nothing feels more secure to him than having your fingers intertwined in his as you wander the streets of inazuma together, or having you lean against his shoulder to rest. although he usually tries to keep his demeanor as an intimidating war-general who has braved a thousand battles, gorou is the one who initiates crossing his ankles with yours while waiting for your food to arrive. his tail wags most conspicuously— but who would care about such a thing in a moment like this? plus, the more his tail wagged, the more likely chance of you wanting to pet it.

(in the distance, a certain kitsune smiles conspiratorially at the oblivious couple— with this new development, it would appear that miss hina would have better love advice for her readers in the future. well, all the better for her investments, yae miko supposes.)

thoma:

thoma is a busy man; working for the yashiro commission is no easy task, especially if one is a vassal of the kamisato clan. time is a commodity that he does not always have the luxury of spending as he pleases, which brings him quite a problem on his hands: how is he to spend time with you when there is so little of his own to spare?

however, he is not one to be easily deterred by such obstacles. many days and sleepless nights were spent rearranging thoma’s to-do list to keep at least one day free for you, but alas! just as he would adjust his schedule, new tasks would crop up like pesky weeds. honestly, it was as if the whole world were against him spending time with you.

but his problems were solved when you showed up at the yashiro commission one day, declaring yourself as a new member of the staff (and with a document bearing the official seal of commissioner kamisato to prove it, no less!) after due verification from furuta, thoma was delegated with the task of being your supervisor.

“are you sure about this?” he asked hesitantly, for thoma was all too familiar with the stigma that surrounded the idea of doing house-work; though it was not an issue that necessarily bothered him, it was not something that he wanted you to experience. but you merely brushed his concerns aside with a toothy grin and dove into the chores head-first, forcing him to follow after you; thoma had always spoke of his passion for house-keeping with pride, so why should you be ashamed of something that he enjoyed so much?

that is an argument that he cannot disagree with, and eventually thoma accepts that this is going to be a new part of his work-life now. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm as you become accustomed to the other’s work-pace; you methodically wipe the dishes dry as thoma washes them. he scrubs the laundry, you hang them on the wash-line to dry in the sun. he sweeps, you mop— you dust the shelves and he wipes them down with a damp rag right after.

it certainly isn’t a fancy date at uyuu restaurant, but it is something more valuable to thoma. spending time with your loved ones doing something you enjoy is always an enjoyable experience, and the fact that you had gone out of your way to spend time with him made his heart flutter in odd ways. and perhaps… doing housework with you made his mind wander off to faraway places, to a hazy daydream with the two of you in a house of your very own. but thoma was too embarrassed to admit it now— he’d tell you later on, once he had found a proper ring.

[avikats66]

TW for brief discussion of flashbacks and torture

^ From Tokyo Ghoul :re chapter 104

The look these two share in this panel - the recognition and understanding in Kaneki’s eye, the seriousness and vulnerability in Seidou’s - just gets to me so much. Here’s two men who both underwent grievous torture via that unmistakeable substance, that drug which coursed through their bodies and weakened them to buzzsaws and pliers, allowing their digits and limbs to be hacked through, ripped off, and who knows what else - again and again and again.

^ These panels are from chapter 110

The distinct pungent odour of the Rc suppressors is enough to trigger those memories, those feelings, that pain. It smells awful to Ayato too, but for Kaneki and Seidou it’s not just the smell, but the sensations that smell triggers. I am fortunate to have never experienced serious trauma or ptsd in my life, but those who have will tell you how awful it is; as will the neurologists and psychologists who study and treat trauma related issues. It’s not just a memory - your mind and body are actively reenacting the things you felt, feelings vivid enough to make you physically ill as seen above.

We were given graphic but brief scenes of the torture these two experienced. Imagine having to go through not only the glimpses we were shown in the manga, but also the rest which went on out of scene for days - for months? I’ve made posts on my Insta discussing/ranting about how awful it must have been (which, I mean, of course: it’s literal torture) and I will be digging into the subject again in future posts here on Tumblr.

This topic is certainly unpleasant and maybe even triggering so obviously there’s no need to read it if upsets you too much. Tbh this could apply to lots of things I discuss, and certainly listing potential triggers is something I want to keep in mind. Because I’m still new to Tumblr I’m not 100% sure the best methods to do this - putting it near the top or in the tags I’m assuming - so feel free to share any knowledge or advice.