#i remember A therapist told me once like. i should try taking the first step more often

[megkuna]

feeling down abt friendship again. lmao

[kaisacobra]

Let You Go - Tara Carpenter

Summary: It's been a while since Tara has seen you. She misses you, but maybe she's broken your relationship to a point beyond repair.

Warnings: Violence, blood, mentions of death, angst

Word Count: 7.9k

a/n: thank you so much for the ride guys! Here we have part 3 of second best, which (kind of) ends this trilogy. Of course, I'm still writing the alternate ending so stay tuned if you're interested!

third part of Second Best

It was two in the afternoon when Tara began rummaging through that box she kept at the back of her closet, sorting the contents into "burn" and "don't burn," all in line with what her therapist had advised. She needed to overcome the past, even if in small steps, and what better way to start than by burning traces of when everything started going wrong?

She looked into the box, examining the contents that would survive the purge. To no one's surprise, most of the photos contained you.

Tara reached for a specific photo among the others. A polaroid depicting a hug between the two of you, both with radiant smiles and faces so close that your cheeks touched. Mindy had taken this photo just before you both visited an amusement park that had been in town for a while. Tara's heart throbbed painfully. She missed you. A lot.

The girl sat on the bed with slumped shoulders, clutching the polaroid as if it were a precious possession. She couldn't take her eyes off the image of the two of you, with a happiness and innocence that would soon be ruined by her own actions. With a tired sigh, Tara closed her eyes, remembering her therapist's words.

The initial sessions were slow and unproductive, mainly because Tara kept her guard up and refused to talk much about her life to a stranger. Over time, the man became a pleasant presence, and Tara began to see him as some sort of a grandfather figure trying to advise his granddaughter. That's when she started sharing her problems and actively sought solutions.

"Do you think she'll forgive me?" she remembered asking, looking at her hands with shame. The bright white light in the room made the sweat on her palms stand out on her tan skin.

"Tara..." The man sighed, taking off his glasses as if he was preparing for a battle. "Don't you think you should worry about forgiving yourself first?"

The girl frowned and looked at him as if he were crazy. If anything, she was guilty of not only ruining her own life but also becoming a problem in everyone else's. She had no right to see herself as a victim. "What do you mean?"

"From what you've told me, I've realized you harbor a lot of resentment towards yourself on the inside." He pointed to Tara's chest, and she noticed no hint of judgment in his expression. Still, she felt strangely exposed. "Have you ever really reflected on this internal conflict you feel? About feeling guilty for things beyond your control?"

Tara scoffed and leaned back until her shoulders rested against the chair again, crossing her arms and staring at the walls like a stubborn child avoiding conflicts. "Beyond my control? I was awful to the best person in my life! I let a murderer into our life for-"

"See? You're doing it again." He smiled with a patience that bordered on irritating for the girl, crossing his hands on the glass table that separated them. "I'm not saying you're not at fault for being rude to your friend, but I'd like to focus on your past. That girl's attacks, parental abandonment... You're not to blame for that, Tara, but it doesn't stop you from carrying the pain anyways. Don't you think it affects you?"

She remained silent, but now her head was bowed in embarrassment. Her arms, once crossed, now enveloped her elbows in a half-hug, as if that would protect her from something. Without more exchanging words, the therapist followed the cue and continued speaking in a gentle tone, as if trying to educate a wounded animal.

"Tara, have you ever talked about your concerns with anyone, or have you just kept all these grievances inside until they exploded? Have you ever had any healthy coping mechanism?"

I don't deserve one. That's what she wanted to say, but didn't, because she knew it would make the situation even worse.

"Do you think I don't recognize the signs? Troubled young adult refuses help out of fear of abandonment and ends up driving everyone away, taking the opportunity to take out your emotional wounds on others? You won't be the first or the last person I've seen with this pattern." He spoke as if he could read her thoughts, leaving the girl a little scared.

Sitting up straighter in the chair, Tara turned her gaze back to the therapist, momentarily becoming interested in the conversation again. "Okay, what do I do to end this? What do I do to not be like this anymore?"

Broken, she wanted to say.

The man smiled gently and pulled open a drawer in the wooden cabinet to his left. Tara watched impatiently as he took out a black notebook and placed it on the table between them, looking between her and the object with a certain expectation. "I thought you could start documenting your feelings on paper, instead of keeping them locked within you. I think it can help you in the long run."

"Do you think writing in a journal will make me less of an ass and make y/n forgive me?" Tara replied with a sarcastic tone.

"I think it can influence a change in behavior, yes." The therapist reaffirmed, deliberately ignoring the girl's foul language. "And this exercise is not about y/n; it's about you. How do you expect her to forgive you if you can't do it for yourself?"

As stubborn as Tara was, the words had truly left an impression on her. That's why, on top of her messy desk, was the damn black notebook. The calluses on her hand throbbed with the memory of the force with which she wrote each new entry, trying to release her negative feelings onto paper.

She knew that your name was probably the most repeated word on all the pages, like a sacred mantra that she had to honor. Tara couldn't escape the fact that many of her emotions were so directly intertwined with the idea of you, and honestly, she accepted having to carry that burden as her own Sisyphean stone. She deserved it, after all.

Looking again at the polaroid, she sighed and slowly ran her thumb over the smiling image of your face, almost wishing she could offer you the same affection in person.

She was going to change. She had to change. For you.

_

"That was pretty good!"

The floodlights on the university’s sports field lit up as it began to get dark, allowing the young athletes to continue their training even at night. There weren't many people around, but you could see that the track team seemed to be gearing up to practice for the 100 meters a little to your left.

"Kate, I hit the white part." You grumbled in response to your friend's encouraging words. Kate Bishop had convinced you to attend one of her archery practices to "see her talents firsthand," and at some point, she thought just watching wouldn't be enough, and that you had to experience the sport for yourself.

That's why you were now on the archery training field with her, holding a semi-professional bow that was much heavier than you expected, proving over and over again that you were definitely not a natural at this.

It didn't seem to discourage Kate, however, as the girl still smiled with enthusiasm while looking at your target with a single arrow stuck in it. "At least you hit the target! You're improving; it could be worse."

"True! You could have hit someone's foot, like Miss Bishop did once." One of Kate's teammates, Yelena, commented with a laugh. The two, along with Maya Lopez, made up the Blackmore University women's archery team and were surprisingly good at it, having won all the recent competitions.

You laughed along with the other two while Kate gradually turned redder and assumed a betrayed expression. "Hey!" She protested.

It was amazing how people you had known for such a short time could make you feel so good. You couldn't even remember the last time you had laughed so freely since the incident with Tara happened, and that was already a significant victory for you. It's not like being with Mindy, Chad, Anika, and the others didn't make you happy, but it was hard to enjoy the moments with them when you remembered that, in any other situation, Tara would be there with you too.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket, and you leaned the tip of the bow on your foot, letting its weight rest on your shoulder so you could reach the device with your hands. Through the lockscreen, you could see a message notification from Mindy, as if she had read your thoughts.

Best Twin: Movie night at the Carpenters' house, are you coming?

Best Twin: Sam misses you

Best Twin: We all do

You sighed deeply and looked at the notification with a grimace, not sure exactly what to do. Of course, you would love to spend time with your friends, and you definitely felt guilty for avoiding Sam by extension, even though she understood the reason. But your palms started to sweat just at the thought of sharing a small space with Tara again.

Mindy had already told you that Tara had started therapy after the encounter you had in some of the university’s corridors some time ago, but she had also said that it was entirely valid if you still didn't feel ready to see Tara after everything.

It was a strange feeling, as if two forces were fighting for dominance within you when it came to Tara. On one hand, just thinking about her made your chest ache. A wave of anger, sadness, and pure humiliation invaded you, and your eyes threatened to well up. What she did to you, what she said to you, marked you like a painful burn that might never stop pulsating.

But on the other hand, you wondered if there were still traces of that other Tara who loved and treated you well. The Tara who made you soup when you were sick and promised never to leave you. Maybe it was your foolishness, but you didn't want to believe that that part of her had simply gone away forever.

"Are you okay?" A soft voice reached your ears and quickly snapped you out of your thoughts, causing you to loosen the tight grip with which you had involuntarily held the phone. Looking up, you came face to face with Kate's kind blue eyes, patiently waiting for your response.

Kate Bishop had been an angel in your life, fitting in perfectly at the moment you needed her most. You had met her in the waiting room of the counseling center after spending a week living like a zombie following everything that happened with Tara, and you could barely comprehend that you were sharing the same space with someone like her.

At first glance, Kate Bishop didn't seem like someone who needed to be in a counseling center. She carried herself with confidence, always with impeccable posture and a calm expression on a model-like face. Always dressed in neat clothes that you were sure were designer and carrying a sports bag indicating her athletic background.

But when she approached you and started a conversation, saying she needed to talk to someone or she'd explode with anxiety before her first appointment, you began to realize that Kate might not be what you expected. She was, in fact, much kinder and more attentive than you could have predicted.

You talked a lot that day, and the next day, and the day after, until there came a point where you got along well enough to consider her a friend. Kate listened to everything about your issues with Tara and provided advice and emotional support. In return, you listened to her vent about her problems with a father who died in childhood, a mother imprisoned for fraud, and an inherited company she didn't want to have to run at that age.

They were quite different dilemmas, just as you were quite different people, but still, you felt at ease in her presence, and it was good to have someone who truly noticed you for once in your life.

"Hm? Okay. It's fine, yes, I just..." You searched for words but gave up, opting to speak the truth about what was bothering you. "Mindy invited me to watch movies with the others, and it's at Tara's house, and I didn't want to have to refuse, but I don't know if I'm ready for-"

Kate widened her eyes and raised her hands as if asking for a pause, interrupting your rapid and anxious flow of words. "Woah, hold on, champ. You don't have to go if you don't feel okay. They'll understand."

"Yeah, I know, it's just that..." You sighed, looking down at your feet planted in the field's grass. "I miss them, but... I can't."

As much as it hurt and was embarrassing to admit, you knew it still wasn't the right time. Not when you sometimes still woke up crying in the middle of the night with nightmares involving her.

"Then how about this?" Kate began to suggest, getting closer to you and gently shaking your shoulders. Physical touches had always been her way of offering comfort. "There's a party at my place tonight with some of my childhood friends, and I'm officially inviting you. You can tell your friend that you'll be busy spending time with a very beautiful, charming, and talented company."

You smiled as you let yourself be shaken by the cheerful girl in front of you. "A very humble company, apparently." You teased, poking her ribs playfully. "I don't want to disturb you, but thanks for the invite."

"Disturb? I'd be the one disturbing your illustrious evening by forcing you to hang out with my friends! Believe me, it's torture listening to Peter for 2 hours when he gets excited about his nerd stuff." Kate tried again, and by the way she looked at you with the expression of a begging puppy, you knew there would be no escape. "Please? It'll be nice to have you there."

There were two available possibilities. In the first, you could go back to your dorm, watch a bad movie alone, and spend the rest of the night thinking about how your friends would be having fun, specifically wondering if she would be having fun. In the second, you could take another step in getting rid of your codependent friendship (if it still existed) and enjoy the night with new people and a person who was becoming more and more important to you every day.

If Tara didn't want to be stuck in the past, you also had the right to do that. You deserved it too.

So, you accepted and only remembered to inform Mindy when you were already in the passenger seat of Kate's black Audi RS7.

_

Tara was distraught. Actually, saying that she was distraught was an understatement.

Last night had already started off as garbage from the moment Mindy announced that you wouldn't be coming to see them at the apartment. Sure, she should have expected it, but that didn't mean she didn't have any hope. She couldn't stop thinking about what you might be doing, the reasons why you hadn't come, how everything would have been better if you had.

But mostly, she felt relieved that you hadn't been there, because that meant she hadn't put you in danger again with another ghostface attack. It was a selfish thought. Quinn, her roommate, had died in front of her, Anika had her belly almost cut from end to end and was now in surgery, and all Tara could think about was finding you to see with her own eyes that you were okay.

She urgently searched for your face in the midst of the crowd of students walking through the Blackmore University campus, seeking the slightest fragment of your presence anywhere. She cursed herself again for not being able to just call you like she would if she hadn't messed up and made you block her in practically every possible place.

Finding you and making sure you were okay, in addition to delivering the terrible news, was her obligation. Mindy and Sam were with Anika at the hospital, and Chad had gone to check Ethan's alibi in the damn economics class. She needed to find you.

Fortunately, her prayers seemed to be answered by whatever entity it was. She saw you in the distance, radiant as she hadn't seen you in a long time. Tara's heart skipped a beat, and she opened her own smile after yours. It was bittersweet, the feeling of seeing you so happy but knowing that this happiness would be ruined the moment you laid eyes on her.

In a moment of distraction, a new wave of people passed in front of her, blocking her view of you. Fucking height. She thought with some annoyance as she tried to make her way through the students, trying to get closer to where you were.

When Tara finally managed to locate you again, the scene was quite different from before. Instead of laughing, looking forward, you had your back turned, seemingly struggling while a girl wrapped her arms around your neck. Tara felt a wave of anger rise through her veins and marched in your direction, ready to free you from whoever that crazy bitch was.

The younger Carpenter approached you with a speed she couldn't quite explain, and her motivation only seemed to grow when she noticed that the mysterious girl looked a lot like that senior she had seen with you in the hallway some time ago. Choosing to embrace her negative feelings, she used her strength in a way that would make her sister proud and aggressively pushed the girl away. "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Tara?!" You exclaimed in shock, your voice carrying surprise, and your expression wavering between anger, astonishment, and anguish. "What do you think you're doing, are you crazy?!"

Tara saw you getting closer to the girl (Karen, Kendra, she couldn't remember.) and gently placing your hand on her shoulder, as if checking her condition. That small gesture made more anger bubble in her stomach. She wanted to scream, throw a fit, damn, she wanted to destroy something just to get rid of that rotten feeling corroding her from the inside.

But she looked into your eyes and could see a glimpse of the sadness she had caused in the past by this same line of thinking. She couldn't do this to you again, especially because that wasn't even why she had come looking for you. Tara swallowed hard and clenched her fists, deciding to save her frustration to take it out on calluses on her own fingers later.

"She was attacking you," Tara mumbled reluctantly, knowing that the explanation sounded stupid but that she also owed some reasoning for her actions.

You clearly didn't seem satisfied with her motivation, as you only stared at her with a frown and crossed arms. "Kate is a martial arts expert, Tara. She was just showing me how to escape from an arm lock."

Well, how was I supposed to know that? Tara thought, but she decided it was better not to worsen the situation. Before you could ask why she had been clearly looking at you for some time, she decided to explain.

"Look, I'm sorry. There was a ghostface attack in the apartment yesterday, and I just needed to know if you were safe."

"What?! An attack?! How- Are you guys okay?!" You asked exasperated, and Tara saw it. She saw the exact moment when you had to restrain your arms by your sides before doing something you would regret.

Tara remembered that being the first thing you did when you could see her after the surgeries last year. You ran to her on the gurney and held her face with both hands, as if she were fragile. You ran your thumbs over her cheeks, right above the freckles, wanting to make sure nothing was injured. She remembered feeling well cared for and loved.

But that was before she messed everything up. Now, all that was left was that. You restraining yourself from offering your heart to Tara, and she wanting to die realizing the damage she had done between you two.

"Sort of. Anika is in critical condition in the hospital, and... Quinn died." Tara delivered the news with a solemn voice, trying to control her own tears as she remembered what happened. She saw when Kate raised her arm to offer a comforting stroke on your back, and, for the first time, all Tara felt was emptiness knowing she couldn't comfort you in that way.

You let out a few sobs before trying to compose yourself. It was clear that you had been affected by the events, and Tara knew you well enough to know that you would want to go after the others to comfort them. "Which hospital is Anika in? And where are Sam, Mindy, and Chad, I... I need to talk to them."

Tara felt a bit of pride in realizing that she still knew your way of dealing with things, even though she was worried that your priority was always to take care of others' pains. Of course, much of that was her fault, and a knot closed in her throat every time she remembered that fact. "Sam and Mindy are at the hospital waiting for Anika to be discharged. Chad went with Ethan to handle something about an alibi."

"I can take you if you want," Kate offered you  in a chivalry that almost made Tara vomit. "It will be faster if we go by car."

"Or maybe it would be faster for her to take the subway with someone who knows the address, like me." Tara retorted sarcastically, crossing her arms to try to cause, at least, the minimal intimidation to her rival. It didn't seem to be working, which made her even more irritated. "Speaking of addresses, where were you last night, Kate?"

Feeling that the conversation would only escalate, you quickly shook your head. "Stop it, Tara. There's no way Kate could be the ghostface."

"And why not?" The girl asked defensively, with an offended tone almost similar to one she would have if you had accused her. It was frustrating for Tara that you seemed willing to vouch for a person you had barely known. "She suddenly appeared in your life, got so close to you in such a short time, don't you find that a bit suspicious?"

"This might sound a bit surprising to you, Tara, but some people actually like having me around." You retorted with irritation, throwing daggers at the girl with a look so intense that she almost stumbled backward. "Kate can't be ghostface because I spent the whole night with her, okay?"

Suddenly, Tara felt dizzy, with a buzzing in her ears. Apparently, you hadn't had the best problem in overcoming your feelings for her. She felt weird inside, as if something were stuck in her throat. "Oh, I didn't know you guys..."

"No! Not like that, I just..." You widened your eyes and hurried to correct the double meaning of the sentence, waving your hands frantically in a way that made Kate open a smile in amusement beside you. "...I slept at her apartment, but not with her. Not that I owe you an explanation anyway."

Your phone vibrated with a notification, and all three pairs of eyes turned to the device. You quickly checked the message and let out a sigh of relief. "It's Sam. She sent me the address of the hospital; I'm going there now. Without any of you, please."

"Okay. Just be careful, alright? And call me if you need anything." Tara watched reluctantly as Kate pulled you closer by the shoulders and planted a small kiss on your forehead. She swallowed the envy and looked away, trying to think of the last time she had offered you any kind of affection.

You said goodbye to Kate with a warm smile and a hug. For Tara, your lips pressed into a line, and you nodded briefly, almost as if you were greeting a stranger.

She wondered if that's what you two were now.

The Carpenter girl prepared to leave, maybe to find Chad and help him or just take a walk to ease the tornado swirling in her chest. However, she was interrupted by a hand on her arm. Kate Bishop tried to get her attention, wearing a conflicted expression on her face.

"What is it?" Tara grumbled, shaking her arm to free herself from the other girl's touch. She was used to being shorter than most people, but with Kate, it became even more annoying, especially when she had to look down at her.

"Look, I know you don't like me, and, to be honest, I don't like you one bit, but I need you to do something for me," Kate said seriously, putting a hand in her pocket and retrieving an object that Tara could only identify as a car key.

The shorter one scoffed. "Listen, I know Y/N and I are on bad terms, but I don't need you to ask me to take care of her. I'm going to do that anyway because I care about her, believe it or not."

Kate rolled her eyes impatiently. "I know. I can see that in you the same way you can see it in me."

It was true, as much as it bothered Tara to admit. She wasn't blind, and she had enough experience in reading people to know that the way Kate looked at you was sincere, and the girl genuinely cared about you. Putting aside her own jealousy and envy, Tara was relieved to know that there was someone good enough to show these feelings for you. You deserved it, after all.

The girl continued, "This device here is a prototype from my mom’s—my company. It's for security." She raised the object and placed it in Tara's hand, who could now see the details of what she had previously thought was a car key. It was a black oval keychain with a single button in the middle, also black. "I pulled some strings and turned it into an emergency button. As soon as you press it, a signal will be sent to police cars and ambulances, and it will be their priority to get to you. That's one of the advantages of being rich and having contacts, I guess."

Tara turned the button in her hands, feeling the object weigh more now that she knew its function. "And why are you giving this to me and not Y/N?"

"Because I know she would use it on anyone but herself." Kate sighed in frustration. Tara knew it was implied in the sentence that you would use the button for her. "I'm giving it to you because... despite the fighting and you being a jerk..."

"Wow. Thanks for the honesty."

"... I can still see that you care." The taller one finished her sentence without caring about the interruption. She looked between Tara and the button with a bit of uncertainty. "When you press it, a signal will also be sent to my phone, and I'll come running wherever it is."

There were more implicit intentions in that sentence that Tara could pick up. I'll come running to help Y/N. I'll take her away from you. I can protect her better than you can.

Tara just offered a short nod and turned to leave, with the emergency button weighing as much in her pocket as her heart weighed in her chest. Thousands of thoughts filled her head, and all of them were about you and your safety. It was Tara's duty to keep you safe, first because it was her fault that you were even in that situation, and second because she had already hurt you enough.

It was her mission to protect you. To prove to herself that she could still be good for you. To prove to you how much she still cared.

And if she couldn't, if she had to press that button... well...

Maybe it would be the sign she needed to understand that Kate Bishop deserved more of a place in your life than she did.

_

The lobby of the abandoned cinema ironically looked like something straight out of a horror movie that Tara would hate. Dust had piled up in heaps on all surfaces, and the orange lights were so dim that they threatened to go out at any moment.

The others were in the center of the other room, where Richie Kirsch, being the maniac he was, left his extensive collection of items from stab movies and real life ghostfaces. Tara, however, thought it would be a better idea to follow you wherever your feet and lost expression took you, just so she wouldn't have to leave you alone, of course.

You had your back turned to her while leaning on the filthy counter with your elbows. Tara couldn't tell what you were thinking, but obviously, you were not okay, just like everyone else in that situation.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a box of Milk Duds on the other side of the counter that seemed untouched, just a few inches to your left. She approached with light steps, not wanting to make any sudden movements as if that would scare you away, and reached out to bring the box closer. "You like these, right? You can have them if you want."

You didn't respond to the joke, and you didn't even turn around to look at Tara. She felt your indifference like a stab to the chest, but she continued nonetheless. "Or not. This must be like a thousand years old anywa-"

"Tara, shut up." You finally responded sharply, making the younger girl look down in shame. She really needed to get used to your new treatment of her. You ran your hands over your face, covering it as if you were tired.

"Sorry." Tara whispered back weakly. She deserved it, but more than anything, she wanted to be able to offer you some kind of support in that difficult moment, just as you had given her all the support she needed in the past.

You scoffed, in a gesture so hostile that the younger Carpenter almost couldn't believe it came from you. You were still facing away from her, but now slowly taking steps away with tense shoulders. "Did you learn a new word? Didn't know it was in your vocabulary."

Tara felt the anger in your voice, and it made her hands begin to tremble with anxiety. You were right, and it was long overdue for you to know that. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it's too late for this, but I'm sorry for everything I did."

"Do you even care? Seriously, Tara, do you really feel sorry, or do you just miss having some idiot around who would do anything for you?" You retorted, your voice rising even as your vocal cords trembled. A dam had just burst open between you two, and now it was time to deal with the flood.

"Of course, I care, I love you!"

"SHUT UP!" You shouted in response. Tara recoiled from you with a start, startled as she had never seen you raise your voice at anyone. You were still facing away, but Tara could see that, even though you had wrapped yourself in a hug to control your reactions, it wasn't working. Your entire body was tense, as if your brain was struggling to choose between fight or flight, and the result was the tremors that seemed to spread through your system. "You have no right to do this to me! To play with me like this!"

"I'm not lying!" The shorter one retorted, and in an impulsive move, she grabbed you by the shoulder and forced you to turn until your gazes met. Tears were already streaming down your eyes like waterfalls, and your entire face seemed contorted in excruciating pain. Tara wished she could absorb all your hurt for herself. "I know I messed up, but I really love you!"

"You're toxic, Tara! That's what you are!" You shouted back with strength, holding the girl's gaze as if it were a challenge you needed to win. "You hurt me! And I was getting better, damn it, I was getting better away from you!"

"I know you were! I know! That's why I'm apologizing, okay? Because you're the best person I've ever met, and I ruined you like I ruin everyone! Because the best moments I've ever had were with you, and I feel like tearing my eyes out when I remember that I hurt you by being this way!"

"Tara..."

"No! Please let me finish." She rejected your interruption, taking the opportunity to relieve all the pain and guilt she felt inside her. "I'm getting treatment, okay? And I know you're not obligated to forgive me for anything, but I want you to know that I'm trying to be better for you! I'm trying to fix my shit to be someone you and Sam and the others can be proud of!"

"Tara..."

"And I know I hurt you a lot, but please don't doubt the love I feel for you because it's the only good thing left in me. I won't blame you if you never want to see me again, but..."

"TARA, GET DOWN!" You shouted, and before Tara could react, you were already pushing her toward the dusty wooden floor.

Everything was happening too fast for the Carpenter's mind to process. She hit the ground with a grunt of pain and a potential bruise on her arm, but she could see the exact moment when an arm covered in a black cloak descended toward your leg, making a deep cut in your thigh.

You screamed in pain, and Tara screamed next, watching your blood soak through the fabric of your pants and start dripping onto the floor. In a surge of adrenaline, the small girl ran to your side and almost reached for your arm when she was suddenly engulfed in a tight grip, with her two arms pinned to her back and a hand holding a knife to her neck.

She struggled against the masked person holding her, futilely trying to break free to get to you. Tears streamed so quickly down her face that she could taste the saltiness invading her senses. "Let me go! Y/N, run! Please, run!"

A sinister laugh reached her ears like the hiss of a snake. "Oh, Tara. Did you think it would be that easy?"

She recognized that distorted voice with effects all too well. She still heard it in her nightmares, calling her name in the dark. Ghostface was back. "I'm going to kill you, you motherfucker!"

"Oh, but I don't think so." The voice spoke in an amused tone as another killer, wearing the same mask and black cloak, approached your figure on the ground. Tara wailed like a banshee when the other pulled your hair forcefully, forcing you to stand up as he placed a knife on your neck.

She struggled a little more. "Leave her alone!"

"And where's the fun in that?" The ghostface holding her responded, almost as if they were laughing. "Come on, Tara. Weren't you the one who liked to release your anger by hurting Y/N? Why should only you have that privilege? Let's see, where was it that you got stabbed again?"

At the same time, as if reacting to a code, the ghostface holding you advanced in quick and precise movements, gripping you by the waist with one arm while thrusting the knife into you with the other, just above your kidney.

You let out another gasping scream as the blade pierced your skin, and Tara felt your body sagging as if you were about to collapse. She herself wanted to fall to her knees and plead for you to be released, but she couldn't. Whoever was holding her had great strength.

"Don’t you want her to feel the same pain you felt, huh, Tara? Don't want her to suffer what you suffered?" The voice continued to growl in her ear, sounding increasingly excited by the escalating violence. The knife on Tara's neck kept her head in place, so she couldn't look at anything other than your agony.

"No, I don't. Please, PLEASE." Tara pleaded with a tearful voice as another stab was delivered to you, this time in the center of your abdomen. Your shirt gradually turned into a pool of blood, and Tara feared you would faint at any moment.

"Tara..." You could barely pronounce her name, your voice choked and your own blood streaming down your lips. Tara's gaze met yours, and she shivered when you shook your head. She knew what that meant.

You looked feverish. Sweat and blood mingled on your skin, creating the most disturbing of the paintings. Your eyes were vacant, and Tara was so afraid they would close at any moment, never to open again.

And yet, with that nod of your head, Tara understood that your top priority at the moment was to make her understand that it wasn't her fault.

The girl's knees threatened to give up as the knife entered you one, two, three times. She shook her head but couldn't close her eyes because she needed to see you, needed to see that your eyes were still open, that you were still alive.

You couldn't die. You promised not to leave, even if everyone else did. You couldn't die. You couldn't die. You. Couldn't. Die.

"I love you. I'm sorry for loving you, I'm sorry," Tara whispered because she had no strength to speak louder. She felt on the verge of giving up and letting those maniacs do whatever they wanted with her. Nothing mattered anymore if you weren't here, and it was all her fault.

The ghostface holding her laughed with a deep voice. "You know, I could turn this into a Romeo and Juliet scene, but I think it would be more fun to kill you while Sam is watching."

With that, Tara felt her body being thrown backward, and she hit the dirty wooden floor again, this time landing with her head in a wound that would undoubtedly become a concussion.

She got up in a frenzied pace, in an adrenaline rush, thinking she could try to save you now that she was free. But, looking ahead, she realized she was outside the lobby’s door, and the maniac murderer already held the handles. Despite Tara's attempt to advance, the ghostface had already sarcastically waved and locked the doors, creating a deadly separation between you and herself.

Tara pounded on the hard wooden door, ignoring the pain in her knuckles. She hit and hit and hit, feeling cuts open on her skin and burn from the repetitive contact. She was crying, screaming, punching, cursing, doing things she couldn't even rationalize because it didn't matter anymore.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not without you.

She collapsed on the floor, tired, injured, and desperate for you. Her sobs echoed in the seemingly empty hallway, and she was too afraid to put her ear to the door and hear screams of pain like your last breath. Tara felt lost until she remembered that she was no longer trapped.

Rushing to reach the device in her pocket, she sighed in relief to find it unbroken. She pressed the button multiple times without a second thought. If she had a chance to maybe save your life, she would grab it without a doubt.

Tara remembered what she had thought before, how pressing that button might symbolize that she shouldn't be in your life. She stood up and leaned against the wall, trying to rid herself of the wave of nausea, and left the button hidden near the door. If help came following the signal, the first place they would look would be where you were.

If help came and you made it out alive, that was a promise. Tara would finally leave you alone. That's what you deserved.

---

Tara was almost sure she had developed a hospital phobia since the events of last year.

There was no other explanation for why she felt uneasy in that environment, even after they had taken all precautions for her. She still hated the white walls and the smell of chemicals and couldn't wait to get out of there.

For now, she decided to ignore this feeling and continued following Sam through the corridors of fluorescent lighting. It was important for her to stay inside until they finally found the doctor who could tell them what they wanted to know.

She checked her hands again, finding the tanned skin covered in some bandages but free from the mixture of her blood and Ethan's after she... lost control.

After she was separated from you, everything happened so fast that Tara could almost think it was all a delusion. All the revelations, the attacks, her adding another victim to her count, the police arriving... All of that had taken a back seat because nothing was more important than you.

It was as if her life had turned into a black and white movie in the moments she was without you. Everything felt colorless, purposeless. Fortunately, she was pulled out of her own spiral of melancholy when she saw you being taken out of the old movie theater on a stretcher by paramedics. She tried to get closer, but it was needed to give you space so that nothing touched your wounds and caused an infection.

Tara tried to go in the ambulance with you, but she and Sam were pulled for another checkup, and you needed to be rushed to a surgery room urgently if you wanted to have the slightest chance of survival. So, Tara let you go, but there was not a moment when you weren't on her mind.

That's why now, she desperately searched for your surgeon with Sam. No one seemed to know about your condition, and she already felt like tearing her hair out from anxiety. Tara just needed to know if you were at least breathing.

"Dr. Isley?" Sam called the attention of a red-haired doctor who was passing by them in a hurry. Tara sighed in relief that her sister was paying attention to her surroundings because her mind was in a completely different place. "We were informed that you performed emergency surgery on a family member. Her name is Y/n Y/L, admitted with multiple stab wounds."

"Oh, yes. Miss Y/L." The doctor replied in a professional tone, but there was impatiency all over her body language. "It was a difficult surgery, and she lost a lot of blood, but fortunately, no vital organs were hit. I won't lie, the recovery will be painful, but at least she survived the operation without any apparent severe collateral effects."

This was the best news Tara had heard in days. She opened a smile and didn't even try to hide her own happiness as she prolonged the conversation. "Is she in any room? Can we see her?"

"Miss Y/L is in room 604, but I'm afraid only one person is allowed in at a time to avoid any disturbance."

"No problem, we can take turns." Sam pointed between her and her sister. Despite seeming much calmer than the younger one, Tara knew Sam was just as relieved as she was to know that you were still alive.

"No, you didn't understand. There's already someone in Miss Y/L's room." Dr. Isley warned and, seemingly losing the rest of her patience, she began to walk away. "Sorry, but I have other patients to attend to."

The two Carpenter sisters looked at each other alarmed. Who could be in your room? Chad was still in his own surgery, Anika had gone to stay with Mindy while she received some stitches, and frankly, your parents had never been present enough to travel between states so quickly for your sake.

They walked down the corridor, moving as fast as possible without disturbing the other people being treated or working in the area. Tara's heart threatened to jump out of her mouth as she looked from door to door, searching for the numbering of your room. 601. 602. 603.

Tara stopped so abruptly at the door that she and Sam bumped into each other, their sneakers making noise against the shiny white floor. The simple door had a small window through which it was possible to see the inside of the room without necessarily entering. Tara looked inside, ready to break the handle and force her way in if necessary.

But it wasn't, because Tara Carpenter recognized exactly the girl sitting next to your bed, holding your hand gently and stroking your hair, even though you were sleeping. She remembered, with a tightness in her chest, that Kate Bishop would be notified the moment she pressed the button.

And, in her own words, she would come running to take care of you.

"Tara, who-"

"I have to go." Tara interrupted her sister's words, looking at the scene in front of her without blinking. She knew what she had to do; there was no reason to fight the facts.

"What? What do you mean? You just got here." Sam asked, partially annoyed and partially confused by the younger one's actions.

"You heard the doctor. Her recovery will be painful, and if I stay around, all I'll cause is more pain." Tara opened a small smile just to try to pretend that she wasn’t dying inside. She knew Sam could see the truth, that she could see her broken heart and internal conflict, but she also knew that was the only possible solution.

"Tara..."

"Sam, you know I'm right. You told me that yourself a few days ago, remember? I hurt her." The girl shook her head in surrender and took a few steps away from the door. Away from you. "She needs peace, Sam. And the only way she can get that now is if I'm not around."

Tara took one last look inside the room, seeing how peaceful you looked. Sleeping, without any worries, and with an incredible and caring person by your side, ready to help you in whatever you needed.

Someone much better than her.

Perhaps that was the first time Tara had made a selfless decision in a long time, but she didn't feel deserving of any credit for it. What she had to do now was get better. Maybe more entries in her journal and more visits to her therapist would eventually fill the void she felt within her.

For now, she just turned around and started walking away from room 604. Each step hurt, like a razor cutting her skin, but it was the right thing to do. Tara had hurt you for far too long, and now...

Now it was time to let you go.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Got Me Thinking

Part 8: When I Needed You Most

Synopsis: This is supposed to be a time of healing, so you let Jack know what you had been feeling since the last time the two of you spoke despite how difficult it is. You feel like he failed you, but unexpectedly, a piece of paper is about to change both of your lives forever.

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Reader

Series Masterlist 💕

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

As hard as it was for Jack to walk away from you that night, he knew if he had wavered for a second then he would have instantly changed his mind and went right back to you. It was a difficult decision for him to make, but when he really sat down and thought about it, it made the most sense. A lot had occurred within the last six months and knew that your anxiety was probably getting the best of you and instead of putting pressure on you by being in the situation, he decided to take a step back in order for both of you to begin to properly heal.

He didn't leave until you fell asleep and made sure you were safe at this point, he was praying that you didn't run off again.

He drove back to his house in silence and was surprised to walk in to see Kelsey gathering all of her things. Or what was left of them for that matter. Ever since he had gotten back from Paris and being with you, of course an argument took place about the paparazzi pictures when Kelsey finally confronted him and he owned up to it.

He loved you and didn't love her and didn't want to be with her anymore.

“Oh, I thought that you would be with her. I was trying to be gone before you got back.” She quietly said as she was zipping one of her suitcases.

“I was earlier.”

“Can we just talk for a second? No bullshit.” She asked and Jack slowly nodded before shrugging, because at this point what did he have to lose?

“I knew. I knew and I didn't want to believe it. From the moment you brought her to your show and I saw how everyone gravitated towards her, I instantly got jealous because I couldn't even remember the last time you looked at me like how you looked at her. Actually, you never have. Not even on our wedding day. Since then, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to compete and when Clay told me that you and her were just friends, I highly doubted it.”

“Kelsey…”

“Just let me finish. Please. I'm sorry for what I did to you and I'm sorry for how I've treated you overall for these last few months.”

“Hmm, more so an entire two years, but go on.”

“I deserved that. I'm realizing how bad I've hurt you and I started pushing you away so you going back to your ex is not surprising and I should have seen it coming. I just want you to be happy at the end of the day and I now know that Y/N is the one who brings you happiness and not me. I should have been able to realize this on my own, but it took me talking to my therapist and my sister to see how wrong I was. I mean I cheated first so I guess this is my karma.”

“At one point in time, I did see myself being with you for the rest of my life, but Kelsey, you changed and it wasn't for the better.”

“That's fair and I agree. I wasn't the nicest person. I just…. want this divorce to go as smoothly as possible so whatever you want me to sign, I'll do it. Here's your key back. And I wish the best for you and Y/N, jealousy aside, she seems like an amazing girl who loves and cares about you a lot. I'm sorry that I took you for granted. I know now that we were kinda doomed from the beginning because of what I did. Take care of yourself and take care of Y/N.” Kelsey placed the house key in Jack’s hand before grabbing her suitcase and making her way towards the front door.

Once the door shut, Jack had sat down on the couch playing with the key in his hands and trying to make sense of what had just happened. If circumstances were different, you would be the first person that he told, but figured that it was best to give you your space.

—

You didn’t bother moving when you heard the front door open knowing that it was Tania who just got done her shift and had the rest of the day to herself which meant that she would be all up under you and not letting you out of her sight.

“Y/N, are you watching White Men Can't Jump again? This is the fourth time today and maybe the fifteenth time this week.” Tania said as she came into your bedroom to see you surrounded by snacks and Jack's face on the TV.

“I miss him and he hates me.” You quietly responded before stuffing another cheese puff into your mouth.

You were back in Calabasas in your house and Tania had been staying with you because everyone just knew that you were probably going to make a run for it again, even though you had said that you weren't.

“He does not hate you and I'm sure he misses you too. But you damn near gave all of us a heart attack…. again. I got on the first flight I could find to come and look for your ass.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Stop it. Stop apologizing. What's done is done. Now you have to start healing. Did you call that therapist that my cousin had recommended?”

When you were quiet, she grabbed the remote to press pause.

“How are you supposed to heal if you won't even try? This is not what you do to start to heal.”

“I'll do it tomorrow.”

“And I'm going to keep bothering you until you do.”

“Tania, I literally uprooted the life that I've known for like the past 5 years for him all to be like we need to work on ourselves before we be together how we want to be. Like what the fuck? You couldn't have figured that out before? In that regard, I'm pissed at him.”

“And I see why because I would be too. However, look at it from this perspective. He loves you enough to be honest and tell you that because he wants the relationship to be successful. We are all literally rooting for the two of you. I'm going to be here with you every step of the way. You can always call him, because what's stopping you? But… what the hell are you eating? Did you just dip your cheese puff in cream cheese and peanut butter?”

“What? I'm hungry?”

“No, that is the diet of someone who is pregnant.”

You looked over at her and rolled your eyes as you grabbed another one.

“You are literally so dramatic. I can't be. Already took a test when I was with Jack and it was negative. I'm just hungry like I said. Stop making a big deal out of everything.”

“Y/N, you have never eaten that when you're hungry so cut the bullshit.”

All of a sudden, a wave of nausea hit you and you then hopped up to run into the bathroom emptying the contents of your stomach with Tania right behind you.

Once you were finished, you stood up and brushed your teeth before splashing cold water on your face and Tania was eyeing you through the mirror.

“There’s a baby in there.”

“No there isn't and stop wishing that on me. I can't have a baby right now because that is only going to complicate things. It's not like me and Jack are exactly talking to one another.”

“Let's just take another one and see. I'll go buy it.”

All you did was let out a groan before rolling your eyes at her.

“Auntie Tania reporting for duty.”

“I can still kick you out of my house.”

—

Jack had been pacing back and forth in the studio while staring at his phone debating on if he was going to call you. It had been a few weeks and he wanted to check in on you and make sure that you were okay, but he wasn't quite sure if you would be willing to talk to him.

A few people came with him to Nashville to start working on new music, but truth be told, he did it to get out of Louisville and to hopefully get his mind off of you.

And his plan was failing…. Miserably. He couldn't focus for more than thirty minutes at a time.

“Will you just call her already?” Clay asked while glancing at his older brother.

“If you keep this up, you’re going to run a hole in the floor and I'm not paying for it.” Neelam said from behind him as she walked into the room.

“I'll call her for you!” 2fo yelled from the corner as he had just opened a bag of cheetos.

“I don't understand why you're acting like this when you were the one who broke it off with Y/N in the first place.” Urban quietly said and Jack shot him a look.

“I didn't break it off! We're taking a break. Hiatus if you will.”

“Why are you yelling at us? We didn't tell you to do that. It seems like you're more miserable now then you were when you and Kelsey were a thing. If you could call it that.”

“Ew, I just got chills and not the good kind.” Clay confessed and Urban stifled a laugh.

“We needed to. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think it was important. She literally had all of us looking for her for hours and didn't even think to let anyone know that she was okay.”

“Still better than Kelsey in my book.”

“URBAN!” Neelam scolded and he held his hands up in defense.

“Just call her.” Clay said as he picked up Jack's phone and handed it to him.

“She probably doesn't want to talk to me.”

“Hmm, I wouldn't either after I left my husband, quit my job, and moved back home to be with you and then you break up with me.”

“URBAN, FOR THE LAST TIME WE DIDN’T BREAK UP.”

“But yall are not together though.” Clay said while taking a long sip of his smoothie as he was backing up Urban and Jack sighed.

“Not too much on my mans now! He fumbled a baddie though.” 2fo piped up with cheeto stained fingers as Jack shook his head.

“Jack…. I don't know who allowed you to be an adult because the math is NOT mathing when it comes to you and making decisions regarding relationships. Y/N is EVERYTHING you want! And you have your opportunity right in front of you! Go and call your girl.”

Jack didn't have a chance to respond as his phone vibrated in his hand to see that it was a facetime call from you.

“Look at his face, it's her!”

“ANSWER IT!”

Once your face popped up on the screen, Jack could tell that you had been crying and immediately asked why you were upset.

“Buttercup, what's going on?”

“Are you by yourself? Because this can't wait.”

“Give me a minute.” Jack responded as he left the room to walk down the hallway.

Once he was in a secluded corner, he asked you to tell him what was going on.

In response you simply switched the camera view to show a piece of paper and the section that was highlighted on it.

Jack's jaw had now hit the floor.

He had to read it multiple times to make sure he had read it right.

“Is that? Is that real?” He quietly asked and you got a dumbfounded look on your face as you turned the camera back to you.

“That was a dumb question. I'm sorry, but how?”

“She's saying that when I did it the first time, it's possible that it was too early and that's why.”

“Fuck.”

“That's all you have to say?” You asked catching a slight attitude because you were growing increasingly annoyed.

“I just… I'm surprised that's all and I definitely wasn't expecting this.” Jack said, attempting to plead his case.

“And I was?”

“Y/N, please. The last thing I want to do is fight with you. We're going to get through this.”

“There is no we in this unless we're together and last time I checked, we weren't. And keep in mind that was your choice. You left when I needed you the most and didn't even think twice about it. You saw that I was hurting and what did you do? Decide that it wasn't the best idea for us to be together even though you knew how bad I wanted to be.”

“Buttercup….”

“I'll talk to you later I guess.”

“Wait!”

Before he could get another word in, you hung up the phone.

[nerdieforpedro]

Day Two - Butterflies with Marcus Pike and Female Reader

Word Count: 648

Warnings: one curse and Marcus Pike in plaid

Notes: I remember painting a butterfly in an art class years ago (like 10+ maybe). It was fun and then the professor went into the symbolism behind them in art, which was pretty cool Reminded me of that - hope and transformations which can happen in therapy or outside of it.

Main Masterlist / March Spring Prompts 2024 / Writing Challenges

It was an exercise in capturing beauty. That’s what the therapist told you at least. You’ve never excelled at drawing, painting or any type of art that has to do with manipulating materials. Give you a pen, piece of paper and you’ll make some magic happen on a page, but not with watercolors. Your therapist who you’ve been seeing for the last few months encouraged you to try something new – out of your comfort zone, but not too crazy. They asked you to pick something and bring in what you had created, no matter what appearance it took on. Your art isn’t great, but you and your therapist talk about the colors, what it means to you to have made it. You told them that you were happy to have physically made something and didn’t expect to use such bright colors with the reds, oranges and yellows. Usually, you’re more in the cool color family. It feels good and you have a pep in your step once you leave the office. So much of a pep that you nearly drop your artwork in the hallway while you’re on your way out.

A tall man in a plaid shirt with a white t-shirt underneath and jeans catches it. You might have started at him a bit too hard to have noted what he was wearing head to toe. He asks if you’re alright and smiles, why did he do that? His mere presence is already making your brain malfunction. 

“Christ on a fucking cracker…” It’s said loud enough that you see him blink. It would be wonderful if you could fade away right now. “I-I am so…it was a rough appointment.” A lie would work right now. Blame it on therapy, you’re in a great mood you just need a logical reason for staring and cursing at this very handsome nice man. 

“Ah, I’m sorry you’re having a rough day. Did you do the art exercise too? Oh wait..” His smile went to a frown, “you don’t have to answer that. Your day is bad enough without reliving it right?” He scratches his arm, he might be nervous too, though he likely thinks you’re an unhinged woman. If he does, what’s to lose now?

“I did. I don’t mind sharing. It was my favorite part. It’s always the debriefing and deconstruction that takes the fun out of things.” Turning your piece around, you proudly showed it off. Two orange butterflies are on a blade of grass near a daisy (the only flower you can draw and still tell what it is). The upper one had more red in it and the lower one had more yellow. It’s simple, but the first thing you’ve painted since high school. He appeared to be giving it careful consideration and it made you giggle. It’s not like a museum piece or even talent at a high school or college art show. It’s from your one-time painting class. He clapped his hands and you jumped; it was louder than you expected. 

“Sorry about that. It’s beautiful. Do you know why the therapists keep asking us to paint butterflies?” It appeared he may have an answer that you therapist didn’t cover, and even if he didn’t, you’re listening because he called your art beautiful. No matter if he’s just being nice or not, it was sweet. You shook your head. 

“My therapist said it was a good exercise for trying new things. I haven’t really been too open to doing so.”

He thinks for a moment. You were expecting the answer right away. Maybe he’s building tension. “My name’s Marcus. Maybe we should discuss it over some lunch? It might take a little while. Do you have any plans?” None that can’t be done another day. 

“No, where were you thinking of eating lunch?” Looks like the butterfly painting is leading to new experiences indeed.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Wounding People Needs Better Acknowledgement

This past few months, I've had time to reflect on ways people have deeply wounded me.

I think about how words can be sharper than swords, how those words seep like blood through the psyche, and it's quite difficult to stem that flow and bandage it.

That saying 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me' is FALSE. Words will break a person far more than sticks and stones.

It is possible to wound someone enough that they cease to do a thing they loved, where they fall into despair, where they struggle to recover.

It's happened to me several times.

How the words of a teacher when I was in third grade stopped me from singing until the kindness of a choir teacher in 11th grade coaxed me to try again. I had loved singing before those words wounded my soul.

Then there's the time a professor told me the songs I wrote were ridiculous, that I'd never make it in the program. I stopped writing songs for six years. The kindness of a therapist and a different professor helped mend that wound.

Or the time I was deeply wounded by my abuser's words, to the point that I could not write any of my original fiction. I had been writing stories since first grade, and yet, her words ripped into my soul and I bled for years in agony. My fiction had become tainted and riddled with triggers from the psychological abuse I'd suffered.

That mental-gash festered like poison, and it took time to apply the salve and heal the wound. Long hours in therapy I still do today.

I found healing in the fanfiction communities, where I rediscovered my love of writing. Yes, even here in these communities, people still wounded me with their words, but I relied on my friends to give me perspective. To help me bandage the wound and find a better path forward.

I have found better ways to cope, to seek healing when I am wounded, to try to hold the other person accountable, and to do so in a kind way. To try not to let anger, panic, or defensiveness block attempts at conflict resolution.

I must remember that I am not responsible for the other person's harmful words and actions. Yes, they wounded me. Yes, that wound is real, valid, and requires healing. Yes, that person should be held accountable, and hopefully learn and does better next time. I do not need to be the person to hold them accountable, and if I do wish to walk that path, I do not need to do so alone or do so quickly.

In these matters, time is an ally not an enemy.

Our actions and words have an impact on others for ill or good, and it would do us all a favor to be mindful of that. To try to be better, to learn and listen to others' experiences, to find kinder ways to hold conversations, and to utilize better conflict resolution skills in difficult conversations.

We must hold ourselves accountable for our words.

I think sometimes people don't consider the impact of their actions or words, nor bother to put themselves in the other person's shoes. In many Western Civilizations, this skill is not taught; instead, that awful saying about 'words will never hurt me' and drummed down our throats. It's a way to avoid accountability, to show dominance, and it's a harmful approach to life.

It requires us to unlearn that.

I have been doing my best to unlearn and be better about stopping and thinking of the impact before I speak.

When wounded, panic is a possible reaction; it's the one I fall into most often. I recognize in times of panic, the words tumble out garbled and rushed, and thinking isn't possible during panic attacks. Grounding oneself or exiting the conversation is crucial.

A friend once told me that panic makes everything seem like it must be dealt with now, but that's not true. It's okay to take a step back and take one's time.

With that in mind, we ought to ask ourselves:

Do we want the other person to walk away with wounds on their soul?

Or do we want them to walk away with joy in their heart?

Is there a way to have difficult conversations, where we verify consent to that conversation, share our feelings with one another, validate how we feel, but also hold one another accountable for the things that have wounded us?

Yes, I believe such a thing is possible.

When wounded, people may fall into a panic, they may lash out; they may withdraw; they may cease to do the thing they once loved; they may shove it down and hide it away until it slowly festers into their actions unknowingly; they may become depressed or angry.

In the moment of wounding, it can be difficult to articulate how hurt one feels. Grounding and de-escalation in a heated moment can aid in finding those words.

Safety must be rebuilt in order for difficult conversations to happen.

Rebuilding safety with the person who wounded you is not easy.

Critiquing the wounded person's tone or emotions will only escalate and cut the wound deeper.

It doesn't matter the person's tone when they speak. What matters is the words they are saying and how they feel in that moment.

Validate the emotions since they are indeed real and being felt. Listen to the words. Seek understanding. Regardless of whether you agree or not, if one doesn't attempt to understand the content, then how can any healing conversation happen?

If the conversation is too much, then find a way to safely exit to address another day. The conflict resolution does not need to happen right away; time can sometimes aid in bandaging the wounds enough for safety to be rebuilt and resolution constructed.

Conflict resolution requires these skills, and it's not always easy.

But I rarely see theses skills taught in schools.

We need them badly.

Words have impact. They can often cut much deeper and more deadlier than physical wounds.

I think of one of my favorite books, which covered this concept so well. In Will of the Empress by Tamora Pierce, Tris speaks to her adopted brother, who struggles with PTSD, and tells him that he's going to see a mind healer when they return home. Briar mocks that idea, but Tris's reply shuts him up:

"If the scars were on your flesh, would you even ask me those things?"

Wounds of the mind require healing as much as physical wounds.

Do not underestimate the impact of your words.

[hypergamiss]

Hi there! I've been going through some difficulties repeatedly in my academics and life in general that i want to resolve once and for all and make sure it's in the past. I've been having issues during my viva and a massive inferiority complex over others having more practical experience than me in my field and not being good enough. I thought the baggage of my teens and my self concept back then had gotten better but these patterns keep making an appearance and reminding me how much time I've lost over these issues. I've come to the conclusion over the years that i have a habit of putting myself down and the negative self talk is reducing my chances of getting better at anything. I'm so frustrated that I'm this way because I repeatedly get told that I'm an excellent student and I have a bright future ahead but my own perception of myself is so distorted that it's coming in the way of achieving things. What's more is that people can see this inferiority much more than before. Obviously it's hard to miss due to my behaviour and that makes me an easy target too. Ik i should try to find the solution myself but i really need another person's POV and opinion on where I could start. I've decided this year is going to mark the end of my negative self concept! I'd be very grateful for your advice. Thank you ❤

It sounds like you're taking a fantastic first step towards conquering that negativity! Recognizing these patterns and actively seeking ways to break free is a powerful move. Here are some ideas to get you started on your journey towards a more positive self-image:

Challenge the Voice in Your Head:

Fact-check your thoughts: When that inner critic starts whispering, stop and question its validity. Are those thoughts based on facts or just negative self-talk?

Reframe the narrative: Instead of "I'm not good enough," try "This is a challenge, and I'm going to learn from it."

Focus on Growth:

Celebrate small wins: Every step forward counts! Did you ace a quiz? Did you present your ideas more confidently during class discussions? Acknowledge these achievements, no matter how small.

Embrace "yet": When comparing yourself to others, remember they too started somewhere. Instead of "They're so much better," try "They're experienced, and I can get there yet."

Self-Compassion is Key:

Forgive past mistakes: We all make them. Learn from them and let go of the guilt or shame.

Practice self-care: Prioritize activities that make you feel good – exercise, hobbies, spending time with loved ones. A healthy you is a more confident you.

Seek Support:

Talk to a trusted friend, family member, or therapist: Sharing your struggles can be incredibly helpful. A professional can provide guidance and tools to manage negativity.

Additional Resources:

Explore online resources like cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) techniques for managing negative thoughts.

Consider self-help books on building self-esteem and overcoming imposter syndrome.

Remember: Change takes time and effort. Don't get discouraged if you have setbacks. Celebrate your progress, and keep reminding yourself of how far you've come. You've got this!

Here's a bonus tip:

Write down your positive qualities and goals. Reviewing them regularly can be a powerful way to combat negativity.

You've already made a great decision to take control of your self-image. This year can absolutely be the year you leave your negative self-concept in the past! Keep going, you've got a bright future ahead. 🤍

[aleksa-sims]

RL Simself Story ( 18+)

CW: mental illness, panic attacks

This is Dr. M., my Therapist. You have met her once before in my story. She helped me to control my panic attacks and practiced daily with me relaxation techniques. This really helped me after a while.

But now it was time for me, to use Dr M.’s help again. This time, it wasn’t panic attacks. It was rather.... stress & anxiety, that made my everyday life tough. I was afraid to leave the house alone.

Two days ago, I was already here. She prescribed me drugs, antidepressants, that I can continue to take during pregnancy. Weeks before, I attended those therapeutic group sessions she led. I haven’t been there often, but she asked me about Daniel there. She saw I wasn't well. And that's exactly the topic she first discussed with me today. She wanted to get an idea of my current situation and she was also worried about Daniel. She thought Daniel was going through something similar to me. Just he did not have panic attacks, but she was sure, he also struggled to process this thing .The attack on the two of us and the consequences of it. However, I also told her everything that had happened since Daniel left. Drugs, Adam & Ana, including N. & me.

Dr. M.: I'm glad you got confidence in me. I remember well how.... difficult certain topics for you were to address. That guy Adam, how do you handle what happened between you and him?

Me: Actually, nothing happened. And I don’t think he really wanted to hurt me. He had other intentions. It was about my sister.

Dr. M.: I see it a little differently. No matter what his intentions were or what his motive was, what he did is definitely wrong.

Me: Yes, I agree! It was wrong and made me angry. But-... ugh, I don't want to discuss about that. I get a headache from this subject.... No joke, my brain hurts rn.

Dr. M.: Here, a glass of water. You need to stay hydrated..... Better?....Fine. Explain please. What made you so angry about Adam?

Me: Um... what he did! To me.... Why does this keep happening to me?? 😫 It makes me so sick!😡 ... Agh, anyway. Pls let's change the topic.

Dr. M.: It's okay. But you did well! You finally showed me your anger and let it out... Oh, but you didn’t have a panic attack after that, right?

Me: No! I had sex 3 weeks later and well, I’m pregnant. Looks like sex isn’t a prob for me anymore.🤷‍♀️But even before that, it worked quite well between Daniel & me as far as this is concerned. You were right! Daniel wasn’t the trigger for my panic.

Dr. M.: He felt so awful about that. He blamed himself. But I’m glad this at least went well for you two.

Me: I was dreaming about him.... Again. It felt so real... I still feel like he was really with me last night. I was in our apartment. I felt like we were still together. I cleaned up, did our laundry and at night, he really came to me in my dreams... I just want to know where he is?.. Why did he leave me? And if he comes back?

Dr. M.: Let’s say Daniel comes back. What could your life together look like? Some things have changed. You are pregnant and Daniel’s situation or condition may have changed too? Could you imagine continuing your marriage with him?

Me: For him, I would try. I would also forgive him, no matter what he did. But how can I be sure he won’t leave me again?

Dr. M.: Exactly!..... You also have to be aware that you are pregnant. But do you think Daniel would be able to help you with your Baby?

Me: Um... Idk? It's not his Baby. I'm not sure if he can deal with that? But he'd help me, I know that. However, all of this is more of a wishful thinking of mine and not reality. So... I’m going to file for divorce tomorrow.

Dr. M.: That sounds reasonable. You should definitely do this step, for yourself! One of you two has to take the first step towards enlightenment, which doesn’t mean, that it really has to come to a separation in the end. My personal opinion.... Daniel had enough time. It's time to act now!

Me: Almost 3 Months.... Nevertheless, I think I made too hasty decisions and let myself be misled by false facts.... And Nico, whenever he shows up in my life, it gets complicated.

Dr. M. : Tell me more about him. How did you feel when you saw him again after a long time?

Me:...... (Gosh!🤦‍♀️) ... Ahhmm.... yea. It was okay. Nothing special. 🤥

Dr. M.: 🤨...  I can tell when you're fibbing.😉 But, let's try it this way! Ask me a personal question that interests you. If I answer, you will also answer my question about Nico.

Me: Hehe...Ok! Ahm??? Do you have kids  and are you married?

Dr. M.: No, I don’t have kids, my patients are my kids. But yes, I’ve actually been married recently.

Me: OH, congratulations.

Dr. M.: Thanks! You even met him. He examined you at the clinic when we were planning to include you in the study.

Me: No! That Doc is your husband??.. Cool! He's really nice, Dr. M. Cute. 😉

Dr. M.: Thank you. I'll tell him later. He will surely be pleased about it. 😄... But now back to you, A. How was it for you to see Nico again.

Me: My cheeks felt burning hot. I was beaming & smiling all over my face. 🤦‍♀️🥰.... Agh yea, I was so happy. Even though I was totally nervous and excited, it felt like he's always with me. And I think he felt the same. He kept telling me I was pretty and... hot. But he didn’t kiss me .He.... had a fiancé. He didn’t want to cheat on her, but I think if I told him I wanted him, he wouldn’t have said no. He made hints in that direction, but I was disappointed. Agh, honestly? I knew he was in a relationship. I wasn’t quite sure, but-... yea. I got involved with him anyway. I just can’t say no to him. I wanted him and... just a day later, I got him.

Dr. M.: It is right to say it openly. Feelings of attraction feel strong. Certain factors can amplify all this, making it even more difficult to ignore those feelings. But how did you and he decide to continue?

Me: We talked a lot, especially about the past. There were some misunderstandings that Nico and I were able to resolve. The present is more the problem I think, his fiancée and of course Daniel.

Dr. M.: Would he accompany you here? Like Daniel did... I’m trying to help you. I think Nico has a strong, very strong influence on you. You told me about him before, and.....well! It would be good for you, but also for him, if you come here together. You think he’d be willing to talk to me?

Me: Rn, I'm not really sure?... But Nico has surprised me in recent weeks, in many ways... I’ll see him soon anyway. He’ll accompany me to my prenatal check-up. So yea, I'm gonna talk to him.

Dr. M.: I’m glad to hear he’s accompanying you.... Fine, A.! And please! Please take your pills regularly! Or do I really have to call you here every other day?

Me: No! Pls don't!... I’ll take care of myself, I promise.

Dr. M.: That's just what I was hoping to hear. All right! Then.... See you next week, I’d say.

Me: Sure!...Ok thanks, see you next week Dr. M.

Previous/Next

[kalamity-jayne]

If I may ask, how do I come out to my homophobic family in the future? I have told no one in person that I'm a GNC lesbian, except for my therapist and a handful of friends at school. It's a scary thought and as dumb as this request seems, I just need some reassurance and advice. Thanks, Miss Jayne 💛

Hello dear! Apologies for my extremely slow response! I hope I’m not too late with this advice!

First off, your request is absolutely not dumb! So, my first piece of advice: Be kinder to yourself. We all deserve to be supported in times of need and there should be no shame in seeking it from your community. What you’re about to do is no small thing, even for those with supportive families!

Now, as always, I have to give give the caveat that I don’t have the full context of your situation so there may be flaws in the advice I give but you are of course welcome to follow up with me in the notes and we can have more of a back and forth.

Without further ado, lets get into it.

I am so sorry that your family is homophobic, whether their bigotry is quietly casual or openly hostile, they are hurting you.

You deserve better!

Now, before we can address the question of how to come out to your family it's important to ask yourself whether you should come out to them at all. According to your blog header you're a minor and that unfortunately means your parents or legal guardians (for the time being lets table the issue of siblings) have a good deal over power over you. DO NOT COME OUT TO YOUR FAMILY OR ANYONE ELSE IF YOU DON'T FEEL COMPLETELY SAFE WITH THEM! If you were an adult I'd maybe say proceed with coming out but because you're a minor you shouldn't out yourself unless you are reasonably sure it wouldn't result in violence, getting kicked out of your house, having money for college withheld, or unfair restrictions on your freedom (such as who you're allowed to be friends with), etc etc.

You need to step back and look at the bigger picture. Take your time to consider all of the angles and determine when you'll achieve full independence from your parents. Is it simply a matter of turning 18? When will you be able to move out and live on your own terms? Do you need them to pay for college? At what point will you no longer need them for anything? Independence here is when your parents can no longer materially affect the arc of your life. Once you've figured out where that threshold is, break down the steps and milestones you need to get there. Then you just have to keep your head down, stay out of trouble, focus on school and get good grades, save as much money as you can, and take every step you can to ensure you can to be free of them as soon as possible and never ever take your eyes off that prize.

Try to remember that the time between your current age and when you reach legal adulthood is going to go by fast. It may be hard to believe that now because you're young and very much in it but one day you will wake up with another decade or two under your belt and these teenage years will feel like a short but formative blip. Having said that, how do you maintain your sanity in the meantime? Find the people and places where you can safely be yourself! Got a friend who's gay or an ally and their whole family are proud diehard LGBTQ allies? Think of them as your surrogate family and spend as much time there as you can. Is there a queer safe space the kids at your school like to hang out? Go frequently! Do whatever you have to do to survive so long as it doesn't come at the cost of your own well being long term.

Now, let's say a few years have passed and you are officially free and independent. How to come out.

Coming out to unsupportive family is a minefield. However, especially once you've become an adult, you have a very good sense of where those landmines are which means you can probably predict and anticipate how they'll react which again will mitigate any potential harm to you because you saw the hit coming and were ready for it.

The most important thing is figuring out the shape of your boundaries and asserting them without flinching. Know your triggers and who's really good at getting under your skin, and plan out what you're going to say to assert your boundary ahead of time. For example: Whenever I talk to my parents they inevitably want to discuss the trans news of the day and let's be real, that news is usually very unpleasant and as soon as I'm done talking to them I tend to spin out in emotional distress because their attempts at virtue signaling are a reminder of how they rejected me as a nascently trans teenager. So now whenever my parents try to discuss trans issues I shut them down by saying, "I don't want to talk about that stuff with you cause I see it and live it everyday."

That brings me to the next aspect of being prepared. Set your self up for success. Don't attempt these conversations when you're not in the right headspace for them. Don't have the conversation at a time/place when/where you'll be distracted and remove any distractions that maybe present or come up. Make sure you're comfortable and do whatever you have to do to reduce the pressure of the situation, such as writing out what it is you want to say ahead of time, maybe even practice with friend.

Because your family is homophobic, I strongly recommend coming out to them over the phone (again, only works when you're fully independent). This way you will be safer and more secure in yourself and you can have an ally there with you, which I also strongly recommend doing. Whoever is in your corner, bring them in because their presence will give you confidence, and if you get hurt by your family they are there to hold you immediately and help you process the conversation when it's over. Do not hesitate to reach out to your people out of some misplaced concern that you'd be bothering them True friends will never be bothered or put out by a call for support. Real friends will be happy that you reached out to them for help.

Now comes the bitter pill I'm afraid. Because your family is homophobic and likely to react like a bunch of shit-asses, you have to be prepared to cut some or all of them out of your life completely. If they are unwilling to change and accept you for who you are, then you need to protect yourself from their toxicity. People are fond of saying, "you can't pick your family" and "family is everything," but I call that load of bs. Is your family's love really love if it's conditional on you living a lie? Don't fall for the hallmark channel nonsense about families and parents that our culture is constantly forcing down our throats because love is a two way street and you are under no obligation to maintain relationships with people who reject you and treat you like garbage. This is yet another reason why I would wait until you're an independent adult. Cutting out your family of origin isn't so bad when you've built a chosen family around yourself first.

I hope this advice was helpful and please feel free to follow up in the notes. Also, know that I'm rooting for you. Everyone reading this is rooting for you. Just hang in there a little longer cause freedom is just around the corner.

Sincerely,

❤️Mother Calamity❤️

[mydarlingdearestdead]

Do I need therapy?

TW: REFERENCES TO DEATH, SUICIDE, BLOOD AND ANYTHING ELSE I SHOULD ADD PLEASE TELL ME @lordoftheasks its here and it comes bearing gifts (tws)

“Crestfallen.” Eva supplied. She smiled widely, undoubtedly proud of her expansive vocabulary. 

“Yes, darling,” Her father replied, his gaze was eager. “He certainly does look crestfallen, I would say.” Eva watched curiously as the man, mid-forties with frightened blue eyes, squirmed against her fathers hold, not quite enough to be resistance just discomfort. He had the man around the neck, holding him with iron-strength. 

He tried to say something to her, against the gag in his mouth. Eva laughed at this; he was being honoured. She smiled good-naturedly at him in response. A new look of terror flitted across this man's features and he fought with renewed vigour.

A small figure appeared in Eva’s vision before long. 

“Arden,” She said sharply, “stop lurking in my peripheral.”

Just like that her brother’s slim silhouette slunk out of the shadows and to her side. He didn’t say a word. 

“Get on with it.” Eva said eventually, her tone suggested this was not a request. The man struggling abruptly ceased upon seeing the boy. His body remained limp in her father’s arms. In the firelight a single tear could be seen trailing down this man's cheek as he leaned back. In one swift motion, the children’s father drew a blade skillfully across his throat, effectively hitting and severing the carotid artery. 

Eva remembered- Get back. The blood will spray and there will be more of it than you’ll expect, her mother had said, into her ear. She had been tying the bow in Eva’s hair. Now, she had no use for a bow, her hair was too short for any use of it, but the advice was useful. 

Arden hadn’t been given this warning, apparently, though she couldn’t think why in seven planes not. While Eva ran back, toward the ever changing foliage that served as their backdrop, Arden stood as though he’d suffered an unfortunate run-in with Medusa. 

The man’s body fell limply to the ground after a moment. Eva’s father charged for his son, thankfully leaving the silver blade at his back. 

He took Arden by the shoulders and shook him forcefully. The boy showed no reaction, or indication he even felt the rough housing, for a moment. When he did acknowledge his father, lifting his head to face the larger man, his expression was devoid of emotion. 

Eva’s mind could only find this peculiar- once she’d first seen the event even a conscious mind and moral principles couldn’t halt the smile creeping onto her face- even if she was missing one of her front teeth at the time.

Arden opened his mouth, then closed it again. His face and clothes had a new polka-dot pattern which no one could possibly redeem. Still, he didn’t look horrified, or joyous as Eva had expected, just impassive. 

Their father released a breath and let go. 

“Evaline.” He called, “Take your brother back to the house. Tell your mother what happened.” 

Eva did as she was told, ruining a perfectly good pair of white trainers in the process. On the walk, short as it was, she berated Arden, 

“Do you have any idea what Mother will do when she sees how you’ve ruined that shirt? It was one of your nice ones as well.”

“Why didn’t you back away? Frankly, you don’t need a warning. It’s sense.”

“Arden! Are you even listening to me? You better not need therapy… actually, no, try and explain this to a therapist. Just make sure it’s recorded for me to watch at my leisure.”

The most response given from her brother was a flick of the eye in her direction. He’d been lucky, no blood in his eyes or mouth. He would have been luckier if he’d stepped back with her, of course, but that was history now. 

The siblings make haste for home. Their mother carried Arden off to the sitting room immediately with the concerned look only ever sported by mothers, leaving Eva in the foyer alone. After whispering as many comments as her undeveloped mind could muster, she sauntered off to bed. 

The girl waited- her father came home, her mother went to bed, he followed her lead after not too long, Arden’s room remained silent and unlit and the hall light, which was on an automatic timer, turned off. Then, she climbed out of bed, torch in hand, and wandered to the kitchen.

For a moment Eva stopped to check the cat, a tabby she swore was older than her mother, who was leisurely lying by the heater, for a pulse as he lay awfully still. Then the memory hits her- their cat died seven months ago. Taxidermy really can do wonderful things, provided it’s given a chance. 

She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity, Arden doesn’t even do that, she thought.

A number of syringes sat on the kitchen island. Eva swiped her arm across the mass, knocking the objects harmlessly into the bin. Her mother needn't have waited till they were gone, her husband did the same thing in his workspace- AKA the garage.- every other night. Not that Eva was trying to stop it, no, the syringes were already empty and her mother already had that pleasant look on her face, like she’d been in a world of her own. 

The young girl, for she wasn’t yet a teenager, took for herself a carton of strawberries and a large glass of milk. 

Once at the landing outside her bedroom, Eva took notice of a thin slit under her brother's door. Evidenced only by the manner in which light pours from it onto the darkened space. So, Arden was awake after all. 

Eva sighed, she placed the strawberries and milk on the floor, moving cautiously as she opened the door to Arden’s bedroom and slipped in through the gap. 

Sure enough, every light was on- the desk lamp, ceiling light, bedside lamp and even an LED display he’d gotten for his last birthday. It glowed acid green with the words And Remember: Watch Your Mirror. She never understood the reference but Arden went ecstatic, tackling their mother and hugging her fiercely. 

Something obstructed the light on the far wall as Eva looked- a figure’s shadow, blocking the light. She almost laughs for a moment, wondering why in the world Arden was simply standing ominously in the middle of his room. Then she noticed the angle. His shadow was too long… too tall- Arden wasn’t standing at all. 

Eva’s head whipped around before she could really consider it, her brother was six inches off the ground, held by a thick rope coiled around his neck and hanging from the light fixture. 

She screamed, a delusional sound.

And she screamed again, a heartbroken wail.

Eva screamed until her mother’s shape had embraced her and her father’s shadow was cast over them both, his muscled body blocking the horrific scene. 

And she screamed some more.  

It was hardly like she’d never seen death. Even the death of someone close in the family, her Uncle Aaron had been chosen a year ago, but this was different. This was someone she was meant to protect. Someone who counted on her. Someone she failed.

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 3160

physical therapy this morning was, in a word, tough.

since i shoulder was aching on tuesday and actively hurting yesterday, i knew i was gonna have a hard time. i was right. we switched up the order today, so i went from heat to exercises directly with the massage after, instead of heat-massage-exercises. i couldn't remember what my exercises were, for one, and i had a particularly difficult time getting to and past five reps. i usually try to focus on smooth motion, but it was so jerky today that it was obvious something was wrong. so i told my therapist, who was also the one who worked on my shoulder on monday, and she was really gentle as she massaged my shoulder. she told me to take it easy and to rest my shoulder for the next few days, and she said that the heaviest thing i should be lifting is a plate. so i've tried to keep this in mind today.

i stopped at starbucks before going to work, per usual. i went to work, and i spent an hour talking to one of the most interesting people i've ever met - he's an associate's degree student after having been both a master's student and a principal correspondent for a news outlet in iraq, and he's a published author who speaks four languages. i was like, "i should be asking YOU for writing help." the issue he's encountering is the specific language of US government and references to the constitution and stuff which is somewhat unique to the united states' government system. so i offered to look over his paper once he's all done with it. he walked away and i was in awe for a while.

i meet the most fascinating people at work.

after that first appointment, though, i went to take a sip of my cocoa. i get a (starbucks language) large hot cocoa made with soy milk and hazelnut. they got the soy milk and the hazelnut right.

there was no chocolate in it.

if i wanted a steamer, i would've said i wanted a steamer. i wanted hot chocolate. there was no chocolate. it's in the name, guys.

(not the only time reading comprehension and a wrong order put me out today.)

my second appointment was for chemistry with a student i've worked with a bunch before. he's quiet and soft-spoken with a knack for being pensive, but he also sometimes forgets formulas and ideas when put on the spot. so i do problems step by step and explain them quietly as i go, i label everything, and i give him the paper i've written on. we work on problems together, checking knowledge and understanding as we go, so i know he walks out with a better confidence than what he walked in with. he's a good kid.

he also showed me a couple pictures of some pieces of pottery he recently painted with his mom! they worked on a raccoon and a fox, but they swapped the color schemes so the fox is painted like a raccoon and the raccoon is painted like a fox. they didn't look wrong. they were really cute. he's working on something else now, and i asked him to take a picture of it when he was done so i could see it.

he also showed me an older photo of a pumpkin that he painted. it was bright red and had an angry face. it was really funny. i appreciated it. he showed them to me because he thought i "would get a kick out of it." he was right.

my third appointment was with my friend kendall, and i told her about my cocoa problem. she was shocked because the bedford one is where she goes all the time and they always get her order right. she took pictures and after opening her laptop and handing it to me, she left to get me a replacement cocoa 🥹

i was able to do a few things for her without having her in the way, like handling a few emails and a lab that wasn't coming across properly from her computer so i fixed it on mine and sent it to her professor directly.

i had my lunch in the meantime, and i looked at a few things while she was gone, and in the interim her laptop had logged out, so i just shut it down and relaxed for a little bit. she came back around 2:30 with my new hot chocolate and i gotta tell you i've never been so happy to have a hot cocoa at 2 in the afternoon. big happy warm smile from me, curled into my cocoa cup with both hands.

after kendall left, a coworker of mine showed up, and we spent like. two hours just talking. he's such a fun guy, and i'm happy he's my coworker and my friend. i learned about halal and kosher meat preparation, and we talked about polyamory and swinger parties and we talked about helping people because it's the right thing to do and the social contract and societies and we discussed food stuff near the end.

before he left, my last appointment showed up, the girl i've been working with lately and the reason i have so many hours at work lmao. we got all of a chapter worked on, and she's getting sets and venn diagrams much better than she did when she walked in. she's working really hard, and im challenging her to do math in her head and she's rising to the occasion and meets every challenge without fighting it. she's doing a really great job.

after work, i went back to joel's to collect my belongings so i can be home for tomorrow when we move stuff around the house because moving shit.

i grabbed my stuff and as i was leaving i called my mom. i called her three or four times. didn't pick up. i figured since it was thursday she was probably watching battlebots and not listening for her phone. i was calling to ask about dinner, but since i didn't get an answer i just decided to stop for mcnaldos on the way home. i made my order and they ended up making and giving me two hot fudge sundaes instead of just the one i ordered.

i got home and i opened up my burgers and there was cheese on them.

could t eat them. grumpy. thrown off because they were CLEARLY marked NO CHEESE. sad.

by that point i'd discovered my parents weren't home, my mom's phone was on her chair, and i couldn't eat my dinner that i'd gotten.

then my dad texted me: "dinner exploded so we're going to longhorn. do you want to join us?"

so i just called them and asked them about it, told them i'd be there in 15-20 minutes, finished my nuggies, put away the rest i hadn't eaten, put my shoes back on, and headed out.

i got there just in time to order, and when it came out i was surprised and delighted at the sheer amount of broccoli on my plate. i didn't want a salad, so i got double broccoli instead. it was awesome. the salmon was cooked enough, but it wasn't great. i don't think i'm gonna order salmon anymore. i've had it too much.

after dinner we made our way home and we watched battlebots, and after a few hours and some work games, i came upstairs, and now it's 1:05am and i am ready to pass the fuck out.

missing joel already. he cuddled me big time last night, and i was so happy to receive big joel hugs for extended times. he was almost like a cat, curling into my arms and staying there for as long as he pleased. it was really nice.

anyway, im so exhausted and my back and shoulders hurt. i need better sleep lmao.

[wiretchings]

memory log #84

thursday, february 13th, 2025 -- 3:08 p.m.

i worked my first shift yesterday since everything that’s happened. i didn’t really sit and think about it ahead of time, i just woke up tuesday morning and felt ready to go back. i texted sherry, “what time do you need me there tonight?” and she responded, “oh? 8 p.m. is good, i’ll be there too ^^”

it went fine, things don’t have the same vibrancy they used to right now. i think that’s on account of the trauma i’ve experienced, or whatever. i said that to elli this morning and he told me that i should think about seeing a therapist. in that moment, it felt like my mind was splintering into a dozen pieces and i almost got out of bed and walked out the door. i don’t want to fight, because i’m scared that’s going to make him leave somehow. when i said this, elliot held my face in his hands and sighed. his eyes did that thing they do when they get big and glossy, glazed over with love and sadness. 

it’s difficult to talk about these things without making him feel like he has to apologize for it. because i know he blames himself for everything, and i don’t want him to. i could have walked away at any point in time, it was my own obsession and choices that lead us here. and although i’m struggling to find peace with the static in my head and the way my hands look when i stare at my lap, i feel a wave of calm when i look over at elliot, wiping down the coffee table. ironically, i wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“i’ll think about it,” i reassured him, and his eyes soften a bit. “only because i don’t want this to result in me doing something stupid,” even though doing something stupid feels like it’s just on the horizon. it’s at my eye-line, staring me down every morning at the corner of my vision and i try my best to ignore it. 

when i came home last night, elliot was in the shower. i entered the bathroom to brush my teeth, only for him to start humming. “what are you doing?” it came out muffled from the toothpaste taking residence in my mouth. 

“just... humming a tune..” he hesitated, then continued mimicking the unknown melody. 

“you weren’t doing that when i first came in,” i spat into the sink a few times, until the water ran clean. 

“can’t a man be struck by inspiration due to his muse finally coming home?” he said in an exaggerated tone. it was silent for a moment before he suddenly broke it. “can i ask you something, dean?”

“sure, shoot.” i cleaned my toothbrush and returned it to its’ spot, next to elliot’s neon pink atrocity he calls a toothbrush. 

“so the wings...” i felt them twitch at the acknowledgement of their existence, “they work? i mean, obviously they had to have worked for you to save me that night... but did you know that was going to happen.”

i leaned against the sink, staring through the steam that had fogged up the bathroom. “honestly, i didn’t really think. i know that somewhere in the back of my mind i had remembered that my wings saved me once before when i was in danger, but that was more of an afterthought.”

elliot paused, “...so we both could have died.”

i shrugged, never having really thought about it since that day. “it was a chance i was willing to take, i guess.” 

“you’re so nonchalant about it... how very badass of you,” he chuckled, the sound of the water coming to a stop. 

“more like reckless, i put both of our lives in danger going on that walk.” the steam was beginning to clear and i tensed, realizing that elliot was possibly going to exit the shower any moment now. not that i haven’t seen him naked before, but it hasn’t happened since the first time we slept together, back in november. hazy memories of our limbs tangled together and the sweetness of sweat flicked through my mind, but nothing concrete. we were both drunk, after all. 

he stuck his head out of the shower suddenly, arm reaching out towards me. i took a step back, feeling a blush creeping across my face. elliot smiled, then motioned behind me, “could you hand me that towel?” 

i nodded silently and gave it to him, focusing only on his face when our eyes met again. “you know, when i was falling to my presumed death, all i could think about was that i was happy i joined you on that walk. i don’t think i could have lived with myself if i had to find you, i wouldn’t be able to stop myself from thinking about what could have gone differently if i were there.” he looked down, his usual wide grin replaced with a shy smile. “and regardless of the outcome, i was comforted by the fact that we were able to share that view together.” 

i didn’t know what to say, tears didn’t even have the chance to swell in my eyes, they were already rolling down my face. i was gripping the sink with my left hand and trying to wipe at my eyes with my right. elliot quickly wrapped the towel around his waist and exited the shower, cupping my cheek and wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “oh, baby... i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

still unable to get a word out, i shook my head and rested my forehead on his bare shoulder. his wet hair was dripping onto my shirt, causing it to stick to my back. i began to sob, completely unable to control my body at this point. he took me in his arms and held me tightly, and i didn’t care how uncomfortable the wetness of his body felt pressed against mine. 

after i was done crying, i helped him dry his hair and applied the ointment his doctor prescribed him onto his left eye. as i was taping a fresh piece of gauze over the wound, he began stroking my hair. “sweet thing,” he whispered. 

we didn’t talk much after that, we were both tapped out emotionally and went straight to bed. i drifted from consciousness with my forehead pressed against his chest, swept away by the rhythm of his heartbeat. in the morning, i woke him by peppering kisses along his temple, down to his collarbone. when elliot’s eyes fluttered open, he looked at me with a confused look on his face, cheeks flushed. “good morning...?” 

“morning,” i leaned in to kiss him deeply and he reciprocated, pulling away gently with an arch in his eyebrow. 

“i thought you didn’t want... this..” he waited for a response.

“well, i’m not very interested in receiving... but i can be generous sometimes,” i grinned, hiding my face in the crook of his neck out of embarrassment. “how do you feel?” i murmured into his deep red curls. 

elliot grabbed my face, his eyes bright with excitement. “of course,” he kissed me briefly, “let’s make this a morning to remember!”

i shoved him and laughed, before lacing our fingers together and nodding against his forehead. i leaned in for another kiss, then another, then another. 

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

To Papa IV,

I feel selfish for ranting, so my sincerest apologies.

Recently, I felt like I am not enough. I graduated last year, and I should be in college by now, but I've been living with my friend, and I feel horrible about it. I have a job, and I buy my own things, but I still can't shake the feeling of being a burden to everyone around me. If I ever told my friend, I think that they would believe I was making a joke, or that I was pathetic. I've tried everything I possibly could to get rid of this feeling. I have tried telling a therapist, I have tried to think positively, I have tried living on my own, but it didn't work, and I moved back in with my friend.

I am very sorry for telling you this and wasting your time.

Sincerely, a Sister of Sin

Dearest Sister,

No apologies necessary, little dove. First thing’s first, and I say this with affection, do not apologize for this. It is certainly is not selfish to get things off your chest, yes? Otherwise it sits and festers, rotting your heart. Second, I am so proud of you! Nothing has been easy during this lifetime, but especially not the last few years, and not only have you graduated but you also have a job to support yourself! This is a big achievement, piccola. You have persevered.

I understand what it is like to feel like a burden. You feel small, like you blend into the background, and maybe you want to stay there because it can feel worse to try to step forward. But you have so much ahead of you. Many opportunities for when it feels right to take that step. Here and now, celebrate how far you’ve come, be gentle with yourself and practice recognizing this, set yourself up for success. Once you reach a point where you are comfortable with this, focus on your growth. Growth of any kind requires proper care and conditions.

Not everyone takes life at the same pace. Find yours and do not focus on what “should” be, only what is. Don’t be sorry for this, sweetheart. Remember you are worth all of this.

All my love,

- IV

[tullium]

I hoped to never go on to social media to call out someone for abusing me in some way... but here I fucking am.

TW// grooming, toxic relationship

At the age of 10, I met someone online who I shared a common interest with. They introduced me to their friends, and one of them would become my abuser. After our little group fell apart, her and I stayed friends. Eventually, we figured out we liked each other, and we started dating by the time I was 12.

Things were fine for awhile, but during an arguement one time, I remember her calling me toxic. I didn't even know what that word meant, yet it stuck to me for years. I didn't get over that until I finally stepped into the light, left her behind, and finally started to get better.

We'd keep arguing, we'd take "breaks", but with each break we'd end up still be like "ily" and realize that we weren't truly having a break, ever.

Once we broke up, it only took me a day to decide that we couldn't even stay friends. It didn't feel right. I ghosted her, and I don't even remotely regret it. I was only 13. Things were quiet, and with my therapist, I had come to realize how much she really abused me.

6 months later, my abuser reached out to me. She snuck into my discord server, once she revealed herself, I was willing to make small talk. I was willing to forgive. I was naive.

I mentioned that I told my friends in my server about what she did. So she snooped and got upset when I called her a groomer. So, I deleted that message... but I really shouldn't have.

I'm 16 now, and I only just now realized that she abused me so much worse than I think. Everytime I realize that she did something wrong, I think "it can't get worse than this.", but it has. Most of my memories of the time I had with her is blotted out, but one thing I do remember is a BDSM list.

I was 13, maybe even 12, when she sent me the blank list, and one filled out. She told me, "You should do this and send it to me. Here's mine." I don't remember looking at hers, but I remember genuinely trying to fill it out, because I was young. I was naive. I didn't know any better.

I didn't know most of the things listed on it. I had to look half of it up, and I was so uncomfortable doing it the whole time. Not like anything could have had any truth to it because I was fucking 12/13. I had absolutely 0 experience in anything sexual. I was so uncomfortable doing it, it wasn't fair to me to do something like this and not understand any of it.

I didn't realize how damn weird it was back then. I only just realized it and it's been nearly half a decade. There are certain people out there that have used that list to groom their victims, I found it out just now, and it hit me like a fucking train to realize that I was victim to it.

Tabby, I don't fucking give a shit if I ruin your chances of college, or a job. You don't deserve a good life because you ruined mine. And even though I've learned to grow around my trauma, I cannot move on from the fact that you are the reason I struggle so much today. I don't fucking trust people, because of you and the way you treated me. But I have learned to realize that I will not tolerate people stepping all over me and I will not be treated unfairly because I have fucking worth and you don't get to act all innocent anymore.

My abuser is Tabbybat6. Bluebat, Tabbitha, whatever the fuck she goes by now. I first met her on Steam, we moved to hangouts, then Discord. She has Wattpad, Instagram, Tumblr, and on everything I could think of, I have her blocked and restricted.

Tabbitha, if somehow, you're reading this, I hope you understand the way you made me feel, someday. I hope you feel all the pain you made me feel from your abuse. And I'm praying to the god I don't believe in that justice gets fucked served.

[a-cat-who-likes-stars]

17th June 2024, 0:07

To return to writing. It's been a couple of semesters in med school as an undergraduate. And nearly 5 years into the course only dawns on me how ingenuity still forms part of my perspective.

I've never felt so framed by fear ever in my whole life, I swear it resembled stupidity as I reflect.

During my orthopaedic rotation, which was mainly surgical and which I enjoyed, jarring was how afraid I was and how stuck up my two feet were, deep in the mud of peer pressure. My supervisor literally told us to get lost and befriend specialist trainees, gone were the day that we were being taught how to examine a patient at bedside, replaced by a theoretical show in a tutorial room.

Dear readers, I'm no coward but never had I ever felt such impotence on my part among a group of imbeciles. I had never slacked so badly since clinicals. I might need to see a therapist to discuss what's the reason I had been hiding from my calling. My practical hands-on learning skills were screaming at me to visit the wards. My imbecile supervisor told us first thing that the wards are dangerous, rapists of a speciality trainee roam there, you will be scared, you should go with a partner, especially girls.

Looking back and registering what kind of crap did my supervisor feed us and how dare I accepted that foul.

Hazier down the road, I whizzed through anaesthesia rotation writing case reports and completing my logbook to an end.

The bollocks arrived when I floated through paediatrics, my supervisor another lady told us that she will remain a name on the list and anon/ inexistent in real life. I floated once more, relying on my grateful and soul-satisfying memories from internal medicine and met wonderful young patients. However there was a point that my camelback carried a straw unexpectedly. I honestly had no idea how to perform a developmental assessment that meets the expectations of my dear examiner. My peers who presented the approach for this particular test, presented shit that offset our bearings on how different it was from the actual script. I never got so scammed because simply I was clueless of how an developmental assessment could be easy as fuck and smooth like breathing air.

It was overcomplicated by idiots and my mental note was to figure out an easier way out. To take care of my mentality and eat well, sleep well, drink water and try to complete my workouts.

Trying not to make myself overcompensated of work that I've been placing aside. Still need to repeat muscle memory for orthopaedic physical examination.

I could recall on 1 hand my clerked patients. It was almost funny how I will pass the exams, still, I gotta study.

With that said, I ate, I slept, I stayed hydrated, I didn't die. At least I'm talking with people, writing, reading fiction for pure entertainment, and connecting to friends. Listening to music instead of something dreadful such as staying in a cramped dorm, idiots yodelling into the midnight.

I'm still alive, maybe I need to see a counsellor, possibly saved by music playing in my air pods, possibly overcoming homesickness, possibly learning how to be a better healer.

I wished my favourite educators, my lecturers were here with me every single step in med school. Surely if they were here I'd be more myself, as in being outgoing knowing things are safe. Somehow their leaving has accentuated how resilient I became, still going on my path.

Honestly I've never been so disturbed by loud noises and yelling in the dorms. I could only crank some music up, hoping that the noise that permeated over 4 brick walls and floors, from that syndromic undiagnosed would somehow evaporate.

I remember 2 or 3 years ago I voiced to my friends how much I valued peace. But true peace comes from our abilities to switch the angle we perceive our surroundings. Past present future is only a matter of our wants needs and desires. But to change what, when everything around us and all that we know, is already how they exist as.

Surely I have the potential to achieve my goals which is to pass these exams. And to honor the knowledge of being a medical student.

I've overcome so much. And at one point time ceased to exist and I'm still the teenager and I'm still the kid and I'm also a human regardless of age.

[cuttoothed]

Fic for day 3 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt "Healing & Recovery". We've all been saying jmart need a lot of therapy after the finale, so...yeah.

Disclaimer: I have never been to couple's therapy. I have done some reading on it, but this is not intended in any way to accurately reflect real world therapy practices. Please just assume that anything "off" is due to the way couple's therapy is practiced in AU-land (though of course feel free to let me know if you spot anything egregious).

*

“Why don’t you start,” Judith suggests, “By telling me about the incident?”

The two men on the sofa give her identical startled looks, as if she’s uncovered something incriminating. Martin seems to regain his composure first; he clears his throat, and his hand moves to cover Jon’s, unconsciously protective.

“Sorry, wh-what do you mean by “incident”?”

“For most couples who come to see me, there’s an...inciting incident,” Judith explains. “Something that makes them realize they could use some professional support to work through things. Of course any couple can benefit from seeing a therapist together on occasion, to deal with small issues before they become big ones. But, well, it’s the same way that everyone knows they should go for regular check ups with their GP rather than waiting until they actually get sick—it’s just not something most people get around to until they need it.”

She pauses to give them time to consider that, and after a moment Jon nods, looking mildly embarrassed.

“Right,” he says. “That’s, ah, I think that’s fair.”

“There are pretty strong extenuating circumstances, though,” Martin huffs defensively. “We didn’t exactly have the option for therapy in the a—wh-where we lived before.”

“It’s not intended as a criticism,” Judith tells him. “You’ve chosen to talk to a therapist, and that’s a big step—one that many people never take. You’re ahead of the curve, Martin.”

Martin looks mollified at that; he’s clearly a bit touchy about perceived criticisms of their relationship, and Judith doesn’t want to get him on the defensive. She gives them both an encouraging smile.

“So,” she says. “Is there an incident you’d like to talk about?”

The two of them look at each other expectantly, as if each is waiting for the other to start. After several long moments of silence, Jon raises his eyebrows meaningfully, and Martin sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “So, we, uh, we recently realized that our...garden was a-a bit of a mess. So we—Jon and I—we get together with our...housemates, to figure out what kind of flowers we should plant. Fuschias or—or hydrangeas. ”

He pauses to glance nervously at Jon, who gives him a reassuring nod, squeezing his hand.

Right, Judith thinks, This is probably not about flowers.

“We agree we all want fuschias,” Martin continues, “Except Jon—he wanted hydrangeas. But we took a vote, and it was fuschias.”

“Except of course most of our—our housemates weren’t there for that meeting,” Jon interjects, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes, but we agreed we couldn’t wait to ask every single person,” Martin says sharply, back on the defensive. Jon’s brow furrows and his mouth opens as if to say something, but he changes his mind and shuts it again. Conflict aversion is one of the most common dysfunctions Judith sees in the couples she treats; very few people want to disagree with the person they love, and even fewer know how to have a constructive conflict. She makes a mental note of it for later.

“Go ahead, Martin,’ she suggests gently. Martin looks unhappy, but continues.

“So we agree to plant the fuschias the next day, but Jon—Jon sneaks out in the middle of the night and starts, uh, planting hydrangeas. Without telling anyone.”

Without telling me, Judith hears in his hurt tone. Jon’s arms are still folded, and he’s almost squirming in his seat with the effort to not interject; Judith decides it’s a good time to invite him into the story.

“Jon, why did you feel so strongly about the hydrangeas?”

“It’s—it wasn’t that I wanted hydrangeas, I just couldn’t a-accept the idea of—of fuchsias.”

“Couldn’t allow it, you mean,” Martin grumbles. Judith lets it pass and continues to focus on Jon.

“Why is that?”

“They, uh, they spread…” Jon waves his hands vaguely. “Their—their...roots? They would get into the, uh, the neighbors’ gardens, completely take over, destroy everything.”

“Potentially,” Martin insists. “There was no guarantee—”

“There was no reason they wouldn’t,” Jon snaps.

By now Judith is not only sure that this has nothing to do with gardening, but suspects that neither of these men has ever seen a fuchsia in their lives. It’s fine, though. This is far from the first time a client has invented a story out of whole cloth so they can work through something uncomfortable without actually describing it. And this is their first session; Judith hopes in the future they’ll trust her enough to give her the real story.

“Remember,” she tells them. “We’re not here to decide that someone was objectively right or wrong, we’re here to help you understand each other and improve your communication skills.”

“Right,” Martin mutters, unconvinced. Jon’s expression is distressed, but he continues.

“There was no other choice,” he says wearily. “The only other option was—was azaleas, and I know you didn’t want that, Martin.”

“Absolutely not.” Martin sounds horrified. “But hydrangeas, Jon? Do you really think that was a better option?”

“You have to see the difference.” Jon’s tone goes stiff and incredulous, as if he’s winding up for a lecture, and Judith decides to cut that off before it starts.

“So what I’m hearing,” she says, “Is that you both had very strong, conflicting opinions on this topic. And that’s okay—it’s okay for you to disagree, even on something important. You’re not always going to agree on what the right thing to do is. Often there is no single “right thing,” so it comes down to how the different choices make us feel.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good way to make a decision that affects the wh—a lot of people.” Jon clearly considers that his opinion on not-flowers was the objectively correct one. Judith smiles.

“People aren’t computers, Jon. Even the most logical minded person in the world is influenced by their feelings—about important issues, about other people. You’d be surprised at how much of our decision making is rooted in emotion; either how we anticipate the outcome of our decision will make us feel, or how we are feeling in the immediate moment of the choice.”

A spasm of something that might be grief or pain flashes across Jon’s face, and he leans unconsciously in Martin’s direction. Martin’s arm instantly goes around him, offering comfort without thought. It’s clear that these two love each other deeply, unquestioningly—and that’s also part of the problem. When someone you love thinks that you’re wrong about something that’s important to you, it can feel like a rejection of your entire self.

“I’d like to pause this discussion for now, and try a little exercise,” she says. Jon nods, sitting back up and disengaging from Martin’s embrace; Martin looks attentively at her, though his expression is unsure.

“One of the biggest challenges we face with people we love is recognizing that they are separate from us. I know—” she says, raising her hands to stop the objections she can already see forming on their lips. “Of course you know that you’re separate people. We all know that, rationally. But emotionally, it’s natural to see the people you’re close to as extensions of yourself—it’s an evolutionary impulse to aid group bonding. It happens with friends and family, and it’s an even stronger impulse between partners.

“We have to do a lot of work to truly internalize the idea that the people we love have their own inner emotional lives that drive their opinions and decisions. But once you are able to fully grasp that truth, it makes disagreeing with the person you love feel less emotionally fraught; it’s a powerful tool for navigating conflict constructively.”

Jon is frowning, but it’s in consideration rather than disapproval. Martin still looks skeptical, his body language defensive, though he doesn’t say anything. That’s probably the best she’s going to get for now, Judith thinks.

“So,” she says. “The exercise is this: I’d like each of you to take a few moments to think, and then tell the other person something about yourself. Not a fact, but something that you feel. And I would like you to listen without interrupting when your partner tells you their feeling. Can you each do that?”

“I, ah—” Jon’s frown deepens. “That’s...rather difficult to do on demand.”

“I know,” says Judith with sympathy. “That’s why I’m here, to support you both in doing the difficult things. If it was easy, you wouldn’t need a therapist to facilitate.”

“Right,” says Jon. “Okay.”

“Martin?”

“Fine,” he says, but his tone is reluctant. Judith gets it; vulnerability is hard enough in front of someone you love, never mind with a stranger in the room. It’s easier to pretend that it’s pointless, that you’re not really putting yourself out there to be hurt. She has the feeling that Martin is someone who would rather avoid being hurt, even if it means closing himself off.

“All right,” she says. “When you’re ready, Jon, would you mind going first? No rush, take all the time you need.” Hopefully, seeing Jon take the first step might help Martin get over some of his defensiveness.

“Oh,” he says, and for a few moments his expression devolves into one of intense concentration. Then he nods, turning towards Martin.

“Start with “I feel”,” Judith suggests.

“All right,” he says, breathless with nerves. “I, uh, I feel...responsible. For—well, for everything, basically. And for everyone. Bad things have happened to people, and it’s my fault, because I should have done something. Everything that happened, back there, it was all because of me.”

“It wasn’t you, Jon!” Martin protests. “Annabelle told us—”

Judith is about to remind him that he’s supposed to just be listening, but he cuts himself off first. Jon laughs, an ugly sound that’s more like a sob.

“And how is that supposed to help? Knowing that the—that they were using me my whole life, how does that absolve me of any responsibility for what I did? For the fact that I failed to do anything to stop them? I couldn’t even go through with the one thing that could have actually meant something, because—”

He clamps his mouth shut, his jaw locked tight; Martin looks down at his hands, his expression distraught.

“Because of me.”

“Martin—” Jon’s tone is wounded, and he reaches for Martin’s hand. Judith sees reflections of a shared pain in both their faces, though she doesn’t understand why; this would be a lot easier if they’d just tell her the truth.

But you didn’t get into this profession because it was easy, did you?

“Thank you for sharing that, Jon. I think there’s a lot more for us to explore there, but let’s give you a break and give Martin a chance to share, okay?”

Jon nods, clutching Martin’s hand in his. Martin gives a long, slow exhale.

“Righto,” he says with false, brittle cheer. “”I feel,” wasn’t it? Right. Jon, when you do something stupidly self-sacrificing for other people, I feel like everyone else is more important than me.”

Jon flinches.

“Martin,” Judith says, keeping her tone level. “Let’s keep the focus on what you feel, not on what causes you to feel that way, okay?”

“Right,” Martin mutters, and glances at Jon. “Okay. In that case, I feel...like I’m not important. Like the only thing I can really do is—is take care of you. And if I can’t even do that, then what bloody use am I? That’s it, I suppose.”

“Martin…” Jon says again, softly. His eyes are wet, and he’s clinging to Martin’s hand like a drowning man to a plank. Martin swallows hard and shakes his head, but he makes no move to extract his hand from Jon’s grip.

“Thank you, Martin,” Judith tells him. “I know that wasn’t easy to share, for either of you. But this is the kind of honesty that we need, in order to build strong communication. Let’s all take five minutes—if either of you want to take a bathroom break, or get some water—and then we can talk about where to go from here. All right?”

Martin disappears to the loo, while Jon wanders around the office, looking with polite interest at the shelves of books and ornaments. Judith writes a few notes for herself, to follow up in future sessions. She hopes there’ll be future sessions. Both of these men seem deeply hurt, traumatized by events that they’re just barely alluding to, and have clearly been struggling through as best they can with less than ideal coping mechanisms, trying—and likely failing—not to hurt each other in the process. They both need individual counselling as much as couples’ therapy—maybe more. She’s certainly going to recommend it..

They clearly love each other, though. And they want to make it work. If they’re willing to put the effort in, they have better than even odds in their favor.

Martin’s eyes are red-rimmed when he returns; he sits on the sofa as near as he can to Jon, who presses their shoulders together. Judith can’t help smiling at the sight.

“How long have the two of you been together?” she asks. She always asks new clients at the end of the first session, rather than at the beginning; that way she can get a feel for the relationship without preconceptions based on longevity. The two of them look at each other properly, for the first time since Martin came back in, and matching, sheepish smiles break out on both their faces after a moment.

“So it was three weeks in Scotland,” Martin begins, ticking it off on his fingers. “And then—how long?”

“Uhh, it’s...let’s say half a year, give or take?” Jon makes a face that says he’s really not all that sure.

“Right, and then we’ve been here nearly six months. So...about a year, all in all?”

“But we knew each other for over three years before that,” Jon insists earnestly.

“It sounds as if the two of you have been through a lot,” says Judith. “And not all of it gardening related?”

“No,” Jon says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Mostly not.”

“We barely scratched the surface today—and that’s normal. Relationships are complicated, and it takes a lot of time and hard work to build understanding and communication. But I promise you, it is worth all the effort. You both made a really strong start today—it takes courage to be that honest, even with your partner.”

The two of them give each other a long look, and the smile they trade is tentative, but genuine. They haven’t solved anything today, have only just begun to reveal their hurt and their insecurities; they have a long journey ahead to get to a truly honest, healthy place both for themselves and their relationship. Judith has a feeling they’ll persevere, though—that losing each other simply isn’t an option.

“So,” she says, “Should we make this a recurring appointment?”

Jon glances questioningly at Martin, who bites his lip and then nods firmly, taking Jon’s hand in his.

“Yeah,” Martin says. “We’ve done much harder things. We can do this.”

“Together?” says Jon, and Martin smiles.

“No matter what.”

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 14

Hannibal reads too much into Max's attempt to reconcile and cult girl revisits her past.

@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare

Trigger warnings: discussions of death, abandonment, military casualties, emotional abuse

You soon returned to the opera knowing you had nothing to hide. Hannibal selected for you an off-white maternity gown so form-fitting it was practically painted on. He wanted everyone to see that you, his queen, empress and goddess, were carrying his child.

It only took that evening for the whole dynamic to change. Suddenly, you were an expectant new mother. Imogen had been a massive hit, you were planning to go again.

You were affixing your heavy cubic zirconia earrings when you heard a knock at the door. You hesitated, but hurried down the stairs when you saw who it was.

"Max?" You said, upon opening the door. He stood there awkwardly, holding a bouquet of flowers. "Hi?"

"Hey, [F/N]." Max greeted, eyes darting nervously around the porch. "I just came around to apologize in person. I'm sorry I was such a chauvinist prick."

You leaned against the door. "Oh?"

"You were right." He continued. "I don't know what it's like to carry a baby, and, unless something goes very wrong, I never will."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." You smiled.

"Anyway, these are for you." He said, handing the bouquet over. "They're chrysanthemums."

"Thank you, Max." You said, accepting the flowers.

"Archie and I-" He scratched the back of his head. "We thought that, maybe, if you'd still have us, that we'd name the baby Chrysanthemum. With your permission, of course."

"Like the picture book?" Your face lit up. "With the little mouse girl?"

Max nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, exactly."

You hugged the bouquet into your chest and considered it again. You looked back at Hannibal, who hadn't looked up from his expectant fathers' website for a second all day. He surrounded himself with books about child psychology, attachment theory, developmental behavior patterns and somehow found himself on a tangent about institutionalized misogyny in medicine.

"I'm sorry, Max." You said, sincerely. "I really do appreciate you coming down here and apologizing, but-"

Max put his hands up and gave you a disarming smile. "I understand. Plans change."

"I just really want to stress that it's not you." You assured him. "I've kind of... really grown to like the idea of being a parent. And I think that was Hannibal's plan all along, too."

"I believe a congratulations is in order, then." His voice turned up in delight. "I'm very happy for you. Both of you."

You clutched the bouquet to your chest. "Thank you."

"Well, I'd better get going." He stepped backwards down the stairs. "I've got three pints of Ben and Jerry's in the backseat and Archie'll have my head if I come home and they've melted."

"Max, wait." You stopped him before he could get down the driveway.

"Hm?"

You leaned against the threshold and smiled warmly. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

Max returned the smile. "Of course not."

You waved goodbye and shut the door. You hurried to the kitchen to put the flowers in water before you had to go.

"Who was that, love?" Hannibal asked, half-heartedly. He was still very fixated on his research.

"Max Thomas-Park." You answered, unwrapping the flowers from the decorative plastic.

Hannibal looked up from his computer, but left the room silent for you to fill.

"He wanted to make amends." You explained. You walked across the room to the china cabinet and selected a vase big enough to hold the ornate bouquet. "Brought flowers and everything."

"Chrysanthemums?" He asked, sniffing the air.

"I see your sense of smell is coming back." You commented.

"Interesting selection." He narrowed his eyes on the bouquet.

"Well, he said that was what he wanted to name the kid." You offered. "It was a cute pitch, not gonna lie."

Hannibal shut his laptop and examined the bouquet up close. "If he wanted to express regret, he would have done better to bring you blue or purple hyacinths."

"Well, like I said." You made a point to project a little more. "He said he wanted to name his daughter chrysanthemum."

"Mums are given to show sympathy for those in mourning." Hannibal continued, clearly having his own conversation.

"Hannibal-"

"I think your cousin got her hooks in him and he's planning to--" He cut himself off, lest he speak the unthinkable into reality. "That's why he brought mourning flowers."

"Max Thomas-Park is conspiring with Anna to kill our unborn baby?" You said, flatly, to emphasize how insane he sounded.

Hannibal held a bloom between his fingers and looked closely at it. "It's the kind of hint I would leave. For courtesy's sake."

"I think looking at parenting blogs all day has made you a little paranoid." You observed, knowing full well that an overprotective husband and soon-to-be father of your child was not a bad problem to have. Nevertheless, you shut the laptop and touched his cheek. "Come on. We're going to be late for the opera."

You heaved yourself into the passenger's seat of the car, feeling the seat give beneath your heavy frame. Every time you got into the car, you remembered that you needed to shop for a car seat. The thought just as soon left your mind every time. 

“We need to look for a car seat.” You said as Hannibal shut the door, hoping that he’d remember. 

“I mean,” Hannibal blurted out, still lost in his own conversation. “Max is a cultured and well-educated man. He has to know the implications of his flowers.” 

You huffed, dreading to think that paranoid delusion was symptomatic of his parenting style. “Right. The twenty-seven year old data analyst who graduated with a finance MBA from UChicago is also proficient in the outdated and frivolous language of flowers.” 

“In Italy, mums are only given as comfort for loss.” Hannibal said with undeserved conviction. “Exclusively, [F/N].” 

You rolled your eyes and typed something up on your phone. You raised your eyebrows, feeling a bit proud of yourself for what you found. 

“In Korea, y’know, the country that Max’s family is from,” You corrected. “The chrysanthemum is a symbol of friendship.” 

Hannibal tensed up for a moment, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. It was as if he were trying to break himself out of a trance. “...I’m sorry, darling.” 

“I know you’re scared.” You stared at his profile, trying to make out an expression. “I’m also... pretty scared. But you can’t take it out on a guy who has nothing to do with it.” 

“I am scared.” He affirmed, but the way in which he did was a telltale sign that he wasn’t giving you the full story. 

“Of?” You raised your eyebrow. “Finish the sentence, Hannibal.” 

"I need to keep our baby safe." He answered. "And I cannot in good conscience let her come into the world knowing that someone wants to hurt her. To hurt you."

You sighed. "Hannibal, are you seriously still worried about Anna?"

"Don't underestimate the role privilege and entitlement plays in the decision to commit acts of violence." He enunciated carefully. "You of all people should know that."

"Anna has cultivated such a perfect victim image to project outwardly that even a hint of proactive violence would shatter it." You explained. "She's the poor girl who has things done to her. Her evil cousin ruined her marriage. Her evil cousin destroyed her career. And she's the innocent victim in all of it."

"Logically, I know that you can speak on her behavior with more authority than I." Hannibal admitted.

"No shit." You scoffed. "I had to live with her."

"Can we at least entertain the idea that she has something planned?" He pleaded.

"I'm surprised at you." You said. "You never really struck me as the overly-cautious type."

Hannibal shook his head. "With my own life, I'm willing to gamble. But not when it's you. And not when it's Imogen."

You tensed up. His admitted willingness to put himself in danger unlocked a core memory you had buried deep down. The only thing you knew about your own father was that he was willing to put himself in danger. To go overseas and die for fuck-all instead of live for the child he selfishly created then abandoned. He chose to give his life for oil. You didn't choose to grow up without a father and your mother didn't choose to raise a child without a partner. He made that choice for you.

"Now what are you not telling me?" Hannibal broke you out of your trance. "I know that look, [F/N]."

"Nothing." You shook your head. "You should really not plan on dying anytime soon."

"I promise you, I am not going anywhere." His voice softened. "Least of all, to Iraq."

"Okay, you're a pretty good therapist but you never told me you could read minds." You threw your hands up in defeat. "Are you a psychiatrist or are you Loki?"

"As fun as being the god of mischief would be," Hannibal smiled to himself. "I just happen to have a steel-trap memory and an admittedly quite obsessive fixation on the mental health of the mother of my child."

"I swear to god I never told you about him." You denied. "Not even in passing."

"You didn't have to." He assured you. "Beatrice did."

You were surprised for a fraction of a second until the information sat in your head long enough to realize it wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Beatrice took every opportunity she got to brag about her son's sacrifices. She never once mentioned the sacrifices he forced upon you. Only that her son was a hero.

"Did you get the 'don't believe anything [F/N] has to say about my son' speech?" Your voice flattened in complete non-surprise.

"It was a prepared speech?" Hannibal chuckled. "Pity. I thought I was special."

"She gave it to my first boyfriend." You rolled your eyes. "We were, like, fifteen."

"The root of your psychological issues becomes clearer every time we talk about Beatrice." He commented under his breath.

"I know." You conceded.

He pulled into the parking lot, turned the car off and placed his hand over yours.

"Your father was a coward." He said, bluntly. It was nice to hear what had been echoing in the back of your head out loud for once. "I know no country to serve. No god to glorify. I promise, you have the whole of me. My mind, body and soul belongs to you and our child."

You squeezed his hand. "I couldn't ask for anything else."