#i've never laughed as much in a therapy session as when my therapist asked me if i was a fan of my little pon

[polaroidcats]

so new highlight of my day: was talking to my therapist about hobbies and i mentioned tumblr (lol) and fandom and apparently she recently read a book that mentioned Bronies and asked me if I knew about them

[reflectionsofacreator]

📖 XVI

[Put "📓" or some other version of a book emoji into my inbox and I'll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven't written but daydream about.]

So I've had this idea for a modern AU knocking around in my head for some time, rather than a fic set in the regular setting, and it's focused on the polycule that is Joshua/Dion/Terence/Jote.

The catch is that it's told through in universe recordings of therapy sessions, with certain names or events redacted or told out of order.

The fic would follow the four of them as they start to open up about their various issues; either with each other, their pasts, whatever. Initially Terence is the most open with the therapist, citing that he's the one who pushed for all of them to finally go to therapy. Dion is pretty quickly revealed to have deep seated religious trauma from his father's homophobia and keeping his relationship with Terence a secret for 10+ years. Jote is the most blunt about how she knows that she's extremely messed up, but she's willing to try. Joshua is presented as charming but constantly redirecting and trying to get out of actually having to talk about his own issues, much to the therapist's chagrin.

Slowly it's revealed that Dion and Terrence have been together since their very religious highschool days, with Dion bearing the brunt of the secret keeping from Sylvestre, who has kept himself involved in his son's life by monetary assistance. They'd been happy together for several years but didn't dare get married for fear of what retaliation Sylvestre or his new wife Anabella would foster on to them. Things had started to change when Terence met and fell for Jote, with that being the catalyst for ending up here, in the therapist's office.

The first time Joshua really opens up is recounting the time that he and Dion met, at his brother Clive's house. It had been silly and fun, with Clive mistaking Dion's panic over intruding on Terence and Jote's date as Dion being cheated on and offered him a place to stay. There's even a few laughs as Joshua recounts the night, only to sober and go quiet. The therapist asks what's wrong, and Joshua murmurs this I fear that Dion hates me now.

Hard cut to Dion again, with the recording noting that he's been silent for seven minutes. Finally he admits that he doesn't know where he stands with Joshua, because Joshua won't talk to him. He's always felt somewhat guilty about their relationship in the deep recesses of his mind, worried that he doesn't love Terence enough, worry that it makes him a bad person to love more than one person at a time. He worries over not being enough for Joshua or Terence, and even Jote, though he and she are not romantically involved.

There's a cut to Jote. Yes, Joshua and I are... pretty unhealthy, I guess. It's what happens when you accidentally make a cult in highschool and it blows up in your face. We would've been fine, I think, but my brother Cyril's sentence was up, and he got released from prison. And he came looking for us. I've never been so terrified when I realized he was in our house, that he'd tricked Terence and Dion into letting him inside, acted like a regular person. Well, there was one other time, when I saved Joshua's life. Funny how those two things are related.

For the first time, there's a new voice on the recordings; a young teenager named Olivier. He's a little haughty, but he stresses that he doesn't really get why he's here, other than Terence insisted. Really that Cyril guy wasn't that big of a deal, just a bit creepy? Oh, we don't have to talk about that? Awesome. Anyways how about the fact that I accidentally outed Dion to our homophobic father on the same night that I got punished for being caught kissing a boy? Yeah, um... how do I not feel guilty about that btw, and the fact that Dion got legal custody of me when I've been nothing but a burden?

There's so many ideas I have for this, but like. The framing device of "in universe therapy sessions" makes me not actually want to write it. I would need to go down a rabbithole of how actual sessions get conducted, have to nail each character's voice, etc. But the idea of slowly revealing the plot of this story that actually spanned over the course of ~6 years, and how each of them affected each other, agh. Won't leave me alone.

For what it's worth -- Joshua and Jote have been together since highschool as well (their whole Undying Cult thing that Cyril also was apart of) (it's a lot) (Cyril's still obsessed with Joshua years later, hence the Everything), and later got secretly married so Cyril wouldn't be listed as her next of kin. They both went into medical school to try and "make up" for what happened, but they're rather private about the events to the point that Terence and Dion didn't know until it showed up on their doorstep.

Yeah, it's a bit over the top and stuff, but like. Putting all the fantastical stuff in a modern lens is interesting and makes for some fascinating exploration of character.

Jote and Dion are not romantically involved, largely because Dion is Hella Gay. Similarly, Joshua and Terence are good friends, but aren't really involved romantically other than "let's doubleteam Dion". Terence and Jote met while Jote and Joshua were still in college, and by the time the story takes place (several years later, in therapy) both Joshua and Jote are certified medical professionals and they also all live in a house together and co-parent The Brat Olivier.

This got away from me. Oops.

[figarofabbri]

"Baking and bird watching," Fig said with a nod, "That's really cool, would you ever open a bakery? If you haven't already--or maybe that's too much info. Your taste in music is great, by the way." Fig answered. Fig wracked her head for if any of that information tipped her off on who the person might be, when paired with their outfit and size. She still was mostly drawing a blank. For all her thoughts about the girl being so anxious, at the feeling of her hand upon their hip, Fig's outgoing confidence shifted into something shy, and lost for words for a few seconds. It was easy to be bold, but there was something really, really nice about being sweet. Fig held her breath for a little too long, and hoped her dancing partner would not notice as Fig looked down a bit as well, trying to find their footing, before looking back up, taking a breath, and deciding she'd just follow her lead. It would not be the most graceful dance, but at least she could avoid stepping on toes or ruining shoes.

"It's complicated." Fig grimaced a bit at the question. One part of Fig told them not to dig into it, this is a party not a therapy session. The other part of Fig was desperate to finally have someone she could say her worries out loud to, without worrying about their reaction.

"It's more.....People, usually women, approach me at parties because they wanna make out and stuff, which like, I'm more than happy to, that's just fun, and I've had a few hook ups here and there, and like, I'll get coffee or drinks with them maybe once or twice after, but it never really goes past that. Usually because it's one of those, wanting to confirm they like girls before they ask the girl they really want to be with out. Which, glad I'm people's gay crisis and helping so many couples get together, but.....I do deep down kind of hope that one day someone will ask me for coffee before the party even happens, or even after the party and then we just keep getting coffee and stuff, hold hands and build blanket forts and watch movies in, go to my sports games-unless they're on the team...I guess that means they'd be there anyways, late night lattes or tea or hot chocolate while painting or reading, going to concerts and stuff---not just the back seat of my truck. But my therapist is always like 'You're only in university and twenty two, two have so much time you're just a baby" and she's right but--" Fig stopped herself, and looked back with embarrassment, "I am rambling way too much, I am SO sorry. I'd say is the whiskey I had earlier but I only had one and it didn't hit at all so really just this is me..... Kind of really failing at being the cool aloof stranger woof anyways I hope that wasn't too uncomfortable," Fig laughed nervously. "Feel free to just ramble if you ever wanna too, like totally ok with that, I'm like SO sorry again. And um, I think it depends. Devil Wears Prada is probably my fave film. But I kinda just like specific movies that like, move me, you know? Not really one genre."

.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to go against the rules,” Sofia said quickly. They had given her a fair amount of clues now (was fast in a field when playing sports, liked these two musicians, liked listening to music loudly, was not confident in their dancing skills). She hadn’t given them anything yet. “Um... I like Mitski, and The Carpenters,” she stated. “I don’t play sports, but I do enjoy baking, and birdwatching.” Hopefully that was enough information to allow the game to continue, but not enough to insinuate an obvious, clear answer.

Then they called her ‘kitten’, and Sofia simply lowered her head again, like a snail shutting itself up in a shell. She thought of that blind date she had with Marie Beaumont and how she had called her ‘doll’. She started to feel that maybe this person was flirting with her. “I think having me as a lead is reason enough to be nervous,” she admitted in a thin voice, light as a flute. Carefully, though a little comforted by their words, she reached for their waist with her free hand, and kept her eyes away from their mask. Going over waltz steps in her mind, staring down at where she assumed her feet would be under the big gown skirt, she almost didn’t breathe at all.

“So you have never had a date?” Reached an age, she repeated quietly, wondering what age that might be. “I think I understand. I wouldn’t want to be someone that someone else settles for either... I like your candor,” Sofia smiled. “Though maybe it’s because of the mask. Are you normally this forthcoming?”

Her own previous words rang in her mind. You’ve talked far too much about yourself. Shift the conversation back to them. “Are there any romances in movies you do like? They don’t have to be romance movies, per se.” Was that flirting back? Was she doing that, now? Sofia had a small shiver at the thought that the cat-mask person might misinterpret her. But what did she mean?

[angelofthenight]

The Monster You Created Pt.6

(Sam Fortner x Reader)

Warnings: Yandere!Sam, Dark themes, Swearing, Kidnapping situation, Unreciprocated love, Sam is v delusional, Murder visualization, Possessiveness, Brief victim blaming, Manipulation

Word Count: 4.1k

(S/n) = Similar Name to yours

Table of Contents

( Sorry for the late update! Game of Thrones has taken over my life and I’m suffering major brainrot of it )

~

“-and she was telling me that “snow can conceal but it can also reveal”, that’s what she told me right? So they might briefly be able to conceal their, uh, whereabouts, but all that blood spilled into all that white snow is bound to leave a trail leading straight to them. Her words exactly. Like, wow.” Sam said on the couch under a cap and his passionate eyes shaded by sunglasses while restating your personal analysis of the film from last night. “I didn’t know that, did you know that?”

Doctor Alan Strauss shook his head with an amused small smile. “I never thought about it in that way.” Sam threw his hands out with an enthusiastic laugh and big smile. “Exactly!” He sighed joyfully, not being able to cease his wide smile. “She is so smart, it's unbelievable.”

Alan nodded along until he decided to finally bring up the issue that’s been affecting their every therapy session. “Gene, I find it very endearing how much you love your girlfriend, but we’re here to talk about you. Need I remind you that I am not a couple’s counselor.” Sam’s smile slowly lowered and he looked to his hands in his lap. “Yeah, I… I know.”

Alan tilted his head vaguely as he noticed Sam’s energy die down like a candle once he got him to shut up about his girlfriend. “Gene, we’ve been meeting for quite awhile now and I… still feel like I don’t know much about you. I know more about your girlfriend than I do you. You spend most of the session talking about your girlfriend, (S/n), and the rest of the time I feel like you’re waiting for me to mention something related to her so you can bring her up again. And I've noticed that… you're not really opening yourself up to me.”

He noticed Sam’s clear displeasure at his prying as Sam wrung his hands together in an anxious manner. “Whenever I ask for stories or details, you have a tendency to get kind of vague or you redirect the conversation back towards (S/n). And I've noticed that I myself am feeling a little frustrated by this process. When we first started talking, you said to me that you wanted to get better for her. And the more I listen to you… continuously talk about her I’m starting to worry about the possibility of you being a little… dependent on her in an unhealthy amount.”

Sam didn’t tear his gaze away from his twisting hands, too focused on containing his expanding desire to lash out at his therapist for saying such a thing. He loved you, simple as that. Maybe Dr. Strauss has just never seen such passionate love before and didn’t understand it. Yeah, that was it! He just didn’t understand! He didn’t understand the connection you and he had. No one did. Not even his own therapist who he was paying to at least pretend to understand.

Alan disappointedly sighed at his patient's silence, even though he knew from experience that was the average reaction when telling someone what their real problem was. “I have an experiment for you.” He said which finally brought Sam’s attention back on him, a little more on edge than previously. “I think you should start spending a little less time with your girlfriend, and focus more on yourself and your mental recovery.”

Sam stared at the professional across from him, his upper lip slightly lifting. “You think we should break up?”

Alan sensed his client’s tensity, even through his dark sunglasses. He knew he had to choose his words carefully, he learned through some of their deeper sessions that talking with him about the things he has strong feelings or opinions about was like walking on a minefield. You never know when you might step on a trigger for an explosion. “No, I suggest maybe taking a break and go back when you’re feeling-”

“No!” Sam instantly snapped, a mine being set off, before recoiling back into the couch and clearing his throat from his unprepared temper burst. He shook his head while pursing his lips. “I… I won’t do it. I-I need her. When I’m away from her, I get so…” his fingers curled as he struggled to find the words, “like, so physically ill… and weak.”

Alan nodded at this with concern tugging his lips, mentally noting how defensive he got over the questioning of his relationship to his girlfriend. “It sounds to be that your… attachment to her is very similar to an addiction. And a healing strategy they encourage in rehab is slow withdrawal. You might face some painful symptoms but Rome wasn’t built in a da-”

“I think our time is up.” Sam interrupted rather dryly while rising to his feet, cutting off Dr. Strauss’ reach and closing himself off before he had the chance to enter. Alan glanced at the clock and responded calmly while looking up at his escaping patient. “We still have 20 minutes.”

Sam begrudgingly shook his head as he snatched his empty large Dunkin cup from the table that sat between the two facing chairs. “I gotta get going.” He said quickly as he darted out of the house in a heated haste, desperately needing fresh air to calm his huffing breaths from the rage he felt fuzzing up his senses.

Everyone was trying to tear the two of you apart. Everyone.

Even his own therapist was against his love for you, against the two of you being together. Not a soul understood which made him certain that no one alive had ever really experienced real love before. They were all either ignorant or jealous or lecherous.

Everyone was trying to take you away from him. Everyone was trying to devour you or taint you or just use you for their own selfish needs. Sam had already come to the conclusion that he was not a monster, everyone else were the monsters. The monsters that could never be trusted, the monsters whose minds were full of nothing but filth and greed. They were all cruel and ignorant. Every single one of them. In a state of sizzling rage boiling over the pot, Sam fantasized that if he had it his way then anyone who dared tried to keep the two of you apart or even imply it would drop dead in their next breath.

Sam squeezed his grip around the steering wheel of his truck, his eyes blown open as his pupils nearly shook like his iris’ were trying to keep his fury concealed. No matter how many people he had killed, he felt as if rivals or embodied problems just multiplied. And he repeated that thought in his head like a chant as he somehow found himself staring at the residence of the one he wanted to take his anger out on so badly right now.

He watched the man from your work, who had his sights set on your behind when you left his table, as he carried a full black garbage bag to the bin outside of his house. Sam didn’t move as he stared with flared eyes, his breath almost going silent to muzzle his anger with every ounce of his willpower.

He wished the man would just go blind, maybe that would teach him not to look at such areas on your body in such a disgusting way. He wished to rip his tongue out to prevent him from ever talking about you to others in such a filthy way again. And he wished to chop off the arm you had touched, jealousy streaming through his veins like lava as he wondered why the hell would you touch him like that and not Sam?

But he chose to ignore his own wishes and just imagine these desires in his head in intensely graphic detail. He imagined himself getting out of his car and marching right up to the man and plunging his thumbs all the way through his eye sockets. He imagined the blood running down his cheeks like tearful mascara.

He kept this all in his imagination though and repeatedly told himself to just go home, looking at the man was just making him angrier and more energetic to eliminate him. But he couldn’t. As much as he wanted to and as much he whole-heartedly believed your life would be better without him living, he knew that would postpone Sam’s recovery to be normal so that you and him could live a normal life.

And so, even when his mind was running a thousand miles per hour over who else he wished to butcher, he turned his car back on and drove home back to you. But not before picking up dinner though of course since that was the reason he went out in the first place. But even after the drive and during eating dinner with you, his previous thoughts still infested his mind like the plague.

It leached onto his nervous system as when he would take a bite out of his food he would chomp down harshly with a tightly gripped jaw; a white knuckled hold on his fork as his eyes were chained to the table because looking at you just made his anger worse. It wasn’t you who he was mad at of course, but looking up at your fragile form and seraphic eyes only reminded him of the ones who wanted nothing other than to take advantage of your indiscriminate altruism and cruelly rip you from his loving embrace.

It wasn’t until the remembrance that you wanted him to be open about who he had killed and who he had thought about killing crossed him that he finally said the first thing said in the tensely quiet dinner. “That guy who… who checked out your ass and is friends with my boss, I went back to his house again.”

Your eyes perked up towards him, your heart almost skipping a beat from the sudden break of silence. You felt your worries tug your eyebrows up as you feared where he was going with that statement.

Sam poked at his food with his fork as he continued, only giving you quick glances. “I figured I'd be okay, since what you said about feeling better knowing you’re here.” He took a slow breath, almost antagonizing your suspense. “I sat in my car across the street, and watched him take out the trash.” He paused. “I did the whole thing in my head, every second.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling relief grasp your fragile heart but not all the anxiety drained from your ribs. Not as clear indignation was still affecting Sam’s composure as he looked up at you with those dead eyes that had a tendency to come and go during the times where your fright was at its most sensitive.

“I-I want to show him… I-I want to teach him how to behave to things that don’t belong to him.” He spoke slowly as he huffed jagged breaths. “I… I still want to do it. God, even talking about it is making it worse.” He hunched over to shove a bite of food into his mouth to occupy his steaming energy.

As much as you wanted to snap at him saying you weren’t property or an object, you held back. You didn’t bother arguing over that with a man. But watching his anger gradually unfold in a sloppy entanglement of strings, a question raised to your mind in hopes of searching for more redeeming qualities in him. “For the others you… got rid of, was it always an impulse move you ended up regretting?”

“No.” Sam instantly said, not even giving it a second thought, in between bites. “They were all... I… Every one of them deserved it. And I don’t regret any of it.”

Your brows cinched together at this, your mind going back to when he told you everyone he had unnecessarily killed over you. “Even the guy I gave CPR to at work that one time?” Sam rolled his eyes as his jawline became prominent. “Especially him. I know what was running through his mind when you had your hands pressed up against him. That asshole was enjoying it and getting his disgusting kicks.”

You bit your tongue to prevent yourself from saying something along the lines of ‘no, you just know that’s what you would think you pervert’. But instead you just stuck to a short statement defending that poor victim. “He was choking.”

Sam fleetingly clenched his teeth as he shook his head in denial. “Fucking sly bastard was faking it, he knew what he was doing.” His clenched fists began to twitch in his lap as he thought back to that day, suddenly wishing he had given him a more painful death. Your eyebrows furrowed together even deeper. “He was turning blue and his eyes were rolling all the way to the back of his head.” Sam didn’t respond and only shook his head again as he slightly rocked back and forth on his heels while heated huffs populated his nose.

“And what about-” Sam roughly dropped his fork and leaned back in his chair to send you an angered glare. “I don’t know why you keep asking about them. They’re dead now.” He said with a venomous bite in his voice.

Your bottom lip fell from your top, shocked and quite offended that he would just brush all those deaths under the rug. They needed to be addressed whether he liked it or not. “Yeah. Because of you.” You snapped back, copying his glare.

Sam leaned back forward so that his elbows were back on his knees, his once furrowed brows now curving up. “They tried to take you away from me! I had to do something!” He exclaimed as his eyes dilated with depravity interlaced by the seams of desperation. “I told you they couldn’t be trusted. I got rid of them before they became an even worse problem for you. You’re better off without them anyway.” He declared with a dismissive headshake.

You leaned forward as well, your brows pinching together. “And what do you think gives you the right to make those decisions for me?” Sam released a breathy chuckle in disbelief, staring at you as if you were crazy. “We were made for each other, can’t you see that?!” He exclaimed like it was the most obvious thing in the word; his tone desperate and pathetic, almost sounding as if he were begging you to agree.

“None of them appreciate you like I do, none of them understand you like I do. Why can’t you see that? None of them come close to deserving you.” He smacked his hands on his knees to push himself to a stand, too caught up in the swirling storm of greedy desperacy. “And call me selfish, I don’t care, but I can’t share you with anyone else. I won’t.” He shook his head as he looked to the ground with hardened eyes while turned away from you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Even thinking about you with someone else makes me want to throw up.” He said with big eyes, blown open in a state of animalistic possessiveness of something that was never his to begin with.

Sam’s tamed restraints were loosening and his mask of sane love was slipping, you could hear it through the drowsy glorification of fixated obsession of his ramble and you could see it through the way his jealousy tightened the muscles in his face.

You stiffened in pure dismay, watching him unfold then wrap his exposed emotions back in again as you tried to understand the enigma that was his deep rooted passion for you and how he went about it.

Now you were certainly no stranger to witnessing someone express their jealousy over you, having been subjected to receiving interrogations from your boyfriend over his allegation of your faithfulness when you got too touchy with one of your guy friends. You’ve never been a fan of the emotion as nothing good ever came of it.

Looking back on your friendship with Sam, you were shockingly disappointed that you hadn’t noticed Sam’s jealousy when it was literally right in front of you every single time you briefly conversed with any other person about literally anything. Living with your boyfriend you’ve grown familiar with recognizing jealousy forming. But perhaps Sam had trained his face to remain neutral during moments he surely would’ve imploded if he were alone.

And with your naivety to his burning jealousy came your naivety to his true feelings about you. But looking back you should’ve seen it coming, at least notice how similar his mannerisms around you were to a crushing little school girl.

His feelings for you were almost difficult for you to understand. You thought back to the statement someone had once said in your philosophy class: that love was just a normalized form of insanity. You always had mixed feelings in that debate but now you started to wonder if love wasn’t insanity but instead love causes insanity. You didn’t know what Sam’s mental state was like before meeting you so you weren’t sure if you were really the cause of his sanity’s downfall.

But either way you know that there is something wrong with him; something sickeningly distorted within his fogged mind of fixation that made him take love too far. Maybe he just didn’t know how to express his feelings nor how to go about dealing with the pain love inevitably came with.

Why was this happening? Why you? Was your kindness really so foreign or warm to him that it was enough to push him down the rabbit hole of hysterical adulation? Were you really that desirable in Sam’s eyes that he would inflict life-ending violence on all those who posed a threat to your peace or to him obtaining you?

God, maybe you were still clinging to the image of that endearingly awkward man you’ve grown to value as a true friend rather than a regular customer but you just couldn’t picture him hurting anyone no matter how many times he had confessed to doing so. You had such love-hate feelings for Sam, love for the friendly bond you still experienced such a weakness against and hate for how he ignorantly wreaked havoc over you by holding you prisoner until the stockholm syndrome kicked in, him being delusionally isolated from the knowledge that his actions were only creating a bigger rift between you and falling for him.

It wasn’t until a thought was birthed into your mind that you started coming to your own conclusions that could possibly convince Sam to second guess his choices. Sociopaths couldn’t feel love, so maybe he was just manipulating himself into believing he loved you.

“I know you said you don’t take pleasure in killing but… are you sure? Maybe you’re just using me as an excuse and a justified reason.” You asked carefully, looking up at him with quiet eyes as your heart was racing over the fear you were being too risky with his temper that was already kicking in the moment.

And you were right, your question caused Sam to snap his head over to your direction. His small pupiled eyes were venomously glossy with his nostrils flared and his lips parted with a grip, his brows pinching together. You felt your whole body flinch in a flight mode of fear as he suddenly started marching back towards you with a raised volume and harsh tone in his voice.

“I only kill because of you! Maybe if you would stop talking to so many peo-” He bit back his words into his throat as he noticed the way your shoulders tensed and you slightly twisted on your core as if you were bracing for him to assail you, your bottom lashes smeared with slimy tears.

He took a step back from your fear-stricken form as he ran one hand through his dark hair and the other held palm out to you in an attempt to say he meant no harm. “Ah shit, I’m sorry. God, fuck, I… Don’t be scared, I’m not mad at you, I could never be mad at you. It’s them. It’s them I’m mad at, not you.”

You hadn’t even realized your own reaction until you swallowed the thick lump in your throat and sniffle through your nose. You gulped again as you craned your eyes away from Sam and occupied your hands by rubbing them on either of your elbows to comfort yourself, just like what your mom would do with you after your dad had screamed at you till the point of your pouring tears. “I think it’s time for me to go to bed.” You said through a tight throat as you stood up to walk back over to lay in your bed, cursing yourself for reacting that way in front of Sam.

Sam speechlessly watched as you slipped under the covers and wrapped yourself up in a way to cradle yourself. He didn’t want you to cower in the corner and hug your own body to comfort yourself, that was supposed to be his job! He wanted you to love him enough to go to him for a protective embrace for safety and comfort.

He didn’t mean to lash out at you like that! He didn’t mean to blame you for your own nature. And he certainly didn’t mean to scare you nor make you fear that he was going to hit you. He would never hit you, he was not his father. He just wanted you to get that already! Why couldn’t you understand?

He felt his own throat grow heavy as he watched as you tried to restore yourself back together from the emotional injury of his outburst. Sam bit his lip, dragging his teeth as his gaze sharpened on you. “You probably think I’m nothing more than a monster while all I do is try to protect you.” He said to you, not even realizing the snotty defensiveness in his vocal chords.

It was silent for a few moments, like it was taking a millennium for his words to echo to your ears, and he started to believe you weren’t going to say anything at all. Sam sighed in disbelief, darting his eyes around the room at how this night ended as he turned for the pursuit of his room. Your soft voice, however, spoke up and halted his tracks.

“…I know.”

Sam quickly looked over you, his features softening to match your tone and his eyebrows raised. “Y-you do?”

Your face remained concealed from his wondrous stare as your hunched shoulder along with the thick blanket were blocking the view of your compact smirk. “Yeah, I… I understand that you were just trying to help me. I can’t blame you for being concerned. Maybe I am not a very good judge of character which practically makes me a walking target for social parasites.”

Sam felt a smile twitch the corners of his lips. You were finally getting it! You were finally facing your flaw that made him required to physically harm people. Sam said with a consoling tone of voice, “You’re just too trusting. It’s not your fault. You’re a genuinely good person, pure of heart, too good for this world. In fact, you deserve the world.”

He said all of this with such tender fondness that you almost forgot what kind of person he was; forget your state of lack of freedom and choices. This has happened many times, where he wasn’t shouting either in passion or anger and he just spoke gently with you. Those were the times when you actually believed he loved you and cared deeply about you. Those were the times you hardly believed he was savagely hurting people outside of the house. You would keep forgetting of the rotten part of your reality when he acted this way, it was a complete mindfuck.

And maybe sometimes you liked to pretend that you weren’t a prisoner and he wasn’t a murderer. Pretend your chain didn’t exist and you were just spending the night at your dearly beloved friend’s house. Or just for experimenting, pretending that you and Sam were a healthy and loving couple.

You pondered the question of what if Sam confessed his concealed love to you before kidnapping you. You felt too biased now to ever actually know if you would’ve given him a chance, whether you had a boyfriend or not. But maybe if he told you the truth or even waited long enough for you to start feeling strong feelings for him too, things would have gone much differently. Maybe the two of you could’ve been a happy couple.

But that was only what could have been; what might have been.

Taglist: @alices-halcyon @katlover63 @valareina

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Born to Run / Chapter 15

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Marathon Runner f!reader (no y/n)

Rating: E (SMUT! 18+ only please)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Angst. Discussions of therapy. That’s about it.

Summary: Marcus makes a phone call, misses a phone call, and receives an unexpected voicemail.

A/N: I guess Marcus is a classical pottery expert now because this is my story and I say he is. I’ve got a degree in Archaeology, so this avoids me having to do any research into things I know nothing about.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter 14 | Chapter 16

With sweaty palms, Marcus hit the "video call" button from his laptop. It had been so long since they had spoken, and he was nervous. Had it been too long? Would this even help at all?

Here goes nothing.

After a couple of tense rings, a familiar face appeared on screen.

"Marcus? Marcus Pike?"

"Hey, Doctor T.," he said with a sheepish grin. "I know it's been a while."

"A while? Last time I heard the name Marcus Pike, he was about to start his big, fancy internship at the FBI. How have things been going? How are you? I know this is a cliché thing to say, but I never forget a client. I’ve wondered about you over the years, Marcus,” Doctor Tzouanakis said with a warm, friendly smile.

"Things have been great, relatively speaking," Marcus began. "I'm in a good position, still at the FBI. I, uh, I got promoted recently--I'm at HQ in Washington, D.C. now. Got a good life, a stable life, but I--" he cut off. "It's… it's stupid, I--"

"Can't be too stupid if you're contacting me about it after, what, almost twenty years?" His old therapist challenged.

Marcus huffed a laugh. "Fair, fair. I guess… I've been, uh, unlucky in love, I guess you'd say."

"I see. Unlucky how?"

"I just had two relationships end that were pretty significant in my life and I can't help but think that I'm sabotaging them myself."

"Why do you think that, Marcus?"

"You remember why I was seeing you all those years ago?"

"I certainly do. You had issues controlling your emotions, especially anger. You told me once that you ‘felt like you were a tea kettle with no release valve, nowhere for your feelings to go, and they just built and built until you couldn't handle them any more, and exploded.’" Doctor T. stated, matter-of-factly.

Marcus’s eyes widened. “Jesus. How do you remember this?”

“I read your file before you called,” she replied with a sly smile, tapping her temple with her pencil a few times.

“I can’t believe you have dusty files from twenty years ago tucked into a corner somewhere.”

“Give me some credit, please, Marcus. All my patient files were digitized years ago,” Doctor T. said with a wink.

“Some dusty computer file, then,” Marcus joked.

“I had to blow the dust off of my screen when I clicked on it.”

He sunk back into the easy repartee he had with his therapist as if he had never stopped his weekly, and then monthly, sessions with her back in college. He remembered why he had enjoyed his sessions so much--her quick, dry wit, and her easy challenging of all the thoughts and ideas that were inaccurate or downright harmful to his psyche.

“Tell me about being unlucky in love, Marcus.”

He sighed again. “I think I’m doing the same thing with love that I used to do with anger. I have all these feelings, and I don’t know what to do with them and then I throw them at another person, and they back away.” He continued, “I don’t have a--a problem getting into relationships, I feel like… I feel like women, y’know, like me. I’m… I’m good at the beginning part of dating. It always seems easy, effortless, and then when we’re at a crossroads, when it can turn serious or not, I screw it up.”

“How would you say you ‘screw it up?’” Doctor Tzouanakis asked.

“Well, with the first case, I asked a woman I had only been seeing for a few months to marry me and move to D.C. with me.”

“So you moved too fast, you would say,” his therapist supplied.

“Yeah. And I just… I knew she--Theresa--she wasn’t ready, and it was too soon. I knew I was moving too quickly, and I knew that her… her heart wasn’t in it, you know? But I did it anyway, and only got hurt.” Marcus scrubbed his hands over his face. “It’s like, the definition of insanity, right? You know what the outcome is gonna be, and you do it anyway.”

“You said ‘the first case.’ This has happened more than once? Recently?” Doctor T. asked.

“Almost one right after the other. It’s been… it’s been a bad couple of months.” Marcus chuckled humorlessly.

“One right after the other? How did the circumstances arrive so quickly again? Can you talk about that?”

Marcus looked into the middle distance. “I was out on this-this vacation to sort of get over Theresa, you know? I was being a dick at work and my coworkers arranged for me to stay at this cabin in Kentucky for a week to unwind, and the first morning I was there, I met…” Marcus swallowed.

“I met this woman. And I just- we couldn’t stay away from each other. I felt drawn to her, and I know she felt the same for me, it’s just--” he broke off. “The timing wasn’t right. I knew it was too soon after Theresa. I didn’t want her to be a rebound, but I couldn’t help myself--we couldn’t, I mean. We started seeing each other. I even extended my stay for her, and we were inseparable for the whole time, you know? I-I never told her, but I fell in love. I was in love with her. But when I had to go back to Washington, I couldn’t handle it, couldn’t handle doing a-a long distance relationship after what happened with Theresa. I came back to visit her the next weekend, and I bought two return tickets back.”

His therapist raised her eyebrows. “You wanted her to come back with you that weekend? You’ll have to forgive me for making a judgement here, but that’s not very realistic, Marcus.”

Marcus grimaced. “I know, it was just--I panicked, I guess. Trying to be with her long distance like that, I felt so uneasy the whole week, and I just couldn’t picture trying to keep that up for much longer before I went crazy. I thought that maybe--maybe we could find a way. She could stay there for a week, fly back, I don’t know…” he trailed off.

“What was her response, when you asked?” she prompted.

“She was skeptical, of course she was, and gave me all these legitimate reasons why she couldn’t just pick up and leave and I… I didn’t listen. I--I accused her of horrible things, I… I panicked, I left.” His eyes were threatening to spill over. “I left her there. I flew back the next day and I just… left her there. I didn’t say goodbye. We could have done the long-distance thing, we could have--God, I was a dick to her, I fucked it up,” Marcus finished, shaking his head.

Doctor Tzouanakis gave a little understanding nod. “It sounds like your recent experience with Theresa triggered a panic response from you. Do you think she’d come with you if she was given a… a more generous timeline?”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem. She has her whole life there, a house, her career. She’s-she’s an amazing runner and she has a big race coming up and I--I offended her, I think, asking her to come stay with me. She said she didn’t want to be my ‘kept woman,’ and I understand that, I don’t want that either! That wasn’t my intention when I asked. I’m afraid that whatever I offer her, it won’t be enough, you know? And I just don’t know if we keep doing this indefinitely, living separately. I want to be with her. In all the ways that means. I don’t want bits and pieces,” Marcus finished sadly.

“Do you think she wanted to continue her relationship with you, before this?” his therapist asked.

“Fuck--yes, she even said so, and I didn’t listen. And then I told her it was all well and good until she ultimately dumped me via text message.”

“Do you think that was fair?”

“No! I don’t. I knew it wasn’t even when I was saying it.” Marcus said, emphatically. “She didn’t deserve that. Theresa was in love with her partner at work. This was different. She…” he trailed off. “She was really good for me,” he whispered. “She showed me parts of myself that I--” he blushed. “Well, parts of me that I didn’t know existed. We were… well, intimate in ways I had never been with anyone before.” He looked down, feeling a little uncomfortable.

The therapist nodded. “Marcus, it sounds like you had a good and healthy relationship with this woman.” She continued, with a knowing glint in her eyes, “It takes trust and communication to… be ‘intimate’ in new or different ways.”

“I know! I know… I had a good thing and I scared her away, and then got mad at her for stepping back,” Marcus groaned, slapping a palm to his forehead.

“Are things definitively over between the two of you?” Doctor Tzouanakis asked. “If not, you might be able to talk to her. Communicate. It sounds like you both have the tools you need in your relationship to negotiate this fight, too.”

“I don’t know if she’d agree to see me again…” Marcus winced. “I said some awful things.”

“And that’s something that you’re going to have to risk, Marcus. You can ask for forgiveness, but you have to go in there accepting that her answer might be ‘no.’ Can you handle that?”

Marcus nodded. “I can. I have to. I- God, I love her so much, I’d do anything for her. Including…” he let out a shuddering breath, “let-letting her go.” He looked down at his hands.

His therapist spoke up in reassurance, “Marcus, you have so much love to give. That’s not a bad thing! You have so much to offer a potential partner. You aren’t broken, no matter how you might feel after what sounds like a really tough few months for you. You just have to understand how to express your love in healthy ways, just as we helped you express other emotions all those years ago.” She smiled, “Marcus, I’m proud of who you’ve become. I’m really glad you contacted me, and I’m glad we spoke today.”

“Thank you, Doctor T. You’ve been… this has been really helpful, you have no idea.”

“I like to watch my young clients grow into happy, well-adjusted adults. It reflects well on me, after all. A testament to my methods,” she said with a wry grin.

Marcus laughed, brushing a few errant tears from his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten what we talked about. I still use it.”

“Damn, I’m good.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He smiled.

“Do me a favor? Let me know how it goes with her.”

“I will.”

Marcus closed his laptop and let out a big sigh. He felt more clear headed now--using his lunch break to call his old therapist had definitely been a good idea. He packed up his stuff from one of the private “cells” (what most agents jokingly called the one-person soundproofed “quiet work” offices running the length of the top floor of the building) and made his way back down to his own office. He was surprised to see it was already occupied by one of the junior agents, Carson, surrounded by a handful of interns.

“Hey man,” Carson said by way of greeting. “Hey, we’ve got a case we could use your help on.”

"Sure, go ahead," Marcus said, setting his messenger bag down on his desk.

"Well, the ‘Met’ says they have a Euphronios Kylix that they supposedly purchased from a 'reputable dealer' for almost three million," Carson explained, "but the provenance is murky to say the least, and--"

"Euphronios, as in 'Getty Museum Krater' Euphronios?" Marcus asked.

"The very same," agreed Carson.

"And they're thinking it's looted, I take it?"

"Let's just say it wouldn't be a shock. But here's the thing--one of the curators at the museum is now claiming that it’s actually a fake," Carson continued. "But all signs point to it being looted: the lack of provenance, the price, the--the fame of the painter…" he trailed off.

Marcus frowned. “So the museum wants us to find out if it’s a fake or not,” he began. “If their two options are ‘looted’ or ‘fake,’ I assume they’re probably pretty invested in it being fake, considering the fines they’d get for looting on top of the price they already paid for it.” He glanced up at Carson. “Are you sure they’re not just saying it’s a fake to get out of any fines? How sure are we that it’s a forgery?”

One of the interns chimed in, "If it's a fake, it's a fucking good one, Agent Pike. Was hoping you could take a look at it, sir."

Marcus nodded. "Yeah, let's take a look. Where are you set up?"

Carson replied, "Everything for this case is down in Conference Room C on the lower level. Want to follow us down?"

Marcus took the elevator down, all the while discussing Euphronios's style markers with one of the interns--Bolton, she had said--who was pursuing a Classical Archaeology degree.

“...and you can tell that the painter used a diluted clay slip, because there’s a wider range of color on the figures,” she explained, breathlessly. “Agent Pike, I just wanted to say I’ve read your Master’s Thesis on the representation of women and children on fifth century BCE Athenian vases. I’m planning on using it as a source for my research paper coming up at the end of the semester.” Bolton looked up at him, doe-eyed.

Marcus coughed. “Th-that’s great! Uh, thanks.”

She stepped closer. “I was wondering if you wanted to meet to discuss it sometime? I have so many questions,” she said with a coy smile.

Marcus tried to step back without looking like he was doing so on purpose. “I-if you have questions, you can always email me, I’d be happy to talk through it,” he sidestepped.

Thank God the elevator door opened to the lower level. Bolton pushed past him and Carson, looking disappointed.

Carson laughed and clapped Marcus on the back. “Caught the eye of some little undergrad ingénue, huh?”

Marcus shook his head in amusement as they walked together towards Conference Room C. “Poor thing, hope I didn’t hurt her feelings.” They reached the door. “You coming in?”

“Just a sec,” Carson held up a finger. “I need to make a call first. That room is a fucking dead zone for signal. Be there in a few.”

Marcus took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. This was what he loved the most about the job--the research involved, the analysis, debating art styles over pizza with a team. He opened the conference room door and stepped inside.

The door didn’t open again for ten hours.

When Marcus finally exited the conference room at the end of the incredibly long day, Carson and his team were in a flurry of excitement. “Bolton, give the Classics department at the Met a call first thing tomorrow and tell them we confirmed that it’s a fake. Awasthi, we need to pay the seller a visit. Find out where he lives, his known associates…”

The interns and Carson all began to talk over each other as Marcus headed toward the stairwell.

“Pike!” Carson called out. “Pike, drinks with the team to celebrate tonight?”

Marcus hesitated. He felt as if he had been in stasis for the last several weeks, pining over you. Today, the conversation with his therapist had him feeling optimistic for the first time since the two of you had snuggled on the couch watching ‘The Thing.’ He would call you tomorrow, apologize, tell you how he felt, and maybe things would be okay. And if not, well, then he had a few glorious weeks with you that he knew he’d never forget, for as long as he lived.

“I’m in,” he replied with a smile. “Let me get my stuff from my office and I’ll meet you outside.”

As Marcus exited the stairwell, his phone pinged several times in quick succession. Oh, right. He probably didn’t have any signal until just now. He checked his notifications. A couple emails, a news alert, and-- Marcus’s heart started to pound. A voicemail. A voicemail from… you. He took in a shaky breath and held the phone up to his ear.

“Marcus? I-I’m sorry to call you like this,” the message began. Your voice was thin, watery. “I don’t-- I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me-” Marcus quickly cut off the message, wanting--needing--to get to the privacy of his office. He could hear you sniffling between your sentences. Oh, God, you were crying. Marcus nearly ran the rest of the way to his office and shut the door, not bothering with the lights. He collapsed into his desk chair, his hand clamped over his mouth in an attempt to stymie his emotions, and started the message from the beginning again.

“Marcus? I-I’m sorry to call you like this. I don’t-- I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me, but I-- the marathon is tomorrow and I’m just… nervous, I guess. My runs have been shit lately and I just-- I wanted to hear your voice, I guess. It’s silly, I’m still-- I’m still mad at you, for what you said, but all I really want is to hear your voice. It was better, you know, with you... I-I was better with you. I’m sorry for the way we left things. I d-didn’t want it to end like that. I-fuck, I… I didn’t want it to end at all, Marcus. I love you. I… I love you. I-I l-love you, so much. I-if you get this and you--you want to talk, if you still w-want me, I-- I’ll come with you, Marcus. I’ll go anywhere with you. I was s-scared to give up my life here and follow you but I w-want you to know, I’m-- I want to be with you, whatever it--”

The message cut off suddenly, out of time. Marcus was still staring at the screen, his hand pressed hard over his mouth, silent tears spilling out of his eyes and down his cheeks. You loved him. Oh, God, what had he done? You loved him, your marathon was tomorrow, and he wasn’t going to be there with you. He checked the time. It was almost midnight, far too late to call you on the eve of your big race. He missed his chance, he missed his chance to--unless… An idea started to form in his mind.

A knock sounded at his door and he startled, looking up. Carson. “Marcus! Hey man, you coming? Wait, what’s--”

Marcus jumped up. “No, not coming. I-fuck, I need to get to the airport, I--”

Carson raised both his palms and his eyebrows. “The fuck are you--”

Marcus was already grabbing his messenger bag. “Carson, I’ll give you--” he looked through his wallet, “seventy-three dollars if you give me a ride to the airport right now.”

“Marcus! What the fuck for?” Carson followed him as he shut his office door and locked it.

Marcus looked at him, eyes shining, a genuine--if watery--smile on his face.

“For love.”

-

Taglist: @honestly-shite @thirddeadlysin @deepstarsco @221bshrlocked @mando-amando @frenchyjuju @farfromjustordinary @chronic-nosebleed @stilettoforbeginners @leslie-lyman @gaiuswrites @absurdthirst @ezrasbirdie

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Sorry for your lost - Part I “I will grieve”.

Serie Masterlist here || Part II|| Read on AO3 

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, hurtful behaviors, domestic wanda.

Chapter warnings: Heavy angst, death.

Author’s notes:  Hello readers! I'm finally back to posting something, but I disappeared for a good reason, I was writing three new series. And here is the first of them. I really enjoyed this work and it's something I've been trying to write since I watched WandaVision, and only now I've managed to put it into words. I am not finished yet, but there is only one chapter left, so your reading will not be affected. Pay attention to the warnings, and good reading!

Tag list (let me know if you wanna be tagged) 

@mionemymind​ / @abimess​ / @stephanieromanoff​ / @yourtaletotell​ / @tomy5girls​ / @justagaypanicking​ / @thegayw1tch​

//-//

Chapter One - I’ll grieve.

You wished you could go back to sleep as soon as you opened your eyes. The sound of your alarm buzzed loudly throughout the room, and after putting it on snooze mode at least four times, you finally got annoyed enough to grab it and throw it across the room. But the sound continued.

Letting out a grumble of dissatisfaction, you pushed the comforter off you, and sat up in your bed. Your room was a mess, but you just skipped through the clothes on the floor to reach the phone, turning off the alarm through the new crack you made in the screen.

"Honey, are you up?" you heard your mother's distant voice calling you through the door, probably from the living room or the kitchen. "Don't forget your therapy today."

You sighed impatiently, running your hands through your hair. The damn group therapy. 

Grumbling lightly, you forced yourself to take a shower, not wanting "poor hygiene" to end up on your progress report card. 

A while later, when you were finished, you went into the kitchen. Your mother was using her laptop on the counter, and just waved at you.

"Are you going to take me?" You asked her with your hands in your pockets. Your mother took her eyes off the screen to evaluate the sweatshirt you were wearing, and you rolled your eyes at her disapproving expression. 

"You know, you could try driv-"

"Mom" You cut her off in earnest, your heart racing momentarily. You don't drive. An she knows. Your mother sighs, putting her hands up in a sign of surrender.

"It was just a suggestion dear." She retorts as she stands up, reaching for her car key on the key rack exiting the kitchen. "But I'm busy with the store, you'll need to take the subway next time."

"Thanks for the support." You grumble as you step out in front and your mother lets out a wry chuckle.

You frown and let out a dissatisfied exclamation as you step outside feeling the sun's rays on your face.

"You're not a vampire, cut the drama." Mocks your mother by pushing you lightly to get you out of the way. 

You grumble  as you walk to the car. And when you are sitting on the seat, your mother is starting the vehicle and she asks:

"Are you sure you're not going to eat anything?"

Looking out the window, you just mumble that you're not hungry, and she shakes her head in disapproval before you back the car up. You don't speak any more on the way.

//-//

Your mother dropped you off in the parking lot of a gymnasium where the therapy group would be meeting. You sighed as you got out, and thanked her for the ride and the money she gave you to eat, even though you probably weren't going to use.

Resisting the urge to run away, you forced your feet to walk toward the place.

There were a few people at the door, but you didn't smile at any of them, entering the place with your head down and your hands in your pockets. 

And then a woman greeted you, and put a little sticker with your name on your shirt when you gave her your papers. 

Then she signaled the way you should go, and you ended up on the gymnasium court, where there was a wheel of chairs, and a table with food and drink, and several people scattered around, who you thought were part of your therapy group. 

Sighing impatiently you made your way to the bleachers of the venue, hoping to be alone until the session started and you could leave.

Fortunately it wasn't long before the leader signaled for everyone to sit in the circle, and you sighed as you stood up. You ended up with one of the chairs on the far left opposite the therapist, which could be bad since he would see you clearly.

"Thank you very much for coming." Said the therapist smiling gently as his gaze roved over everyone in the circle. You kept your gaze on your shoes. He made a noise with his throat. "Who would like to start today?"

The silence lasted for a few seconds, but then someone was speaking. You forced yourself to come back to reality and pay attention.

"[...] and this is my fourth week around here." Said a woman in a leather jacket. You noticed the army lanyard around her neck. She was talking about an accident when you got distracted again. Lightly poking your eye with your finger, you tried to focus again, letting out a low sigh. And then the therapist was talking again.

"We have new faces today." He said and you felt your heart speed up. You absolutely did not want to talk in front of strangers. "Why don't you share with us, miss?"

You raised your gaze to meet that of the therapist, smiling gently at you. The rest of the group looked at you as well. Taking a deep breath, you began to wiggle your fingers on your leg.

"I don't... I've never been in a group." You say clumsily. "What should I say?"

"Whatever you wish to say." He answers with a smile. You swallow the urge to tell him you didn't want to talk at all. Realizing your lack of response, he is quick to add. "Why don't you tell us why you are here?."

You let out a dry laugh. 

"I really didn't have much choice." You retort wryly. The therapist looks slightly surprised, but makes no mention of interrupting you. You let out a sigh before clarifying. "My psychiatrist, she...she didn't approve of my social ratings. She wanted me to talk to other people. People who... went through the same things I did." You count staring at the floor. When you look up again, the group still waits for you to continue, and you sigh, running your hands through your hair. "I haven't... I... I haven't talked to other people outside of my family in six months. Not since..."

You move your head, sniffling slightly as you straighten your posture. The therapist clears his throat.

"You just need to share whatever you are ready to tell us." He says gently, you nod slightly feeling extremely vulnerable. "But remember that this is a safe space. There is nothing to fear here."

And then he is talking about methods of easing the guilt, and dealing with the pain and you were distracted again. You would like to go back to bed. It must have taken a while, but the session is finally over.

The group dispersed around the room, and you went toward the therapist's desk to have him sign your schedule. He smiled as you approached.

"Miss Y/N/L, I was happy to hear that you would be joining us today." He said greeting you with a handshake. You nodded, taking the paper from your pocket. He chuckled, but accepted it. "You know, I'd like you to try to have a partner in the group, it's recommended for cases like yours."

"What do you mean cases like me?" You ask snidely, but he doesn't care.

"Doctor Harkness gave me your chart." He explained as he signed the paper you gave him while you frowned. "Extreme Social Anxiety in the first few months of treatment. Tendency to complete isolation, introverted..."

"Yeah I know my problems, buddy." You interrupt him with irritation. "You don't have to list them for me."

The therapist gives a lopsided chuckle, and holds out the signed paper to you. But he adds with a serious look:

"I'm here to help you, Y/N." He says. "Don't forget that."

You don't respond and take the paper, turning toward the exit. 

//-//

Your week passes slowly and tortuously. Which is surprising because you barely get out of bed. And then it is group therapy day again, and you are making a new crack at your cell phone screen.

Your mother greets you with a pat on the back as you enter the kitchen, and she is walking past you toward her own room.

You know you have to take the subway today, and you are trying not to think about it too much. As you are walking out the door, your eyes pass quickly over your car key, and you think you have a flash of memory, but you shake your head quickly, pushing the thought away. And then you walk forward.

And you are late for the session, because you can't take the bus to the station, since your feet simply didn't obey you. But that's okay, you don't really care.

You weren't the only one who was late. When you went to enter the door, a red-haired woman bumped into you, also running to get in. She smiled slightly as she apologized, and you just made room for her to enter first.

"Sorry Stephen." She said to the therapist as soon as you two entered the gymnasium, "I had an emergency with the kids."

The man just shook his head with a smile, and waved for you both to sit down.

"And why were you late today, miss Y/L/N?" He asked you. You shrugged your shoulders.

"I didn't wanna come." You retorted and the group giggled, and the sudden sound startled you slightly, but you just sat with your arms crossed. 

"Do you want to try again?" He retorted with light humor in his voice. And you bit the inside of your cheeks. And then you looked down at the floor.

"I couldn't get on the bus." You confessed next. Stephen looked at you tenderly, though, and you didn't like the feeling of your chest heaving slightly.

"And why do you think that happened?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable. 

"I don't know. I... There were too many people." You said embarrassed. And then you started twiddling your fingers, feeling all eyes on you. "I just... I knew I'd have to say hello to the driver, and the conductor. And then I would pass strangers in the hallway, and one of them would sit next to me. And I just... I couldn't."

Stephen nodded slightly in agreement.

"It's okay, Y/N. " He stated. "No one is judging you here."

You let out a dry laugh, and Stephen blinks in surprise, which spurs you to explode.

"Everyone is judging me, Doc." You say through gritted teeth, swinging your leg. "It's as if I can hear the gears in people's brains forming opinions about me." You state with a sigh. "Like my mother for example. She...she...acts like I'm past the time of mourning." You explain with tears in your eyes. "Like there's a limit, and I'm extending her goodwill. Because it's been six months, and she doesn't want me to be sad anymore. But guess what? I don't know how to move on!" You state angrily. "I can't! If I don't miss her, what's left for me? If I don't... God, I can't do this."

And you stand up, wiping your tears away, and walk out of the gymnasium, heading for the restrooms. You feel your heart racing, and it's hard to breathe. 

As you rest your hands on the sink, your brain starts to wander back to the day of the accident again. You choke, because it feels like you're sinking again. You see the water rising through the metal of the car. Your hands on the steering wheel, and then on the seat belt. You shake your head, pushing the images away, and rush to turn on the faucet in front of you and pour the water on your face.

You take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears. And then there is someone entering.

"Are you okay?" Stephen asks and you nod lightly, ignoring the trembling in your hands as you stare at him through the reflection of the mirror. "I gave a break to the group, wouldn't you like to walk with me?"

"I'm not good company right now." You grumble but he smiles, nodding slightly as if to repeat the invitation. You take a deep breath before turning around.

You walk silently and slowly to the outside of the gymnasium, and then he is speaking again.

"You were very brave today."  He comments, and you let out a dry laugh. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I panicked today." You say. " It doesn't sound very brave to me."

Stephen smiles guiding you through the gymnasium entrance toward the parking lot.

"You talked about a trauma to a group of people." He says. "That takes a lot of courage, even if you don't believe it."

"I don't believe in anything." You grumble, but Stephen doesn't mind your hostility. He stays with his friendly posture.

"I would like you to accept my request from before." He said after a moment. "About a group partner."

You let out a sigh.

"I don't even know what that means." You retort with slight impatience as you reach the edge of the parking lot. You notice the garden a few feet ahead of you.

"It's like a therapy buddy." He explains with a smile. "We encourage socializing here. That's why Agatha recommended this group to you."

"Oh, of course you do. Agatha is a bitch." You wryly wipe your hands across your face. Stephen laughs lightly. "How does that work anyway? Do I have to hold someone's hand? Exchange friendship bracelets?"

"No, it's much better." He says with a chuckle. "You talk to that person. You exchange experiences with them. You learn to trust somebody else again."

"My god, it looks like a fucking Disney movie." You retort with irritation and Stephen lets out a laugh. And then you let out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders. "Okay, I'll do it. I have nothing to lose, and it seems that neither you nor Agatha will leave me alone if I don't agree."

"We want you to feel better. Don't take this as a punishment." He says, guiding you back to the gym. You nod slightly, thinking that it really does feel like punishment anyway.

//-//

You see Agatha the same week. Your appointments have been switched to monthly meetings instead of weeks as they were at the beginning of treatment, and while you appreciate the familiarity of seeing her, you can't help but feel irritated with her.

"Someone's grumpy." She comments as soon as you sit down on the couch in the room, to which you roll your eyes.

"You are always so very tender, Agatha." You mock as you cross your legs, hoping the time will pass soon.

Agatha laughs lightly, finishing tidying up a few things on her desk. And then she gets up and sits down in the armchair a few feet in front of the sofa where you are, carrying a small notebook in her hands.

"So, why don't you tell me how your your first two sessions in group therapy went?"

You let out a dry laugh.

"Like Stephen didn't tell you everything." You sneer and Agatha just smiles, waiting for you to speak. You let out an impatient sigh, before stating wryly. "It was amazing, doc. It only took two sessions for me to have a panic attack, so thank you for that."

"Why do you think that happened?"

You squeezed your eyes.

"I have no idea." You retorted. "I'm not the doctor here." Agatha laughs lightly, and then opens her notebook and starts writing something. You sigh impatiently. “Really, you're going to start that again?”

"If you don't talk, I write." She states simply, and you roll your eyes, shifting on the couch uncomfortably.

"Agatha, I just... I couldn't get on a bus, okay?" you tell her, and she closes her notebook to look at you attentively. You take a deep breath. "There were a lot of people. I don't mind walking anyway. It helps me think."

"You don't mind walking eight blocks?" She asks with a slight irony. "That's pretty athletic of you."

"It's weird that you know my address off the top of your head." You play lightly, and she just laughs, straightening her posture. 

"Why don't you just tell me what you want to tell me?"

"Why don't you ask me what you want to ask?"

Agatha blinks slightly in surprise, and then she shakes her head slightly, opening her notebook again. You sigh.

"Okay, sorry." You say, and she looks at you for a moment before closing the object again. I... I thought I was drowning again.”

"Are your nightmares back?" She asks seriously, and you deny it with your head.

"I feel too anxious to sleep." You tell. "And then I black out from exhaustion in the night or in the morning. I don't dream anymore."

"Have you been taking your medication?"

You sigh.

"Of course I have."  You say. "I don't... I'm having trouble keeping my mind still. Like the first few months, you know. Everything seems so noisy now."

Agatha nods slightly, becoming thoughtful for a few moments. 

"I know it may sound strange to hear that, but that means you're getting better." She declares and you frown in surprise, then let out a dry laugh.

"How is my peak anxiety a good thing?"

She opens the book again, but before you can ask what you said wrong, she is reading.

"The first day you were here, you said you felt like you were empty." She narrated and you swallowed dryly. "During your first two months, you continued to describe that you felt like an empty shell. And that you no longer had any dreams, thoughts, or opinions. Without your wife, you said you were no longer here."

You felt your eyes fill with water at the mention of her. But you swallowed your emotions. Agatha turned a page, and read for a few seconds, and then looked at you.

"With your history of anxiety, your mind was remarkably quiet after the passing of your wife." She says. "But now that you're on medication, and therapeutic treatment, plus you're socializing even superficially with the world again, you're starting to feel things again. That's progress."

You look away from her, nodding slightly, trying to believe her words, and trying not to be so terrified at the thought of learning to live again. Without Nat.

You choke slightly, holding back a sob, and then Agatha hands you a box of tissues, but you refuse with a nod, wiping away the tears that have slightly escaped.

"What do you want to talk about now?" She asks after a moment. You take a deep breath, still trying to calm yourself.

"Last week I took a cold bath." You count. "It was snowing."

Agatha blinks in surprise at the information and then lets out a giggle.

"You want me to write it in the book don't you?"

You laugh, wiping away the last of the insistent tears. You just hope Agatha could help you.

//-//

You hate coffee. But you barely slept last night, and now you need to stay awake during the group meeting, so instead of walking to the chair in the corner like you used to, you detour your way to the food and beverage table as soon as you arrive at the gym.

There are a few members around, but you don't look at them, just sidestepping as you extend your arm to the coffee bottle. You pour some, and as you touch the cup, you notice. It's cold.

"Hey sorry about that." Said a girl you thought was named Val or something, as soon as she saw you touching the cup. "We mixed up the shifts yesterday and nobody made new coffee."

You rolled your eyes, picking up the cup and throwing it in the trash. Then you forced a wry smile on the girl and walked outside. 

It was cold, but you are boiling with rage. It was just a damn cup of coffee, you thought as you closed your eyes and tried to reduce your anger. Just coffee. 

You stumbled with fright when Stephen called out to you.

"We'll get started in a minute." He said looking at you curiously. You just nodded, following him after a few seconds.

You bit the inside of your cheek when you noticed the same coffee girl as before, now sitting where you usually sat. The universe was testing you today. 

You just sighed, twiddling your fingers inside your pocket, and walked over to one of the free chairs.

After Stephen gave the briefing, he asked if everyone was all right, and the group lied in unison. You were almost asleep when he called your name.

"I would like to choose your partner today." He says and you feel your heart racing as you straighten your posture. "But I want to know if you have any preferences."

You blink in confusion, and roll your eyes.

"I don't know anyone here, but I'm sure they will all hate me equally, doc." You tried to joke, but Stephen only looked at you with concern.

"No one does or will hate you." He says and you swallow dryly, looking away as you mumble that it was just a joke. Stephen pauses momentarily before continuing. "You know that everyone here has their own experiences of loss and they are unique in their own way, even if they have similarities." He begins and you just wish he would speak soon who your partner is at once. "Usually we don't put new members together, but with the release of one of our members, the number ended up getting odd." He explains. "Anyway, I'm sure you and Mrs. Maximoff will get along very well together."

You frowned slightly at the whole explanation. Then you looked around the group, and realized that this Maximoff woman was the late redhead from the previous session who looked at you curiously. You looked away from her to Stephen.

"Thank you, doc." You said with a slight irony and Stephen just nodded smiling.

"Partners are grieving companions ladies." He says. "We will assess your progress at each session, and then switch partners once the necessary improvement has been achieved."

You grumbled in understanding, and looked away to your lap. When Stephen began to ask about the stories, your mind wandered to the departure time.

And when the session was over you wished you could go to sleep. But Stephen made a slight movement of his head in Maximoff's direction, and you understood that you should talk to her.

Ignoring the urge to show Stephen the middle finger, you just sighed as you got up from your chair and lazily walked over to the woman at the exit. She was talking to a man, and you were even more anxious to address not one, but two strangers.

"Hi." You greeted awkwardly, and both of them turned to you with mild curiosity. 

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" Said the man with a smile as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bucky. James Barnes actually, but everyone calls me Bucky." He said and you shook his hand, smiling awkwardly. Then he quickly pointed at the woman.  "And this is Wanda Maximoff, your grief partner."

"Hi." Wanda said shyly as she offered her hand to greet you. You accepted as clumsily as she did.

"Sorry, I don't know how this works." You say. "Should we exchange numbers or something? Or is that just a therapy thing?"

Bucky gives a little chuckle.

"Oh believe me, they'll know if you're not making it work." He counters. "My first partner was Sam Wilson and we wanted to jump on each other's necks whenever we saw each other. And then Stephen asked us to move in together." He says and you blink in surprise. "We're married now, but that's not the point. I guess I'm getting off topic..."

"Bucky." Wanda interrupts with a smile, and he smiles half-heartedly as well. You frown, annoyed by Bucky's story. You didn't want to marry anyone. "I guess we'll make it work, I hope you don't mind having the company of two tiny restless creatures on our walks."

You look at her with confusion and then you understand, smiling shyly.

"No, it's okay." You say. "I like children."

"Really?" She asks in surprise.

You nod slightly. "Unlike adults, they tell the truth."

Wanda seemed to be thoughtful, but then Bucky lets out an exclamation.

"As group guide, I have to pass the to-do list to you ladies." He says pulling a small notebook from the back pocket of his pants. He pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to Wanda. "Partners need to develop these habits of socializing and coping with grief together. And yes, there is a test."

You sigh impatiently, tucking a loose string behind your ear. 

"That sounds fun." You mock lightly making them smile. 

"Anyway, good luck to you two." He says tenderly. "And Wanda, call me if you need help with Tommy. I know a good therapist."

You frown slightly, not understanding what he is referring to, but you prefer to stay out of matters that are none of your business. And then Bucky kisses Wanda on the cheek in farewell and waves to you smiling before leaving. You switch foot weights when you are alone with Wanda. Talking to other people is not exactly your strong suit these past few months.

"So..." You start clumsily when she turns to you. 

"So." She repeats equally embarrassed. You then clear your throat and rush to pull your cell phone out of your pocket and hand it to her.

"Give me your number." You say. "That way we can arrange...whatever this is." 

Wanda smiles weakly as she accepts the device, and you ignore the curious look when she notices the cracks in the screen. A moment later she hands the cell phone back to you.

"I gotta go." She says. "I need to pick up my kids from school."

You nod slightly and force a smile to say goodbye, and Wanda copies your movement before leaving.

You stare at your cell phone next, noticing the slight anxiety in your stomach as you read the contact "Wanda Maximoff" on the screen.

//-//

By the weekend, you are miserable. Just like the first few months.

You spilled some tea under your bed, and when you went to clean it up, you ended up taking the objects that were lying there. And then you found a crumpled piece of paper.

It was your farewell speech. The words you wrote down to speak on the day of the funeral. The paper you pulled out of your pocket when you got home from the ceremony and probably fell under the bed when you collapsed on the floor from crying so hard.

Suddenly your chest tightened and you couldn't breathe. But you didn't want your mother to worry, so you concentrated on remembering the exercises your therapist had taught you.

And when the room started to get too small, you left.

But because it was cold and rainy, you had just taken a hot shower and had decided to brew tea before you finished putting on a sweater, you had bent down to pick up your socks, and the liquid fell on the floor. 

You went outside without your shoes, and your mother let out a worried exclamation when she saw you standing outside, staring at nothing.

"Honey?" She asked walking out the door after seeing you through the kitchen window. "Honey, what is it?"

You didn't answer. Your face was wet. Your mother's hands wrapped around your shoulders, and she gently pushed you inside, worried that you would end up getting hypothermia.

"I'm fine." You gasped as she led you inside, but she just shook her head. "I'm fine."

"No, honey." She retorted making you frown. "You're not."

"Mom."

"Sit down." 

And then there were blankets around you, and socks on your feet. And your mother was in the kitchen, on the phone, but everything seemed stuffy. You began to be absent again. Thousands of memories flashing through your eyes.

An image of yourself on that living room floor, laughing while your girlfriend had her arms wrapped around you. Your mother was pouring a glass of wine for each of you, and you were happy to tell her about your engagement.

Then an image of you running across the room, trying to dodge the tickles your father tickled you while you laughed.

Then a puppy in your hands on the floor. You looked at it fondly, laughing at how cute it looked. 

Looking down, you saw a hand on your thigh. It was your wife's, the ring on her finger. She smiled at you. You were happy because that was the day you told your mother about the house purchase.

You gasped slightly when you felt someone's hand on your shoulder suddenly.

"I need you to tell me three things you can see." It was Agatha. God, you should have been out of reaction long enough for her to get here. Wiping away your tears, you took a deep breath, trying to reason straight.

"I... I..." You started, but your brain didn't seem to obey you. You took another deep breath. You could see the carpet, so you told her so.

"Two more." Agatha asked tenderly, her hand caressing your back from top to bottom. 

"The... table." You replied crying. "I can see the table."

"That's right, honey." She said. "Just one more now. Tell me what else?"

"My feet." You add breathlessly. "I can see my feet."

"Now breathe with me, okay?" She asks. "Like I taught you."

The exercises help you to calm down again. You apologize for scaring your mother, and for making Agatha drive to your house, but neither of them is upset with you. You feel exhausted, but the doctor wants to talk to you after she accepts the cup of coffee your mother offers her.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" She asks as you sit on the covered porch, fluffy pillows around you.

You lower your gaze to the floor, sniffling lightly.

"I found my grief speech." You count. "Under my bed. The next minute I was outside."

Agatha sighs.

"You ready to talk about the accident."

You raise your eyes quickly, frowning, because it wasn't a question.

"W-what?"

She takes a deep breath, crossing her legs.

"It's suffocating you." She clarifies. "You need to talk or these attacks will happen again."

"I-I don't..."

"It won't be today." She interrupts with a tender smile. "Tonight you need to sleep. But we won't prolong this any longer. You need to talk about it, even if it’s only to scream."

Clenching your jaw, you hold back your tears as Agatha takes one last look at you before getting up. She murmurs that she will see you on Monday, but you don't look at her.

//-//

You don't sleep well on Sunday. And it's definitely because you can't stop thinking about your appointment.

And it goes well for the first twenty minutes. Agatha doesn't pressure you, and agrees to hear about your week, without mentioning the incident on Thursday.

There is a pause after you have told her about the dog barking noise in the early morning and then you know it is time to speak up.

"I was driving." You say softly suddenly, ignoring the feeling that your throat wants to close up. Agatha has her hands folded in her lap as she listens to you. "She...she was sleeping in the passenger seat." You swallow dryly, trying to count and not get caught up in the memory again, your heart racing. Talking is almost like going back there. "I looked at her for a moment and I got distracted... and then... we just..."

You only realize that you are crying because tears fall on your hand. You blink, sniffling. Taking a deep breath, you continue.

"We fell into the water, and Nat...she just...I couldn't get her belt off." You gasp breathlessly. "The water just...kept coming up around us. And she looked at me, and... she just shook her head like she knew what was going to happen." You tell between sobs. Agatha's eyes water, but she doesn't interrupt. "I just...she pushed me. She pushed my hands away and she told me she would follow me. And god... my dumb brain believed her!" You confess angrily. "She told me she was right behind me! And I swam out and when I came up she wasn't with me."

You shut up, not being able to tell anymore through the sobs. You can't even see the office clearly because of the tears.

It takes a moment for you to speak again, your head down.

"When I swam back, the car was completely covered with water everywhere" You recount. "I...I was going to dive again.... I wanted to get her out of there. But the people who saw the accident jumped in after us. And they pulled me out of the water. And I kept thinking that if I hadn't been distracted, she...she would be...."

"No." Agatha interrupts by offering you a tissue. "Natasha had a stomach injury, don't you remember?" She counters and you gasp, the words echoing in your brain. "That's why you couldn't remove the belt."

And then you were remembering clearly now.

Soft music echoed in the car as you hummed the tune and drove to your friends' house. Your wife mumbled softly beside you, making you smile as you watched the sleeping figure. The red hair in front of her face.

"Hey sleepyhead." You called softly, looking away from the track for a moment. "We're almost there."

Nat muttered in agreement. You bit your lip, thinking she looked beautiful. And then you heard a noise, and a white light in the window. You barely had time to frown when the impact threw your car off the road.

Your body tensed immediately as you sat up, looking around with desperation. The car was sinking fast and you turned to Nat.

A wound on her forehead was bleeding, and she was clearly disoriented as you touched her hands. You hurried to unbuckle her belt, but it was jammed tightly in her waist, and you gasped in shock at the wound.

"N-no." You grumbled, trying to move the metal, but Nat gasped in pain, pushing your hands away. You could barely breathe in desperation. Your feet were freezing, because the water was already at your ankles. "Babe, move please. We have to get out."

Nat advanced toward you, taking off your belt. You tried to touch her, but she pushed your hands away again, intending to guide you out.

" Sweetheart, go! Open the door! " she commanded and you shook your head, the water on your knees. Nat forced a smile, the tears in her eyes made your stomach turn. "Don't worry love. I'm right behind you."

As you opened the door, the water moved all the way into the car, and you held your breath Nat repeated the words "I'm right behind you" one more time. And then you swam out.

When you reached the surface, you were alone.

Sobbing, you couldn't say anything else to Agatha, and she proceeded to stroke your back, trying to soothe you with words of affirmation.

"I need you to remember some things honey." She says tenderly. "You couldn't have helped Natasha. She got stuck. You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened." Agatha whispers to you, and you sob. "Remember the investigation, okay? The police said that the driver of the truck was drunk and hit your car after he fell asleep. It wasn't your fault." Agatha says trying to remind you. You gasp, countless memories flooding your head at once. "Say that for me, will you?" She asks and you gasp. "Tell me it wasn't your fault."

You sob, burying your face in your hands. It takes a moment, but you repeat the words.

"It wasn't my fault." You whisper breathlessly. "It...it wasn't my fault."

When you leave therapy that day, you feel different.

You think that it is the healing process that is beginning to work. You still have a long way to go, but you have the feeling that a weight has been lifted off your back, because you have started to believe your own words. You could not have saved Natasha.

There is still a deep sadness in you, but you still buy your favorite drink on the way home, and try to stay in the living room for a few hours before going to your room when you are inside.

[avpdvoidspace]

hey!! i love your acc :-) it makes me feel less alone

that being said, i'd like to ask, what do you think is the best way to ask for forgiveness, or at least how to express, in the best way possible, that you're sorry? my family has never really apologized to me (at most they've said "sorry" when i've crying for hours, and that hasn't happened in a long time, worst case escenario they would mock me, laugh at me, tell me how i deserved it etc) and never taught me how to do it either (but they did taught me how to feel guilty about everything), i've avoided conflict most of my life and i'm a people-pleaser, so there hasn't been much opportunities where i've fucked up something like, really important, and had to say sorry in accordance to that situation, until now: i ghosted all of my friends since early 2019-mid 2020, sadly they're the best friends i've ever had and they've tried to contact me through social media, they even sent me happy birthday messages. They are the sweetest people i had the luck to met and idk what to do, idk how to say sorry. I'm not really hoping for then to accept my apologies and to act like nothing has happened, but i'd still like to tell them how this wasn't their fault and how i think about them everyday, and that i know what i did is not right

sorry for writing so much and for venting, just ignore this is it bothers you!

(i was diagnosed with avpd early this year, i stopped going to that therapist but im with a new one that i really like and im planning to talk about this with them the next session, also sorry for my bad english!!)

I struggle with this too. A lot of it is because that was never a thing in the family I grew up in. My guardians never apologised to me, and they frequently expected me to grovel to them for things that I shouldn't have been apologising for at all. I think if you want to apologize to those friends, it would be a good idea to just be really upfront about it. Say you're sorry that you ghosted, it was never anything they did wrong, that you've been having a mental health struggle that has since been diagnosed (you can include the details with that if you think it will help them be better friends to you. I often find this to be true in my relationships), and say that you hope you can be friends again but will understand if they don't want to take another chance on it. I hope they will accept your apology! And this might be weird to say, but congratulations on the diagnosis. Actually having one can really help you get control over your life. Good luck with your therapy, too!

[msmkcreates]

A Second Chance at a First Impression Ch. 9: The One With the Croissant

Boss may be taking care of Stretch, but he still has therapy of his own to attend, and therapy always digs up the root of the problem.

-------------

I know it's been a while, but I've had so much going on these last few weeks, some very good (like a promotion) and some very bad,, including dealing with a death of a family member recently so all of my works have been inching along slowly in my documents.

I hope everyone is having a Happy New Year

Warnings: therapy, imposter syndrome, anxiety, working out Boss' issues, discussion of consent and power imbalances

Read on Ao3 with the above link

-or-

Read here on Tumblr

----------------

The clinic was always empty this time of day, the sun sinking down beneath the surrounding buildings, but Boss quite prefers it when there's less people cluttering the lobby and the waiting room.

His therapist was an aging man named John, with kind eyes and a weathered wedding ring polished by worrying fingers over the years. His office was decorated simply with a handful of pictures of his wife and nephews. No children, he had told Boss once, though the why had never quite come to him. In Boss' opinion it was really none of his business, but he did wonder what could stop someone with so much kindness from passing it on.

"How are things with your new job?" John asked, looking over his glasses at him. "I know you've been struggling with your inability to join the workforce, has this helped the negative thoughts go away?"

"It helps to have another income," Boss agreed, his hands folded neatly in his lap. "And it helps that it's family, and so close to home. It isn't what I expected, though."

John hummed, leaning back in his own chair. "How so?"

"Well, to be frank, I expected it to be a nightmare," he chuckled. "Stretch and I get along like baking soda and vinegar on the best of days. Or at least, we used to...it seems like we get along better than he and his own brother now. He's kind, and thoughtful, a little naive but also startlingly wise at times."

"A good change, then?"

Boss hummed, looking down at his hands. "...I'm not sure. It's nice that he usually does what I ask, and it's nice that we don't fight all the time. But I worry that maybe...he still feels the same, deep down."

"As if maybe, he is keeping it to himself out of a sense of duty and gratitude?" John asked. "You worry that he is only this way because you're caring for him."

"...right on the money, as always," he chuckled.

It was something they'd discussed before, the fear that any kindness shown to him was out of a sense of duty, fear, or propriety. When he'd begun his sessions with John, he'd resisted the idea that he treated Red badly, only to find that was exactly what he had done and Red had only gone along with every horrid word because Boss provided protection, safety, and home. With Red's HP he had always just taken it on the chin for the sake of surviving, something they have been parsing out in small quantities and group sessions over the years, limited by Red's stubborn insistence that Boss has nothing to apologize for.

The fear was there, that Stretch was only pretending to like him because of the inherent power Boss holds being his caregiver. He worries that fear rules their relationship, that Stretch is only being kind because Boss is helping him.

"Is it wrong of me to assume that you might hold feelings for Stretch?"

Boss felt his face flush as he looked up swiftly, bristling slightly in embarrassment. "I, well, that is...I don't know what you mean."

"Correct me if I'm wrong,but every time we talk about Stretch recently, it's all very positive. Your posture changes, and you smile more. Before the accident, any time we spoke of him it was as if you'd eaten something sour, but now it's like I've just offered you your favorite candy." John leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling knowingly. "Is it fear of your power in the relationship that keeps you from recognizing these feelings?"

Boss hummed, looking out the minnow over the nearby park. Stretch sat there, on a bench where he had left him to wait, and he got up to walk over to the window and pulled the sheer curtain aside to look at him more properly.

He'd bought him a croissant, in the hopes he'd eat it, but looked like the soft-hearted man had felt bad for the birds with little food, as he was tearing pieces off it to feed to the growing number of cardinals and winter wrens surrounding him. They pecked at the snowy ground and hopped around his feet, and Boss could almost hear him talking to them, telling them to wait their turn as if they understood English, and he chuckled.

"Feelings are irrelevant. I only want him to get better. I want to see him smile more, to see him happy." Boss let the curtain fall back into place. "I'm his friend now, but I'm also his caregiver. If I made a move on him, wouldn't that put pressure on him to say yes, even if he didn't want to? Would he feel as if he owed me? As much as I may want him, I don't want that."

"Consent is very important, and being on unequal footing can compromise it," John agreed. "Have you spoken with him about these thoughts? Being clear in your motives and your wish for consent?"

"Heavens no," Boss chuckled, grasping his hands together as he turned back to the couch. "I think I'd much rather eat a cactus than talk about my feelings. As you know."

"Do you think that's very fair?"

"To him?" Boss asked.

"To yourself."

Boss paused, squeezing his hands together as he thought on that. "...I'm not sure. I'm not even sure what I feel for him is romantic or platonic. I can't tell if it's happiness at finding a true friend or...something more. Or if it's just the amount of time together, or just guilt. I think it'd be a disservice to tell him how I feel if it turns out I'm wrong."

"That seems sound," John said, leaning back in his chair. "Perhaps you should explore your feelings deeper?"

Boss shook his head. "I'm not so sure I want to."

"And why is that?"

"I...I'm not good for him. I'm dangerous, my LV is... so high, and only one hit from me, even with higher HP that he has now, would destroy him. What if I lose myself one day?"

"Do you think knowing you cared for him would increase the chance of that happening?" John asked. "Currently you are spending about as much time together as any married couple. Do you still thinks he is in danger from your presence?"

"Well...I guess you have a point." Boss fidgeted with his fingertips. "Maybe I was the wrong person to look after him."

"That isn't what I meant," John chuckled, standing from his chair. "I think all feelings are worth exploring, Papyrus. If you understand yourself, you can begin to make the changes you want to see. It's worked thus far with your brother, hasn't it?"

Boss smiled wryly. It was true, his relationship with Red was leagues better now than it had ever been, just from understanding and changing his behavior.

"...I will think on it." He reached out to shake John's outstretched hand. "Thank you again, John. Have a lovely weekend and say hello to the missus."

"I gave you that croissant to feed yourself, not the birds."

"I always do," John promised.

--------

Stretch looked up at Boss with bright eyelights, smiling wide from beneath the many birds perched on his outstretched arms. And legs. And head. And any semi-flat surface they could sit on.

"but it's so cold! where are they gonna get their food?"

Boss chuckled, the puffy jacket he was wearing rising and falling with his shoulders in a shrug. "They're winter birds. They eat nuts and berries and whatever else. They know how to get what they need, unless people keep feeding them so they never learn how to do it themselves."

Stretch smiled sheepishly. "...oops?"

Boss stepped closer, and in a flurry of wings, all his new bird friends took off into the chilly winter air. He watched them flutter off, scattering into the sparse park trees.

"I suppose I'm too scary for your birds," he sighed, sitting beside him on the bench. "And you? Am I too scary?"

"too scary? no, you're the best!" Stretch answered, and Boss noted the lack of hesitation with faint pride before he even registered the compliment. "who else is gonna buy me croissants to feed the birds with? blue just says i can't live off bread and gives me something lame, like a salad or green beans."

"Hmm, so I shouldn't make shepherd's pie for dinner tonight?" Boss asked, smirking over at him as he gave a look of disbelief. "Well, since you've decided to live off croissants…"

"noooo! i want the pie!" Stretch whined, leaning on him and tugging on his sleeve. "please! you cook so much better than blue!"

"Don't let him hear you say that," Boss laughed, gently removing his hands from his arm. "If we want shepherd's pie, we need to go to the grocery store. Are you up for it?"

"...can we also get some more honey?" Stretch asked, standing with him and trying his best to look cute. Looking cute seemed to get him what he wanted with Boss, and to his delight he got an amused smirk.

Boss turned, jerking his head so he would follow. "If you're good, we can get whatever you want. Come on, then."

[rocksandrobots]

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 20 - Therapy

Varian sat on the leather couch inside the doctor’s office nervously bouncing his knee up and down. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to run, but he knew that would upset Aunt Cass who was seated on the chair next to the door.

This was meant to be his first therapy session and he didn’t know what to expect, or to say, or what to do. Both Hiro and Wasabi had told him that all he had to do was talk to the doctor about his problems, but Varian didn’t really feel like talking. He didn’t feel like delving into his past and reliving those painful memories. Moreover, he didn’t want anyone in this world to know of his mistakes, even if they were just a stranger.

Just then the door opened and a tall woman with short bobbed hair and glasses walked in. She wore a white lab coat and held in her hand a clipboard and pen.

“Hello, Miss Templeton. Are we here to see Hiro today?” The woman asked Aunt Cass.

“Oh hi, Dr. Mcguire.” Aunt Cass stood up to shake her hand. “No, I called earlier and told the secretary this, but I’d like you to meet Varian. Varian this is Dr. Mcguire. She’s our family therapist.”The woman smiled and shook his hand as well, as Aunt Cass contunited. “Varian is from Europe and I’m fostering him while he’s here in the states.”  

“Oh exciting!” The woman enthused. “Is this your first therapy session, Varian?”

Varian nodded his head numbly, still too unsure of himself to speak.

“Well there’s many different types of therapy. I’m a grief counselor. I use different techniques to help people deal with loss or trauma, such as, listening to people talk about their feelings and problems, helping people develop healthy coping mechanisms for anxiety or depression, helping people pinpoint or understand where their underlying issues are and what might cause them to react the way they do to certain situations, and basically anything else that helps the patient cope with their grief.”

Varian listened to the woman intently but none of what she said made any sense to him. He knew what all those words individually meant on their own but all together it just sounded like a word salad to him. He had no idea what any of that actually entailed in practice.

"Well, now Varian, tell me a little about yourself?" The doctor asked as she sat at her desk.

Varian only stared blankly at her, unsure what she wanted to hear.

Dr. Mcguire expounded "Do you have any interests or hobbies?"

Varian looked back to Aunt Cass questionly and she gave him an encouraging smile and a go on motion with her hands.

"Ummm...I like alchemy."

"Alchemy? Like the history of it, or is that some new video game I haven't heard of yet?" Dr. Mcguire gently laughed at herself. "My kids are always trying to get me into the lastest gaming craze and I can never seem to get the hang of it."

Varian once again could only stare. He'd played a few video games with Hiro and Fred, but he had no idea what was deemed popular or not. Nor did he know how to explain to this woman that he was a practitioner of a long dead science.

When this didn't elect a response from him the doctor tried a new line of questioning.

"Do you have a favorite video game?"

Varian shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't played many of them. We didn't have video games back in Old Corona."

"That's the city he came from." Aunt Cass explained. "Varian is from a Russia territory."

"Oh. Well, what did you play in Old Corona?" Dr. Mcguire asked.

"Not much." Varian racked his brain for a childhood game, but there had been no other kids to play with and his dad was not much for chess.

"My cellmate and I would play 'Noughts and Crosses' to pass the time. It's a little like Gomoku, but you try to get three in a row instead of five, and you just draw an X or O on to a grid you drew in the sand instead of having a board and colored pieces.'

"Oh we call that tic-tac-toe here." Aunt Cass cheerfully said, not immediately picking up on his mention of being in jail.

The doctor however did notice. "Cellmate?" She asked with concern.

Varian clamped his mouth shut at that. He didn't want to go into why he had been in prison, certainly not with Aunt Cass there.

Sensing the Varian's discomfort and seeing Dr. Mcguire's confusion, Aunt Cass spoke up. "I'm guessing the secretary didn't give you the forms we filled out?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I saw your name on the appointment and just assumed it was time again for Hiro's session. I'm sorry, that was unprofessional of me to assume and not come prepared. Would you like to reschedule?"

Aunt Cass looked to Varian. "It's up to you, sweetie."

Varian really didn't want to go through all this again. "No. I'm good."

"Well do you feel like talking about what's wrong then?" Asked Mcguire.

Varian tightened his jaw, unsure how to say no to the woman. But Dr. Mcguire knew her business and understood what Varian meant even without words.

"It's ok." She soothed. "You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. We're not here to make you feel uncomfortable. Therapy is supposed to help, not hurt."

This relaxed Varian a little, but only a little. He didn't know what either adult wanted from him then.

"Varian, would it help if I left?" Aunt Cass offered. "Or would you prefer that I stay? Either one is fine. It's your choice."

Varian looked back and forth between both women trying to decide. He honestly didn't know which would be more stressful; dealing with the doctor alone or risking slipping up again and having Aunt Cass find out about his past crimes.

"I...maybe?" He eventually answered.

"Alright then. I'll be just right outside the door if you need me." She stood up, walked over to Varian, gave him a peck on the forehead and an encouraging smile before closing the door and leaving.

Varian had to admit, he could breath more easily now that she'd left the room.

"Well," Dr. Mcguire spoke back up, "if you rather not talk about your issues right now, would you like to write about them instead?"

Varian gave her a confused look and in response she dug into a drawer in her desk and pulled out a notebook.

"Sometimes people find it easier to write about things than to talk about them. I often give my patiences journals, so that they can get out their feelings about stuff, make goals and plans, or to help keep track of their triggers and their responses."

She handed the notebook to Varian. It was thin and curiously printed on the front were images of lizards with hats and sunglasses riding upon skateboards. Varian might have thought it absurd looking but he was distracted by something that the doctor had said.

"Triggers?" He asked.

"A 'trigger' is anything that might make someone remember their trauma. It can be anything from a familiar sound or object, to an action or situation that is similar to an event that the person went through. When someone who's been through trauma comes across one of their triggers they might experience a panic attack, flashbacks, get angry or upset, or even completely shut down so to speak."

Varian studied the woman thoughtfully. Wasabi had described what a panic attack felt like and it sounded eerily similar to what he had felt when he ran away that day. The way he felt after having a nightmare. The way he'd felt when he had come home to find his dad unmoving in the amber.

“Do..do nightmares count?” He asked hesitantly.

“Well, yes, in a way. Nightmares are often associated with PTSD. They are a way for your mind to process what has happened to you. But they can also be caused by other things, like stress, anxiety, or just a lack of sleep. You’d have to dream about something multiple times and analyze those dreams in order to figure out their cause.”

She paused and studied Varian intently before continuing. "Some people write dream diaries to track the patterns of what they dream and when. You write what you've dreamed, good or bad, when you wake up. You also may write things like what time you went to bed, how long did you sleep, or what you may have eaten that day as those can affect how well you sleep."

"You could use your journal for that." She gently suggested.

"Then...then I show it to you?" He asked in kind.

"If you want to. Though, once again, you don't have to do anything that you don't want to."

"But, if I did, would it help?" Varian pressed, "Would it get rid of them?"

"It might help." The woman said measuredly. "Though it might not. Or you may need to do that along with a combination of things. The only way to find out is to try it."

Dr. Mcguire gave him a soft smile and Varian turned her words over in his mind. He would love for the nightmares to stop. They had only become more frequent since he moved in with the Hamada's. As if deep down he feared this new change in his life would become permanent and his subconscious was warning him to return home before it was too late. But, even still, while the doctor was right about not knowing till you tried, he worried over his past and what she or others might think of him once known. Then again, no reason to take a dream literally, right?

"I've..I...I've been having nightmares lately." He finally admitted. Dr. Mcguire only nodded along. She most likely had already guessed as much, but she didn't interrupt.

"They're always different. Like they're about different things. Sometimes they're about my home or my dad, sometimes about my friends, both old and new, and sometimes about, ummm, being in jail." He muttered this last part but then quickly contunited on, "They all end the same way though. With me being alone."

He met the doctor's eyes questioningly, wondering how she might respond. She looked to be contemplating over what he'd just confessed.

"Hmmm…Well dreams are rarely the same each time. It's usually just the repeated elements that we look for when analyzing. That's how the journal would help. But it looks like you figured out one of those elements on your own. Does being alone scare you?"

Varian looked at her wide eyed. He didn't know how to feel about having one of his greatest fears pointed out to him. It was true of course, but he didn't like to admit it.

"A, little." He admitted sheepishly.

"A lot of people fear being alone. We're social creatures. Humans need other humans and so we seek out relationships. It's nothing to be embarrassed about." Mcguire tried to ease his fear.

"Were you on your own in jail? Did you feel alone there?" She pressed.

"No, well sometimes, but like I said I at least had a cellmate. That's better than when I was completely on my own before then."

Dr. Mcguire face grew more concerned but she didn't pursue anything else about his time alone. Instead she asked, "Were you friends with your cellmate?"

"No." Varian scoffed, complaining about Andrew was easier than talking about his time spent on the run. "Dude was a creep."

"Oh, did you fight with him often?"

"Not usually. In fact we got along fine, but that's only because he'd pretend to be nice to get what he wanted. I always knew that's what he was doing, but I, guess I just went along with it because….because it was better than not talking to anybody at all."

Dr. Mcguire furrowed her brow, "What did he want from you then?"

Varian wiggled in his seat at that. He didn't want to go into the prison break and what followed thereafter. "Just….stuff."

This did not ease the doctor's fear. "How old were you when you went to jail?"

"I had just turned fifteen." He didn't know where this was going.

"And your cellmate was what, also fifteen, sixteen?" She guessed.

"Oh no. Corona doesn't have, what did the policeman call it, 'juvenile detention center.' Anyways, uh, I'm not sure what age Andrew was. He never said, but I would guess, like, late twenties?" Varian shrugged but he only became even more confused when he noted the look of horror on Dr Mcguire's face.

"And where were the guards when he was making you do… stuff?" She tried to hide it but Varian could still hear the way her voice shook.

"Ummm...well the guards make their rounds of the cells every ten minutes and stand guard at the door between then. Or they're supposed to, anyways. Sometimes they're late or they're switching shifts, or even sometimes asleep." He broke from his matter of fact statement with a little laugh. "I once saw Pete the guard fall asleep while standing up and Stan, the other guard, had to prop him up with his spear to keep the Captain from noticing." He whispered conspiratorially as if imparting some juicy bit of gossip.

But the doctor wasn't amused.

"It would appear that your home country has a very different legal system than ours." She stated as if trying to find a way to navigate Varian's revelations.

"I'll say." He snorted. Complaining about the conditions of the dungeon itself didn't bother him as much as admitting how he'd got there. He supposed it was because everyone suffered the same indignity as he did while there. So he didn't feel singled out.

"I saw what those cells down at the police station here looked like last week. Let me tell you. They were pristine." He began to number the differences on his fingers." Clean, not drafty, there were toilets, electric lights. I was on the bottom floor of the dungeon and all we had was a grate on the ceiling that let the tiniest bit of light and air in from the cell above us. Of course that wasn't much cause that cell only had a small window to begin with."

The doctor interrupted his ramble. "But what about when you were aloud outside?"

"Outside?" He echoed in confusion. "We never went outside. Who'd let criminals out of their cells willingly?"

Dr. Mcguire darted her eyes back and forth as if equally flabbergasted. "But, but what about for exercise!? Showers!? Mealtimes!?"

Varian looked at her unsure how to answer, now only realising just how vastly different the two realities really were.

"We ate in the cells." He said flatly in lieu of anything else. "Is the food better here too?"

"I don't know? What did they serve you?"

"Usually gruel, or bread and water. Sometimes we'd get scraps from the castle's kitchen. Like leftover bone broth before it went bad. I guess not to starve us completely."

"Castle?" She echoed hollowly.

"The jail is underneath the government's palace." He explained.

"And is that the only prison? Wouldn't that get over full?"

"Yeah, it does. That's why they only keep people there until they ship them off on the prison barge or…. til they hang them." He quietly admitted.

This seemed to be the last straw for the doctor.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to compose herself.

"Well, that..uh..we seem to be reaching near the end of our session. How about we bring Miss. Templeton back in?" She flashed him a strained grin, but Varian knew she was rattled and he feared he'd said too much or had done the wrong thing.

"You mean Aunt Cass?" He asked.

"Yes. So you call her 'aunt' too?" He nodded. " Well let's get your aunt in here and we'll talk about how best to continue your therapy."

Dr. Mcguire walked out and Varian could hear her and Aunt Cass having a hushed and hurried conversion. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he knew it was about him. Soon after, they both reentered the room and Aunt Cass took a seat next to him on the couch.

Dr. Mcguire sat at her desk again and proceeded to make an announcement.

"So Varian and I have talked a little and he's decided that he's going to keep a dream diary, which he can share with me during our next few sessions if he would like. However, I feel that Varian might benefit from seeing a specialist."

Varian heart dropped. He was being turned away? He'd somehow managed to screw up his first therapy session so bad the doctor was pawning him off to someone else.

"But, aren't you a specialist?" Aunt Cass asked, equally confused.

"Yes, but I deal with post trauma, sudden events, like a car accident or the recent death of a family member. After talking to Varian, it appears he's been through prolonged trauma. It'll take a few more sessions to confirm this but, he may have Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's related to regular PTSD, there is some overlap in symptoms, but ultimately it requires different treatment."

Varian's stomach began to churn and he felt his heartbeat quicken. All he heard, behind the doctor's unfamiliar terminology, was that he was somehow, wrong or broken, more so than even the troubled patients she normally worked with. He wanted to cry, but instead he blinked back tears as Dr. Mcguire contunited.

"I have the name of a psychiatrist that I can recommend. I've worked with him before alongside other patients."

She handed a business card to Aunt Cass who leaned forward to take from her. As she read it the doctor went on.

"Dr. Brown deals with former soldiers, war refugees, abuse victims, and others who've had to endure extremely harsh conditions. He's better experienced in such cases and as a psychiatrist he can also prescribe any medicine that Varian might need."

"Medicine!?" Varian exploded and both women looked at him with concern. "But, but I'm not sick." He whined in protest.

Dr. Mcguire stood up and walked over to him. She knelt down to his level and looked him in the eye.

"I don't know if you are or aren't, diagnoses of mental illnesses take time, but you might still need prescribed medication even if you don't have an illness. You mentioned not sleeping well, something as simple as a herbal tea with added melatonin could help with that. However as a psychologist, and not a psychiatrist, I can legally write you a prescription for that, nor should I."

Varian darted his eyes about the room in confusion. Logically what the woman said made sense, he supposed, but that didn't stop his anxiety from raising. He felt cornered. He wanted to run again, but the gentle hand of Aunt Cass upon his shoulder rooted him to the couch.

"Look, you're still welcome to come see me." Dr. Mcguire reassured him. "I'll gladly help you in any way that I can. I just think Dr. Brown could do even more to help you."

"We just want what's best for you." Aunt Cass interjected. "Thank you, Dr. Mcguire. I'll give this Dr. Brown a call today when we get home."

And that was the end of it. They said their goodbyes and left.

On the whole way home, Varian sulked in the passenger seat as he stared dispondingly out the window. He could feel Aunt Cass nervously stealing glances of him, probably afraid he may jump out of the car again and try to run away.

She attempted to say something a few times, but thought better of it and kept quiet. The uncomfortable silence weighing upon them both until they arrived back at the Luck Cat.

Varian tore out of the car, pounded up the stairs, and was just about to run towards his new room, when he heard Aunt Cass say. "We need to talk."

Varian found himself sitting on a couch for the second time that day. This one in Hamada living room. He eyed Aunt Cass pensively and waited for yet another lecture.

"Sooo, I know that didn't go as well as we hoped today, but hey, we made some progress!" She gave him a plastered grin as she tried to find the silver lining. Varian only gave her a look as if she was crazy and rolled his eyes.

She heaved a heavy sigh.

"Varian, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Lots of people see special psychiatrists. That's what they're for. They wouldn't exist if people didn't need them."

Varian still refused to meet her gaze.

"Also, not everyone finds the right therapist on their first try. It took me a whole year and three different doctors before I found Dr. Mcguire."

Varian did look at her upon that revelation, this time with surprise on his face.

Aunt Cass gave him a small smile.

"Did you think you were the only one who needed therapy?" She gently teased, before admitting, "I was only 24 when I took in Tadashi and Hiro. I didn't know how to be a parent. I didn't know how to handle two grieving little boys nor the emotional roller coaster I was on as well. I had to get help. I had to try out different doctors, different types of therapy, even took medication for a little while, and it took time but in the end it did make things better for all of us. I just want you to get better as well."

Varian processed this confession as he wrestled with his growing sense of shame and despair.

"But...but…you never did anything to deserve that. It was just a bad thing that happened to you.. I… I on the other hand…I wasn't in that jail for no reason." He confessed before bursting into tears.

"I don't care." Aunt Cass quietly said.

Varian looked back in surprise again. She stood before him with worry etched onto her face.

"I don't care what you did." She reiterated. "It doesn't matter."

She bent down and cupped Varian's face into her hand, just as she did when he returned after running away.

"Varian, no one deserves to be treated the way you were. Especially a child. That..that was just cruel." Her voice broke. "Cruel, and inhumane, and oh god, what ever did they do to you to make you think you deserved it?" It was her turn to cry as she scooped Varian into a hug.

Varian blinked rapidly, both because of the tears and because he hadn't been expecting this reaction. He knew he was at fault. Everyone in the kingdom knew it. They all blamed him for what happened and threw nothing but scorn his way. The only reason that Aunt Cass and everyone else didn't hate him too was because they didn't know, surely. But the sincerity in her voice, the tender loving embrace, the way she put up with him and his stupid mistakes around the house, all made him desperate to believe her. So he hugged her tightly back.

"But.. But.. I'm not 'no one'" The tears flowed freely now. "I'm...I'm…I'm not like anyone. The doctor said so herself, today."

"No!" She pulled away from the embrace to look him dead in the eye. "No. She said you needed help that she couldn't give. Dr. Brown, though, can. He deals with people who've been through what you've been through. You're not alone. You're not broken. You're not weird. And you are most certainly not deserving of being thrown in a dungeon."

She wiped her fingers through his bangs, a sign of affection he'd come to recognize from her, and blinking back tears said, "Oh how I wish I could have been there for you sooner. But I'm here now. And so is Hiro, all your friends, Chief Cruz, Professor Granville, and Dr. Mcguire. Ok? We are all here for you now, and we love you, and nothing is going to change that. And now Dr. Brown will be there for you too. So please, let us help you."

Varian searched her eyes. These were words he had longed to hear for who knew how long, but when faced with them for real he had trouble giving into them; to believing them. The nagging voice in his head was screaming at him, warning him that it wasn't true, that they would all abandon his as soon as he screwed up or they found out the truth of his past, the same as how everyone else had given up on him, told him how he didn't deserve such kindness, ect.,but he didn't care. He wanted it to be true.

He nodded yes and flung his arms around Aunt Cass again. They remained that way, just holding each other for several minutes. While Aunt Cass stroked his hair and cooed reassuring words. How she loved him, how she wasn't going anywhere, how he was her child now and nothing would change that. He wasn't sure if he was ready to accept her as a parent yet, to him his dad was the only parent he needed, but he deeply appreciated all that she had done, all that she promised to do, and it felt good to finally be accepted somewhere, to be wanted .

When they finally stopped hugging Aunt Cass said she was going to call Dr. Brown and set up an appointment. She then stroked the top of his head again and asked if he wanted to help her bake something special for dinner. He nodded yes and they both put the unfortunate incident at the therapist behind them.

[smileyoongle]

Masterpiece (A Park Jimin Yandere AU)

Summary: You thought it was just a painting until you bought it. You thought the man in the frame was beautiful until you saw him. You thought it was a masterpiece until you were ruined.

Pairing: Yandere! Jimin×Reader, Taehyung×Reader

Warnings: Contains mentions of smut, deaths, blood, obsessive behaviour and mental health issues. Please read at your own risk.

You stared at the painting on the wall, the mix of colours making you zone out. Taehyung sat beside you on the white couch, rubbing circles on the palm of your hand as you both patiently waited for your therapist. His office was pretty nice with all it's pastel colours and light toned furniture. You remembered when you once wanted to be a psychologist. It was a teen fantasy of yours after you had seen 'The Silence Of The Lambs'. Overtime you grew out of it, figuring that you had too many problems to deal with rather than helping others fix theirs and soon, you found solace in tubes of paint and the smell of new canvases.

The door opened with a subtle click, your head turning around to see your doctor, Kim Namjoon, entering the cabin. 

Taehyung let go of your hand and stood up, shaking hands with Namjoon while you continued to sit nonchalantly. You didn't really wanna be here, anyway. Thankfully, Namjoon knew you too well. He was an acquaintance of yours in high school but he didn't know you enough to not be your therapist. He was the best one in town and happened to be Taehyung's good friend.

His glasses sat on the bridge of his nose, his brown hair was pushed back, revealing his forehead unlike all the other days that he let his hair cover it up. You tilted your head and rested your cheek against your palm, your elbow sitting on the arm of the couch. Namjoon settled down in his chair and opened his diary, writing down what you assumed was today's date and your name. 

He finally looked up at you and smiled, his dimples digging into his cheek.

"Well, look who decided to show up after standing me up last week." Namjoon joked, making you crack a smile. Taehyung chuckled deeply, turning his head to look at you.

You shrugged and leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees instead. "Safe to say, someone actually wanted to see me." You responded, earning Taehyung's disapproving scoff. It was his way of saying that he always wanted to see you but you decided to ignore it. What could you even say?

Namjoon shook his head, a breathy laugh leaving his mouth as he placed his pen on the book. 

"Tell me, how have you been, Y/N? Hopefully, you have been taking your medicines on time." He stated, looking at you with bright eyes. This was definitely a therapist thing. They couldn't really be sad in front of a depressed person right?

"Of course-"

"Liar. Now I know why Nan wanted me to come." 

You tsked when Taehyung interrupted, your eyes rolling in annoyance. Namjoon tilted his head at Taehyung, nodding at him as a sign to continue. Taehyung glanced at me before looking back at his friend.

"I saw the entire bottle sitting untouched in her house." Taehyung confessed, making you sigh and close your eyes. You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling both their eyes on you.

"I told you last time. I can't take those pills, they make me sleepy and I'd rather stay awake." You snapped, clenching your fists and looking at Namjoon with a firm gaze that said you wouldn't change your decision.

Namjoon pursed his lips, already expecting this. Even after having talked about this a million times, you weren't willing to give the medicine a chance. 

"Why would you rather stay awake, Y/N?" He asked, rubbing his chin with his fingers. Your eyes wandered towards Taehyung, your breathing staggering when he gave you a comforting nod. You gulped, looking at the small painting that you had been admiring since you stepped foot in the office.

"Nightmares. Bad ones that make it seem so real, I-I don't wanna sleep. I think I've started to have those sleep episodes again." You answered as honestly as you could. This was hard for you. Very hard. Just as you thought you were getting better, everything seemed to be relapsing. 

Taehyung's eyebrows furrowed. Not in confusion. Not in surprise. But with concern. He always wondered why you painted at night and slept in the morning. Now he knew that you worked so hard just to tire yourself out so that exhaustion could take over. Because you wouldn't sleep willingly at all.

It was such a shame he didn't figure this out. He just wanted to help you. He really wished you'd let him help you.

"Do you remember any of those dreams?" Asked Namjoon, writing down something in his notebook. Your hand found Taehyung's, begging for him to hold it firmly and tell you it's okay. You had specifically requested for someone to be with you during therapy, afraid that you'd spiral out of control if Taehyung or nan weren't with you.

You tried to recall any nightmares that you had recently, your mind only gathering bits and pieces. You shook your head. "It's all a blur. I just remember being in that dark house and seeing bloody ropes everywhere." You replied, sighing when Taehyung squeezed your hand. You could feel your heartbeat quickening, the fear finding home in you again. And as much as you wanted to just get over it, you knew this session was far from over. 

Namjoon hummed, gliding his pen across the paper before closing the book and looking at you with hesitant eyes. You could feel your hands become clammy, your thoughts catching onto his. He was gonna say something you didn't wanna hear.

"I suggest we try PE once again." 

You immediately shook your head, sitting up straighter and mumbling 'no' again and again. You yanked your hand away from Taehyung, running your fingers through your hair. Namjoon placed the notebook beside him and leaned towards you with his arms stretched forward with caution.

"Y/N, just listen to me. We need to know where you stand in this situation and Prolonged Exposure is the best way to do it." He prompted, earning another firm NO from you. Taehyung decided to step in, his head turning towards Namjoon as he gave him a knowing look. Namjoon nodded in response and stood up, leaving the room without any noise. Even though this should be embarrassing for him, he didn't think much of it. Kim Taehyung was a rock for you besides Nan. At times when Namjoon had failed to convince you, Taehyung had done it. And Namjoon was sure Taehyung would do it now too.

You felt Taehyung's hands on your cheeks as he turned your face towards him. Your eyes were already teary at the thought of reliving that painful memory. Sort of reliving.

You placed your hands on Taehyung's, not paying attention to his words at all.

"Tae, listen to me, I can't do this. I don't- I don't wanna do this, tell him..-"

"Baby, hush. Look at me…"

You stopped talking, your lips quivering as you listened to his attempt at comforting you.

"Breathe. Just breathe." 

You swallowed thickly, focusing your attention on your breathing. You closed your eyes and took in deep breaths, feeling the way your heart calmed down. 

"Y/N. Tell me. Don't you wanna stop worrying about all this?" 

You pursed your lips, not being able to answer him. You didn't need to, anyway. Because who would say no to that question? Certainly not you.

"Don't you wanna just...live?" You looked away from his brown eyes, his hands still firmly cupping your cheeks. After a second of silence, you nodded. Taehyung smiled and brushed your hair away from your forehead.

"Do this. Not for me. Not for Nan but for yourself. Because you wanna live." He said, pulling his hands away and standing up. As much as you wanted to argue, you couldn't. He was right. Taehyung was always right.

"I'll let Namjoon know." Taehyung announced, taking a step forward towards outside the room when your hand held his wrist. You were still hesitant and unprepared. Could you even come out alive?

It's just a recording, you told yourself. 

Taehyung sighed and crouched down to your eye level, bringing your hand up to his lips. He softly kissed your fingers before smiling at you.

"I swear on my life, Y/N. You'll be fine." He assured you, your hand finally letting go of his wrist. You watched him leave, the back of his blue shirt disappearing behind the black door.

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, nodding to yourself as an indication that you were ready.

____________________________________________

Namjoon looked at you, his fingers hovering over the play button on the small black recording device. You knew all about the process of prolonged exposure therapy.

You were gonna be made to listen to a recording from the time when you had narrated the whole incident to Namjoon for the first time. The last time you did this, you were screaming after you heard yourself utter four sentences. It was painful, really. And you never wanted to go through it again but you understood that this was important for you.

You glanced at the door once, your heart sinking on the realisation that Taehyung wasn't gonna be here to get you through this. This was a one to one session and Taehyung wasn't allowed inside with you.

You sighed and gave Namjoon a small nod, clenching your fists and leaning back on the plush couch. You heard a faint click before a buzz echoed through the silence of the room.

"It's 11:02 AM and I am at my third session with Y/N Y/L/N."

You huffed, closing your eyes immediately to prevent any further panic. Your heart was slowly picking up its pace. It wasn't full on pounding yet so that was a good sign.

"Y/N, tell me everything from the start. What happened on the evening of 31st December 2014?"

You squirmed in your seat, letting out shaky breaths as memories from that day came back to you.

"Well...I was walking back home from a party that I really wanted to attend. Taehyung had offered to drop me off but I didn't want him to leave the party because of me so I turned him down."

You kept mumbling to yourself that you were okay. Despite the goosebumps rising on your skin, you told yourself that you were okay. Just a little longer and you'd be out soon.

"It was quiet on the streets and my phone was dead. I couldn't call my dad because of it and I had to reach home soon. It was time for my curfew so I decided to take a shortcut."

A soft whimper left your mouth, your fingers fisting around the fabric of your t-shirt. Namjoon's eyes were fixed on you, taking in your body language throughout and drawing conclusions about your mental health. Your eyes were becoming warm, the tears making themselves visible.

"It was a dark alleyway and we were always told to avoid it, considering the number of girls who had been abducted from there. But I didn't have a choice. Dad would have killed me if I came home even a minute late."

You heard the crack in your voice, reminding you how much you had struggled to get the story out. The images of that night began to reopen in your mind, sending your heart into a spiral.

"I walked as fast as I could until I was almost at the end. I saw my house in the distance and that's when I began running. But it wasn't because I was late. It was because I could hear another set of footsteps behind me."

You gasped, shooting your eyes open when you recalled the next moment. Your lungs burned and tears streamed down your cheek.

"Y/N. No one is here to hurt you now. Just a little longer. You're doing great." Namjoon assured, his voice somewhat offering you peace. 

"I was about to scream when a hand clamped down on my mouth. After that, I don't remember anything until I woke up in a dark room-"

"No...Stop it! Not...just stop it right now!" You yelled, your voice shaking as you clawed at your ears. Namjoon immediately pushed the stop button, the door swinging open to reveal a panicked Taehyung. You buried your face in your hands, your ragged breathing filling the room. Taehyung rushed to you, his hands rubbing your back as he sat down beside you.

You forced yourself to look up, your hands shakily reaching out to Taehyung's as you let him hug you. His scent had you calming down, your heart slowly falling back to it's rhythm. 

"You did amazing, Y/N. Last time, you didn't even do half of where you reached today." Namjoon praised, showing you his dimpled smile. Your head rested on Taehyung's chest and you smiled weakly at Namjoon.

You wiped away your tears and sniffled, watching as your doctor sat in his chair and began writing something on a notepad.

"I'm changing your meds. There are three pills this time. You need to take them once daily. Don't forget them at all. And yes, these are to be taken with water, not alcohol." Namjoon stated firmly, giving you a small glare as you hide your face in Taehyung's chest. As if you were gonna listen to him.

The ride home was quiet, seeing as you spent your entire time recalling your therapy session. You somehow got through it for the day. But what were you gonna do next week? 

You turned your eyes to Taehyung who was focused on driving the car. His jaw clenched occasionally, his tongue wetting his lips from time to time. It was a shame that a man like him was here next to you.

Taehyung was everything good whereas you were everything bad. You were broken beyond repair, hopeless, heartless and selfish. There were so many ways to describe you but you didn't have the motivation to put yourself down. 

The car came to a halt and you weakly pushed open the door to get out. You sighed, squinting in the sunlight on seeing your house. The big brick mansion stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of the green expanse of the countryside. Your house wasn't that far from the city but it was a good 45 minutes drive.

You followed Taehyung inside your house, your feet automatically taking you to your bedroom as Taehyung engaged in a conversation with Nan. You were pretty sure it was gonna be about your little incident today. You rolled your eyes, trudging towards your closet. You dug through your clothes, trying to choose the comfiest outfit you owned before settling for an old but big t-shirt with baggy shorts. You turned around after tossing the clothes on your shoulder, your eyes meeting the eyes of the man in your painting. 

He looked so at peace, it made you envious. Maybe you should have been a painting too. You wouldn't have to worry about life's problems at all. 

"You're lucky, you know. All you have to do is sit there while I have to go through fits of existential crisis every day." You complained, throwing him a pointed look before heading to the bathroom.

The hot water was a relief for your aching muscles. You could feel all your worries being washed away as the water cascaded down your body. You spent twenty minutes cleaning yourself up. You loved taking showers but today was just not your day. You just wanted to lay around all day with nothing to think about.

What a treat that would be!

Wrapping the fluffy towel around your body, you stepped out of the stall and stood in front of the mirror after opening the door to your bathroom. The steam had fogged up the mirror, your hand wiping it away to slowly unravel your reflection. But it wasn't just you anymore.

Your eyes widened when they met his, a gasp following soon after.

Park Jimin stood behind you with a smirk on his plump lips and a devious look in his eyes.

Taglist: @csol16 @thanksforthemameries @min-t-posts @xanny91 @silverstitchedsoul @truestrengths @jackgot7lo @jazzytfw @cassiescarlet12

@kpopgirlbtssvt @slut-for-fandoms @kawaiimusiccollection @butwhatsoft @baby-glitch @wickedbutlovely @siphite @vincent-stargogh @sarcasticsmolstiles @khantij @btsarmysvtcarat @pr1nc355y05h1 @sugasheart @yoongass @smolwriterdude @iamcrazyforkdramas @roseofmyst

3 AM and tumblr is being a bitch..... I'm so tired. Anyway, sorry if I forgot to tag someone! Lemme know if you wanna be tagged and tell me if you liked this chapter! Ily 💖

-XX

[kidmachinate]

Sometimes, You Need Help Standing Back Up

Before I get into what this post now is, let me explain what it was. Similar to posts I’ve made, this was gonna be either a tragedy or thought masked in imagery/gaming/song references. I don’t think this is a shock to anyone, especially to a anyone that knows me. It was gonna be a quote that led into being a “gray rock” with some but not all context provided. This would be looped back around into using a pebble in Bloodborne to kill an enemy. Going through the long grueling process of doing that so I can be like, hey, I did it. Here’s the problem. It stems from an issue I have, an issue that some kind of outside validation is needed. Like hey, I did the thing. Crazy, given I try so hard to be a pillar of hope and inspiring to others. People don’t see what I deal with though inside and I’m tired. Very, very tired. So, this post will go in a different direction. To point at the only person there is to blame for all this. Me.

I have an addiction to toxic relationships. It’s true. Or maybe to fixing others. Is there a term for this? Call me crazy if you will but it is the truth. It’s not drinking, it’s not drugs, it’s not whatever else we commonly speak of…but I promise it is as real as it gets. I read this before making this post. Somehow...it doesn't make me feel better. This is without therapy. These are my thoughts of where it all stems from and why I cling to it whether it be in regard to friends, family, or partners. I will be bringing this up next session and seeing what I can do about it because I need help. Badly. More than Red Warrior needing food. Because my thought is always, I can see that in me. I too am not perfect. I can fix it! No…I fucking can’t.

When I entered a certain period in high school, I was slipping in both the relationship I had at the time by taking on a damaged partner and really dropping the ball on my grades. Said partner was always picked on. I get that since I too was mostly an outcast at school and not one of the "cool kids" as I say to this day. Before someone gets the wrong idea, let’s drop a hint. I got with this unnamed person which apparently held me back from many others I could have pursued, or so I was told. Oops. It wasn’t a crucial relationship in my life by any means, but I wish you peace…wherever you are. I knew I COULD do good and get the grades. My mind just needed to be right. I asked my parents for help. I specifically said the following and I verified this to make sure I didn't remember this incorrectly:

“I think I need help”

They only saw the report card and were like, hey, let’s get him a math tutor. That isn’t the help I was seeking. I asked a few more times, providing more and more context each time. It wasn’t long before I realized I wasn’t being taken seriously. I folded. These are patterns that continued on and on. Over and over again. I would see a math tutor for months. Bless her heart, I wouldn’t have passed math without her. I was slipping in other subjects as well. I worked hard senior year just to graduate. To prove I could. That I was “good enough” to my parents. Looking back, did school really matter? That’s a whole other conversation. Always having to look good for someone. That is technically what school teaches you. To be a good employee. Not an entrepreneur. To take orders.

Is this why it all occurs as it does and I carried it over to every aspect of my life? I don't know. It is my theory. I'll be talking about this with my therapist. In the later years, before Dad's passing, he started to understand why I was defiant at times. Did things differently. Still got jobs done even if not the way he said for the family business. Got zero complaints running the business in his absence. Told you I could do it. He understood. Miss the hell out of you Dad.

The thing is all of this led to me never at any point in time opening up enough to lay out boundaries. This was my mistake time and time again. Any attempt at showing emotion I would shut myself down. My Dad never caved and I'm in a spanish family. Gotta be a MAN! Can't go showing emotion and shit. What an old concept. I'm glad we're starting to change the narrative on that in the world. At times when I would try to make my feelings and/or attempts at boundaries in relationships that lasted long enough for this to matter, it would be shut down in favor or what was going on in their lives. That's fair. Let's ride this wave together. But then my scenario got overlooked. Constantly. Before the no contact suggestion comes, while I get it, it still doesn't solve the me mystery. I seek answers.

This all was my fault. If someone gets mad upon setting a boundary or opening up about feelings, that is probably a sign they were benefitting from you not having one. But how is one to know if it was never stated? I tried more than once but eventually caved, like I did back in high school. I'd brush it off and be like this is fine because I believed in the potential (another mistake) of insert any relationship here. Some didn't last long enough for this to matter but the ones that did took their toll. I could have done better. I'm trying to in the last few months and results have been quite telling. Regardless of what I discover with others, I still need to fix me.

What else is there to say? Not much. So how do we cope? We laugh. We acknowledge. We even make fun our ourselves. I used this before. I found my kirby.

I might lose some people after making this public. The thing of all this is the details don't matter and there is so much that will likely forever go unsaid. I've got a support group for that. The signs were there in each scenario and I stayed. The hard part is still wanting to care and also not letting the scenarios convert to hate and being jaded...and it is really...fucking...hard. I felt myself shifting towards hate so I needed to pull back. I'm scheduling my next appointment soon because I can focus on me without outside scenarios. If I haven't lost you, thanks. This is the most vulnerable post I've made on here. Possibly ever. We shall see. Intent matters, sure. But sometimes, you too, can be the toxic one.

If the healer dies, the raid goes to shit. Time to heal myself and get my shit together. Again.

[leoninapelliolovesconchitawurst]

ENGLISH TRANSLATION (by me)

N.TV.DE 25/10/19

https://www.n-tv.de/leute/musik/Ich-bin-schon-wieder-von-mir-gelangweilt-article21329808.html

Tom, Conchita or Wurst?

"I'm bored of myself again"

In 2014, Conchita Wurst wins the Eurovision Song Contest in Copenhagen, as it has never before. In gilded robe, with long hair and full beard, she performs the anthem "Rise Like A Phoenix" and can inspire fans of the Eurovision Song Contest (ESC) worldwide. Since then, she has been an integral part of the gossip columns, although - or because - her look and gender identity have changed since then.

When Thomas Neuwirth was born in Austria, she now wants to be referred to as "he" again and only be called Wurst. Under this name, "Truth Over Magnitude" is now the third album of the singer, who previously performed rather as a singing drag queen. With his 2018 outing as an HIV-positive Wurst once again hit the headlines and was praised by many for his courage and his openness. He too does not see himself as a victim. Rather, he is one of the recipients, as he tells in an interview with n-tv.de. And he also explains why Heidi Klum has in his eyes quite the right to moderate on the side of him and Bill Kaulitz just a show for drag queens.

n-tv.de: You just introduced yourself to me as Tom, your album appears under the name Wurst, for a while you were Conchita or Conchita Wurst. Does it depend on your daily form or rather on the respective stage of life?

Wurst: You can really rely on nothing, right? (laughs) I'm always tempted to explain myself when I'm asked that question, and of course I want to give a good answer for everyone to be satisfied. But I'm afraid that answer does not exist. There are moments when Conchita is appropriate. Then there are moments when I would not call myself Conchita. There is no rule. If you're writing Conchita, it's just as correct as writing Wurst or Tom.

In the end, it's wurst (not important) - an ambiguous sentence somehow. At the very least, your album "Truth Over Magnitude" will appear under this name, which is far less glamorous than the title, the music or even you.

In fact, Wurst was a second. I'm a visual person, and we knew "Trash All The Glam" would be the first single. I saw the video in front of me and knew that I had to go down the escalator and stand there like an exit sign "Wurst". Suddenly everything was clear. Absurdly, looking back, Conchita Wurst sums me up perfectly. I have a side that is very glamorous, polished, friendly, polite and considerate. And then I have a page that is irrational, eaten away by ego. I can be terrible to the people I love.

That's the Wurst side?

This is the Wurst page. I started to separate that. As Conchita to be the president's wife and to live according to the protocol that I came up with. That's how I totally reduced myself. I understood that now. Now I'm getting everything I have. If I feel like it, I'm hyperfeminine, whatever that means. Or I am just masculine.

How do other people react to you? Are you exposed to hostility because of these traits?

I am an absolute lucky child, I had a great childhood. We were all teenagers, that's difficult, no matter if you wear braces or are gay. Something is always found. So far I have had no traumatizing encounters with people. So I can not really speak of what it means to feel threatened, because I never had to.

You have called your album "Truth Over Magnitude". Is that a kind of life motto? Your mantra?

That's something I had to learn or still learn. Being able to dose my own ego a bit, being a bit more sensitive - with myself too. As a bearded drag queen, I won the ESC and pinned it to my chest, individualism is great. I often came into the situation that I thought, why I do not actually listen to myself. Why do not I kill what I say? Why do I care so much what others say about me? And I think I've learned that over the past year and a half and reduced it to a large extent. I love being uncompromising myself. Now even more than before. And that is also this album. Had I been able to write it myself, I would have done it.

Again, you are more honest than many others who claim to make their music single-handedly.

I've teamed up with the most talented people in my environment, Eva Klampfer and Albin Janoska. She wrote the lyrics and tunes and he produced the album. That was so liberating and so beautiful. Eva knows a lot more about me than she ever wanted.

So you - like a therapist - told her about you, about your life, about your topics, and then she put that into song form?

It really was a bit of a therapy session. We talked about the world, how we see things that happened to me, how I feel that, how I put it. For me it was incredibly exciting, but also the way she works.

You've done glamorous pop music so far, "Truth Over Magnitude" is definitely more electronic. Why did you take this step?

My musical education ranges from Celine Dion to Björk. I always wanted to be Celine Dion and have achieved that a bit in my world. Then I thought: why do not I make the music that I also hear privately? And so the decision of the music style was already there. I wanted it to be closer to what I consume privately.

What other artists are there, who have influenced you in this regard?

A bit of Robyn, a bit of Moloko, a touch of Massive Attack ... that was about the Mood Board. What I found totally cool, is what Albin did: I pick up things that come to my mind in an irregular pattern on my laptop. Echo, Hall, I sing and yell something in there. I gave him everything and he swapped my voice samples, pitched and trallala. This is how a special sound was created.

So you were almost your own instrument?

Yeah, I take over. (Laughs)

You like to reinvent yourself. At some point - for example - do you ever have the feeling of having arrived?

I am already bored of myself again. What could I do now? I have been able to do a lot of new things in the near past, which has already inspired me a lot. I'm curious how this evolves.

Let's talk about it. You moderate at the side of Heidi Klum and Bill Kaulitz the Prosieben show "Queen of the Drags". Did you understand the criticism of the LGBTQ community of the decision to put Klum on the jury?

I can understand that it irritates at first glance. But I was also very surprised, because that was revealing of our community, which always insists on integration. I thought that was a pity and had to let me explain the problem first. I think Heidi has the absolute right to be on a jury that judges entertainment. She can. She has been in this business long enough.

And with Heidi Klum on the jury, you may also reach more people outside the LGBTQ cosmos. Do you think that such a show can open doors in this way?

I hope so. Of course, because Heidi is a multiplier for a format that did not exist in German-speaking countries. I want to have a great show, great performances, but I also think that this show has the potential to show people who are loveable and open hearts. That would be the most important thing to me. I'm not concerned that anyone understands something or suddenly finds it great, but that he sees that we are all human. We all have the same problems, the same uncertainties. Let's stop diverging.

Nicole Ankelmann spoke with Tom Neuwirth aka Wurst

[shxxtingstarss]

therapy no. 26

today was intense. not in a good way though. I don't know if typing out today's therapy session and my thoughts and feelings of the last hours/days will work because I've spent last night crying all the time, started early in the evening, woke up and started crying again and have only stopped crying for a few hours after my therapy session today. Currently I'm so exhausted from it I can kinda hold the tears back that are still coming / am not strong enough to keep on crying.

When we started today's session, I sat in my chair at my therapist's office and I was already crying when he sat down in his chair in front of me. I only managed to get to the v17 before the therapy session because I opened up to a friend (Jerom) about how bad I was and he offered to call me. He actually missed a work meeting so he could help me, which is kinda unreal for me, because this is the support I needed all my life and I was never able to get it (or to ask for it in the last few years). I managed to calm down by talking to him and could leave the house almost on time to still get my coffee before my therapy session (kind of a ritual now, I usually take my pre-therapy-notes there, this time I already had done them in the last few days, couldn't use them anyways because I was so... done).

My therapist asked me what caused me to cry continuously since yesterday evening and my answer was pretty chaotic, as was my mind of course. F left for a week of holiday yesterday in the morning and before that, I kinda had a good time with him again and it was just like always, we know each other very well of course, he gets me and I get him and we just spent monday evening laughing and chatting on the couch while he looked at profiles of ppl on dating apps and we had very common opinions on their taste of music, hobbies, their description of themselves etc. We also had a fun time in bed afterwards (which was a rare occasion in the last weeks/months) and it was just really nice. Then he left on tuesday morning and I woke up feeling rly groggy already, pretty sure a good part of it was because of my way-too-intense run on monday (still have sore muscles from it today, just went full power after months of no training..bad idea I know) and because of PMS, but the day got worse and worse and at some point in the evening I realised how helpless, lonely and sad I felt and will feel without him and all of a sudden I just couldn't imagine myself moving out and living without him, even though I was pretty sure of it being a good idea a few days ago. I just can't imagine it anymore, for two reasons, one being him and how much I actually love him and am happy to spend time with him and laugh with him and give him gifts or make up with him after a fight or I don't know, even though I was really annoyed and stressed of all of this for the last few weeks and I know that he was too. And the other reason was because I absolutely can't imagine living on my own right now. Not because of the living part, I know I can do that, but I am horribly terrified of the being-alone part, the having no one to go to for a hug or talk to because I need some kind of stability/support/a hold in life, and he gave me that. I know that it's a lot for him to give me that and to endure the mess I was for the last few months, we talked about all of that a lot, and he also emphasized on how it is hard for him that he never knows which version of me he'll get when I come home - I don't really understand that part and I thought/think that it is harder for him to be supportive and to endure how bad I feel for a long time sometimes. Have to talk about that part a lot more with him if we want to get back together into a partnership. I know that a lot has to change in order of our relationship to work out better for both of us and that it means a lot of work for both of us and that we kinda have no future together at the moment because we have very different plans for our future, but right now I just can't imagine going on without him. I don't really know if I want to be with him in a romantic way, I also don't really know if I can be attracted to him again/to men, because at the moment I am not, but I would def do stuff that I'm not exactly keen on doing out of love to him... might not be the right thing to do either, I don't know what to do or think, I am just severely overwhelmed at the moment.

I did not really talk about all of that in today's therapy session, I only mentioned headlines of it, and my therapist asked me if I wanted to take a closer look at my insecurity about the relationship together 'with him. I hesitated because it felt kinda dangerous and it was all too much already, but then I agreed to do so. We then actually took a closer look to what I feel like and why I might feel like that in that moment, and as soon as I managed to think about it a bit, I realised the anxiety-ridden thoughts I had about being too much or about people leaving me because they're annoyed of me or whatever all stem from my past experiences with my parents, from all my childhood basically. And that the extreme level of fear I experienced in the last hours is actually fear of death, "Todesangst" in German, the most threatening and maybe the strongest fear there is, because that is what got engraved into my nervous system as a child when I was threatened to be left alone, given away, that I was too much etc., and because as a child you are very much dependent on your mother or caregiver(s) (even if they only gave the bare minimum of care) you have to fear death when you're facing the threat of losing them. This is what got activated in my system, this is why I feel so absolutely horrendous and helpless. Great. And because I never experienced being secure/having stability or stable humans that reassure you and keep you safe as a child, it's very hard for me to even see that there are humans out there that want to give me security in some way, and even harder to accept that offer, because I kinda have to fight my fear of death in order to actually open up to them because I am so afraid of losing them. In my teenage years I first experienced some sense of security when I was hospitalized and a few of the nurses were really caring and helpful, I felt save and kinda 'sheltered' there for a moment, only to doubt myself and their kindness afterwards because I thought they didn't do it because they wanted to/they didn't really like me..etc. There were a few more situations like this one during my journey through the social security system. And now I realise I forgot to mention that I did feel safe and secured and until last year also very stable in my relationship with F, but now everything's crumbling apart and maybe that is one main reason why I do feel this bad - I'm threatend with the loss of my greatest and most important security/stability in life.

This definitely feels life threatening and now I truly understand why my therapist used the word "fear of death" (before that he asked me what kind of fear it actually is/what I have to fear, what I answered was "this might sound exaggerated but it's kind of a existence-threatening fear" and he then said "I'd actually go one step further and say it's fear of death"). Now it also makes sense in the context of him first asking if we wanted to take a closer look to my relationship-inner-chaos as in relationship to F, until now I didn't see where we talked about that, but we did. I fear death because I fear losing F.

Well, this is really fucked up and obviously really overwhelming. I don't think I can remember more details of today's session, had a few more realisations about how my relationship fell apart over the last year and I'll just let that sink in now (together with the tears sinking into my pillow).

[jesshightown]

Had another therapy session the other day. Since the last one and she completely opened the floodgates, I've never felt so much better. So being able to speak to her this time, I felt like the rational side of my brain was working as it should be. Leaman was the one crying. Going through memories of being at the hospital.

Anyway, it felt good for me. Being able to speak without crying. We have our last session booked for the 30th July. The day before my Christmas party. I know, funny right. Christmas party in July. But since covid was ruined our ways of life, work booked our Xmas party for when things returned to normal. I'm so nervous. This will be the first time seeing everybody since, well you know. The baby.

It's not that I'm scared to talk to people, but I'm scared they won't want to talk to me. Avoid the big elephant in the room. I really am OK to talk about what happened if people ask or want to know. It's only when I talk to my mum or my therapist is when I get emotional. Grieve in private. The mask comes down to hide my pain and only stick with facts when talking to people. I'm awkward at social gatherings. I always feel out of my comfort zone. But once I've warmed up to the environment, that's when I start to have fun. I want to have fun. Leave the responsibilities of life, loss and grief at the door, just forget for a few hours and just have fun. I just worry about other people and what they'll think of me if they see me smiling and dancing away when I just lost my daughter. But the pain and grief is still there. I just don't want them thinking I'm a bad person for leaving that shit at the door for a few hours.

Best thing about the therapy is, I spoke of my jealousy about the others having their babies. I told her it made me feel like a horrible person for feeling that even though God, I'm so happy they have their babies and they arrived safely. Once I voiced it out loud, I felt better because she explained to me that it's 0k to feel jealousy and that it doesn't make me a bad person but just the fact that my grief is still new and raw. Once we discussed it, I felt miles better and haven't felt that jealousy since. Thank god. Its nice to see them posting pictures on Facebook. They're all so gorgeous. I do miss what I could have had but I know everything happens for a reason. I come to accept that and sometimes I fall back into the grief. But I guess it will be that way for a long time. I just have to accept that, that's the way my life will be for a long time. So, I guess it's okay to not be okay and not have a "good day". Vanessa the therapist wants to know why I claim crying over McKenzie is classed as a "bad day". She explained it's letting it all out and although when you cry, you feel like utter shite, having a shower and washing that shit away, you feel much better because you've unloaded the weight you're carrying around. The reality is, I'll never get over this, I'll never fully heal and I'll never stop thinking about her. So I can't move on, but I guess now it's time to move forward. The only thing that scares me about that is, time is moving me further and further away from her. Her memory.

They say that we remember certain memories because they're connected to deep emotion. Whether be happy, sad, scared, angry etc. But the feel of her in my belly, in my arms when she passed away, all those horrible feelings and memories, time is taking me further away from HER. When she was a person. Now, she sits next to the tv in her beautiful urn so what's left of her... Which isn't much, is with me but her in person. She's gone. At times, it's really hard to accept that.

I don't bother talking to Leaman because he has enough trouble with the daughter he has. So once again, he sticks his head in the sand, thumb up his arse and makes no effort at all. So now I have his ex wife contacting me to discuss shit because obviously he "tries" but not hard enough. I haven't told him this but I agree with her. 100%. I guess it's different between mums and dads. So Katy, his ex wife and I are going to try and get him to see his daughter. Not that he doesn't want to. To be fair, lately it's been a clash of schedules, but she is a teenager and yes, when she's made plans to come here, she's made arrangements elsewhere with her friends and Katy is the one contacting him having a pop because he should be making arrangements. I did tell her that he has tried but she has flaked out on him the last 3 times he's tried to see her but yes I agree, if you need to see your kid, you move hell on earth to make that happen. But hey, what do I know?! 🤷‍♀️ I'm just nagging at him. So now I don't say anything to him. What's the point? His noncommittal responses and constantly defending himself that's its not him just pisses me off. I got my own issues and shit to deal with. Funny, you would think though after losing his baby daughter that he would be more, I dunno, more attentive towards the kids he does have. But again, what do I know?

Time to lock this shit down for the night. Dominic finishes year 2 on Wednesday, he's scared and a little nervous so I focus is solely on that boy right there.

Oh, it was so funny on sports day. Every day I tell him, its not about winning or losing but taking part and having fun. Which is true. However, 🤣, when he was getting ready to race in his competitions, inside I was thinking, gone on son, beat those other little shits!! 🤣🤣🤣 OMG I knew I was competitive, for me. But for that, I was busting out laughing. Even so, even if he lost, I would have still cheered him on and made sure he knew he did an excellent job. But yes, I, unfortunately, am one of those mums!!!! I can still picture the scene now. On the outside and I'm smiling and clapping for all of them (AND I WAS) but on the inside, whoa...!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣 Well he won 3 out of his 5 races. I was so proud of him. I would and am proud of him regardless, but for him, it was a confidence boost. You could see it clear as day once he won the first one, he was geared up for the next race.