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pricklerick · 4 years

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Thanksgiving used to be Summer’s favorite holiday.

It meant spending two whole nights with Jerry’s parents and waking up early and going for a long walk in the snow, then peeling off wet clothes just in time to watch the dog show on TV while grandma baked pumpkin pie.

Things are different now, with Grandpa Rick and Morty gone. Dad, of course, had instantly accused Grandpa Rick of kidnapping Morty. Mom had screamed that her father would never do something like that to his family, to her (even know Summer knows that deep down, her mother was very afraid that Grandpa Rick had done exactly that).

The divorce was so ugly that Summer transferred to a school in Texas, losing a bunch of her class credits just to get away from them.

Texas is good. Well, it’s hot, and Summer’s skin hates that, but the people are nice and her classes are easy, and if she stays within a certain neighborhood, she can find whatever she wants without having to edge over to the east side of town.

She even has a finance. David plays football and his parents own a ranch in the Texas hill country. They have a little money and they like to flaunt it.

Years ago, before Grandpa Rick burst into Summer’s life and started taking her little brother on adventures, before portal guns and real guns and near death experiences became Summer’s adrenaline fix, she would have been thrilled to nail down a guy like David. David is kind, and sweet, and very attractive. He’s got a good future and he’s looking at being scouted as quarterback next year.

Summer’s ring is a gaudy thing, at least two carats, and it sits heavy on her finger. She only wears it when she knows she’ll be with David or the in-laws. It’s an heirloom ring, passed down through generations, and Summer hates it. She’s forever fiddling with it, or pulling her sleeve down to cover it, or hiding it in her back pocket when she’s out with girl friends.

She doesn’t go out as often anymore - they’re seniors now, and Summer has been told that the partying needs to slow down now that David’s future is getting serious. Summer is fine with this. There’s nothing on this earth that matches a party in space, anyway.

Sometimes, Summer looks up at the night sky and wonders how she could get her hands on some of Grandpa Rick’s K-Lax. That was good stuff.

It’s easy to justify spending Thanksgiving away from home because of travel expenses and final exams. Summer’s done it three years in a row now. She doesn't often think of Beth, or of Jerry, either. She’s deeply entrenched in a new family now, invested in a future mother-in -law who insists on being called “Mama June” or even just “Mama,” and an emotionally detached father-in-law who feels that talking to a woman who is not his wife is beneath him.

Summer is spending more and more time outside, looking at the stars, wishing, remembering.

But this week, the week before break, at 2:43 am, Summer’s phone screen lights up with a call from “Beth Smith.” And when Summer, groggy and maybe already a little hungover, answers with a hoarse, “Hello?” Beth is slobbering drunk.

“Honey, please,” Beth cries, slurring her words and hitching her breaths. “I need to see my baby, Summer. It’s Thanksgiving, next week. Summer, remember? Remember Thanksgiving? You... You’re all I have left.”

Yeesh.

Summer does not want to spend her break dealing with Beth and all of her sloppy-alcoholic coping mechanisms.That’s why she’d run away to Texas to begin with.

Summer hasn’t been home since the night they lost Morty.

She doesn’t want to go back. So she shushes Beth over the phone, lets her cry it out and then they start it all again, the crying and the shushing, over and over until Beth is nearly asleep, slurring half-formed words into her pillow.

Summer disconnects the call and drops her face into her hands. “Fuck.”

“What, babe?”

Ugh, she’d forgotten that David had stayed over.

David wraps his greedy arms around Summer’s waist and pulls her in, his naked boner brushing hot against her thigh. It makes her sick. She pulls away from him, leaning against the headboard and fumbling for the lamp. Beside her, David blinks owlishly in the light.

“I’m going home for Thanksgiving,” she tells him. No sense dragging it out.

“Oh,” says David, reaching up to stroke Summer’s cheeks and twine his fingers in her hair. Summer tenses at this, but David is oblivious, still carding his big stupid paws though Summer’s shower-damp braids and looking at her with an intensity that is frankly... terrifying. “What about coming back to Pilot Point, babe?,” he reminds her and he leans forward in an effort to pepper Summer’s face with kisses. Summer dodges them, making a show of reaching for her phone, so David grabs her hand instead. “Remember talking about seeing my folks?”

Summer is suddenly disgusted with herself. She ran away from home straight into the arms of this Mama’s boy who can hardly keep it up for the four and a half minutes it takes him to blow his load in missionary position.

Summer is a Sanchez.

She’s wondered for a while, especially after that stunt Dad pulled during the divorce, if she should have her name legally changed. She shares a quarter of Grandpa Rick’s genes, and by her rights as a Sanchez, the universe owes her good sex.

At least.

“Sorry, David,” she says and she deftly rolls away from him to stand at the edge of their shared bed. “Plans have changed. Mom needs me.”

Now David is sitting up, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that Summer doesn’t like. Oh well. In for a penny, she guesses.

“Listen, dude, this isn’t working anyway. I’m not the hot little wifey on your arm that your parents are hoping you’ll find here.” She snorts, pacing around the bedroom, ticking off points on her fingers. “I don’t even want kids. I’m Summer Sanchez. I’ve been to space. I’ve seen the stars and constellations and comets and asteroids. I’ve met people you wouldn’t believe. I’ve met planets you wouldn’t believe - sentient planets, David! I’ve hit alien drugs that would blow your tiny mind.” She’s trembling now, all keyed up, but it feels good. There’s something cathartic about acknowledging the truth after so long.

She decides that Summer Sanchez has a nice ring to it.

She lifts her hands and twirls, landing in a heap at the foot of the bed. “The best sex I ever had was with a flying lamb on Oourivian Prime, for Chrissakes.” Summer turns, flushed and grinning, and pokes David in the chest. “You better believe I’m not settling down on a silly horse farm in Pilot Point!”

David is looking at her wide-eyed and slack-jawed, like he’s seeing her for the first time. The thought makes Summer smile a real smile. In a fit of giddiness, she pecks him playfully on the lips, sliding his ridiculous ring from her finger and curling it into his palm. “Good luck with that, babe!”

Feeling freer than she has in years, she flutters around the room, grabbing a few outfits that she likes and stuffing them haphazardly into an old gym bag. The whole thing takes less than a minute.

“Oh, and don’t take it too hard,” she calls over her shoulder, “I don’t think we’re really all that sexually compatible, anyway.” She waves a hand toward the flagging erection that is peaking from David’s boxers. “I’m more of a tentacle kind of girl, if you know what I mean.”

And so, during the fall semester of her senior year, Summer Sanchez dropped out of Texas A&M’s pre-law program and flew home to see her mother for the first time in three years.

xxx

Morty enters through the front door because he’s not a stranger. He’s not exactly sure how long it’s been on Earth - time moves differently on Morty’s waste planet - but somehow, he hadn’t expected it to be night. It makes him feel like a burglar, walking up the concrete steps to the front door with his big black cowl pulled low over his face, a deeply ingrained habit.

“You’ve only got one face, Mo-AAAUURRGG-rty. Don’t get caught with it.”

The key code to unlock the door is the same. Morty sighs, surprised at the stress that leaves his body with this revelation. He hadn’t wanted to break into his parents’ home. Now, he doesn’t have to.

He whirls around, taking one last look at the ship he’d parked on the garage pad. He’d avoided the streetlamps best he could, managed to land very quietly (thanks for that rad auto-landing feature, Rick)partially concealed behind some overgrown azaleas.

Morty sighs, tense again. Modifications aside, that is obviously Rick’s ship to anybody who knows it. Morty hopes he can get what he needs and get out. It would be wrong to disturb whatever peace his family had managed to regain in the years he’s been gone.

The front door is squeakier than Morty remembers. He slips into the kitchen as quickly, quiet as a ghost, and pulls the door slowly to behind him.

His first thought is that he’d forgotten that home has a smell. Carpet and lemon pledge and laundry detergent, and the lingering scent of last night’s dinner all converge on his senses like a physical blow to the gut.

How could Morty have forgotten that smell?

He glances around, eyes adjusting to the dim light of the street lamps. A few scattered dishes lie in the sink, an empty wine bottle sits abandoned on the counter. He’s standing on the same ugly linoleum floor with its worn green leaf patten, so subtle you’d miss it if you didn’t know where to look.

Time hasn’t touched the kitchen.

Morty stands in his childhood home and takes three deep breaths. He thought he’d been prepared for anything and everything - all the changes. He’d been ready.

But the house is exactly the same.

It’s Morty who has changed.

Morty’s breathing speeds, and he shakes off the shudder that tempts to run down his spine. If the kitchen affected him this deeply…. He swings his gaze to the garage door that beckons ominously to his left.

Don’t think about it, he reminds himself sharply. The plan is simple - break into the garage, grab the stuff, and get out. There will be time for memories later.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about… him.

Morty shakes himself, setting his shoulders and pulling the heavy door handle toward him as he turns it to minimize noise. Unlike the kitchen, the swing of the garage door is silent.

The darkness deepens as Morty steps down the single step - there are no windows to let in the glow of the street lights here. The air is hotter and heavy, almost stale, and as Morty turns his back to the room to slowly pull the door to, he gets the strangest feeling. It’s almost the uneasiness he feels when he walks to the grave of the other Morty who is buried in the backyard. It raises the hairs on his neck, and Morty wonders if anybody in the family have used this garage since...

Don’t think about it.

Door secured and locked, Morty lets his fingers drift along the walls, his opposite hand outstretched in search of obstacles. But it seems that the garage is exactly as Morty remembers, and he navigates the dark with increasing confidence. He snags the dangling string - right where it should be - and tugs. The bare bulb that hangs over Rick’s work table pops and hums as it slowly blinks on, and Morty bites back a smile at the irony of the inter-galactic space genius Rick Sanchez discovering his greatest scientific breakthroughs beneath this dirty fluorescent bulb.

A thousand memories assault him at once.

“A hair, Morty, I need one of your hairs!”

“Bring me the thing. The thing. The thing. The -- the -- it's got, like, buttons on it and lights on it. It -- it -- it beeps.”

“You little son of a bitch! Y-y- are you a simulation?! Huh?! Are you a simulation??”

“I’m the Rickest Rick there is. And you know, it would - UUUURRGGHH- go without saying that the Rickest Rick… would have the Mortyest Morty.”

“Be better than I am.”

“Don’t… Don’t think about it.”

Morty sucks in a deep breath and grits his teeth hard. Time to get busy.

xxx

Three hours later, and Morty is almost done with the garage.

He glances at the digital clock that reads 3:33. By the time he gets this stuff loaded, it’ll be nearly daylight.

Damn, he’d really hoped to get everything in one trip. Fuel for a trip to Earth from his encampment is not cheap, and this was a long trip.

He picks up the first item, a strangely lightweight box labeled “Time Travel Stuff” and heads toward the kitchen. He dares not raise the garage door - that would make too much noise.

He opens the door and comes nose to nose with Summer.

“What. The fuck. Are you doing in my grandpa’s garage?” she says slowly, advancing on him with each word.

Morty’s first thought as he stumbles backward is, “Where did my sister get a pistol?”

He trips over the step in an effort to give her some space, sending the box flying. He finds himself sprawled on the floor, space bits everywhere, and his ass is killing him. “Ah, geez,” he breathes, repositioning slowly to take the pressure off of his coccyx. It’s probably broken.

Summer’s hands are trembling, and she lowers the gun. “Morty?”

Oh. His hood had fallen when he did. Morty looks up at her, a little sheepishly, suddenly very aware of the beard he’d decided to grow a while back. “Umm, yeah,” he says lamely, still wincing at the pain. “Hi!”

There’s a funny expression on Summer’s face, like she’s thinking a billion things at once, and her eyes are wider than Morty’s ever seen them. But then her gaze hardens. “And which one are you?” she demands, looking as if she’d like to bring the gun back to his head.

Morty raises his eyebrows. He wouldn’t have expected Summer to immediately question his dimension. Clever of her. He quirks a little smile. “C-137,” he answers her, trying and mostly failing to get back on his feet. “I’m your Morty. Well, your second Morty.”

Quick as a blink, Summer slings the gun away. It lands with a clatter and she launches herself at Morty, wrapping him in a rib-creaking hug. Morty’s body tenses - hugs are definitely not his typical physical interaction. But Summer is burying her face into the crook of his neck, and Morty is surprised to find how easily it fits there. When he’d left, they’d barely stood eye to eye.

Morty is stunned. Summer has never hugged him like this. Feebly, he reaches up and lays his hand across her back. She’s shuddering. So Morty pulls her closer, shifting his weight so that his knees are beneath him, and gathers her in. She allows this, never looking up at him, and slowly, Morty relaxes into it.

“Summer?” he asks softly after what feels like a long time. He’s never been good with his sister’s emotions.

Summer cranes her neck sideways to look at him, and she’s a mess of mascara and tears, red-faced and absolutely shaking with laughter. Morty huffs with her, still utterly bewildered by girls. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing’s funny, Morty,” she tells him, but she’s still laughing, so Morty laughs with her. “You’ve been gone for three years. You’ve been legally declared dead, you asshole!” She swats him on the shoulder, but he manages to doge the blow, which only makes her face fall. She comes closer, looking more tearful now than before, and settles beside him. “We had a fucking funeral for you, you complete sack of dicks!”

Morty doesn’t know what to say, so he grabs Summer’s hand and squeezes. “Sorry.”

And he is.

Summer rolls her eyes and snorts, but there’s something softer at the edge of her lips, and she lays her head on Morty’s shoulder and sighs. Morty assumes means he’s forgiven, at least on some level.

They only sit like that for a minute or so before Morty starts to fidget. His ass is absolutely killing him, and time’s a-ticking. He needs to get out of here soon. Summer seems to read the tension in his body, because she stands abruptly and offers her hand, pulling him to his feet with an exaggerated groan.

“Thanks,” he quirks her a little half-smile, the only thing he has to offer her.

But Summer isn’t looking at him. Her eyes are tracking around the garage, noting the boxes that have been drug out and packed up. Something tightens in her face, and when she speaks, it’s in that no-nonsense tone that always drove him up the wall when they were kids.

“What happened, Morty?” Summer finishes her sweep of the garage and pins her gaze on him.

Morty nearly stumbles back at the intensity of it.

“What happened to you? Where is Grandpa Rick?”

Authors Notes:

Based on Vapor Morty, who was originally developed in this hot mess of a text post. Rick’s been kidnapped and Morty has been scouring the universe trying to find him and doing a lot of learning and growing along the way.

Kidnapped Rick saw Morty “die” just before he was kidnapped and went crazy over it. Morty obviously wasn’t dead, was trying to get to Rick to say hey, I’m all good and these guys are after you so let’s get out of here.

Morty literally lives in an intergalactic dumpster and makes a living renovating and selling weapons and machinery. He found his way home to earth because he wants to find any of Rick’s stuff that he could possibly use to track him down, or maybe even build his own portal gun.

Basically, Morty is a little badass now.

I might write more of these little drabbles if people are interested in them. Also, just really hoping I got Summer’s voice right here. Feedback is always, always appreciated, friends! My messages and ask box are open!

#pricklerick original #rick and morty #vapor morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #rickorty #summer smith #i could pretty easily be convinced to dabble deeper into this au #so many vapor morty feelings #summer is my precious sunshine child

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spencers-dria · 4 years

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Trauma

Someone To Stay Ch. 9

Spencer x fem reader

It's been several weeks since Y/N and I started our weekly movie nights. After starting Harry Potter we decided that we would keep watching our way through the series until we finished them. Last week I was out of town on all of her days off, but tonight we get to watch our favorite together, Prisoner of Azkaban. Seeing as we both love Halloween, this doesn't come as much of a surprise.

Last time I had asked to borrow her Harry Potter cookbook. As a surprise I've been cooking pumpkin pasties. I normally don't do much cooking, but this was well worth it. Movie night has become incredibly casual, so i slip into some purple pajama pants and a black t shirt before driving to her apartment. We decided movie nights would all take place at her apartment, seeing as she had the nice TV with a decent sound system. I had previously spent almost all my time reading, so all I had was my mom's old TV tucked away in the corner, only used when I felt the need to binge Dr. Who.

It's not long before i'm knocking at her door, warm snacks ready to go. She opens the door and looks down with a huge grin.

"Are those what I think they are?"

I nod, glad to see she's excited about them. After a moment I notice a pleasant smell wafting from the kitchen.

"You made something too?" I peek my head into the kitchen hoping to discover the source of the scent.

Y/N pulls out two mugs topped with foam, smiling like a giddy little kid. We both take a sip, and I feel the warmth filling me up as I take in the drink that tastes like Autumn in a cup. I've never had butter-beer before, but this is perfect. I look up to see whipped cream coating Y/N's upper lip, and based on the laugh she's holding back, I would guess I am sporting the same foam mustache. We both bust out in laughter. Something about spending time with Y/N makes me feel like a kid again. I know I can share my knowledge with her and she actually encourages me to do it quite often. But she also makes me feel like I can be goofy and silly and just have fun. I had almost forgotten what that feels like.

After we each curl up on our end of the couch with blankets and pillows, I can't help but realize how happy I have been having her as a friend in my life. Something about this realization pulls my mind in the opposite direction, and I suddenly find myself remembering why happiness feels like such a long forgotten stranger...Maeve. The name had not crossed my thoughts in weeks. This realization leaves me with a guilt that sits like a pit in my stomach. Before I know it, I am no longer focused on my favorite Harry Potter movie, but am spiraling into a dark hole once again. I lose myself so far into my thoughts that I almost don't notice that Y/N has stopped the movie and is staring straight at me.

I turn to her. "What is it?"

Y/N furrows her brow, a deep look of concern filling her eyes.

"Spencer, you're crying."

"I am?" I reach up to feel the wet streaks left behind on my cheek. I hadn't even realized. Now not only have I been crying in front of Y/N, but she knows something is wrong. Knowing her, she won't let this go so easily. I also doubt she'll buy any lie I try to feed her. She may not be a profiler, but she sure knows when someone she cares about isn't being genuine with her.

Luckily, she must also know me better than I realize. She doesn't push me too hard for information. She scoots over to my side of the couch before laying a hand on my shoulder. I keep my eyes glued to my lap, avoiding eye contact as best I can. I'm afraid that if I look into her eyes now, I'll completely fall apart. Something about telling your friends about your trauma makes it very real, and I don't want to relive that day, not again.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm not sure..." I answer honestly.

Instead of pushing me, she moves her hand to rub my back as we sit there in silence. Something about the kindness of this gesture finally breaks me. I let my head fall into my hands as tears start streaming down my face, and I don't even bother trying to stop them. I can't hold this back anymore, not from someone who's become like a best friend to me.

We sit there just like that for several minutes, Y/N silently rubbing my back, me crying like a big baby. Part of me feels embarrassed, breaking down like this, but the other part is too tired from holding all of this back to even care anymore.

Finally, I think my body has run out of tears when I hear Y/N say "What can I do? What do you need?" It's so quiet I almost miss it.

"Her name was Maeve." I am surprised to hear the words leave my mouth. I glance over to Y/N to gauge her reaction, but she's only sitting there, listening patiently.

"I started getting these headaches. They became so crippling that they started affecting my work. It scared me because...well my mom is schizophrenic. I guess I have always been a little paranoid about showing symptoms. The doctors ran tests, labs, scans...everything they could think of. As a last resort I reached out to this geneticist. After a bit of correspondence, it wasn't difficult to see that she was brilliant. She seemed to enjoy keeping in touch, so we would write one another letters. We eventually started calling one another. But...she had a stalker. She didn't know who it was or what they wanted, but she was scared. That's why we wrote letters. And I only ever called her from telephone booths, never the same one twice. I ended up sharing a large part of my life with her... One time before hanging up the phone she even said "love you" like it was the most normal thing in the world. I never said it back, but even if what I felt was love I never got the chance to say it to her. Her stalker was a former grad student, and she got to Maeve before I could."

I stop and take in a deep breath, swallowing the growing lump in my throat before continuing.

" She shot herself in front of me, killing Maeve along with her. It was the first time I had ever seen her in person too. It happened a couple months ago. Every time I think i've moved on it feels like the pain starts all over again. I sometimes feel guilty for even trying to move on, for ever being happy."

Y/N doesn't say a word as she lets me speak. She just nods, taking in every word. After a couple minutes of silence, she lets out a large breath before finally opening her mouth to speak.

"Spencer, I can't pretend to even come close to understanding what you are going through. I wish I had the answers. I wish I could tell you when the pain will go away, but the truth is it will probably never fully leave you. Trauma has a way of sticking with us. We learn how to process it and cope with it more efficiently, but it's never truly gone. Now I can't pretend to know what Maeve would have wanted for you, but as your friend who's with you now I want to tell you its okay to be happy. Its also okay to not be okay sometimes. No one has it together all of the time. It's ok to talk about it, to cry about it, and there's no right or wrong time. Trauma has a way of sneaking up on us, triggering us when we least expect it. And whatever you need to be ok, whatever you need to do in order to deal with this, I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you. You can always call me if you need to talk or come over. Even if you just need a distraction from it, if you find yourself slipping into a dark place, you can call me, and we will talk about literally anything else or go find somewhere to grab dessert or watch a movie. If you need someone to just sit with you, I'll be there. What I'm trying to say is whenever you're ready, just tell me what you need and I'll be there for you."

I feel like I could cry again, but luckily I don't. Instead, I turn on the couch to face Y/N and just pull her in for a hug, resting my head on her shoulder. This alone is all I need to at least be okay, even if just for tonight. As someone who lives alone, my only real family living across the US, no one ever really knows just how much I crave touch. It's not exactly like I can just approach JJ, Garcia, or Morgan and say "Hey I could really use a hug today." It's a love language for me, but I go weeks without touching a single person. It wears me down sometimes. Sitting here, hugging Y/N, is the most comforted I have felt in a really long time.

I want to tell her the other reason I'm struggling. About the cravings I have to battle when things are already emotionally challenging. I decide I'm not ready to share that quite yet. It's not that i don't trust her, but if it's going to affect the way she sees me, I want to put that off as long as possible.

I also take a minute to go over the words she's said to me. I can't help but notice her tone, her body language, the look on her face. She may be great at comforting people, especially since it's part of her job, but those were the words of someone who knew. She spoke from a place of fully understanding trauma, which tells me one thing: She has had trauma of her own. I make a mental note to bring it up later. I don't want to push her, but I want to make sure she knows she has the same support from me incase she ever needs to talk.

We sit there for a few more minutes, her arms wrapped around me. My breathing eventually slows down as I try to get my sniffles under control. I feel my head start to pound from how hard I have been crying. I sit back to rub my hands into my temples. Y/N stands up and makes her way into the kitchen, returning a couple minutes later with a cold water bottle, a box of tissues, and some aspirin.

She starts to walk out of the room before turning to me.

"I think I've got something that might help you feel a little better. It can't heal with heartbreak, but maybe it can help you to relax and take your mind off everything, if even for a little while."

"Y/N, you take care of people all day at work you don't have to..,"

"Hey!" She cuts me off before I can finish. "Why do you think I became a nurse huh? I enjoy taking care of people. And if I can help, even just a little, I won't feel so completely useless in this situation."

"Y/N, you've already helped. Just listening, being here with me. But I guess its no use arguing with you, you're too stubborn." A small breathy laugh leaves my nose and I glance up to see a small smile before she steps out of the room.

She returns a few minutes later and doesn't say a word. Instead she grabs both my hands and pulls me off the couch, leading me into the guest bathroom.

A take a look around at everything she had gotten ready.

"A bubble bath?" I shoot her a look of uncertainty.

"Just trust me okay." She rolls her eyes playfully. "I'll be in the living room. Just shout if you need me okay?"

I decide to just go with it. She leaves, shutting the door behind her and flipping of the lights. The room is suddenly glowing in light from candles scattered all around the bathroom. After slipping into the bath, I tense up at how hot the water is before it finally relaxes all my muscles. Breathing in, I notice the smell of eucalyptus and lavender filling the air. There is also a bluetooth speaker in the corner, softly playing zen spa music with the trickle of a rain in the background.

I have to admit, this is the most relaxed I have felt in...well I can't remember ever feeling this relaxed. Baths always seemed a bit girly, but this was incredibly therapeutic. I may have to try this again after my next difficult case.

When I finally decide to get out, I realize I'll have to change back into the same clothes. I quickly realize Y/N had also laid out a star wars t shirt and black sweatpants for me. She thought of everything. With her being on the taller side and enjoying baggy clothes, they actually fit me fairly well.

When I finally step back into the living room she looks up at me and grins.

"Looking good Dr. Reid!"

She never calls me that, and for some reason it makes me blush just slightly. She pats the spot next to her on the couch, signaling for me to come over.

"Well, how do you feel?"

"Umm I wasn't sure about the whole bath thing but... I feel fantastic actually! How did you know that would help?"

"When you do what I do, you have to find multiple ways to unwind" she laughs.

I glance down at the shirt I'm wearing.

"So Star Wars huh?"

Y/N smirks "Are you really that surprised?"

I answer with a laugh "No I suppose not."

"Well I hope you like them too, because that's what I had lined up when it was my turn to pick for movie night!"

I can't help but hide a giant grin. I was happy to hear she wanted to continue our movie nights. Between all the Harry Potter movies and Star Wars movies combined, it seemed like we'd be spending a lot more time together.

"Is it okay if we finish the movie?" I am hoping I didn't completely ruin the night with my breakdown.

"I thought you'd never ask" she smiles before turning to the TV and resuming the movie.

As I watch the characters making their way into the shrieking shack, I feel my eyes grow heavy. I guess I had gotten a little too relaxed, as I am now struggling to stay awake through the rest of the movie.

When I open my eyes I notice the room is no longer glowing from the light of the TV but from the daylight streaming in through the windows. I realize i'm stretched across Y'N's couch, under one of her many fuzzy blankets. I sit up and look around, noticing Y/N is no longer there. After checking her kitchen and bedroom, I start to worry. Before I start to call her on the phone, I notice movement outside the window. I make my way onto the patio balcony to see her sitting on her bench with a book in her hands. At the sound of the door, she looks up and meets my gaze, smiling as she closes her book.

"Good morning sunshine" she says laughing just a bit.

"What happened?" I ask, joining her on the bench outside, running my hands through my hair as I attempt to fully wake up.

"Well, after awhile I noticed you fell asleep. I really thought it would be best to just let you get your rest."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to..." I start before she cuts me off.

"Its no problem! Not last night and not any other time. You are always welcome here." She gives me a warm, genuine smile. I know this is a sincere offer, one I'm sure I will take her up on again.

#Spotify

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zrtranscripts · 3 years

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Home Front, Mission 14: Sam’s Recipe for Success

Full of Beans

SAM YAO: Hello, listeners! Sam here, coming live from Abel's kitchens. We're going to kick off another workout in a minute, so while I'm talking, why not do a little warming up? Dance about, or jog on the spot, something light and fun. Now I'm not usually allowed in the kitchens because of a little... incident with some marmite shortbread which I thought was a brilliant idea but Janine said was a waste of resources, especially after it caught fire in the oven.

But anyway, as some of you may know, we've had a bit of luck with the giant super horde besieging the countryside. A landslide hit the horde's east flank, scattering a huge chunk of the zoms, so we've got a little window to send runners out with supplies. Dozens of small communities were cut off by the horde, and we're sending care packages to everyone. It's been all hands on deck in the kitchens prepping the deliveries, and we're almost ready to go.

[paper rustles]

So to celebrate, today's first exercise is one I've really started to like. The instructions call it dead bug walking, but I like to think of it as happy puppy flailing. Just lie on your back with your arms and legs in the air, then walk them up and down as fast as you can for one minute, like an excited Labradoodle on its back. Ready? And go! Okay, that's 15 seconds down. Keep those paws wiggling. And that's it, halfway done. Yeah, I-I really think this is a good sign. You know, the horde weakening. A few more natural disasters and it-it could be gone. That's 15 seconds left. Yeah, not-not that we want natural disasters, obviously. Just little disasters. You know, zom-only disasters. And that's it, you're done!

Feel that Labradoodle energy. Okay, yeah, I'm gonna scoot the last crate of eggs and flour down to our dispatch runners, then I'll come right back. Meantime, I'll play some music. You can relax or keep flailing. I've borrowed Runner Seventeen’s latest good times mix, so this song should be perfect for keeping up the good vibes.

SAM YAO: All right, that's the last load of supplies delivered to our runners. They'll be leaving any minute. Now I tell you what, Runner Forty-Three has been baking some great treats for each package. You should see the cupcakes! It's amazing what Forty-Three can do with an egg and some scavenged Nutella.

Actually, I've been using the lockdown to work on my own baking. Yeah, well, first it was crochet until we ran out of yarn. Then it was photography, but Maxine wanted the last camera. So Forty-Three has been helping me practice recipes instead, by miming them to avoid wasting supplies. Janine made me promise not to get in the way in the kitchens today though, so I've mostly been carrying cans and crates out to the runners, which gave me the idea for our next exercise, running with cans.

So find yourself two cans or any two objects about as heavy that you can grip, and take one in each hand. But if you're not absolutely sure you've got a solid grip, put each one in a strong bag with a good handle, hold them like that. Then run on the spot, swinging your arms to get your heart pumping, okay? Yeah, let's try one minute of that. And go! Now that's 15 seconds down. Okay, 30 seconds left. Like Forty-Three always says, practice makes perfect. 15 seconds left. Actually, Forty-Three tends to say, that's weird, practice usually makes perfect. Cooking lessons could be going better, to be honest. And you're done. 60 seconds.

Time to rest, unless you want to keep running through... [device beeps] Uh, hold on one sec. Oh... okay. Um, just got an urgent message from Janine. Better take this off the air. I'm gonna cut straight to the next music break, okay? Dance along or run some more, if you fancy it. I'll be right back after this.

SAM YAO: Um, hello folks. Uh, I've uh... I've got some bad news. You might want to keep can running to distract you. Really wish I didn't have to say this. Apparently, we're not the only ones who decided to take advantage of the weakened horde. There was this group of runners in New Canton, vigilantes going against orders. They figured this was the perfect time to fight the zoms, rounded up a bunch of people, charged at the horde's weakened flank with guns and bombs.

Only well, the zoms got scattered by a landslide, didn't they? So loads of them were buried under rocks, which this lot charged right over. Zom hands came reaching up from the ground, scratching and pulling. Some of the vigilantes went down, some bombs went off early. Zoms got freed from the rock while the rest of the horde honed in on the noise. Basically, it was a bloody mess. And now the horde's as strong as ever. So no supplies going anywhere today.

Well, I know you must be feeling frustrated, listeners, because I am. But, but I've got another exercise that might help channel that. Yeah, uh... [paper rustles] Ah, yeah. Well, this one's pretty simple. Bicep curls. You need weights. Take your cans or whatever you were running with and if you haven't already, put them into bags, one per bag, and make sure each bag has a good handle you can hold. For heavier weights, add more cans. Then press your elbows against your flanks with your hands by your sides and your palms facing up, one hand holding each weight. Bend your elbows to bring the weights up to your shoulders and then down again, okay? Yeah, we'll do 60 seconds of that.

Ready? And go! That's it, 15 seconds down. [laughs] You know, Runner Twelve, stuck in a pub with a pinball machine? He swears this exercise helped him to top the high score. Ah, unless he was tilting it. That's it, halfway done. Concentrate on those weights. It must have been that. That would help, actually. 15 seconds left. And done. Now I hope that gave you all something else to focus on for a bit. Uh, I'm gonna play some music now, do a few curls myself. Because honestly, I've got a lot of frustration that needs channeling here.

SAM YAO: Uh, welcome back everyone. Yep, I've just had final confirmation from Janine. No one's going out anytime soon. [sighs] I feel sorry for those vigilantes, I really do, but how could they be so stupid, charging a super horde like that? Now they've gone and made things worse for everyone, [sighs] because they couldn't stand staying in and feeling useless, I guess. I get it. Yeah, I mean, I-I want to be doing more too, but we can't go off half-cocked, not when the stakes are this high. It's like Maxine says, right? The Z-virus is a medical problem and medical problems need patience. [laughs] I know it's a really bad pun, but it's true.

Anyway, in case anyone out there wants to reinforce their barricades now that the horde's been strengthened, we're going to do an exercise that's good for lifting furniture: squats. I bet most of you know this already. Stand with your arms at your sides and your legs hip-distance apart, then squat down like you're sitting on an invisible chair. Make sure your knees don't come out further than your feet and your bum is sticking out. And we're going to go for one minute of those. And go!

15 seconds down. Imagine you're lifting a sofa. 30 seconds down. Get that barricade reinforced. 15 seconds left. Just a couple more cabinets to lift. And done. Good job, everyone. I'm gonna play some more music for anyone who wants to keep going, but remember, you need to look after yourselves as well as your barricades, so don't be afraid to stop and rest.

SAM YAO: You know what, listeners? I always try and look on the bright side, but the truth is this is, um, this is getting to me. Yeah. I really thought it was going to be a good day, and then you know, wham. Janine's checked with the settlements we were going to deliver to and they've all got enough supplies to last a while longer, so... so that's something, at least.

I've uh, I've actually been secretly baking something for Janine. Banana bread based on Runner Forty-Three’s lessons. It was going to be a surprise to celebrate the deliveries. Guess them being cancelled doesn't make a difference. Come out all burned and blackened anyway, like that shortbread.

Oh boy. Ah. I think I need some cheering up here, listeners. I'm um... spiraling a bit. Tell you what. Yeah, there's this one exercise, it always looks sort of silly picturing loads of people doing it at once. Well, it'd put a smile on my face. It's called doing high knees. Just march really fast on the spot for one minute, pumping your arms and bringing your knees all the way up to your waist with each step, like something out of the Ministry of Silly Walks from Monty Python. Ready? And go!

15 seconds gone. Keep those knees up. Halfway done. Honestly, I don't miss a lot of Monty Python, but did you hear Runner Thirty-Four's radio reenactment of Holy Grail last night? I's brilliant. It was brilliant. 45 seconds, almost done. And that's one minute! Okay. That, that did make me feel better, imagining you all doing that. I couldn't help joining in towards the end, I admit it. [timer dings] Oh, and uh, yeah. That's the oven timer. Right, I'm gonna get my blackened, burned mess, listeners, but it's okay. I'm feeling more like I can cope with it now. You guys rest or keep marching to the music until I get back.

SAM YAO: [laughs] Right, you're not gonna believe this, listeners! I mean, I don't believe it. The banana bread, it's-it's perfect! The top is all nice and brown, and the inside's soft and spongy, and it has that delicious banana-y smell, and it's-it's just... perfect. Possibly thanks to Runner Forty-Three, who left a note on the oven saying set to 180 degrees, not 300. Guess you caught my secret project, Forty-Three. Couldn't have done it without you.

Or you, listeners. You really helped me today. I know this lockdown's tough, but we have to keep reminding ourselves the one thing we can do without going off half-cocked is just... be there, even at a distance. Be willing to help each other past dark days. And we can share the little victories that help us through, like Maxine's photos or Thirty-Four’s radio plays, or banana bread. Because if one of us scores a win, and we're all in this together, it's a win for all of us, isn't it? No matter how small it seems.

Now I'm gonna take this banana bread to Janine. She won't admit it, but it will cheer her up. And I'll put the recipe on ROFFLEnet in case you want to try it! Well, if you don't, that's okay, because exercising is a little victory too, so you're already winning today. We'll get through this, everyone, I know it. And maybe after, we can have some banana bread together. Until then, stay safe. I'll be back on air soon and I promise I'll share all my little victories and I'll cheer for all of yours.

#zombies run #zr home front #zrhf 14 #sam's recipe for success #zr transcript

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megalony · 4 years

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A mother’s love- Part 3

This is the next part in my King! Ben Hardy series which I hope everyone will enjoy, feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogermeddow @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @ambi-and-sunflowers @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog

Series taglist: @onceuponadetectivedemigod

Series masterlist

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) lost their first baby but now they have a baby boy together, an heir to the throne. But life is far from easy when (Y/n)’s mental health starts to take a bad turn.

Enjoy.

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Pulling the rather baggy, fluffy jumper over her head, (Y/n) tugged the sleeves over her hands as she slowly walked out of the adjoining bathroom. It felt so good to be able to move about rather than shuffling to try and dull down the pain she was feeling. (Y/n)'s back and legs had been slowly turning to stone over this week that she hadn't left the confinements of her and Ben's room. She only seemed to leave the bed to open or close the curtains or to go to the bathroom, other than that (Y/n) had been cooped up in bed in her pyjamas.

This was the first time in a week that she had made the effort to get dressed and tie her hair up out of her eyes. She wasn't making much of an effort but it was a small step she was happy to take.

(Y/n) wasn't ignorant, she knew that people were beginning to talk and spread rumours around. It wasn't custom for a royal mother and baby to be hidden away so that the public couldn't get their claws in and see what the newborn looked like. (Y/n) had refused to listen to anyone who tried to tell her she needed to go and pose for pictures and let pictures be taken of James. She didn't want to be seen by the public because this was none of their business, it was (Y/n)'s health and her baby and her life, no one had the right to pry or tell her what to do.

She didn't feel up to leaving her room, let alone going out into the public eye and Ben understood completely, he was fine with breaking traditions. (Y/n) had even gone to the extent of telling Ben to organise the christening without her. She didn't want to organise anything because it was making her anxious enough to know she would have to be seen and have pictures taken at the event that had to happen soon.

But (Y/n) knew that soon enough she would need to leave the comfort and safety of her room because willingly trapping herself in here with James wasn't doing her any good and she knew it. James seemed to be intentionally crying and screaming when (Y/n) was left alone with him but when Ben or anyone else came into the room, he was as good as gold. He was playing with (Y/n) and she didn't like it, staying here for much longer was only going to make her resentment towards him grow wild.

Leaving her room meant going out into the open but that was something (Y/n) didn't know how to do or cope with. She'd never walked these halls knowing she was a mother with a baby, (Y/n) had never had people ask how her baby was or wishing to see him. She'd never walked around with a baby in her arms or gone to see her baby or to care for them, it was a different world she would be walking into and she didn't know if she wanted to go out into this world or not.

With a sigh, (Y/n) slowly padded across the carpet until she reached the cot resting at the end of her and Ben's bed. They wanted to be proper parents, they both wanted to be involved rather than give their child the same upbringing they had both had where they knew their nannies more than their parents. In order to do that, they had decided to have the cot in their room for a while so they could hear James when he cried and could tend to him themselves rather than someone else doing it for them.

Now (Y/n) was regretting that choice.

As much as she wanted to be a mother and do this herself, James was always there and it was daunting. When she fell asleep she knew James was in the room right next to her, when he cried he was doing it to purposely disturb her. (Y/n) didn't know what she could say and what she couldn't because he was there, it was like he was always watching and listening in on her. But she couldn't have him in a different room because then someone would tend to him first and beat her to it, they would steal her role as a mother.

Sitting down on the carpet, (Y/n) laid her arm over the edge of the crib until her hand was resting on James' chest as he peacefully slept like he didn't have a care in the world.

"Stay like this, please? Don't wake up or cry until your daddy gets back. I want to do this right, but you're making it so hard." (Y/n) whispered the words quietly as she leaned her head against the wood of the cot, smoothing her fingers over James' chest but being mindful of his arm and collarbone.

"Knock knock, (Y/n)-"

"Shh, you'll wake him! I just got him settled." (Y/n) hissed the first sentence like a snake warning its prey that it was about to strike before her tone softened just a little with her second sentence. She didn't mean to be rude and her expression said as much when she turned to see her mother stood in the doorway in shock. If anyone came in and woke James up now then (Y/n) would leave, she wasn't spending another half an hour on her own trying to get the little nuisance to go back to sleep.

"Alright, I'll sneak a peek at the little prince and then we'll just have to talk in there darling." Her mother smiled and chirped her words like a twittering bird in the early morning but she wasn't giving (Y/n) the choice to decline. She didn't want to talk to her mother who she hadn't seen since just before she went into labour one week ago. She didn't want to talk to anyone but Ben or her maid Lizzy, they were the only ones who didn't make her feel worthless or like she was doing something wrong all of the time.

But, like most days, (Y/n) complied quietly and didn't tell her mother to go away.

She watched with tired eyes as her mother walked over to the crib and leaned down to catch a look at the endearing child whose looks deceived everyone around him. She cooed quietly and smiled, reaching down to brush his cheek before she tutted at his arm pinned to his chest, clearly saddened for him but paying no mind to her daughter.

When her mother had gotten enough of a look at James, she straightened up and walked away, expecting (Y/n) to follow her like a lap dog. (Y/n) complied and pushed herself to her feet so she could follow her mother into her and Ben's study in the adjoining room. Whilst her mother sat down on the sofa next to the large canopy window, (Y/n) chose to sit in the window seat just a few feet from her mother so she could look out of the window.

"Oh, my darling he is wonderful, such a shame about his chest the poor love. Is he holding up okay?" Mary leaned over to pat (Y/n)'s knee and (Y/n) had to paralyse herself to stop from jerking away from her mother in annoyance and disgust.

Of course he was fine, everyone would force (Y/n) to send for the doctor if he wasn't. It was (Y/n) who wasn't okay and she was the one who no one worried about, she was fine, she was disposable and had done her job now. Why should anyone care about her when it was James who had to be at the centre of everyone's attention?

"He's a baby, of course he's holding up okay, he's on pain medication." (Y/n) shook her head as she spoke with a rather bored expression before she rested her head on the cold glass that was soothing against her burning skin. James was a baby and although he would have felt pain when he was born, he wouldn't know any different. He wouldn't be going through any trauma or confusion or fretting about his broken bone because he didn't understand anything. He was one week old and he was hardly in any pain so of course he was fine.

"Are you alright, dear? No one's seen you over this past week, you haven't even gone out to show the little one to the people." Mary once again reached for (Y/n)'s hand but when she held it, (Y/n)'s hand was limp in her grasp like it was the hand of a corpse. Holding her hand was going to do nothing when she wasn't willing to see the truth or listen to (Y/n)'s true feelings. If (Y/n) was anything less than fine or perfect no one would want to listen, they would send for a doctor and be done with her.

She didn't want her mother's silly affection that was misplaced and unendearing. She wanted to be asked how she was coping so she could share her burden with someone, she wanted everyone to see what a devil James was to her when he cried relentlessly and screamed when she held him.

(Y/n) just wanted someone to understand.

"I'm tired, I don't want everyone looking at me or James. He's my baby not theirs, no one needs to take pictures of him or stare at me and ask questions." (Y/n) didn't see what the fuss was about, as long as people were informed that they had a prince who was recovering and wasn't dead like the last one had been then they should be satisfied. They didn't need pictures to prove that the pregnancy hadn't been a conspiracy or a lie and they didn't need to gawp at (Y/n) either.

"They're bound to want to see their future King, people just want to see him and to see how you are too."

If people wanted to see how (Y/n) was then they could ask her, they didn't need a picture of her tired, aching eyes or her broken expression and fragile body. Her words would be more than enough rather than a sullen picture she did not want to be taken of her.

"Darling... why don't you have James be put in a nursery? A nanny can be very easily provided for him and you can get back to normal and do whatever you did before. It isn't proper for a Queen to be taking care of her baby like this." Mary had no idea how many insults she was throwing (Y/n)'s way in one little speech like that and she had no idea how mad she was making her daughter feel.

(Y/n) wasn't technically a Queen, she and Ben didn't share the throne as one, she was the second in command and Ben was right at the top of the pecking order. Nor did (Y/n) want to be a Queen.

The second insult was that she didn't know what (Y/n) did before she became a machine of motherhood to provide the country with an heir to their precious throne. She clearly thought that for the past four and a half years, (Y/n) had just been trying to conceive and have a baby when in reality, (Y/n) shared Ben's workload. She worked side by side with him so he wasn't overloaded with work that she knew and understood just as well as he did. (Y/n) wouldn't want to be Queen but she did want something to do and it was an important role that she took some pride in.

What was more insulting to (Y/n) than anything else was that Mary thought that it was wrong for a mother to look after her own child. That was absurd, why should any woman have a child in the first place if she was just supposed to hand her child over to someone else to take care of? Humanity would have ended hundreds of years ago if that was how the world was supposed to work.

(Y/n) was no different than any other mother and she was a mother not cattle or some machine. She had a baby and it was her job to care for them and bring them up, not anyone else's responsibility. She didn't know if she could do this but (Y/n) was going to make sure she did this because it was what she wanted to do and it was what no one else thought she should be doing. (Y/n) was going to prove everyone wrong and be a mother when they thought she wasn't meant to be one. Why should her child love a nanny and see a nanny as their mother when it was (Y/n) who was their parent?

"How much more ignorant can you be?" (Y/n)'s rude demeanour clearly shocked her stuck up mother who turned to face her in shock.

"I beg your pardon?"

"If I am not supposed to bring up my own child then I shouldn't be allowed to give birth in the first place. I'm not cattle that gives this country a child to then pass it off to someone else. A mother should look after her baby, not give birth and be done with them." No woman should be forced or allowed to have a child if they were simply going to discard them onto someone else. If that was the way the world worked then (Y/n) didn't want to be part of it anymore.

"My dear, you are the Queen. Having a child is a duty but you should not have to bring them up yourself-"

"Why not when you don't think I do anything else? I had James because I wanted a baby, not because it is expected of me. He is in my room rather than a nursery because I am his mother whereas you are not my mother are you, really? Carol was my mother because she raised me, you sat back and watched me grow up and sitting on the sidelines doesn't make you a mother. I would hate to be like you."

(Y/n)'s mother gave birth to her but in every other aspect, she was a distant relative at most. She was in (Y/n)'s life more when she got engaged than she had ever been when she was growing up. She popped into the nursery and saw (Y/n) on most days but she was formal and distant, (Y/n)'s nanny Carol was her mother. She took care of (Y/n), she fed her, dressed her, showed her love and taught her and (Y/n) loved her like the mother she didn't truly have.

She was not going to let that happen with her child, she wasn't having James love another woman he would grow to want to be his mother. She wasn't having someone else bring up her child just because she was supposed to be lazy and uninterested, (Y/n) was going to be a proper mother even if it broke her.

Standing up from her seat, (Y/n) tightly wrapped her arms around her chest before she hurried back into the comfort of her bedroom and shut the door behind her. If everyone was going to talk to her like that and think of her in that way then she was never leaving this room and neither was James.

(Y/n) wished her mother had been kinder, she wished she had been more understanding or at least willing to listen and learn. She was desperate to let her mother see her tears and her anguish and to allow her soul to break down in front of her. She wanted to tell her how badly she felt and how confused her emotions were, how they were like crossed wires that she couldn't untangle on her own. She wanted to tell her mother about how looking at her own baby over this past week was becoming harder and harder to do without feeling resentment towards him.

She wanted to tell someone about how awful it felt to hold James and watch him cry at her just to annoy her or how he tried to keep her awake at night and not take his bottle just because he knew it would upset (Y/n).

But no one else could see how the prince was upsetting (Y/n), they all thought she was just having some kind of baby blues. They couldn't see the looks James gave her or the happy gurgles he gave when he saw his mother exhausted to the point of sobbing. No one saw how he was perfectly fine for Ben but decided to be a devil whenever (Y/n) was trying her best to care for him.

No matter how desperate (Y/n) felt to tell someone about how she felt, she knew that those thoughts and feelings had to stay pent up inside of her. No one cared what she thought, Ben asked if she was okay and sometimes asked if she needed to talk but he wasn't referring to her thoughts. No one knew and no one else cared. No one asked if she was in pain or struggling, they just presumed she was coping or that she shouldn't be feeling anything at all.

If (Y/n) told anyone about how she felt it would only cause them to roll their eyes and enforce that she have a nanny for James. They would simply say she was not up to being a mother and snatch him away and (Y/n) couldn't have that. James couldn't get the better of her and make everyone think they were right about her.

(Y/n) had to look like she was coping at least a tiny bit, even if this ended up killing her.

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"Sweetheart... hey, what's wrong?" Ben's chirpy yet tender voice quickly shifted to one dripping with concern when he walked into his and (Y/n)'s room. He felt like smiling when he realised (Y/n) was up and out of bed and walking about but he felt fear dwelling in his chest when he noticed she was crying.

Turning her head to the side, (Y/n) brushed her nose and cheek against her shoulder to wipe away the excessive tears she was tired of shedding. She knew her cheeks were blotched red and her face felt swollen and puffy from how badly she was crying and breathing. The wool of her jumper scratched against her cheek but she could barely feel it anymore due to how many times she'd had to wipe her eyes.

(Y/n) snapped her eyes closed when Ben's voice rung in her ears and she turned her back to him, not wanting him to see her when she felt like this. Her body was to the point of shaking which wasn't the best thing when she had James resting in her arms. The newborn she was cradling was beginning to grate on her last nerve and she was at her wits end, not knowing what else she could do for him.

For the past hour James had decided to torment (Y/n) by whimpering and whining when she set him down and then screaming bloody murder when she picked him up to cradle him. It was clear he didn't like her holding him, he seemed to prefer anyone else but (Y/n) but (Y/n) wanted to scream at him. Why wasn't she good enough? Why was he being so cruel towards her and screaming at her?

(Y/n) slowly opened her eyes to look down at the baby resting in the crook of her arm. She wanted to hold him to her shoulder and cradle him better, the thought of having him closer to her chest made (Y/n) feel like she could try and make herself feel more love for him and make him feel more at ease around her. But she couldn't do that in case it added pressure onto his collar bone which would make him scream at her worse and she couldn't take any more. So (Y/n) was reduced to rocking her arms up and down and side to side as she slowly walked the length of the room in circles but James wasn't settling at all.

"Baby talk to me, what's happened?" Ben walked up behind (Y/n) and slowly rested his hands on her arms but (Y/n) pulled away, walking further across the room before she dared to turn around and face him.

"H-he won't be quiet! Ben he doesn't want me, he hates me." (Y/n)'s eyes looked frantic and wild and as Ben watched her, it looked like she was inhaling but not exhaling at all.

"Baby he doesn't hate you... can I take him?" Ben's voice was cautious and his arms moved out towards James, unsure whether or not (Y/n) would actually let James out of her arms when she looked rather paranoid. Panic was beginning to flow freely through Ben's system at how upset (Y/n) was right now, he couldn't shake the thought that (Y/n) might actually scare James or even hurt him. She looked like she despised the baby in her arms with how she was staring down at him and Ben didn't like it.

"He does, he doesn't want me." (Y/n) whined desperately as she cut herself off from saying that she didn't want him either because she knew how it would affect Ben to hear that.

But the more she thought about it, the more her arms started to shake and the more resent she could feel dwelling in her heart. This was James' fault, he was being difficult for no reason and he was the one intentionally trying to upset (Y/n) when she was doing her best.

"Baby give him to me please, I'll settle him down for you."

Relief flooded Ben's chest when (Y/n) seemed very eager to get James away from her, she was quick to hand him over to Ben before knotting her hands in her hair. (Y/n) took a few steps back, wanting as much space between herself and her baby was possible so James could stop trying to upset her like he was. But the moment Ben gently settled James on his chest, (Y/n) moved forward again and pulled on his arms.

"You can't hold him like that! Y-you'll hurt him!" There was panic in (Y/n)'s rapid voice that caused Ben to very swiftly shift James into the crook of his arm like she had held him earlier but his eyes stayed locked with hers like he was expecting (Y/n) to do something rash.

It didn't take long for Ben to hush James down into a calmer state where he was simply wriggling and whimpering every now and then as opposed to screaming. Ben couldn't stop darting his eyes between his boy and his wife, both of whom seemed to be in a state of panic. He'd never seen (Y/n) so anxious before, even when she told him she was pregnant again she hadn't been as panicked or confused as she seemed to be right now and it clearly wasn't right.

Ben rubbed his thumb over James' cheek, trying to make sure he was calm and settled before he dared to set him down. Ben thought that when they had James, (Y/n) would be holding him at all hours, he knew she might not be elated or over the moon because she would be feeling all over the place but he didn't expect this kind of reaction.

The moment Ben settled James down in his crib, he reached out for (Y/n) and tugged her a few feet away in case James started to cry again.

(Y/n) encased her arms to her chest before she pushed her head forward into Ben's chest when he wrapped his arms around her. Why did James want to upset her like this, why would he settle so easily for Ben but not for her? She'd done nothing but bring him into the world and he'd been screaming at her from the second she'd given him life. It wasn't fair.

"He hates me, he always screams at me Ben, I- I don't know how to help him."

(Y/n) wasn't so sure she wanted to help James anymore because everything she tried to do didn't help over this first week of his life. He didn't want (Y/n) but he was fine with her parents, with Ben and even with Ben's pushy mother or the maid. James loved everyone but (Y/n) and somehow she felt she deserved it because she didn't feel like her love for him was true. She couldn't feel that heart wrenching love she felt for Finn and he hadn't even taken one breath but for James he was a tormentor she didn't want around any more.

"Shh, baby listen to me please. He doesn't hate you, he's only one week old and he might just be unsettled or confused, in a few weeks he'll be calm his chest will be healed and he'll have a connection with you. We just need to give ourselves a bit of time, that's all." Ben moved his hand to the back of (Y/n)'s head so he could card his fingers through her hair before he slowly tugged (Y/n) over to the chair under the window.

Sitting himself down, Ben pulled (Y/n) until she got the hint and sat down on his lap, curling up against his chest as he enveloped his arms around her. He could feel (Y/n)'s breathing slowly evening out like the panic was slowly draining from her system now that James wasn't in her arms and she was back with Ben.

"I think it might be a good idea if you try and get some sleep baby, you haven't been sleeping well. I'll look after James for the rest of the day and tonight, I'll take him in the office with me if you want so you can rest, you'll feel better when you've had a rest." Ben slowly rubbed his hand up and down (Y/n)'s arm as he kissed the top of her head, trying to make sure she was calming down. Ben wasn't oblivious, he knew that for the past three or even four nights (Y/n) hadn't been sleeping very well.

He would gladly sit in the office in the adjoining room with James for a while to let (Y/n) get some sleep because that way they would both be near her if she wanted them. Something told Ben that him leaving her was a very bad idea right now and if he or someone else took James away (Y/n) might become upset or panicked.

"M-my mother said i-it isn't right for me to look after him, she thinks we should have a nanny... and that he should be in a nursery." (Y/n) spoke the words quietly but Ben could hear the heartache dripping from every word she spoke. He knew her mother wasn't the easiest to deal with when it came to how blunt yet oblivious she was but he didn't think she would go as far as to say something like that.

"That's because your mother's grown up believing she's entitled and thinks the same goes for you. If we want to be proper parents and do this ourselves we can, it isn't wrong it's better and to do that we need him with us. This is our choice and we'll be just fine."

Ben pressed his lips to the top of (Y/n)'s head when he felt her burrowing herself further into his chest, curling up against him. Ben knew them doing this themselves wasn't expected but he thought it was a good thing, it made them seem more human to the public at least and they wanted to be parents, proper parents instead of just standing on the sidelines. It wasn't going to be easy and right now Ben wondered if it was starting to have a bad effect on (Y/n) but he was going to help her through this.

"We'll be okay."

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben x reader #imagine #BoRhap #royalty #dad! ben #a mothers love

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vuelie-frost · 5 years

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F2: How do we cope?

So I’m someone who has a moderate dose of anxiety in her life, which is being combatted through therapy, medication, & learning healthy coping mechanisms. I’m no expert, but I have some experience dealing with strong negative emotions. One strategy I’ve been recommended is asking yourself, in any given anxiety-riddled situation, “What’s the worst-case scenario that could happen?” This brings you out of your own head- out of hypotheticals- and into the concrete.

Don’t get me wrong, it can be painful to think about. But it can be helpful to see where our biggest fears lie. And if you’re interested in alleviating those strong negative emotions, it’s a necessary step.

I’ve said before that I’m trying to stay open-minded and optimistic about this movie. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have fears and concerns. For me personally, my biggest "worst that can happen” theories for the ending of Frozen 2 are:

- The sisters never see each other again (with a heart-shattering goodbye scene that makes us all inconsolable) - Elsa loses her humanity to become a spirit/goddess, essentially intangible and immortal - Elsa is no longer called “Queen Elsa” in the franchise, invalidating a huge historic part of her identity - Elsa doesn’t attend Anna’s coronation because she’s “too busy” doing other shit - Disney+ makes a spin-off TV series with Elsa going on adventures (just please... no.)

(please don’t chime in with what you guys think about those ideas, at least in this post, whether they’re right or wrong... that’s not the point.)

So what if any, if all, of these things happen? What next?

Stuff not to do (I mean, do whatever you want, but these probably won’t be very helpful)

- oversleeping as a defense mechanism - eating your feelings - drinking/using substances to numb pain - stew and ruminate on the internet with people who only get your sadness and anger riled up - spend all day on the internet - engage in maladaptive compulsive behaviors (oh, hello dermatillomania. great to see you again.) - completely avoid feeling your feelings - making impulse decisions (don’t go buy a car just because “Frozen 2 sucks, the world is meaningless.”) - rant to Jen/Chris/the creative team at Disney on Twitter (which is different from an honest review of the movie, which I’m sure they’d be more receptive to)

Stuff to do

1) Grieve the movie we longed for.

This might sound dramatic and my inner critic is constantly chiding me with “It’s literally a movie for kids, why are you so bonded to it?” But that’s totally unhelpful here. It doesn’t matter why or how, but most of us in the fandom feel a deep connection to the first movie. It’s not exaggeration to say that IF the sequel crushes us, it could be emotionally devastating. Grief is complex, individualized, and weird to work through... but it’s real, and if it’s something we need to face in order to move forward, 2) Decide how tightly to hold onto the franchise.

Something being canon doesn’t mean we have an obligation to internalize it. How many franchises before have whittled their stories down to C-rated TV shows and average spinoffs? Do we accept all of them wholeheartedly?

Granted, this is hard to write about because there’s a slight cognitive dissonance that has to happen for us to disbelieve the sequel of any story. But regardless, determining your relationship to the narrative is a deeply personal choice- one that can’t be decided for you. If my worst-case scenarios happen for F2, I’m probably going to maintain my complete love for the first movie... and pretend the sequel is an AU. Or extrapolation. Accept that it exists as the canon progression, but reject its meaning in my life.

3) Get off the internet.

This is probably the best possible thing to do when the online world is causing you strife and stress. Tumblr has a tendency to be an echo-chamber; I actually only recently rejoined after a long loooong hiatus for that reason. Despite what boomers want you to think, the internet’s not inherently toxic. But despite all its good, it’s also highly curated, completely biased, full of half-truths, and a fantastic vehicle for rumors.

Also realize that until November 22, anything and everything Frozen 2-related that’s released by Disney is going to make you psychoanalyze the content for clues on how to feel. We’ll all become obsessed, deranged Sherlocks in our own right. Don't let it consume you.

4) Creatively output your thoughts & feelings

Headcanons, AUs, derivative work, fan fiction, fan art all serve us well (and are way healthier than like, downing an entire chocolate cake in sadness.) I’m an artist and you bet your biscuits I’ll be sketching Elsa for weeks and WEEKS before & after the premiere. It’s just how I process things.

Another thing I’ve decided I’m going to do if any of my worst-case scenario fears are realized is: write letters to the sisters as if they were real people. Talk to them about the ending. Jen Lee kept journals writing to/from the girls when they were conceptualizing the movie; I think there’s merit in letting the characters speak for themselves.

5) Employ your favorite coping mechanisms

These are personal to you, but could include:

- meditation - working out or exercising - yoga - writing/drawing (see above point) - making coffee or tea & relax in bed with a book - talk to someone about it, bonus points if it’s someone in the “real world” - take a walk outside - use breathing exercises - take a hot bath or shower - clean your room/house/apartment - put on music - cook - play with a pet - do something with a friend Note that all of these have to do with the external world. Distraction doesn’t heal us by itself (which is why denial is a poor way of dealing with shit,) but it helps our brains reset in the background. It sets the rest of the world into perspective, so that we can more effectively face our negative emotions later. Remember, there’s nothing wrong with putting off processing until you’ve done something helpful or enriching. “Listen brain, we can cry later, right now I’m going to bake pumpkin cookies and you can’t stop me.”

6) Remember story is told to connect us with the real world

The idea of escapism is a bit paradoxical, because in pursuing a fantasy world, we’re only working to realize our desires in the real world. The reason we love Frozen so much is because we want that kind of love in our own lives... and the fairy tale reminds us that it’s real. Idealized and sanitized by The Mouse, sure, but it’s real.

It may be painful to acknowledge but: we don’t need Elsa, Anna, Kristoff, or Olaf in order to flourish. Fiction exists to affect us in the real world. Frozen is one story among many- MANY!- that have the potential to sculpt your own personal future. That’s not to say it doesn’t retain a deep meaningful significance for us. I’m going to hold the first movie in my heart forever, that I know for sure. But its reasons for being great are because it plants us in reality. Can you imagine a beautiful young woman with the ability to freeze ice? Maybe that’s not plausible. But an undying, fiercely loyal commitment between two women? Hell yeah. 7) Recognize idolization & parasocial relationships where they may be... and start to heal them

This is heavy stuff that might require a professional to help you sort through- but if you’re truly suffering, paralyzed, or flung into a depressive episode due to any life circumstance (including a movie sequel,) it’s not silly to seek help in order to move forward.

Parasocial relationships are perceived relationships where the other party (usually a celebrity, in terms of celebrity worship) doesn’t know you. Fictional worlds can fall into this category as well. It’s a one-side relationship that feels unbalanced when the other party does something we don't like. This is a studied topic I’m not super knowledgable on, but here are some links to more information if you’re interested: Why We Get So Attached To Fictional Characters by Kimberly Truong

Parasocial Relationships with Fictional Characters in Therapy by Kathleen Gannon

Parasocial Break-Up from Favorite Television Characters: The Role of Attachment Styles and Relationship Intensity by Jonathan Cohen

Our fictional friends: Parasocial interaction and relationships in an evolving media world by Carri Romm - - - Also: I love you guys. <3 I love being in the Frozen fandom. It’s all going to be okay.

#frozen 2 leaks #frozen 2 spoilers #frozen 2

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lelibug · 6 years

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Today, I found an old (former?) friend on Facebook (…where else?!). I haven’t seen her since she left for Australia with her family when we were 12 years old. I happened to be looking through old photos and wondered if she was on there. And she was. And I saw her as she was now… 25 years later.

Married. Three boys. High School Graduate. Still close to her family. Her sister shared the same (birth) name as I did, and she was also mentioned on there – married also. Looking almost exactly the same as she had done, just older. I recognised her picture… That smile was always so bright and infectious, it was instantly recognisable, if nothing else.

My instinct was to say Hi. Naturally. Since she would never be able to find me on Facebook (I deliberately ensured that no one from my previous life could find me first), I thought it would be nice to get in contact, because before she left we were the best of friends and fellow Beatlemaniacs. In the pictures we looked like we were having a great time. But after that initial thought… another feeling came over me.

My reaction to finding her wasn’t quite what I was expecting at all. I ended up with that now-familiar shockwave I get when I realise that what “normal” people with their average lives take for granted, I never can. When I see what other people my own age are doing… in glaring comparison to mine. And I was left feeling… Sad. Inadequate. Pathetic. Lost. Forsaken. Broken. Pointless. A Nothing; A No-One.

She had a husband… I had Fibromyalgia. She had three boys… I had what felt like a hundred pills a day to take. She looked like she was doing well… I had a wheelchair and a catheter that refused to stay put. She was living a good life… I was barely alive and broken into too many pieces to even count. She lived in Australia… I lived with my elderly(ish) parents (and don’t tell them I said that!) who have to care for every damned need I have, despite my being the very wrong side of 30 (and I used to think saying “the wrong side of 20” was a tragedy…).

What on earth was I ever supposed to say to her?

All I could ever offer was the possible bad news (or unfortunate news, at least) that her former [best] friend was a wheelchair-reliant, mobility-impaired Fibromyalgia sufferer, who could no longer do anything, nor remember much of anything, and lived in constant and consistent agony. Was I only to simply talk about what I used to do – what I once was? I had no conversation, nothing to offer, and what use could there possibly be from bothering her with a G’d Day from me?

And no, it’s not about falling for some “perfection” boloney that most people put on there (there is surprisingly little about her life on here, except some recent pictures of her boys, who look adorable anyhow), and then putting my life up against them. I don’t do that anyway. It’s about the fact that what other people have, and take for granted, was never mine to enjoy, or have. There is almost no one I know, if anyone, that is in the same situation as me. Immobile, in agony, with a life lost at age 32, now living with and being taken care of by my parents for almost everything, as if I’m some kind of overgrown toddler (sort of, I’m not exactly that much taller than a child!).

Every small thing brings home what I’m not. How broken I am. What has been lost. What nothing has been left behind. I hate the self-pity… But after nearly five damned years of this, I still yet have no idea how to process all of this. Because there is no How or answer to Why… It’s something that exploded from nowhere and no one can ever explain it. Leaving me struggling to do the most basic of things, and dignity be damned! I haven’t had any of that for a while now…

This woman is a memory of what could have been, what may have been. When I knew her I was a young child with endless possibilities. Before the serious bullying (it turned out that it was she who was inadvertently keeping me safe from this, as it started up almost the moment she was gone…) that destroyed my childhood and teenage years, as well as the first half of my 20s. Before umpteen illnesses and allergies – not to mention the Fibro. Before I was killed inside and a zombified vampire of a soul returned to attempt to survive and cope with whatever little that was left of me.

She left just before the shit hit the fan… so the (rather spotty and sporadic) memories, the seemingly unending amount pictures of her or the two of us, the girl that I had been and that I was back then, all are shadows long lost to the older, destroyed woman I am now. Seeing me then, with her, innocent and ignorant of the hell that was to come for the next Quarter-Decade of life, was a shock. I don’t remember those times – I don’t remember most of my entire life – so I have no recollection of who I was before. But in those pictures I was introduced to her. This person I was. Alongside my friend. I was smiling. Having fun. Clearly being silly and enjoying it. Being Beatlemaniacs together. Being in the first year of high school together (before that school played its part in pulling me apart). It was a relationship full of fun, hope, and playfulness. Without a single clue as to what was going to come next…

And thusly, contacting her would achieve nothing but encouraging the Ghost of Life-Once-Was to haunt me again. They’re haunting me enough as it is. This woman isn’t really the same person who was my friend. She’s no longer CE but Mrs. H, a mother, whatever else she has become. The only thing that is still the same is that infectious smile, and her kind and sparkling eyes.

I do not remember the past, so it must be best to let sleeping dogs lie. I was long traumatised by everything that happened to me, and probably the best thing is that I have forgotten. Retrograde Amnesia happens in PTSD for a reason, after all – and I’ll kind-of thank Pregablin for deleting the rest. I may not have much Short or Long Term Memory, but although that is annoying and unfortunate at times, it’s a good thing most of the time, and it’s best not to go rooting around what’s there in my mind.

Therefore, Mrs. H, née CE, I think it still best you still don’t know where I am or how to contact me. I ensured my old name is not linked to my online footprint or profiles for good reason. My past should stay where it is. In the pictures. In memories. In the past.

The Past Collides With The Present… Today, I found an old (former?) friend on Facebook (...where else?!). I haven't seen her since she left for Australia with her family when we were 12 years old.

#disability #disabled #facebook #fibro #fibromyalgia #friends #inadaquate #LTM #memories #memory #memory loss #old friends #pathetic #pregabalin #sadness #shame #STM #the past

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irregulardiaryposts · 4 years

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16:35 01/03/2021

so. its now march!!!!! march is an okay month. but it also means its been a year since corona really kicked off and thats proper weird to think about. it feels like absolutely fuck all has actually changed but yet im a very different person yk. i played minecraft for 10 hrs last week. im addicted to it. this time last year i was kinda sick and we thought i had corona but since testing wasnt really available i just had to stay home ages. it was horrible but to think that was a whole YEAR ago is absolutely fucking wild.

anyway back to minecraft. i absolutely love it. its such a simple game and you can truly play however you want to. like. if u dont want to bother beating the enderdragon or doing any serious grind stuff, you can literally just fuck about doing whatever you wanna do... u wanna build a little cottage in the woods? yes. u wanna pick lowers and decorate and build cute farms? yes. u wanna explore a vast and expansive world filled with literally endless possibilities and find pets and loot and different biomes and blocks? yes. you wanna mess around with ur friends? yes. u wanna do pvp or multiplayer games? yes. u wanna meet new people? yes. u wanna play by yourself and become exceedingly rich? yes. u wanna do all this and comforted by the melodic tunes and beautiful landscapes? yesssssssss. it literally has something for everyone but people get so pissy about how others play its soooo annoying. like so what if someone wants to go into creative and cheat or they wanna play on peaceful or they have keep inventory on? they are playing the game in the way they enjoy the most, the way that makes them happiest, makes them comforted, allows then to enjoy playing it. coz i bet if everyone was made to play the exact same way and there was no way to customise your experience, it would not be nearly as popular as it is. it probs wouldve died out if people werent enjoying it because they got frustrated by it, or too scared to lose their things to progress in the game, or too anxious to play because its scary and they dont know how to beat things. or if people play solely in creative and they enjoy that the most and wanna try survival, they dont deserve to get made fun of coz they want to ease their way into harder things. or if someone just wants to build or just explore or just tame a million dogs, as long as they are happy they are already enjoying the game to the max, they dont deserve people being like “ if u play without X youll enjoy it more coz thats the way we play it” like fuck off it would be like if a hardcore players was like “play in hardcore or ur stupid” ppl would get mad because thats not the way they want to play it and they wouldnt enjoy it as much or at all as the hardcore player does. and dont even get me started on this whole bedrock vs java bs. this its such a waste of time like??? who benefit from this argument? because its silly java players think they are automatically better than every bedrock player because they have java.

like obviouslyyyyyy java is better and im sure a lot of bedrock players would rather java, but u cant lie and say that a lot of og players didnt start on bedrock and then upgrade to java, because as kids u cant really afford a proper pc but everyone has an xbox or an ipad lol. like they literally forget that they probably started playing on bedrock too. and its so stupid because yes while bedrock is a little shit in comparison to java, ITS STILL THE SAME FUCKING GAME just be glad were not fucking fortnite players jesus its pathetic. yes this is essentially a minecraft post and what fucking about it. i told u im obsessed with it.

i should talk about something else. perhaps my crippling procrastination? its absolutely abysmal how shit at school i am now. i get two unconditional offers and suddenly i think i dont need to do a single bit of work (its kinda true tho) i only have three classes and in doing 1 and 1/2 of them. im not even bothering studying for prelims/exams whatever the fuck because im hopeless. theres no point because even if i do end up doing the exam and i fail theres absolutely no consequences because i have 0 shame. ill walk out of an exam i failed with my head held high because i know uni will be so much better - ill only have one subject, one i actually enjoy and want to do work for (only somewhat tho, my procrastination problems still carry through, im actually doing this instead of a 15 min thing for class but whatever) ill have a reduced working day, i can focus on just one subject, ill have other things to work on too like a part time (scary) and car (exciting) and ill get to meet new people that also want to learn spanish and are interested in it too, and i want to make more friends and i want to be more independent (moving out??? hopefully but also scary)

i cant believe im actually at a point in my life where im actually interested in the future and want to live to see it (lol yeah) like i wonder what 13 yo me would think. even 15 yo me. i wonder how 20 yo me will look back on this. hi me if ur reading. do u have a s/o?? or new friends? how many new experiences have u had? are u comfortable in ur life? struggling ? happy? i hope ur happy coz u deserve to be. i deserve to be. i hope u have a good time reading these. i dont know if ill ever forget about this blog or not. what was i talking about tho. procrastination. its horrible, I hope u get that fixed pls tell me u do. also please tell me u get better at typing. this has accidently turned into a speaking to ur future self thing. ill stop now.

im a very good procrastinator. and my ability to actually focus on stuff has been getting comical. idk if its the pandemics fault or mine or schools but is a bloody issue and it needs to get better. i guess its coz i just have absolutely 0 energy do do what i need to or it just absolutely does not interest me to do it and i know theres absolutely no consequences to it looool.

every now and then theres a day where i feel very unproductive and lazy and it feels like how it used to. a sort of growing annoyance at myself and feeling like a slug. idk some days i feel teleported back to like almost 4 years ago and idk what to do about it. i used to have a coping mechanism (?) where if i felt bad about stuff id just shower, wash my hair and put on new pjs and do something i wanted to do. it kinda put me in a clearer headspace and allowed be to get out of a slump for like 20 mins. u could call it self care or whatever but it genuinely was like washing the bad thoughts away and starting anew (is that the word) like i was able to think more rationally and get back into the semi real world but i was also doing it because i never used to have a proper shower routine, i used to go days without showering or getting out of bed for much and it kinda feels good to have this little reboot thing where i just shower to get me away from straying back there.

idk. am i articulating well enough. ive written a lot i think. is there any more updates? nothing really apart from my growing disinterest in all things school lmao. anyway until next time i suppose (will probs be either never or like june lol)

#this is horrible rambling #i dont think i make a singular concise point #anyway that doesnt matter because i do what i want #im listening to mincraft music at the moment did i tell u that #i goddamn love this music #it is literally better than the beatles #im prepared to fist fight anyone that says otherwise #maybe not actually i dont think i could be bothered hahahahahahahahahahahahah #march 2021 entry #2021 the year of fun

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naeomee-blog1 · 6 years

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Two Years on Oestrogen

On this day, two years ago, I started on oestrogen hormone therapy. Getting to that point has been an epic quest of its own, bringing new challenges to light in the process.

This is my story, a tale of my perceptions and my struggles through life from the perspective of gender - I will write more about my disabilities, and how they affected my life, at a later point in time.

Please excuse any clunky language… It may be two years into my journey, but sadly I don’t always have the right wording or language to fully express myself. I’m doing my best, and that’s what counts... Right?

In the beginning…

For as long as I can remember, I’ve never really understood the point of gender, and it’s supposed crucial role in society. The idea that there were products, colours, etc that were “boys’” or “girls’” confounded me. It seemed unnecessarily silly, and pointless - they were just objects, colours, etc. There was nothing intrinsically gendered about them. For example, pink being a “girls’” colour - it is merely a colour, a combination of red and white (or yellow). It is a wonderful colour, but it isn’t owned; doesn’t possess a gender. It’s just a colour.

My hobbies were more neutral than anything. I liked to read - every day I would go to my local library after school. On Friday’s I would attend model club - my models of choice were usually World War I & II, and Star Trek related. When I got along with my sisters, we would play make believe. I secretly had a fascination of ballet, which I didn’t express.

I had these concepts of gender foisted upon me, what was or was not considered for boys or for girls. To some limited form, I allowed these to be pushed on me. I wore “male” clothing, I was gendered a boy, I was referred to as he/him, etc. I hid some of my interests because they were deemed for girls only.

I’m under no illusion that my parents would have accepted me, if I expressed concerns about how I was perceived, about being a boy, etc. The fact that Mummy accepts me now is proof of this. However, at the time I didn’t know how to express what I felt - a lack of gender. The complete lack of understand of why things were considered for boys, or girls. I didn’t have the words. Instead, I sought solitude, and the company of books - they allowed me escape from a world I didn’t really understand. The irony, of course, is the books naturally all used very gendered language, and expressed concepts of manliness and femininity - but that I could ignore… For there were worlds in these books, fascinating places of culture, and mystery.

Given how I understood the world to work - unfortunately, thanks to my father (as well as that side of the family), who had a more traditional perception of family, I felt scared to express my distress at being labelled a boy - for being a boy meant being the “stronger” of the genders, the workers, the breadwinners. Being a girl was considered lesser - to be the one to stay home, to cook, to wash, to clean, to bear children. I felt that I would have been considered a freak if I expressed that I wanted nothing to do with gender; more of an abomination than if I knew I were a girl.

That’s the world of sexism I was exposed to - the awful credo of women being terrible drivers, stay at home mums, etc. I’m not going to lie, I have said terribly sexist things in the past myself - in the misguided attempts to fit in. It felt wrong saying such things, more so than hearing sexist statements spouted out by others. To this day, father makes these awful declarations and jokes - which makes me extremely hesitant to be around him. I feel deeply ashamed that I was brought up in a world where this kind of behaviour was deemed not only acceptable, but expected.

Reaching puberty…

My teenage years were the worst part of my life. I was severely bullied for being a freak, gay, and many other things. I was sexually assaulted by a girl at the age of 14 - something nobody should ever have to experience, let alone at that age. I lost my dear Grandpa to cancer. I was at my lowest, and to add to this I felt even more distanced from myself and the changes my body was forcing upon me.

I wanted nothing to do with puberty, I didn’t welcome the changes - I didn’t even want the genitals that I had. But I had no recourse but to bite my tongue and deal with it - I didn’t feel I could express myself without being told I was being silly, that it was a phase, etc. No doubt I would have suffered even more bullying too.

All the while I felt confusion and anger at myself - I had a diagnosis of Asperger Syndrome, which was kept off the record due to being at a stage of my life that was apparently “critical”, with GCSE exams upcoming in a year or two. I found myself lashing out more, I was angry all the time, I rebelled at everything I could - including myself. I fell behind in coursework, refused to take part in Physical Education (in fairness, it was often just playing football - an utterly stupid ‘sport’ that I loathe beyond words). I wouldn’t participate in Religious Education either - I felt whatever G-d there might be had forsaken me, robbed me of someone I considered a role model and a guiding force in my life.

I found solitude in my school library, and in the ICT Department, hiding away reading books and repairing computers - two things that gave me relief from life, and a repetitive structure that I found myself liking (as well as learning about electronics). Eventually, I was placed on antidepressants at the age of 15, because I simply couldn’t cope with everything I faced - it was too much for me, and I started shutting down. The medication I was placed on (initially citalopram, then escitalopram, followed by fluoxetine/Prozac) kept me barely functioning. I felt like a zombie - well, more of a robot, I guess. It was better than facing my depression, but left me devoid of passion for anything. I merely woke up, did what was required on that day, read my books to escape, then went to bed again in the evening.

Headed in to adulthood…

My adulthood has been very mixed, involving many name changes, as my discomfort with myself grew. Initially I thought perhaps it was the wrong name, so I tried alternatives - including even more male-aligned names to try and throw myself into sharp relief with the sex I was born with, to see if I could suppress this extreme distaste of myself. To make matters worse for me, I experienced sexual assault for a second time at age 18, at my first trip to an LGBT+ nightclub. This time a guy was responsible.

Around this time I found myself looking into transgender related topics very much in-depth, and I found a lot of parallels to my own life. Whilst a lot of people come out at an early age, I discovered that there are people who came out later in life. I discovered the term dysphoria, and felt relief that there was a description for how I felt.

At this time I had a boyfriend, who was himself transgender. Unfortunately, I found myself too scared to express how I felt about myself, and that sexual activities with him were almost expressly for his enjoyment (when they weren’t doomed to failure) - my dysphoria caused me significant issues with performance, even with the help of medication such as Sildenafil - and a high dosage of 100mg at that. I worried it would cause relationship issues, upset and possibly even angry outbursts and invalidation. This proved not to be a worry, as in the end we split up, and I moved to Folkestone with father.

Acceptance and transitioning...

Eventually I realised I couldn’t escape who I was, or suppress it - and having moved away from Medway, I felt safer being more expressive. It was at this point I thought about neutral names, and I spoke to a friend about non-binary gender identities - after having done extensive research. He was incredibly supportive, and I felt more compelled to seek out what I knew I wanted, and needed: A neutral or feminine name, and to be referred to a Gender Identity Clinic to get hormone therapy.

Getting a referral to the Gender Identity Clinic was no walk in the park, I got turned away by the first GP I saw, being told that “they wouldn’t want to see you, as you’re neither boy or girl - they won’t be able to help you”. The second GP just outright refused because they didn’t understand, and even after clarifying I was told they still wouldn’t refer me anyway. The third GP I saw thankfully had dealt with gender identity before at a previous clinic/surgery, and told me she would refer me without hesitation or “roadblocks” to Charing Cross. It was an absolute relief to feel like progress was being made - it took me weeks to get to this point. In between each refusal I had spent time furthering my research and making notes for myself of how I might make more progress.

With my referral underway, I realised I didn’t think I could handle waiting so long to receive hormone therapy - sure, I was 30 and by that logic I should be able to wait a year or two more… But this brought the realisation that I could be 40 before I had any surgeries, and the thought of that horrified me. I needed hormones, I needed to start my transition and to get well underway with my social transitioning too - there’s a minimum requirement of two years of hormone therapy and social transition before surgical consultation will be considered.

I looked for alternatives… DIY hormone therapy looking too terrifying and complex, and GenderCare was simply too expensive. I stumbled across a few posts on Reddit discussing a new-ish service from Dr Webberley, aimed at providing hormones to those who needed it, at significantly less cost than with GenderCare - and was all online. This sounded perfect to me, so I made some enquiries, which quickly resulting in paying the appropriate fees, undergoing a consultation and a week later, I received my first batch of hormones: EVOREL Oestradiol patches (one per week), and Finasteride (5mg daily).

My hormone therapy started on the 14th May, 2016 - my best friend at the time wanted to “slap the first patch on my arse” as it was described, to my amusement… And that was exactly what happened at his flatwarming party.The patches lasted no time - unfortunately they fell off too often, so I was quickly switched to Climaval tablets. I was also prescribed Vaniqa, a cream to reduce facial hair - unfortunately this proved to be an unsuccessful treatment for me.

I found my mood improving (despite the monthly wobbles I developed around my marker day - a term I use to indicate the day I started hormone therapy). I felt more liberated, I started looking for clothes I felt more comfortable in. My friend started referring to me as she/her and I adored it - it felt so right.

In August 2016 I decided to make the move to DIY hormone therapy, in an attempt to reduce costs, and to understand the process more intimately (having to assess my own blood test results, and gauge the levels to adjust my regime accordingly) - the medication I took was Spironolactone and Progynova. This lasted until October 2016, when I went back with Dr Webberley’s GenderGP.co.uk service for a month (back on Finasteride and now prescribed Sandrena gel), before transferring onto a bridging prescription with my GP. This resulted in a prescription change to Cyproterone Acetate and Sandrena gel.

Around November 2017 I started going swimming in Brighton at events held specifically for transgender people, enabling them a safe space to swim, without fear of judgement, misgendering, etc. I decided to change my name to Naeomee, a name I feel completely at home with. I’ve found myself describing myself predominantly as non-binary/demigirl, though on occasion for simplicity I do sometimes use transgirl/MtF. I feel a lot more comfortable with these descriptions. I’m planning to undergo surgeries, hopefully having my first surgical opinion in June 2018.

I had my first appointment at Charing Cross Gender Identity Clinic in March 2017 - I received a call a day before, offering me a short notice appointment the next day. I jumped at this, naturally - I had to replan my day, as I was due to go to Brighton for Trans Swimming in the afternoon, which I pushed back to early evening. The appointment was pretty intense, with a lot of personal questions to establish how I felt, how I identified, what I was looking for, etc. I won’t lie, it was quite overwhelming and emotional.

My second appointment was in September 2017, again a pretty intense appointment, but at the end I signed a Shared Care document to be sent to my GP meaning that my hormone therapy would be officially handled by the GIC from then on. My prescription was change to Decapeptyl GnRH (injection) and to remain on Sandrena gel.

It’s now two years since I started on hormones. Whilst I still have a lot of dysphoria, and often struggle to see the changes I’ve undergone, I get constant daily reminders that I’m slowly passing more - I get compliments from people, comments that they would never have guessed I wasn’t born female, etc. It’s quite validating for me to hear this. Yes, I still get misgendered a lot too, especially on days where it’s more difficult to keep up my voice and find myself speaking in my older, bassier voice.

Mostly I feel good, I have decent and supportive friends, I have a wonderful boyfriend (also transgender). I’m living with him, in our own flat - it’s nice to have a place of our own and to be no longer living under parents.

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