#like i've been to a mental health hospital a few times i know what it's like in there and how dehumanizing it can feel | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carolmunson · 1 year ago

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always something there to remind me (s.h.)

summary: ten years after the sealing of the upside-down, you and your fiance steve head to a cookout to unwind during memorial day weekend. with steve on edge after a rough half sleep full of night terrors, you hope the day can be salvaged by seeing the party and just relaxing, but a violent thunderstorm changes those plans for the worse. pairings: steve x reader, lumax, edancy. heavy on the steddie brotp tho.

tw: 18+ as always. this story deals with themes of mental illness and ptsd, it is only intended for mature audiences. descriptions of ptsd flashbacks, internal and external (please be advised they are dramatizations). partner violence (unintentional). drinking/smoking. discussions of mental illness. very moody steve but very soft steve. features some tense arguments. smut, like, very loving and passionate smut. this relationship is not perfect, it's also a depiction of a moment in time in 1997. the emotional load was very much a woman's job and i personally think steve would be 'too proud' to be 'too soft' about his stuff. so there are parts that seem kind of 'eh' but -- that's just how things were sorta. gif by @kingofscoops

His pill case sounded like a rattle when you took it from the medicine cabinet, taking it into the kitchen where he was shrugging on his freshly ironed polo. The ironing board and hot iron still set up by the counter. The black stone contrasted nicely against your cherry wood cabinets that he installed two summers ago. That was when you both thought he might be getting better: the night terrors were less and less frequent, the flashbacks far and few between, he was less tense, less irritable. Seeking you constantly for soft touches and kisses, any kind of affection he could pull from you he'd take willingly. Two years ago was your two year anniversary -- when he finally told you the real story. Why he had all those scars, why he can't sleep, why he wakes up in a cold sweat crying. Why you'd never been able to figure out which health care company was providing him with so much medication and therapy when he was working part time at the hospital -- it's because it was the FBI.

It was two years ago where they took you to an underground office where they told you everything. Steve sat next to you, gripping your hand so tightly you thought it might break. They reassured over and over that nothing was coming back, that everything was over, but that Steve and his friends will likely never recover emotionally and mentally from what they endured. Four years into things now, you were both his fiance and his nurse. You checked in monthly with his caseworking team, but in these last few months, they've had nothing but shaky reports. You wondered if maybe his mind just isn't as sharp as it used to be -- you both just entered your thirties, maybe things get knocked loose quicker when you've been to hell and back. "Here, honey," you say softly, putting his pill case on the table. He looks at them and sighs, amber eyes lingering on the 'Saturday' section of the pill box. "Let me get you some wa--" "You don't need to give me my pills every day," he says -- it's soft and sharp, "I know I have to take them. I've been takin' them for ten years."

You offer him a tight smile, "I know, Stevie..." You trail off. 'It's important that he feels in control of the situation, a lot of his role when he was in this situation was to protect others. Try not to baby him about it, he might be fragile, but he doesn't like to feel like he is.'

"It's just...I don't want a repeat of last year," you quietly remind him. He had gotten too sure of himself when he started to feel better -- missing days, stopping altogether, off and on.

He reaches for the pill case and pops open the Saturday square, tossing the main five pills into his palm and then into his mouth. Pain, anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, migraine, blood thinner. The heavy stuff sat in the cabinet above the fridge: Quaaludes, Oxycontin, Sumatriptan, Clozapine -- among others. Every day was a reminder to him that he didn't come out of this a stronger person. His dad let him know that at every visit, treating him like he had a son made of glass. "Don't," he says after he swallows, "Don't start with me."

Your eyes narrow in on the finger he puts up in warning and travels down to his big hand, a vein popping in his forearm and under the band of his watch. His bicep flexes against his polo, you follow it across the expanse of his chest and down the other arm, landing back on the pill case.

You knew last night what kind of day it would be this morning. Desperate reaches for you while he woke up from another nightmare, his damp chest up against yours while he hid his face in your neck. He hugs you so tightly to him so he doesn't float away, and you match his strength as best you can until he falls back asleep. Sometimes it takes hours of stroking his hair and soothing him before he feels safe enough to even close his eyes. In the years you've been together, he's been more and more embarrassed over these needier nights. 'It's just, baby -- I'm a man. I have to get over all this shit.'

"I'm not starting anyth--" "You are," he warns, eyes narrowing. He clenches his jaw, "Don't."

"M'sorry," you breath out. You take the pill case when he sets it back down and bring it back upstairs to the main bathroom. You refill the case before placing it back in the medicine cabinet with a sigh. When it closes you look at yourself in the mirror, no longer the fresh 26 year old he met at the hospital admin desk when he started his part time job as an assistant in the children's psych floor. Gaining hours towards getting his pediatric therapist licensure to help kids who were like him and his friends -- well, sort of. To some extent. You smooth over your button down dress, his favorite one in your closet -- navy blue with beige flowers littering the fabric. It flounces over you in dips and swoops, falling just under your knee. Another sigh and you grab your purse from the bedroom and slip on your sandals, clip clopping down the stairs where you hear him grab the keys. Another Saturday morning where the group gets together and just hangs out, even though Steve sees Eddie, Rob, and Dustin pretty often throughout the week. They've been doing it for years now, but the outside buzzed with the promise of summer, Memorial Day weekend making everyone feel more at ease. Everyone except Steve.

He slams the car door when he gets in the drivers seat, making you jump in the leather of his Lexus. He runs his hands over his jean clad thighs, having grown in size over the last six years with age and trips to the gym. 'I just wanna be in like, peak physical condition if anything tries to come back. I wanna be more ready than when I was a kid, y'know?' And while the muscle was certainly titilating, it made for a very wary you when things went left. "Don't be like that, Stevie," you say softly, your voice calm and gentle like it is with patients on the floor, "I promise I wasn't trying to get on your case. Do you -- I don't know, do you wanna just stay home?" "No," he snaps, looking ahead toward the road as he starts the car, "I didn't pack a cooler full of all the shit you made for this cook-out just the stay home." "Can you relax?" you ask a little harsher than you planned, "Are you even good to drive?" "I'm good. To drive," he says through gritted teeth, pulling down the street. "Are you sure? 'Cause -- Honey you -- you didn't sleep so good last night and I --" He hits the breaks hard, stopping short at a stop light turning to look at you, tilting his head a bit to glare at you down the slope of his straight nose.

"Drop it," he says, the tenseness in his voice sends a chill up your spine. "Stevie I'm not trying t --" "Drop. It." he warns again, "Don't make me raise my voice at you." "Don't talk to me like that," you say sharply while he pulls the car forward when the light turns green. "Then don't talk to me like I'm a fucking child," he snaps back. "Well maybe if you didn't have an attitude with me like one I wouldn't have to," you cross your arms over your seat belt and huff. He shakes his head slowly, tongue tight between his teeth. He thought he knew better than to fall in love with someone who had a tongue as sharp as his. "You're askin' for an argument when you say shit like that to me," he says lowly, the Lexus crunching over helicopter seeds while he navigates through the neighborhood. You see his shoulders rise and fall while he attempts to steady himself -- fuse lit and ready to blow. "I'm sorry," you follow up, a deep breath filling your chest. You uncross your arms to lean your elbow on the edge of the window, resting your cheek in your hand, "I didn't mean that." "You did," he responds, tight and frustrated, quiet. He hastily reaches into his back pocket with one hand, eyes still on the road. Steve pops a cigarette between his full lips and you sigh at the sound of the lighter flicking. “What’s wrong now, hm?” he asks while the cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, “What’s your problem?” “Nothing,” you say – it’s something. He takes a drag and blows the smoke out the open window, “It’s just that you bought that pack yesterday and it’s already half way gone. You always chain smoke when you –” “Give me a fucking break,” he snaps, voice raising with each word, “God, can you let me have fuckin’ anything?” “No Steve, I guess not. God forbid I look out for your heal–” you start sarcastically. “Look out for yourself, baby,” he says sharply into the rearview so you can see his glare, “I’m doin’ just fine without you on my back.” You bicker the rest of the way to Ed and Nancy’s house, he only raises his voice one more time.

Eddie and Nancy's wedding was one for the ages, something about the mixture of straight laced and all over the place that made sense when they tied the knot. The pair, you were told, seemed unlikely until Eddie was in recovery after being removed from the Upside Down. He was down there for six months, tested on for another six. The Party and the older kids would visit him every day, keeping him updated and fed and hydrated. They'd cheer him on when he made advances in his mobility -- but for the most part he just needed rest. Nancy was working a lot, throwing herself into journalism like she always wanted, so she'd come to the hospital late. She wasn't really one for small talk so instead, she'd just read. She'd read aloud while he was asleep, her voice slow and calm -- stoic. Keeping him lulled like still water, she didn't even know if he knew she was there. One night, she picked up where she left off on the first installment of Lord of the Rings, continuing in her soft stoic voice. She watched him lay there with his eyes closed, breath steady, the beeps of the hospital machines in quiet rhythm with him. She at frist felt silly before she started, but maybe in his dreams he could hear her, and maybe just maybe if she does something fun, he won't have nightmares tonight. So she tries it...she puts on a silly voice for Samwise, and she continues with her silly voices. Gruff and manly for Aragorn, gleeful for Sam, some weird form of Scottish for Gimli. She bites her lip, smiling as she tries each one, shaking her curly head at her ridiculousness and stops. Then she hears it...the low rumbling giggle from Eddie in his hospital bed. "Keep going, it's funny..." he said with a grin, eyes still closed. "You can hear me?" she asked, trying to stifle her giggle. "I can hear you every night," he said, eyes peering open slightly, "It's the best." "Do you want me to keep reading?" she asked with a blush. He nods, a soft grin pulling up on his lips while he eyes closes again, "Only if you do the voices."

When you park in the driveway it's clear that the rest of the group arrived before you, their cars already Tetris'd into their places. Steve lugs the cooler out of the back seat with a grunt, hoisting it to rest on his broad shoulder. You roll your eyes at his machismo, like someone is watching him at all times and he has something to prove. You both walk to the back, the sounds of music and conversation and laughter bubbling louder and louder as you get to the gate of the yard.

A symphony of 'Heeeyyy!' and 'There he is!' and 'Finally!' come from the group as he opens the gate and you follow in toe. Eddie comes over quickly to help with the cooler, his hair still as long as it was when he was 20 – the only real updates being his five o’clock shadow and the ring in his nose. A few more weary tired lines by his eyes. His home made Iron Maiden muscle tee had a small sweat mark by the neckline – they must’ve been out here getting ready all morning. “Hey man,” he grins when the cooler gets set down, pulling Steve in for a tight hug. “Hey,” Steve smiles, patting his back hard, savoring the hold. “You alright?” Eddie asks when he lets go, putting a hand to his face, “You feeling okay?” Steve smiles tightly and nods but Eddie only half buys it, returning his look before turning to you. He comes forward, kissing both your cheeks with his full lips, scruff scratching at your skin, “Hi, sweetheart.” “Hi Ed,” you grin, watching everyone else come up to say their hellos. “Where’s Nance?” Steve asks, but his question is answered when she waddles out of the sliding door of the kitchen with a pitcher of lemonade. From the back, you’d have no idea she was seven months pregnant, but from the side – let’s just say, it was gonna be a real big boy. “Honey, what did I say?” Eddie calls out, walking over to her and taking the pitcher. “It’s not even heavy,” she chides back with an exasperated eye roll. You giggle at their bickering, listening to their sweet back and forth with a gentle ache in your chest. You wonder if Steve will be the same way when you’re pregnant. You wonder if the back and forths will sound so sweet, so innocent, so soft. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the cooler opening, turning to look and grab what you can to put in the fridge inside. Steve takes the meat out to put by the grill and a few appetizers that you put together last nice. You take the icebox cake and chocolate covered strawberries, hurrying with them through the sliding door into the kitchen. “I know, mommy just thinks she can do it all,” Eddie coos, resting his hands on Nancy’s stomach while she slices cheeseburger toppings on the counter, “She just won’t rest, are you gonna be like that too? You gonna run me ragged? You gonna be just like mommy?” Nancy laughs and it’s half airy, half from deep in her belly, “Look, it’s just better if I’m active so that I’m not surprised by it when he’s born.” “I know,” he says, kissing her cheek, “I know. You still love me, Wheeler?” “Love you always,” she grins, blushing when she sees you come in with desserts, “Oh! Oh my goodness, let me help you!” “I got it!” you say, “Just hope there’s room in the fridge!” When everything’s loaded up you give each other a hug, watching as Eddie and Steve have a mildly stern conversation about who is grilling what. ‘It’s my grill.’ ‘And? It’s my meat.’

“Do you think they should just kiss?” you ask while you watch them. “Honestly, I feel like they need to at this point," she laughs, "Go on outside, I’ll be out in a few,” Nancy encourages and you make your way back out into the very early summer heat – mugginess starting to soak the air around you. Before you know it, you’re already being pulled over to the picnic table to watch a game of Magic the Gathering between Lucas, Max, Dustin, Mike, and Will. El doesn’t come back to Hawkins very much,so you’ve been told – she’s the only person from the group you haven’t met. “So is this like D&D?” you ask, resting your cheek against your palm while you lean on the table. “Yes and no,” Max explains, looking at her options, “It’s like…” “Like poker but D&D,” Dustin says, making Mike, Will, and Lucas snort. “I think that’s the easiest way to explain it to you,” Mike says. “I trust that,” you laugh with them. You’ve been consistently hopeless with trying to learn the mechanics of Dungeons and Dragons but still enjoy watching, loving it more when Steve decides to join a campaign. He lets loose in ways you’ve never seen when he does, smiling and laughing, free like a child in the summertime. The sun beating on your back suddenly disappears when you hear Steve come up behind you with a hand on your shoulder, “Can I have my glasses, honey?” “They’re in the glove box,” you say, turning around, “Why do you need them?” “Oh, is Erica making you read her thesis outline?” Lucas asks, “Just tell her to buzz off. She already passed it in.” “Sinclair – don’t be an asshole,” Steve gives him a look that can only be described as ‘bitchy’, “She wants some assurance. We need another psychologist in the family, and she’s obviously the only one smart enough to get it done.” “Rude,” Max deadpans, flicking her eyes up at him. “You’re rude, twerp,” he says back, he turns back to you after sucking his teeth, "My glasses?"

“I just said, in the glovebox,” you repeat, a little sharper than you meant to. He lets out a huff through his nose, looking at you like he can’t believe you’d get snippy with him before stomping off toward the gate of the yard. “Is he alright?” Dustin asks quietly, “I saw him on Thursday he just…I don’t know, he seems a little tense.” “He had a bad night,” you explain, toying at a splinter in the wood, “He’ll be okay.” The sun disappears again but not from the expanse of your fiance’s shoulders and chest, but from a thick cloud moving slowly across the sky. The relief from the heat is almost welcomed until you feel the humidity raise a bit in the air – a little too tight, a little too suffocating for your taste.

The party is in full swing while Meredith Brooks’ ‘Bitch,’ blares from the boom box, Nancy and Max screaming the lyrics with abandon while the boys groan. You smile at how much fun they’re having, the afternoon going smoothly enough that you haven’t had time to notice how cloudy the sky had become. Your eyes linger on Steve, glasses on while looking at Erica’s thesis outline with her on the back porch. He had a pen in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the fifth one in the last hour and a half. "You got something here," he says to her, tapping his pen while continues reading, "Your argument's really strong -- especially about the rates of homelessness, it's almost always trauma related." "Well -- I am me," she says. He raises his brows and nods in agreement. "Can't spell America without Erica," he teases. You watch him, how gentle he is and how he taps through outline, asking her questions about how she feels about the finished thesis, where she got it bound, if the articles he sent over were helpful. They speak in words you don't understand, but it's okay -- he looks calmer, brows softened while they talk, so encouraging. "I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint, I do not feel ashamed --"

Eddie's rasp pierces the groups singing and conversation as he belts the lyrics next to his wife. Everyone looks up to watch him go, laughing as he does. "We should cover this," he grins, "Me and the guys, we gotta cover this at the next show." "So you can get boo'd off the stage?" Mike laughs. "So I can make sure your ass doesn't get in the bar?" he asks back. Mike scowls while Dustin laughs at him -- it's always smarter to not try it with Eddie, he'd always get you back ten fold. With a jolt, you feel something cold hit your hand, looking down to see a water drop splat against your skin. Then another, and another, and another. After the fourth or fifth, the rain starts to come down -- and then it starts to pour. "Alright!" Nancy calls, "Everyone grab something and head inside." The Party rises, wincing as the rain pellets down on them while everyone grabs a foil tray or covered Pyrex filled with food. You follow suit, hurrying inside with the undressed cheeseburgers and buns, laying them safe on the counter in the kitchen. Everyone else starts to file in, Steve and Eddie turning off the grill while the sky starts to darken significantly. The first rumble of thunder sends everyone's face to a flat line -- you wished Robin wasn't spending the weekend in New York City so that you'd have someone on the front lines with you and Nancy to keep everyone at ease. Nancy and Robin definitely had their moments but had a much tighter grasp on the world around them now.

A few flashes of lightening crack followed by deep rumbles of thunder. Boom, crack! Boom, crack, crack! You notice everyone resettle themselves around the kitchen table -- jittery, quiet. You sit down across from Steve while he looks down, following the woodgrain with his finger. You keep your gaze on his chest, watching for a tell -- he swallows the frustration he feels from having your eyes on him. "It's alright guys, just a storm," Nancy reminds everyone gently while she brings in the last of the food from outside. Eddie gets her seated before opening things back on the counter, the kitchen smelling like barbecue while he opens the foils. The conversations start around you again while you sit across from Steve, the tension sitting like a weighted stone in your chest. Another flash of lightning and that's when you notice it, the twitch of his hand. The thunder rumbles and he reaches up to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger under his glasses. Shit. "You okay, honey?" you ask him softly. He swallows, jaw clenching, "Mhm." "Okay," you nod, trying not to bring attention to it just yet, just incase it passes. The thunder booms again and he lets out a breath through his nose, he takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes more agressively. You tap your foot under the table and he can hear it, he can hear everything in the room -- the scrapes of foil on foil. The separate conversations. Eddie's laugh while he talks to Nancy. The clinks of silverware. Ice in cups. The drumming of fingers. Your tap. Tap. Tap. Tapping. Under the fucking table could you just stop tapping your fucking foot -- The next crack of lightening is so intense it shakes the house and everyone gets quiet. 'Just a storm', Nancy reminds, but her voice sounds far away. Thunder rumbles again in the distance and he swears when the lightening flashes through the windows it's red. He rubs his eyes again, a short burst of breath coming through his nose. 'Honey?' he hears you but its like he has cotton in his ears. The thunder rumbles again, the slick squelching of vines starts to creep into the sound of it. Another crack of lighting and the lights in the kitchen flicker. But when they turn back on Steve isn't with the group anymore. He's not even in the kitchen. He's back at the Creel House. 'Baby? Steve?' your voice is distant -- does Vecna have you? Did he find you? Is he taking you away from him? Steve whimpers, getting out of the chair, pulling at the roots of his light brown locks -- desperate to pull himself out of the memory, "Help, please..."

"I'm here, Steve," you say rounding the table while the rest of the group stands back, getting ready to help. Max grabs a boom box and Lucas runs to his car to grab his tapes with everyone's favorite songs on it -- just in case. Dustin approaches him slowly, hands out in front of him while Steve shrinks to the floor, back against the cabinets. "Steve, it's me, it's Dustin," he says calmly and slowly, "You're in Eddie's kitchen, Steve." But Steve only hears Dustin saying his name -- Dustin must be in trouble. "I'm coming," Steve says, eyes shut tight, falling further away. You watch as sweat grows on his hair line and neck, muttering a fuck under you breath. This was gonna be a bad one. "Honey, honey," you continue, kneeling down in front of him to ease his hands off of his hair, "You're okay, you're safe. I'm with you." 'Honey.' He hears your voice in the distance, searching for you in the blue black haze of the Upside Down, the thick particles of dust in his eyes. The slither of vines covers the walls and the floors while he ascends the stairs -- where are Nancy and Robin? Weren't they with him? "Nance?" You watch him call out for Nancy and she goes to get up but Eddie puts his hand delicately on her shoulder. He shakes his head no at her, "Just talk to him," he says to her. 'I'm here, Steve, it's okay!' 'It's okay!' But it's not Nancy's voice, it gets more an more deep, more gravelly, more like him. Steve flinches in front of you, soft 'no, no, no's slipping from his mouth. 'Stevie...' Where are you? Does he have you? 'S̷T̴E̶V̴I̷E̵.'

The sound of Vecna's voice booms in his ears, the thunder rumbling, the red lighting flashing to light up the house. You were never here -- Vecna tricked him. He breathes hard, looking around while the vines snake around, searching for him. "Okay, okay baby," you say hurriedly, watching him while he starts to hyperventilate. You raise your voice to get through to him, "Honey you gotta take some deep breaths for me, okay? Can you hear me?" Max and Lucas come back, smacking the tape into the radio and fastforwarding until Marc Cohn's Walking In Memphis crackles through the speakers. They both heave breaths while the song plays, leaning over the table to settle down from running. "You hear the song, honey?" you ask, "Can you hear it? Talk to me, Steve." You reach your hands up, sliding slowly up his chest to rest your hands by his jaw in a soothing touch. But for Steve in the Creel House, the vines have found him, slithering up his chest and around his neck, tighter and tighter against the wall. He tenses, big hands coming up and grabbing your wrists with a grip so tight you whimper. "No, shit, shit, shit! Fuck! STOP! NO! I CAN'T!" he panics, gasping for breath while his nails dig into your forearms and drag painfully downward why he tries to pull you away. "Ow, ow baby, hey, you're hurting me," you yelp out. He doesn't stop, eyes switching from tightly closed to open and unfocused while he reaches up to your biceps, clawing at them in defense. You reach out a final time. "Honey, honey, please, it's me," you say, tears balancing on your lower lashes while he rises, taking you with him. He handles you real rough, grabbing you by the shoulders and throwing you to the ground with a loud thud. And god does it hurt.

"HEY!" Eddie's voice booms out, gruff and loud like the rumbles of thunder outside. He gets behind Steve, pulling his arms close to his chest while Steve struggles against him. Erica and Mike hurry toward you to help you slowly up off the floor. You reel at first, wanting to run back to him. "Stay in front of her Wheeler," Ed warns, "You all stay right there." You stand behind Mike with Erica who takes your hand tightly in hers. You feel the pulse of pain in your arms when you look down -- gouges and deep scrapes, the blood shines in the line of the kitchen. You shake your head out of it and watch on as Eddie and Dustin do what they can to help -- the song continues to play in the background. "No, no," Steve whimpers, twisting his wrists in Eddie's grasp to break free, but in this state Eddie is stronger. He pulls him close, Steve back to his chest while they sink back down against the cabinets. "Shh," Eddie soothes, still holding him tight, "We got you, just listen -- you're in my kitchen. You hear the song playing?" Steve grunts, thrashing while Eddie hugs him tighter to him. "Steve, listen, listen to the song," Dustin says, "Focus on me and Eddie's voice, listen." Steve struggles, less intense than before, "Shh, shh, it's okay Harrington," Eddie soothes, rocking him slowly back and forth. "They need me," Steve cries weakly, breaths slowing while he pulls again at Eddie's hold, "Gotta save 'em..." "Steve," Dustin says again, getting closer. He rubs his shoulder slowly, pressing his thumb into the joint, "We're safe, all the kids are safe." "Safe..." he repeats back. Eddie sighs a little in apprehensive relief, letting go of one wrist to run a hand over his head, turning Steve's face into his chest and holding him close. "That's right, Steve," Eddie says softly, "Safe." 'Saw the ghost of Elvis, on Union Avenue, Followed him up to the Gates of Graceland And they watched him walk right through...' Steve can hear the lyrics, warbled and tinny in the Upside Down. 'Safe, safe, safe.' Echoing through the walls -- it gets dimmer. 'Now security they did not see him, They just hovered round his tomb...' Dimmer and dimmer. 'Almost over buddy, I can tell, we're right here. You feel Henderson?' A soft warm rub on his shoulder, the lyrics to the song, Eddie's voice. The sound of vines fade away, he hears the rain, it fades to black. "Walkin' in Memphis..." Steve whispers, half confused, while his eyes open and focus -- squinting in the light of the kitchen. Overwhelmed he looks around while the room tilts on it's axis. He grips Eddie's leg tightly to steady himself, he's breaths picking up again. "It's okay buddy, it's just us," Eddie says again, "You with me?" Steve nods, face cracking while he lets out a broken sob. You can only watch while Eddie flicks his eyes up at you in another warning to not come closer yet. Dustin let's go while Eddie starts to hoist him up, wrapping Steve's arm around his shoulder while he helps him to the guest room down the hall. "C'mon big boy," he says gently, "Let's get you some rest."

Things feel a little quiet after Eddie comes back from the guest room, he's tense -- no longer having fun the way he was before. His eyes are dark while he heads outside into the rain to have a cigarette. Lucas turns off the stereo and The Party sits back down at the kitchen table for a moment to decompress. They silently take out of the Magic the Gathering cards and start to set up again, Erica joins them seamlessly. When things seems a semblance of stable, Nancy gets up and takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom, "Let's check you out, alright?"

You sit on the toilet seat cover while Nancy takes out a first aid kit from under the sink. You listen while she hums the climax of Whitney's 'I Have Nothing' quietly, searching the medicine cabinet for some Bactine for your cuts.

"Are you okay?" she asks, taking both of your hands to outstretch your arms, she turns them to see the damage -- she tries to hide her face of disappointment but it's clear.

"I'll be fine," you say softly while she wipes down the gouges and scrapes, "I can take care of it Nance."

"No, you just -- just let me," she says softly. The Bactine stings -- so does the way she looks at you -- pitifully. You hear Eddie's boots clomp down the hallway before he shows up at the door frame of the bathroom.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he asks -- you wish people would stop asking. They only ask when they see him lose control. You do this all the time, you take care of him all the time.

"I'm okay," you repeat, "A little banged up, but y'know. It's okay."

"Does he do that alot?" Eddie asks, his jaw clenching, "Does he hurt you a lot?"

"This is one of maybe...I don't know -- four times he's gotten physical with me during an episode," you explain, "And you all know about them."

"Does he hurt you when he's here?" Eddie asks, tapping at his temple.

"No, Ed, don't be ridiculous," you sigh, exasperated that he'd even ask.

"Steve's not like that, Eddie," Nancy says, "We've been over this." "Well, here's the thing Nance," he starts, tense, "We're ten years out of this shit and no matter how bad my shit got I've never put a hand on you like that. Ever." "Eddie --" "No, no, listen," he says, "I don't like that, and I especially don't like that happening in my house in front of my pregnant wife." "And what would you like me to do about it, Ed?" you snap, "I can't -- fuck -- I can't fucking fix him for you." "I'm not asking you to fix him," he says back, a pain deep in his chest coming through with his voice, "I'm asking you to be sure that you still want to be a part of this -- your wedding's what -- October? You really wanna be worrying about this?" "For better or for worse, right?" you ask back, choking on the lump in your throat, "That's the promise." Eddie tucks his lips in, his own eyes getting teary while he scans the gouges that Nancy carefully puts bandaids over. "Ice your hip and shoulder for the first couple days," he mutters, biting the edge of his them, "After a fall like that. Then heat." You nod, quietly murmuring a thank you. "S'what my mom used to do," he says under his breath. Eddie scans you slowly one more time, swallowing hard before pushing off the door frame and walking back down the hall. You hear their bedroom door click closed in the distance. "You know how he gets," Nancy says, "Stuff like that y'know -- that's hard for him." "I know." She takes a washcloth, running it under cold water before squeezing it out. Droplets fall on the fabric of her light purple maternity shirt, leaving dark people marks on the top of her belly. She hands it to you. "Here, for his head," she says softly, "In case he's not all the way back yet."

You creep slowly into the guest room, seeing him laying on his stomach with half his face buried in the pillow. His sculpted arms tucked under it to give him something to hold. "Baby?" you ask quietly, "You awake?" He nods with his eyes closed and you look him over -- big hulking man who needs to be held. He hates it but you can't help but love him for knowing he needs it. You put the wet face cloth on the side table, sliding down next to him while he moves over to his side. In one swift motion you've replaced the pillow -- arms wrapping tight around your waist and up your back, one hand molding over your shoulder. He hides his face in your neck and you can feel his tears on his lashes and cheeks. His shoulders shake while he cries for a while, cold sweat damp on his shirt and the back of his neck. You never check how long he cries for – as long as he does. “I’m here,” you say softly, nails grazing his scalp in a steady swipe, “I’m right here.” You adjust a bit in his hold and you feel his grip tighten slightly, a soft whine of desperation leaking from his throat. “Don’t go, please,” he begs softly. “M’not going anywhere big guy,” you soothe, “This wedding’s already put us ten grand in the hole. Where would I even go, now?” You hear a soft ‘tsss’ come out of him, a tug of a smile against the skin of your neck where he hides.

“Oh, is that funny?” you joke, still coasting your fingers through his hair. He groans, letting his arms let go of you so he can sit up, you can see the tension in his body still. Steve looks down at you with tear stained cheeks and tired eyes, beckoning you forward with his fingers. You sit up for your thank you kiss, his warm palm cupping your cheek while he holds you gently in place. He kisses once slowly, then twice, three times – holding the last so you know he means it. When you break away he rests his forehead against yours, offering a few shallow breaths. You stand up off the bed while he sits off the edge of it, standing between his thighs.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks softly. He asks after every episode ever since he did hurt you back when you first started dating. A swift smack to the arm that stung for a solid twenty minutes afterward with the amount of power he put into it. It welted. He cried for hours. He wrote you love letters every day for a week.

You nod, showing him the scratches and bandages on your arms, "I think you thought I was a vine or something. You threw me. Like, to the ground. It was pretty hard."

His lower lip quivers, "No, no, no." “No, Steve,” you assure, trying to calm him, “It’s okay, you didn’t know. It’s alright, I’m alright. It was an accident.”

His face contorts while the tears start again, his big hands reach out to your waist, pulling you close to him, "It's not okay, it's not alright."

His voice raises an octave while he cries, "I'm sorry, baby."

"It's okay, Stevie, shh," you whisper to him, he pulls you in tighter, body shaking while pressing his nose against your cheek.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he cries, sniffling, "You know I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't," you say back, your own cry getting caught in your throat. He sniffles again, leaning back to face you, both of his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing the apples.

"I love you," he says with a depth and intensity that makes the lump in your throat give way. You cry with him and it breaks his heart, "I love you so much honey, you know I’d never…"

You nod, trying to calm your cry the way he was able to calm his -- so used to swallowing it up even though you'd beg him not to.

"I – shit – I have to tell you something," he says softly, hands sliding from your cheeks back down to your waist and then your hips. He looks down at the small triangle of mattress between you and the apex of his thighs.

"What's up, Steve?" you ask, running your hands through his hair again soothingly, "What is it?"

He lifts his head up, eyes shutting at the comforting touch, but when he opens them he looks defeated -- guilty, "I haven't been taking my meds at night. I was -- was flushin’ them cause I just -- baby, I don't know. I can't keep depending on this shit."

"Steve."

"I know," he nods, "I know...That's why -- that's why my shit's getting worse."

"You're not just taking this stuff to take it," you say, cupping his cheeks, "It's to keep you here. It's to keep you with me."

"I know," he repeats, voice cracking again, "I'll call my shrink tomorrow I promise. I'll get back on track. Fuck -- I'm sorry -- and I'm -- I'm sorry I was so mean to you this morning."

"It's okay," you nod, pressing a kiss to his forehead. You drop your hands and rub his shoulder, "I think we should go home, alright? We can get on the couch for the night and just rest."

"Okay," he says quietly, nodding. He slowly gets up off the bed, a little dizzy, using you for support. You both slowly walk out of the bedroom, Nancy peeking around the end of the hall.

"Everything good?" she asks.

You smile at her, "Yeah, I think we're gonna head home."

She smiles tightly, heading into the kitchen where the rest of the group still sits, eating and talking. Their heads turn when you both come into view -- soft eyes and smiles.

"I'm okay, guys," Steve nods, barely able to meet their gazes, "It's fine."

Nancy approaches you with a few tupperwares filled with food and dessert, "We'll get the cooler back to you on Tuesday."

"Don't worry about it," you smile, gathering the tupperware in your arms. You watch as the group gets up one by one to give Steve a hug goodbye. Their movements are slow and controlled, warning touches on his shoulders beforehand to remind him ‘It’s just me, it’s just my arms, I’m hugging you’. Soft mumbled words of support, nothing too loud – don’t startle each other. Wraiths of the friendship they all shared earlier. Rehearsed reactions to all of their sensitive needs – if you’ve seen one episode, you’ve seen all of theirs. And you had, once or twice. “I’ll get a copy bound for you,” Erica says while she hugs him. “You make me so proud, Sinclair,” he smiles. Nancy walks you both to the door and you turn, “How’s Ed?” “He’ll call later,” she nods, a look behind her eyes that matches yours. You hug goodbye, share quick reminders about food for the baby shower and a few crafty decoration plans before heading to the car with a very tired Steve. The rain patters on the hood of the Lexus while you both sit in the leather interior, this time with you in the driver's seat. He rubs at his temples with his eyes closed while you rifle through your purse for a sandwich baggie of emergency migraine medicine. “Here,” you say, handing him the pill, “Before it starts to get bad.” “Hmm,” he grumbles in agreement, popping it in his dry mouth to suck it down. “We’ll be home soon, okay?” you say, hand coming down on his thigh reassuringly, “Just close your eyes for now.”

He takes the tupperwares when you get out of the car, fishing his keys out of his back pocket while he does. His strides are long while you hurry up behind him, following him into the house only to bump into his back while he’s stopped by the thermostat to turn on the air. “Sorry,” you say softly. “S’okay,” he replies back, barely above a whisper. He puts the food in the fridge while you head upstairs to start a shower, a ritual you’ve both come to learn well after days or nights like these. You take out the good soap, the shower oil, all the aroma therapy you can to get him to ease up. Anyone else watching you get things ready would assume it was about to be a very sexy time for you. On the same coin, these showers are probably the most intimate moments you have with each other. He comes in as the room starts to steam and you help him ease off his polo, you start on the buttons of your dress while he takes off his jeans and socks. He helps with your bra, both of you shedding your underwear at the same time before you step in. Steve soothes almost instantly, his muscles relaxing under the hot stream, sighing further while he gets soaped up. You don’t have to be in there with him, but you do. He needs you so close so he doesn’t float away. His favorite part comes near the end, sitting in the flow of the shower together while you wash his hair. His eyes flutter closed while your nails scratch and massage him – he swears his hair is even thicker than it was before with all the blood flow you encourage. You wash his hair twice, then deep condition, holding him to your chest while you wait the five minutes it takes to settle in. He leaves soft kisses on your collar bone, on all the marks he left on you in Nance and Eddie's kitchen. He holds your hand, so you can’t float away. You both end up on the couch afterward, the leather groaning beneath you both while you lay across the deep seat cushions, you lay on your back, he lays on his side against you. The heat of his bare chest warms you through your oversized sleep shirt. His soft sweat pants tangle up with your bare legs. You let whatever’s on TV play – reruns you guess, you’re thinking about too many other things. “How’s your head, baby?” you ask while his eyes shut, leaning on your shoulder. “S’fine, better,” he says, he lifts your hand and kisses your fingers before placing both his and your hand on your chest over your heart. The ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dum lulling him to sleep. You half watch TV for however long until your own eyelids get heavy. You click off the TV and opt to turn the stereo on low, just so he doesn’t get lost while he sleeps.

You wake up to oldies, music your parents would listen to on records in the living room growing up – songs that came out a few years before you were born. Oldies. It's dark outside but you can still hear the rain. Steve’s already awake, just watching you while his hand smooths back and forth over your sternum. “You snored,” he says. “Good,” you reply quietly. You both snort out breathy laughs, feeling the warmth of his lips as they smoosh against your cheek. “How you feeling?” he asks, hand coming up to rest on your cheek, sliding down the side of your neck. “A little banged up,” you say, “Might bruise.” “M’sorry,” he says again, a tinge of guilty pink tinging his ears. “It’s okay,” you repeat for what feels like the thousandth time in the past six hours. “You looked really pretty today,” Steve says gently, almost sheepish, “I should’ve told you.” “You looked really handsome,” you say back, “But you were kind of being an asshole so I didn’t want to tell you.” “You should’ve told me, it probably would’ve cured my PTSD,” he says seriously but sarcastically, “Could’ve saved the entire afternoon if you just said how good I looked. Prob’ly wouldn’t have had an episode.” “You’re such an ass,” you laugh, smiling. He leans in to kiss you and it’s the kind that makes you too weak to stand. That kiss got him a second date, it proved that they said about old King Steve in highschool. On the stereo, Sherry Baby bleeds into Unchained Melody.

His hand reaches up under your neck to tilt you up toward him, tasting your tongue with his, guiding you with his kiss, “Angel…” he murmurs. He breathes through his nose while he keeps his lips pressed to yours, desperate to stay here in this moment, attached to you. “Steve,” you say softly, breaking away, “Stevie…” “Please,” he whispers, nuzzling your nose slowly, “Please.” “Lemme take care of you.” “I…” your thoughts trail off while he kisses your neck, sucking and nibbling gently at the spot just by the hinge of your jaw. He waits for your soft sigh, the tilt of your hips towards him – your allowance. He grins when he hears the air pass your lips, the realignment of your spine beneath him while he settles between your squishy thighs. His hands travel south, pushing up the hem of your big t-shirt to your waist, holding you there for a moment while his kiss takes over your mouth again. He tugs your cotton panties down, breaking the kiss while he sits up on the couch to slide them off your ankles. Steve looks down at you with an expression that makes your breath catch in your chest, serious – with supple lips, needy eyes. He leads himself back down again, big hands sliding down the sides of your thighs over your hips to your waist again. Instinctively, your legs spring up to wrap around him while his hips align with yours, feeling his strained cock in his sweats against you. “Jesus…” he whispers again, eyes fluttering closed. He buries his face in your neck while you rock slowly against him, the pressure and friction against the underside of his erection sending low volts through his body. “Mm-mm,” he grunts, shaking his head ‘no’ while mumbling, “It’s supposed to be about you.” “Well stop dangling it in front of me then,” you giggle quietly, he giggles too. The smile sends you reeling, his pretty teeth, the way his nose scrunches. He leans forward again to kiss, he just can’t stop kissing, can’t stop tasting your lips, feeling you against him. Steve’s hand reaches down to pull himself out of his sweats, pushing the waistband to the tops of his thighs while he uses the other to push one thigh out off the couch. “You ready f’me?” he asks huskily, tip dragging slowly from the pool of slick at your opening up in between your folds. He lets his thumb run in slow circles over your clit while he waits for your answer, your slow nod while you lean your head back on the arm rest gives him the okay. He eases himself in slow, the tip pushing past your opening with some resistance. “Open up a lil’, honey,” he mumbles quietly while he guides the tip in again, “Open up for me.”

Your little gasps float out of you and into the fuzzy part of his brain, gliding down his spine. You angle your hips upward, one thigh up against the couch cushions and the other dangling over the edge, spread as wide as you can. He holds himself above you with one arm, the other aiding in pushing himself further in, the tip finally breaching your core. He keeps guiding, slow back and forths while you ease open for him – taking him in, inch by inch. “Oh yes, mhm,” he groans to himself softly, “Thass–hmm-that’s it, angel.” He let’s go when he’s three fourths in, crowding over you, forearms on each side of your head while he strokes slowly to start – getting you used to him, accommodating his size. “That’s good?” he breathes. “Ye-yeah,” you breathe back to him. His mouth latches to yours again, feeling him guide your hands up beside your head, lacing fingers while he presses you deeper into the couch cushions. He keeps his strokes slow and deliberate, feeling every ridge of you inside, how you suck him in and hug him tight in place – but how he feels isn’t nearly as important. It’s the way your brows contort, the way you bite your lip, your whines into his mouth while he kisses you. Each slow thrust makes you coat him in a new flow of slickness. “C’mere,” he says into your jawline, letting go of one hand to sneak behind you at the waist, pulling you flush to him. The new angle makes you let out a whine while he hits a spot deep inside you, he grunts at the reaction, the feeling of you taking him in. His pace picks up the smallest tick, face centimeters from yours – your noses brush, lips barely touching while his amber eyes keep steady on yours. You let out short huffs, little whimpers every time the head of his cock pushes deeper with every roll of your hips. “S’nice, hm?” he asks, brows slanting, softening. “Mhm,” you squeak back, “S-so good, honey.” Your legs pull in again, socked heels resting on the top of his butt while he sighs at the change in pressure. “Thassperfect, god,” he hisses out, head dropping down to your chest, pressing sloppy kisses above your breasts while he gathers himself. He groans into your neck while wet warmth tightens over him, soft velvet walls coaxing him closer and closer to the edge.

Steve’s shoulders flex while he balances on his forearms above you again, your forgotten hand taken by his, fingers interlocked. His face inches from yours while he looks at you, the way your eyes flutter, the soft parting of your lips, the high pitched ‘Uhn, uhn, uhn, uhn,’s coming out of them — you’re so beautiful.

“So pretty,” he says to you, huffing a breath into a smile, “So pretty, baby.”

You kiss him a thank you. You see him swallow when he breaks away, his eyes getting glassy.

“S’gonna be okay,” he assures, nodding down at you, nose to nose, “We’re gonna be okay.” Slow thrusts between statements.

“Gonna get married,” he says, a groan flowing right down into your mouth while he kisses you, “Gonna be just like Ed and Nance, right?”

You nod while his thrusts get more passionate, deeper.

“Yeah? That’s nice?” he asks, “Marry you? Take you just like this after the wedding?”

“Yeah,” you gasp back, “Yes, Stevie.”

“Give you a baby?” he asks in a low whisper into your skin, lips pressing against your cheek, his strong nose dragging against your cheek bone, “Give you so many babies. You want that?”

“I want that,” you nod, face pinching while you feel yourself building up and up in a slow churn.

“You want that?” he asks again, coming back to hover over you — tears in his eyes, “You want that with me?”

You nod to each other while he embraces you in an old movie kiss, wrapping himself around you, pressing him to his chest while his thrusts get purposeful, controlled.

“I love you,” he pants into your ear, “I’m yours, m’all yours.”

“I love you, too,” you rasp back, free’d fingers interlocking in his hair. He gets leverage on his knees, the leather of the couch squeaking under him while he repositions. Soft smacks of skin between you echo in the living room against the backdrop of the low stereo. “Oh my god, Steve,” you moan out, “You’re – oh god you’re so deep.” “So deep, angel, Christ–” he huffs, trying to make a mental note of this position so he can remember it for October – really make it stick. His thought process stifled when your nails drag down his back, making his passionate thrusts quicken – a signature cocky smirk flick across his lips. “Mmm, that feels good honey?” he asks – he knows the answer. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, tears glazing over your eyes while he feels you pulse over him. Thank god the couch was leather. Watching you bathe in the afterglow of your orgasm he works you toward the second with ease, chasing his pleasure with each soaking thrust into you – so nice like this, so pliant – his little ragdoll. When he cums it’s deliberate, spilling inside you with your eyes on each other. You give one another breathless kisses, bodies interlocked, sticking to the couch in new found exhaustion. The phone rings. Neither of you get up to answer it. ‘BEEP. You’ve reached the Harrington residence – Did you forget my last name isn’t Harr– If you’re calling before October 1997 then it’s not just the Harrington residence yet but – whatever you know what I mean. Leave a message, we might call ya back.’

“Hey Harrington it’s Munson, um, just making sure you’re okay, man. Sorry I disappeared for a little bit there. Love you, call me back when you can. Bye.”

thanks for reading. <3

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic

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fullhalalalchemist · 2 years ago

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🚨🚨🚨URGENT PLEASE READ AND REBLOG

dec 13, 2022

we literally have just a few days to act. the senate is debating about putting KOSA, the Kids Online Safety Act, into the omnibus spending bill. if it is added, it WILL pass. despite the title and content of the bill seeming to be about protecting kids, we know everytime someone claims they are "saving the children" they have more sinister goals

which is why Senator Blumenthal is working with one of the biggest transphobes in the senate, Marsha Blackburn, to force this bill through, and claiming they are listening to LGBT voices when they are blatantly ignoring us.

essentially this bill gives every state attorney generals the power to remove anything they deem 'harmful' to kids online. you can see how a state like Texas or Florida would run with that, yes? it also forces you to upload your government ID online to access the internet. the bill will create a 'commission' led by handpicked members of the govt to oversee what is and isn't allowed online. it will lead to mass censorship of anything related to race or LGBT content. in a post-Roe world too? say goodbye to any abortion/sex-related info.

they are doing a shit ton of PR for this, including claiming they are listening to LGBT voices. i mean just look.

two weeks ago, 90+ human rights, LGBT, and tech orgs signed onto an open letter telling Senators NOT to pass this bill. in response, over 230 orgs led by the American Psychological Association signed a letter urging senators to. it's really fucking bad. like i can't sleep because of this. i didn't expect this to happen. we really really need people to speak up.

if this bill goes through it will literally kill off the internet as we know it

sign the open letter and petitions against KOSA here

the best way to fight against this bill is to call these specific senators (if you have dem senators, call them too)

nancy pelosi (202) 225-4965 roger wicker (202) 224-6253 chuck schumer (202) 224-6542 maria cantwell (202) 224-3441

call script below:

For Wicker only:

I'm calling because I'm asking the Senator to vote no on KOSA S.3663 from being added to the omnibus and being put through the Senate. The re-released text of the bill is still not adequate enough, and it's being rushed. This bill does not belong in an omnibus anyway. As a Gen Z, I also want to protect kids. I've been there. But this language is not ready yet. It should not move forward at all.

Hello Senator __:

My name is _, and I strongly urge you to oppose the dangerously misguided KOSA bill from being added to the omnibus spending bill. Bills like this should not be included in spending bills. Over 90 human rights and LGBT organizations have spoken out against this bill.

KOSA gives state attorney generals full power to sue any website if they see it has anything that is “inappropriate for children”'. For the past year, Republicans claimed everything LGBT is “grooming” children and we ended up with a shooting in Colorado and bomb threats sent to hospitals, NO senator should support a bill with vague phrasing like this. Before that, they successful removed books on race due to "CRT". This gives them a pass to do this to the entire internet. KOSA will only lead to more harm towards minorities and LGBT youth across the nation by censoring everything online.

The Heritage Foundation said they will use KOSA to target LGBT kids, specifically trans kids. In a post-Roe world, they will even use KOSA to censor resources on abortion. Anything they dislike will be targeted.

A bill this huge and this impactful should not be added to any spending bill. Even if it was a small bill, it has nothing to do with the omnibus spending bill and shouldn't be added at ALL. It needs more time being discussed. There should be hearings on it as well

We all care about kids mental health. We all want to hold Big Tech accountable, but this is NOT it. This will give Big Tech more power while taking away resources from the most vulnerable children. It is not the solution.

Please, do NOT support this bill. Do the right thing, and VOTE NO on KOSA.

#kosa #stop kosa #net neutrality #uspol #earn it act

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 11 months ago

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WIBTA if I broke up with my girlfriend for not taking her meds?

My (24M) girlfriend (28F) has bipolar and BPD. We've been together coming up on 3 years now. For the last half a year we were together it was pretty rough and turbulent, she was unmedicated and was having suicidal breakdowns almost every day, ended up in hospital several times, threatened and got into physical altercations with other girls who spoke to me or she thought were flirting with me, and I was spending almost every single day of my life having to take hours to talk her down from suicide or self-harm. It was emotionally exhausting and as someone who's also had suicide attempts in the past it was also incredibly triggering and damaging to my own mental health.

For additional context as to why I feel the way I do, my last girlfriend also had diagnosed BPD and NPD and when she stopped taking her medication she became fully abusive both physically and verbally and it took me a year of being absolutely beaten down to finally snap and leave her.

(Obvious note: I'm not saying everyone with bipolar, BPD, or NPD is abusive or that these illnesses inherently make you abusive. They were an abuser who just happened to have those things, and that played into how they acted and thought/felt.)

Current girlfriend eventually got medication and has been doing much better for most of the time since then. When she's on her meds she's a wonderful and generally pretty healthy partner - she's supportive, understanding of my boundaries, checks in with me, she's a year clean from self-harm, hasn't displayed any kind of self-destructive behaviour. She's gotten a job and managed to hold it down (got fired from several jobs in the past because of her daily meltdowns meaning she wasn't attending work), she's started exercising and going to the gym, she's picked up new hobbies, made new friends, she's just been doing great in general.

For about the past month though, she started going days without taking her medication and when I reminded her she would say she didn't want to, that she hated taking it, that she doesn't like the way it makes her feel etc. This is something my last girlfriend said too, and I know it's really common for people with BPD (and maybe bipolar too?) to stop taking their medication because they feel emotionally flat in comparison to how they feel off of the meds. I pretty much said that I couldn't handle going back to how she acts when she's off of the medication again and that if she was going to stop taking them then I didn't think our relationship would last through that kind of period again because last time it completely destroyed my mental health, my sleep, my life and several of my relationships due to how much energy and time I was having to put into her vs. myself and everything else. I suggested asking her doctor/psychiatrist/etc. for another dosage change or meds switch again to see if that would work better (though up until recently they have seemed to be working great so I'm not sure how good of an idea switching it up again would be).

She agreed at the time but I was kind of concerned about whether she'd been keeping up with it or not because over the last few weeks I've already noticed things devolving again - her screaming at me out of nowhere and having mood swings, intense jealousy and possessiveness, impulsive behaviour, even a couple of breakdowns again and having to talk her out of self-harm for the first time in over a year. True enough, today I found out she's been pretending to take her medication and throwing them out. When I confronted her about it she admitted she hasn't taken her medication for weeks.

I pretty much withdrew after that and didn't say anything at that moment but after a while she asked me why I was being so quiet and I basically repeated what I'd said to her in the last conversation, that I was honestly rethinking whether or not the relationship would work because I can't handle that kind of emotional exhaustion and constant sacrifice all over again. I don't mind some emotional support and some labour of love in a relationship because of course I'm going to need to look out for her mental health and reassure and comfort sometimes, that's the reality of loving someone who struggles, but I can't do it 24/7 again. I can't once again put talking her down for hours every day and weathering screaming and violent lashing out all the time at the expense of even my own basic needs and my own mental health struggles (for example my c-PTSD from my last relationship).

When I said that she got very very upset and basically said I was forcing her to choose between me and freedom or being able to live a normal/unmedicated life (which I mean, I guess I can't argue with because in a way I am making her choose between me and stopping her meds), and that I couldn't control her like that. I told her I wasn't doing it to control her and that if she's really determined to go off of them she could, but that I would have to make my own personal choice to walk away as a result of it for my own sake.

She said she'd think about it but ever since that conversation I've been going back and forth in my head on how much of a dick move it would be to flat out just do a black-and-white "Either you stay on your meds and regulate your behaviour or I leave"

TL;DR Girlfriend wants to go off of her medication, but when she's off her meds she has almost daily suicidal breakdowns and lashes out at me physically and verbally. WIBTA if I broke up with her if she goes ahead with stopping?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #suicide cw

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prophet-rebellion · 1 year ago

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Jolene's Emergency Vet Visit

Description posted from GoFundMe Campaign:

So for those of you who gave followed me (and maybe seen the update) you'll know Salem has been missing for almost 6 months.

She was my ESA, and given my declining mental health, I didn't have much choice but to get a new ESA.

Enter miss Jolene Macchiato L. Whom I adopted almost two months ago and have whole heartedly decided to keep after realizing just how well we mesh.

You may also know I've been in the hospital the last few days - staying with my roommate who was admitted. I've been coming home to feed the cats and (unsuccessfully) treat them for ear mites. My new roommate was dog sitting and he brought fleas and ear mites into our home.

During this time, Jolene went to the bathroom on my bed multiple times. I at first chalked it up to stress and was told to keep an eye on here. Less than a day of being back from the hospital and her stool is light in color, runny, and most terrifyingly, has blood in it.

This is no longer an issue of stress, but could be a major intestinal/stomach problem when mixed with her inability to wait and use her litterbox. On top of that, she was running around like she was in pain, or something was wrong prior to going.

My second job is not a sure thing yet - it has been more than two weeks since the company reached out to me - and I have been looking for more. The money I thought I won was more a scam to get me down to the car dealership (which by the way, I hated as is because of the older man behaving increasingly grossly and inappropriate towards me).

My funding for Salem has stopped at this point - I have done every physical thing I can to find and bring her home. And now I need to focus on the new feline in my care.

I am taking Jolene to the vet tomorrow and using my new credit card - but there are limited funds and paying it back is my current concern when I have payments taking up to the 1,000s combined due these next two months.

I am setting it to $550 for now (because they take a portion), but the price my change depending on what the vet says and what is wrong.

I know she still need to get treated for ear mites ($300 on it's own) because the current medications I've been using are not working."

This is my fundraiser.

Additional pictures of her adoption papers added on here as well proving when I got her. JOLENE IS A REGISTERED ESA NOW.

Jolene as far as I have been told is two years old, though she is very small for her age. She is a sweet heart though she was likely on the streets for a most of not all her life before she was taken to the shelter and I adopted her a month later.

She is a sweet cat that just wants to check and make sure that you're okay. She'll cuddle. She doesn't meow but she does trill and sound like yoshi.

She just wants to make friends with everyone. And if you're not petting her enough then the grabs your hand and brings it right to her face as she stands on her back legs.

This is the last fundraiser I'm making. Ask anyone I know in real life and they'll tell you just how much I despise asking for help. I want to be able to do things on my own. But until I get one bite from the hundreds (literally) of jobs I've applied to as a secondary then I'm at a loss. I can't afford to wait and save up for this vet Visit - not when her health is on the line.

I can post a picture of her at the vets office tomorrow as well to confirm, along with the update of what they set.

GoFundMe

PayPal

Venmo

Currently $750/$750

UPDATE - 08.02.2023

UNDER THE CUT

We went to the vet today.

TL:DR - she is on medications for the next two weeks, roughly. She did very good at the vet and was very brave. $500 was close, it will come out to be roughly $700 all together after ear mite treatment; we are holding off for now until the other cat in the house can be treated or they will just jump between them, which gives some more time to get there funds. But the over the counter medications are not strong enough to fight the infestation, and depending on severity, it could lead to long term health problems.

So I changed it from $550 -> $750 (again, because they take a processing fee). I also added in there roughly $200 that had been sent from PayPal and Venmo to give a more accurate show off current raised funds.

Below are screenshots of the update explaining more, along with pictures of Jolene at the vet today.

(Straight up, I almost cried because in the right two months that I have had her this was the first time she had crawled into my lap to lay down and cuddle with me.)

#my post #gofundme #cat #emergency #emergency vet visit #sick cat #esa

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 1 year ago

Text

I’m Still Standing.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

author's note - this concept came into my head really randomly and it’s the most angsty thing i’ve ever written on this account, so i hope it’s good for you all!!

please understand that i’m not trying to portray harry’s fans as people who would laugh about scars, i made this up so it would fit the outlook for the story.

word count - 6.8k

in which, you and harry first met when you auditioned to be a member of his love band, since then, your relationship has only just got better, friends turned to best friends and best friends slowly morphed into lovers. it was definitely love at first sight. but in december of 2022, you were the victim of an accidental road injury, you were hit by a car. it took a long time for you to recover, your fiance tried to cancel the shows so that he could care for you but you didn't want him to miss anything, so whilst he toured oceania and asia, you stayed home. june, 2023 was when you thought you were ready to appear on stage again, but that all takes a turn for the worst when some fans make some nasty remarks, but harry's quick to remind you, that you're still standing better than you ever did.

trigger warnings - mentions of panic attacks and car accidents, mentions of scars and hospital terms, mentions of mental health and body dysmorphia.

You stand backstage, your fingers nervously strumming the strings of your guitar, trying to get it into tune. This audition for Harry Styles' tour band feels like the culmination of all your hard work and dedication.

The stakes are high, and the nerves threaten to consume you.

You didn’t really know what you were doing there, your mother had recorded you playing your guitar in front of your dog Monty and had posted it on her facebook, loads of people saw it and that was when you got an email from Columbia Records requesting that you come in for an audition, apparently Mr. Styles was looking for someone to join his band for his 2018, Live On Tour, tour.

To say you were nervous would definitely be an understatement, your hands were shaking and you didn’t really know how to stop them from doing it.

Just as doubt starts to creep in, the sound of the door creaking open catches your attention.

Your eyes go wide when you turn around and there he is, Harry Styles himself, leaning casually against the doorframe with that captivating smile on his face.

He was wearing a black loose fitted shirt, with flamingos adorned over the material, the buttons not fully done up so you could see the tips of his swallow tattoos peaking through, his legs were fitted with a pair of beige trousers and some yellow loafers attached to his feet.

He looked good.

"Hey there," he says in his velvety voice, his eyes twinkling with warmth. "You must be the talented guitarist I've been hearing so much about."

For some reason, your breath caught in your throat, resulting in you losing the ability to respond back to him.

Your heart skips a beat, and you struggle to find your voice. "Uh, yeah, that's me. I'm a big fan, by the way."

Way to embarrass yourself, (Y/N).

Harry chuckles, his laughter like music to your ears. "Well, I'm flattered. But remember, I'm just a guy with a few decent songs. No need to be nervous."

A few decent songs, he definitely needed to be humbled. His songs were like going to space, beautiful and rare, there was hardly any music like his nowadays.

His words instantly put you at ease, a wave of relief washing over you. You offer a shy smile and respond, "Thanks, Mr. Styles. I needed that."

He steps closer, his eyes fixated on your guitar. "Mind if I take a look?"

Harry Styles wanted to hold your guitar.

Harry Styles, heartthrob, wanted to hold your guitar, how could you ever say not to that.

Control yourself.

You nod and hand him the instrument, your fingers lightly brushing against his. Call it cliche, but a jolt of electricity shoots through you, and you can't help but blush.

Harry strums a few chords, effortlessly coaxing a beautiful melody from the strings.

"Sounds fantastic," Harry remarks, returning the guitar to your waiting hands. "I think you're going to fit right in."

Your confidence begins to soar as Harry's charm wraps around you like a warm embrace. The audition becomes less daunting with every word he speaks, his encouragement laced with playful banter.

"So, do you always have this effect on musicians?" you tease, a twinkle in your eye.

Harry smirks, leaning in closer. "Only the ones who make my heart skip a beat."

Your breath once again caught, you made his heart skip a beat?

His words catch you off guard, and your cheeks flush with a mix of surprise and excitement. You try to maintain your composure, but deep down, you can't deny the flutter of anticipation building within you.

He was really good looking.

You didn’t even know that you were auditioning until the audition progressed, your fingers gliding effortlessly across the strings, the music resonating with every fiber of your being. Harry's presence fuels your performance, his voice blending seamlessly with your guitar, creating a harmonious masterpiece. It's as if you've been playing together for years.

Maybe that was how it was supposed to be.

In between your audition, Harry flashes you a sly grin and quips, "You know, if you keep playing like that, I might just fall head over heels for you."

You blushed once again.

Your heart skips a beat, and you laugh nervously, attempting to hide the blush that creeps up your neck. "I think I'd be okay with that."

Did you really just say that?

The air in the room crackles with a charged energy, and you find yourself lost in a dance of music and flirtation. Each note you play is a secret message, a longing that speaks louder than words. And in Harry's eyes, you catch glimpses of a shared desire.

By the time you reach the final chords, the room erupts in applause. Harry rises from his seat, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You were incredible," he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "I'd love for you to join the tour."

I’m sorry, what?!

You can hardly believe your ears. The moment you've been dreaming of is here. With a wide smile, you respond, "I'd be honored, Mr. Styles."

He reaches out, his hand finding yours, and pulls you into a warm embrace. As his arms encircle you, you can't help but notice the racing of your heart and the way his touch sends a surge of electricity through your veins. The world around you fades into the background, and all that exists in this moment is the two of you, entangled in a moment of undeniable connection.

Harry's voice, barely above a whisper, caresses your ear. "Welcome to the band, love."

You lean back slightly, looking into his eyes, a mixture of excitement and uncertainty swirling within you. The unspoken tension between you is palpable, and you find yourself wondering if Harry feels the same magnetic pull that you do.

Maybe you were just imagining it.

As you break from the embrace, a mischievous smile tugs at the corners of Harry's lips. "I must admit, there's a part of me that's relieved you're joining the band. I wouldn't want to miss out on the opportunity to get to know you better."

Your heart skips a beat for about the millionth time that day, the words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken possibilities. A playful glint dances in his eyes, and you find yourself being drawn closer to him, your bodies now only inches apart.

"Getting to know you better sounds like a delightful prospect," you reply, your voice laced with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity.

Harry leans in, his voice a seductive murmur. "Maybe we could grab a drink after rehearsal? I'd love to hear more about the person behind that incredible talent."

A rush of warmth floods through you, and you nod eagerly. "That sounds perfect."

That was just over three months ago.

So far, you were rehearsing for his first tour as a solo member and things had been going great. You had met Sarah, Mitch, Clare and Adam five days after your audition and instantly got along with the two of them, calling them your best friends within two weeks of knowing them.

As for Harry, things were definitely starting to get better with the two of you. If you seemed to be having a bad day, he would find a way to put a smile on your face. He was cute like that.

As you join the band and embark on rehearsals, Harry's presence continues to fill you with a sense of comfort and confidence. His playful banter and infectious laughter become the soundtrack to your journey together.

During breaks, you steal stolen glances, your eyes locking and holding for longer than necessary. The air brims with unspoken tension, each encounter tinged with the promise of something more.

One evening, after an intense rehearsal, Harry takes you aside, his eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and vulnerability.

"I've been thinking about us, you know," he admits, his voice filled with honesty. "There's something between us, something I can't ignore."

You weren’t sure you could ignore it for much longer either.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your own feelings echoing his words. "I feel it too, Harry. It's like we've found a connection that's hard to put into words."

He steps closer, his hand reaching up to gently brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Would it be too forward of me to say that I'm falling for you? That being around you makes everything feel right?"

No…never.

A smile tugs at your lips, your heart soaring with newfound courage. "It wouldn't be too forward at all, Harry. I'm falling for you too."

In that moment, the world around you fades away once again. It's just the two of you, standing in the quiet embrace of a shared revelation. And as your lips meet in a tender, passionate kiss, you know that this journey—this tour with Harry Styles—will be more than just a musical experience. It will be a love story for the ages, where the strings of your guitar intertwine with the strings of your hearts, creating a melody that will resonate long after the final notes have faded.

You had finally found the one.

Five years.

Five years you had been in a relationship with Harry and during those five years, the relationship between the two of you had done nothing but flourish.

On your anniversary in 2020, he proposed to you. He got down on one knee in your shared London house and there was no doubt that you were going to say yes.

You adored the man with every fiber of your body.

You find yourself sitting on the cosy couch in your shared hotel in Werchter, Belgium, a gentle warmth filling the room. Your fingers trace absent-minded patterns on the fabric of the blanket thrown over your lower body, keeping you warm as you let your mind wander, reflecting on the journey that has brought you to this very moment.

You cautiously cross the road, anticipation pulsating through your veins as you head towards the café to meet your boyfriend. The air is crisp, carrying a hint of autumn's arrival, and the city buzzes with its usual energy.

The road was safe when you crossed, until it wasn’t.

In the midst of the bustling crowd, a danger lurks, unseen and unforgiving.

A drunk driver, his senses impaired, careens towards you without warning. Time slows down, and your instincts kick in, desperately trying to avoid the inevitable collision.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you attempt to evade the oncoming car, but the impact is inevitable.

Pain sears through your body as you're flung through the air, crashing onto the unforgiving pavement. The world spins, and darkness descends upon you like a heavy curtain.

Inside the café, Harry sits near the window, a cup of untouched coffee growing cold before him. As he waits, a knot of anxiety tightens in his stomach. Suddenly, the tranquility of the moment shatters, and his gaze is drawn to the horrific scene unfolding just outside.

That’s when he sees you.

Time slows to a torturous crawl as Harry's eyes widen in disbelief. He watches in helpless horror as the car strikes you, his heart pounding in his ears. With a mix of disbelief and raw emotion, he stumbles out of his seat, knocking over his chair in the process.

His voice trembles as he shouts your name, the desperation and anguish evident in his cries. "No! Oh God, no! Somebody help! Call an ambulance!"

Passersby freeze, their eyes widening in shock as they witness the aftermath of the accident. Harry's voice breaks, the weight of the situation crashing down upon him. He drops to his knees beside your motionless body, trembling fingers reaching out to touch your cold skin.

Tears blur his vision as he cradles your face, his voice choked with pain. "Please, wake up…(Y/N)... Don't leave me like this, m’angel… I can't lose you."

Amidst the chaos, someone steps forward, dialing emergency services and relaying the dire situation. The sound of sirens grows closer, a faint glimmer of hope in the midst of despair.

As paramedics arrive on the scene, Harry is forced to release his grip on you, not without giving a fight, another paramedic holds him back, running soft circles onto him as his hands shake uncontrollably. He watches, a mix of fear and agony etched on his face, as they work to stabilize your fragile form.

His heart shatters with each passing second that lacks a sign of life. He whispers desperate prayers into the void, his voice trembling with emotion. "Please, don't take her away from me...I can’t…I can't live without….her…"

Finally, a flicker of movement, a gasp of breath escapes your lips. Harry's eyes widen in disbelief, his heart surging with a renewed sense of hope. "She's breathing…she’s breathing, you saw that…right?!" he exclaims, his voice filled with equal parts relief and disbelief.

As the paramedics prepare to transport you to the hospital, Harry is forced to release his grip on your hand, his gaze filled with a mix of longing and determination.

"I'll be right behind you," he promises, his voice steady with resolve.

Alone in the hospital waiting room, Harry paces anxiously, his mind clouded with thoughts of what could have been lost. He replays the accident over and over in his mind, tormented by the what-ifs that haunt him.

He had been waiting just over an hour and half for someone to come and talk to him. Give him an update on what was going on with you.

Hours stretch into an agonizing eternity as he clings to the faint hope that you will recover. The sterile hospital walls offer no solace, and he finds himself retracing the steps that led you both to this point, questioning the fragility of life and the unpredictable turns it can take.

Finally, a weary doctor emerges from behind the double doors, his expression a mix of weariness and cautious optimism. Harry's heart lurches in his chest as he rushes towards the doctor, desperation etched on his face.

"How is she? Is she going to be alright?" Harry's voice trembles with a mix of fear and longing, his hands clenched into tight fists.

You needed to be okay.

The doctor meets Harry's gaze, his eyes filled with compassion. "She's stable now. It was a close call, but she's a fighter. She sustained some serious injuries, but we're doing everything we can to help her recover."

Relief washes over Harry, but it's quickly replaced by a wave of guilt. He clenches his jaw, his voice strained. "I should have been there to protect her. I should have... I should have done something."

The doctor places a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "Accidents happen, and it's not your fault. What matters now is supporting her through her recovery."

Harry nods, a mixture of determination and guilt playing across his features. "I'll be there for her. Every step of the way."

Days blend into nights as Harry sits vigil by your bedside, his fingers tracing the contours of your hand, desperate for any sign of improvement. The beeping machines and sterile hospital environment become your temporary reality, a stark contrast to the vibrant world you both once knew.

He called his mother about what happened to you and she and Gemma took the first flight to Los Angeles, so they could support not only you but him as well.

They forced him to go home and change his clothes, promising to call him if there was any news.

Sarah, Clare, Mitch, Adam and Jeff and Glenne were by your bedside as much as they could be but with there busy schedules it made it harder for them to be there.

In moments of silence, Harry finds solace in sharing memories of your love and laughter, his voice filled with a mix of tenderness and longing. He whispers words of encouragement and love, as if the sheer force of his devotion could bring you back to consciousness.

And then, one day, a miracle unfolds. Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, confusion clouds your gaze. But as you take in the sight of Harry, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, recognition dawns, and a feeble smile graces your lips.

"I'm here, love. You're going to be okay," Harry whispers, his voice laced with relief. He brushes a gentle hand against your cheek, his touch a testament to his unwavering love and devotion.

A month into your recovery, was when Harry finally realised just how bad the whole ordeal was affecting you.

Harry arrives home from grocery shopping, his arms laden with bags filled with fresh produce and essentials. He enters the bedroom, expecting to find you in your usual spot, engrossed in a book or working on a project. But what he sees stops him in his tracks.

There you sit, in your wheelchair, wearing nothing but a sports bra and shorts. Your eyes are fixed on the floor-length mirror before you, your gaze filled with a mix of vulnerability and frustration. Harry's heart skips a beat at the sight, his instinct to protect and comfort you kicking into high gear.

His eyes never leave your form in the mirror. With a deep breath, he approaches you, his voice soft and filled with love. "Hey, beautiful. What's on your mind?"

You startle at his voice, a mixture of embarrassment and sadness crossing your face. "Harry, look at me. I can't stand on my own. I feel so... broken."

You were struggling, really fucking struggling.

Harry kneels down beside you, his hands gently grasping yours. His gaze meets yours in the mirror, his voice filled with determination. "But look at everything you've overcome. You've faced unimaginable challenges, and yet here you are, still standing."

Tears well up in your eyes, a mixture of gratitude and self-doubt coursing through your veins. "I don't always feel strong, Harry. Sometimes, I feel defeated by my own body."

Harry's thumb strokes the back of your hand in a soothing motion. "I know it's not easy, and it's okay to have moments of doubt. But remember, you're not defined by what you can or can't do physically. Your strength shines through in countless other ways."

His words resonate within you, a glimmer of hope flickering in the depths of your soul. You take a deep breath, allowing his words to wash over you. "I guess... I just miss feeling independent, like I used to."

Harry's eyes never leave yours, his voice filled with unwavering support. "You are independent, love. It may look different now, but that doesn't diminish your spirit or your worth. Remember the chorus of that song by Elton John? 'I'm still standing, yeah yeah yeah.'"

That was the song that was getting you through the hard days, the lyrics of the song reminded you that even though you had been through hell and back, you were in fact still standing.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as the lyrics echo in your mind. You meet Harry's gaze, a flicker of determination in your eyes. "You're right. I'm still standing, and I won't let this define me."

Harry's face lights up with pride, his voice brimming with admiration. "That's my girl. Together, we'll face anything that comes our way. We'll rewrite the rules and show the world just how resilient we are."

You lean into him, finding solace in his embrace. In his arms, you feel a renewed sense of strength and acceptance. With Harry by your side, you know that you'll navigate this journey together, overcoming obstacles with unwavering love and unwavering determination.

As the echoes of Elton John's lyrics fade into the air, you realize that standing on your own two feet is not just about physical ability. It's about resilience, love, and the unwavering spirit that resides within. And together, you and Harry are an unbreakable force, ready to face any challenge that comes your way, still standing.

Memories of the accident resurface, the one that left you with a broken leg, a few broken ribs, and scars that tell a story of resilience and strength. The pain you endured during those days in the hospital, the grueling physical therapy sessions, and the long road to recovery—all of it has shaped you into the person you are today.

The accident left you with a lot of scars and sometimes, you didn’t like how they were on your body, you didn’t want them, you shouldn’t have had them in the first place had it not been for the drunk driver that had struck you.

One time, Harry had caught you sitting in the wheelchair the hospital provided you with and was sitting in front of the floor length mirror, eyes wet and feeling disgusted with the way your body now looked.

Lost in your thoughts, you feel a comforting presence beside you. Your fiancé, the person who has been your rock throughout this entire journey, sits down, his eyes filled with love and concern.

"What's on your mind, love?" Harry asks gently, their voice laced with a mixture of tenderness and curiosity.

You take a deep breath, gathering the courage to share your thoughts. "I've been thinking a lot about everything that's happened, about how far I've come since the accident. The fear I had of losing my ability to play the guitar, to perform on stage, has slowly transformed into a burning desire to reclaim what I love."

Your fiancé listens intently, their hand finding yours, providing a comforting anchor in the depths of your vulnerability.

"I think I'm ready," you continue, your voice filled with determination. "I'm ready to join you back on tour as your guitarist. I want to step back into the spotlight, to feel the exhilaration of playing for a crowd again."

A flicker of excitement dances in their eyes as they take in your words. "Are you sure, love? I mean, I've seen your strength and resilience, but I want to make sure you're ready for the demands and challenges of touring."

You had thought it over. So many times, you kissed touring with him and not being on stage with him in what felt like forever, you just wanted a little bit or norm back in your life.

You smile, your gaze meeting theirs. "I am sure. The accident made me realize that life is too short to let fear hold me back. I want to embrace every opportunity that comes my way, and being on stage with you is the greatest opportunity of all."

Your fiancé's face lights up with a mixture of pride and love. "I've always believed in you, in your talent and your unwavering spirit. I can't express how happy I am to hear you say this."

Their words fill your heart with warmth, and you lean in, your forehead resting against theirs. "I couldn't have done it without your love and support. You've been my rock, my inspiration. And now, it's time for us to conquer the stage together."

24th June, 2023.

The day you would be back on stage, and reclaiming your spot next to Mitch as Harry’s guitarists.

As you stand before the mirror in the dressing room, your heart pounds with a mix of excitement and apprehension. It's been seven long months since the accident, the incident that left you scarred physically and emotionally. But tonight, you're stepping back onto the stage alongside your fiancé, the incredibly talented man that held your heart captive.

You peel off your clothes, revealing the remnants of the past—a tapestry of scars that litter your body. Each mark tells a story, a chapter of pain and healing. Your fingers trace the scars delicately, memories flooding back with each touch.

Your fingertips glide over the long, jagged scar on your stomach, a reminder of the surgery that saved your life. It stretches across your abdomen, a visible testament to the fragility of existence. You can still recall the sterile scent of the hospital, the sensation of being under anaesthesia, and the sound of the surgeon's voice assuring you that everything would be alright.

As you trace the path of the scar, tears well up in your eyes. The emotions overwhelm you—the fear, the vulnerability, the gratitude for being alive. You hastily wipe away the tears, refusing to let them consume you. You don't want Harry to see you like this—fragile, still grappling with the remnants of the accident.

Taking a deep breath, you collect yourself and begin to change into the performance outfit meticulously chosen for tonight's show. With each article of clothing, you shed the emotional weight and don a cloak of resilience.

But it's not just the scar on your stomach that serves as a reminder. Your fingers move upward, skimming over the faint marks on your chest. They are the remnants of broken ribs, the physical proof of the impact that threatened to shatter your entire being.

As your fingers dance across the scars, a mixture of emotions swirls within you. You remember the excruciating pain that radiated through your chest, making each breath a struggle. The nights spent gasping for air, wondering if you would ever be able to play guitar again. And yet, here you are, on the verge of reclaiming that stage.

When you finally emerge from the room, you plaster a smile on your face, determined to project confidence. Harry turns to you, his eyes lighting up as he takes in your appearance.

"Hey, love, you look absolutely stunning!" he exclaims, wrapping you in a warm embrace.

You glanced down at what you were wearing, nodding softly. You had decided to wear short sleeves tonight due to the humidity of the Belgian air and had gotten Elin and Madi to cover up the scars on your arms with foundation, if you had to get through this performance tonight without a hitch, you needed to make sure the fans didn’t see the state of your arms.

It wasn’t second nature to the fans and the world that you had been the victim of a car accident, paps had eaten the story up and it wasn’t long before the world were all feeling sorry for you, and telling you ‘get well soon.’

It wasn’t second nature that the fans knew you and Harry were in a relationship. They were happy for him, some fans weren’t, some were bitter but the majority were kind hearted.

The fans knew not to expect you to be on stage for a while, they liked your replacement , you just hoped they didn’t resent you for reclaiming your spot.

"Thank you," you reply, your voice tinged with a hint of nerves. "I'm so excited to perform with you again, sweet boy. It's been too long."

Harry nods, his eyes filled with adoration. "I've missed having you by my side on stage, baby. Tonight is going to be incredible."

When you first walked onto the stage with the rest of the band, the crowd cheered, happy to see you back.

You wanted to perform at Wembley when he was there but the 90,000 people just made your nerves too hard to get rid of.

It had gotten to the part of the show where Harry introduced the band helping him perform tonight.

The crowd erupts into thunderous applause, their cheers blending with the pounding of your heart.

Harry steps forward, his charm radiating as he takes hold of the microphone. "Thank you all so much!" he exclaims, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. "Tonight has been incredible, and I want to take a moment to introduce you to the extraordinary people who make this show possible."

The spotlight shifts, illuminating each member of the band in turn as Harry introduces them, acknowledging their talent and contributions. The crowd roars with approval, showing their love and appreciation for the musicians who have taken them on this unforgettable journey.

"And last, but certainly not least," Harry says, his eyes glimmering with affection as he turns toward you, "I want to welcome someone very special back to the stage tonight. Please give a round of applause for my incredible fiancée, who's been through so much and is now here, shining brighter than ever. Welcome back, (Y/N)!"

The crowd erupts into thunderous applause once again, their cheers echoing throughout the venue. The sound washes over you, filling you with warmth and a renewed sense of purpose. Harry walks over to you, his smile radiant as he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.

"I'm so proud of you, love," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the roaring crowd. "You're incredible."

Touched by his words and the overwhelming support of the crowd, you turn to face the audience, a beaming smile adorning your face. You raise a hand in gratitude, acknowledging their cheers and the immense love they've shown.

The performance took a turn for the worst when Harry was performing Matilda.

As Harry takes the centre stage, his voice resonates through the venue, captivating the crowd with his heartfelt rendition of "Matilda." You stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder with Sarah, Madi, and Elin, proud to be part of his performance.

However, as the heat intensifies under the stage lights, the foundation covering the scars on your arms begins to melt away, slowly revealing the marks beneath. Unbeknownst to you, a group of fans standing in the front row notices the scars and begins to snicker and laugh, their insensitivity cutting through the air.

Caught off guard, you glance down at your arms, now exposed for all to see. Shame washes over you, accompanied by a deep sense of vulnerability. The laughter echoes in your ears, a cruel reminder of the pain you carry on a daily basis.

The song concludes, and as you go to step back, picking up your guitar, tears well up in your eyes. The weight of their laughter presses heavily on your heart, and without a second thought, you bolt offstage, seeking solace in the privacy of the dressing room.

You stumble through the corridors, your vision blurred by tears. Jeff, who was standing on the side stage, attempted to touch your arm and see if he could do anything but you bolted straight past him, too upset to even attempt to speak.

Finally, you reach the dressing room, the door becoming a barrier between you and the outside world. You lock it behind you, the sound of the latch giving you a brief sense of security.

Collapsing onto a chaise lounge, sobs wrack your body as you struggle to catch your breath. The pain of their laughter reverberates through you, and the scars that you've worked so hard to embrace now feel like glaring flaws. In this moment of despair, you feel utterly alone.

Through your tear-stained face, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The scars etched on your arms serve as a painful reminder of the journey you've travelled—a journey that has tested your resilience and strength. But at this moment, they seem to mock you, amplifying your vulnerability.

You don’t know how long you were sitting there.

But the panic that has gripped your chest refuses to subside, and the air feels thin, suffocating.

Amidst your distress, you hear Harry's desperate pleas from the other side of the door, his voice filled with concern and love.

"Please, love," he implores, his voice cracking. "Let me in. I need to be with you. I can't bear to see you like this."

You find it difficult to think, your mind clouded by fear and self-doubt. Harry's words echo in your ears, but a part of you hesitates, questioning whether you should expose him to your vulnerable state.

Yet, Harry persists, his voice growing more desperate with each passing moment.

"Please, just open the door," he pleads again. "I'll do anything to make this better. Just let me in."

As the minutes stretch on, your panic intensifies. The room feels smaller, the air heavier, and you begin to scratch at your arms, hoping to erase the scars that have become a constant reminder of your pain. The act is born out of frustration, a desperate attempt to regain control over your emotions.

But the more you scratch, the more the scars stand out against your skin, marking the battles you've fought and the strength you've shown. The pain intensifies, both physical and emotional, and your nails dig deeper into your flesh.

Finally, Harry's voice breaks through the chaos in your mind.

"Love, please," he pleads once more. "I can't stand being separated from you like this. Please, open the door."

His words penetrate your fog of panic, stirring a flicker of clarity within you. You realise that shutting him out would only deepen the isolation you feel. With trembling hands, you reach for the lock, slowly turning it until the latch clicks, allowing Harry to step into the room.

Harry rushes toward you, his eyes wide with worry, and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. Your breath hitches as he embraces you, his warmth and steady heartbeat serving as an anchor amidst the storm raging inside you.

But as the panic continues to surge, your scratching becomes more frantic, fueled by the desperation to rid yourself of the scars. Harry's eyes widen as he notices your self-destructive actions, his heart aching at the sight.

"Stop, love," Harry pleads, his voice filled with a mix of concern and determination. He gently grasps your hands, restraining them from causing further harm. "Please, you don't need to do this. Your scars don't define you. They are a testament to your strength and resilience."

Tears stream down your face as you struggle to find your voice amidst the overwhelming emotions.

"Harry," you manage to whisper, your voice trembling, "the fans... they laughed at me. I feel so exposed, so broken."

Harry's hold on you tightens, his voice filled with unwavering support. "Love, never forget what Elton John said in 'I'm Still Standing.' 'I'm still standing after all this time.' We've faced adversity together, and we've triumphed. We won't let their laughter dim your light."

His words wash over you, reminding you of the battles you've fought, the hurdles you've overcome. In that moment, you realise that their laughter, though painful, is a reflection of their ignorance, not your worth.

As Harry's arms enfold you, a newfound resolve begins to take hold. You slowly cease

Your frantic scratching, your nails no longer leaving trails of desperation on your skin. Instead, you allow Harry's touch to calm you, to remind you that you are not alone in this struggle.

As you gradually regain control of your breath, Harry's soothing voice fills the room once again. "You are beautiful, inside and out," he assures you. "Those scars are a part of your journey, a testament to the strength that resides within you. They are not something to be ashamed of."

With each word, the weight of the fans' laughter begins to lift, replaced by a growing sense of self-acceptance. You realise that their cruel taunts are not a reflection of your worth but a testament to their own insecurities and ignorance.

In that moment of revelation, you look into Harry's eyes, finding solace in his unwavering gaze. He pulls you closer, his embrace a shield against the world's judgments.

"You are loved," he whispers, his voice filled with conviction. "By me, by your fans, by all those who see the incredible person you are."

After the storm of emotions, Harry guides you to rest your head on his lap, finding comfort in his presence. He senses your need for warmth and reaches for a soft blanket that carries his familiar scent. As he carefully drapes it over your body, you feel an instant sense of security, as if his love and protection have enveloped you.

Harry pulls out his phone, his brow furrowed with concern. He dials Jeff's number, his voice steady but laced with an undertone of worry.

"Jeff, mate," he begins, "I need to talk to you. We can't continue with the show right now. (Y/N)s head is in a bad place, and she needs me here with her."

You hated letting the fans down as much as Harry did, but right now, you needed him, you needed him more than anything right now.

As he speaks, his free hand finds its way to your hair, his fingers gently running through the strands. The soothing motion sends waves of comfort through your body, easing the tension that had gripped your soul.

There's a brief pause as Jeff responds on the other end of the line. Harry's voice grows firmer as he continues, his protective instincts kicking in. "I know, Jeff, but she's my priority. We can't push her right now. She needs time and space to heal. I hope you understand."

You feel the weight of his determination, his unwavering commitment to your well-being. His words, spoken with conviction, serve as a reminder that you are not alone in this battle.

As the conversation with Jeff continues, your body begins to relax, the exhaustion of the emotional rollercoaster setting in. Harry's touch and his voice lull you into a state of tranquillity, your eyelids growing heavy.

You listen to Harry's voice, a mix of concern and reassurance, as he explains the situation to Jeff. The sound of his voice becomes a soothing melody, guiding you towards much-needed rest. The world outside the dressing room fades away, and in that moment, it's just you and Harry, wrapped in a cocoon of love and understanding.

With Harry's presence anchoring you,drifting you into a peaceful slumber, your mind dances on the edge of consciousness. Harry's comforting presence lingers, filling the room with a sense of love and security. In the hazy realm between wakefulness and dreams, you hear his soft voice whispering.

"I love you," Harry murmurs, his words like a gentle caress against your skin. His declaration of love resonates deep within your heart, a reminder that you are cherished and adored.

In the quiet of the room, Harry's fingers trace the scars on your forearm from when you hit the ground and the skin collided with the concrete of the floor, resulting in a skin graft on both arms, with delicate reverence.

His touch is tender, his love evident in every stroke. With each pass of his fingers, you feel a mixture of vulnerability and acceptance, knowing that he sees beyond the scars and embraces every part of you.

Touched by his gesture, you shift slightly, gazing up at him through half-closed eyes. The love shining in his eyes mirrors the love you hold in your heart.

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and in a soft voice filled with gratitude, you whisper, "I love you too, Harry."

His lips curve into a gentle smile, and without hesitation, he leans down to press a loving kiss against the scars on your arms. The warmth of his lips against your skin sends a rush of emotions cascading through your veins—a blend of love, acceptance, and healing.

In that tender moment, you realise that Harry's love is not conditional. It extends far beyond the physical, embracing the entirety of who you are—scars and all. With his unwavering support, you find the strength to embrace your own journey, to let go of the pain inflicted by others' judgement.

As Harry's lips leave a trail of love and reassurance upon your scars, you feel a renewed sense of self-acceptance. You understand that love has the power to heal, to transcend the wounds of the past. With each kiss, Harry affirms that you are worthy of love and that your scars are a testament to your strength.

In the warmth of his embrace, you feel a newfound sense of peace settle within you. The doubts and insecurities that plagued your mind are replaced with a quiet confidence, knowing that you are loved unconditionally.

One thing was for sure though.

Just like the legend that is Elton John Said:

I’m Still Standing.

In fact you were standing better than you ever had, with the support of friends and family and the one man you don’t think you could ever stop loving.

You were starting to look like a true survivor, and not so much a little kid when you got overwhelmed looking at the scars on your arms from the impact of the accident.

“I’m Still Standing…” you whispered , voice slightly scratchy.

Harry smiled, letting out a small sniffle, “— yeah you are baby…yeah you are.”

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agalychnisspranneusroseus · 18 days ago

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What do you think Marcy's relationship with her parents was like after Amphibia?

Oooooh interesting question mmmm well i AM a believer that her parents are awful, so there's that. I don't think they beat her up or anything but if Sasha fucking Waybright was a better option than them in her most desperate moments, they must be just as bad as her if not worse. Or rather, they must have been failing to provide something Sasha and Anne fulfilled. I've seen people despicting them as emotionally neglectful, which is something I think makes sense.

I do have the headcanon that they didn't really have the patience for Marcy. She was just too hyper, had too much energy, talked too much, got into too many accidents, broke too many things. I think they were often mad at her even when she did nothing wrong, like just generally pissed off most of the time. They found everything she said annoying no matter how harmless and let her know, so she started to feel it was better if she kept quiet. That meant Anne and Sasha were her only outlet to like... talk to anyone at all, and they didn't listen to her much, but at least they let her talk. They let her put on her silly little movies and sometimes humored her by playing a little bit of C&C with her. If Marcy was so happy to accept the bare minimum, it must be because she was getting nothing with her family. The fact that her way of worming her way into people's hearts is making herself useful tells me her parents mostly just appreciated her for her achievements, soooo...

I do think her parents love her. I just don't think they like her, or that they have much patience for her, mostly telling her to be quiet, to do play her little games somewhere else or they just ignore her when she talks. They were desperately looking for her when she went missing and were infinitely relieved when she got back. There were lots of hugs and tears and they didn't leave her side while she was in the hospital. They also felt a bit guilty for ignoring her so much during the past few years. Worrying they'd never see her again made them realize how much time they lost. For some time, they were a lot more patient with her, listening to her talk about her little games and her feelings and how her day at school was and the pretty friendship bracelets Anne and Sasha made for her. It almost felt like everything had been fixed, like everything would change and be alright. She felt a little bit less scared of moving now.

But as time passed, they kinda fell back into their own habits. They were a bit less mean about it, but despite how hard they tried... they just couldn't like their daughter. She was weird and annoying and never paid attention to her surroundings. For the first few weeks she'd wake them up every night at 3am in tears asking to sleep with them because she had a nightmare, and they were okay with it at first, but after a month of her disrupting their sleep they began to ask her to please stay in her room unless it's absolutely necessary. Her heart broke when they said that - she needed them.

She began to call Anne and Sasha whenever she had nightmares, panic attacks or chest pain, and they always picked the phone. Late night videocalls became their new routine, until her parents asked her not to call her friends at night because she couldn't keep her voice down when she did, so she switched to texting them instead.

Only good thing was that they were happy to pay for several plane tickets a year so she could visit them. She'd spend full summers with the Boonchuys, and they even let her spend the holidays with her friends. The latter they did because they knew Anne and Sasha were better for their daughter than they could ever be, though the former was a way for them to catch a break from her. Unsurprisingly, Marcy's mental health improved a lot whenever she was with her girls.

So... they fulfilled their basic duties as parents but often struggled to provide the emotional support Marcy needed, relying on her friends to do the work they couldn't. They do want Marcy to be happy and they do feel guilty for not being able to help her but their lack of patience always gets the best of them. Put simply, they just can't stand her no matter how much they try. They do a great effort to treat her nicely but every word that comes out of her mouth is immensely irritating to them. Actually, maybe they kinda just hate their daughter. They're really happy when, ten years after that whole mess, they hear she'll be moving back to LA with her friend Sasha. Hopefully she'll be happy there, and hopefully they'll get their lives back after 23 years of constant struggle and frustration.

#amphibia #marcy wu #my posts #marcy wu's parents #wu family #idk how to tag this but #yeah no they're horrible #marcy can never catch a fucking break 😭😭

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papermint-airplane · 4 months ago

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I'm really not doing well guys. Tl;dr my life sucks a lot. That's all you need to know.

My job is still jerking us around on the layoffs. They started in October of last year with "we're selling the department and laying everyone off in February" then when March rolled around and nothing had happened yet, told everyone "lol just kidding the buyer dropped out". So a lot of people quit because this clown company just told everyone it was willing to sell their jobs out from under them and didn't give a shit who was affected or how.

My job is not a job that can function when short staffed. It was already short staffed before they pulled this fakeout layoff shit and now we're lucky to have two people scheduled at any given time. They're paying thousands in overtime, begging people to come in even for a couple of hours on their days off because we don't have enough people to cover one shift, let alone the three they need because the department is 24/7. Customers are rude and entitled. I've been threatened, I've been called horrible names, I've been told I'm a shit human being and don't deserve to live. I'm not allowed to hang up on them. I'm expected to sit there and just take it and not say anything. Most days, we're so busy that I can't take my daily fifteen minute break or even get up to go to the bathroom. And that's only scratching the surface of what goes on at my job.

I have had a history of overworking myself in that job and everyone knows it. I've had literally hundreds of public panic attacks, three full-on mental breakdowns where I was screaming and literally tearing handfuls of my hair out in front of my coworkers from stress, ended up in the hospital twice because I thought I was having a heart attack, and took off three months in 2020 to check myself into an inpatient mental healthcare facility all the way across the country. I have had countless meetings with my supervisors and their supervisors and HR about the toxic work environment and shitty management. I had to beg them to take me off my 8 day rotation (four days of ten hour shifts, four days of eight hour shifts, all in succession with no days off in between) because I started shaking and laughing uncontrollably around day 6 because I was having a literal fucking breakdown. I have literally had to be taken away from work in an ambulance before.

On top of my anxiety being the worst it's ever been (and that includes when I lived with my abusive father), my depression has gotten so bad that all I can do nowadays is work and sleep. Sometimes I don't even get fully in the house before I pass out because I'm so exhausted. I have woken up on my living room floor after work more than once. I told them that I could no longer work shifts like that nor could I take overtime for my own mental health. And they still act like I'm lazy because I don't work 14 hour shifts daily. Bitch, I'm barely holding it together with my weekly 40 hours, and I'm expected to work every Thanksgiving and Christmas but that's just not enough. Nothing I do is enough. And now I don't even have enough energy for the few things I have that I still enjoy. Want to know why my Sims story is on hiatus? Because I have to force myself to do literally anything other than sleep. My house looks like a disgusting hoarder's nest because I can barely move on my days off. I cry all the time. I can't stand to be touched. I shower excessively because I feel filthy when I come home from work in a way I can't adequately articulate. My eczema is so bad that my neck and face are literally covered in bloody red rashes. I look horrible. I feel worse. I have gained over 150 lbs since starting that job in 2006. My thyroid is busted. Some days, I truly believe that I died long ago and this is my own personal Hell.

Now they're telling us that "we definitely have a buyer for the department and all the contracts have been signed". They said there'd be a transition period, after which we'd be laid off but we'd be told when the transition period begins. Now, we got an email telling us we're halfway through the transition period and are probably getting laid off in August "but we don't know when in August, so stay tuned." At this rate, I'm likely to show up one day and be told to go home. I have no idea when that will be and I have no way to know how to prepare.

The only reason I'm still putting up with this bullshit is because...well, to be honest, I've put in a lot of applications and got absolutely no replies. I'm an unemployable useless sack of shit. My company is at least giving us a really good severance package. I'm getting 17 weeks of pay (one week for every year I've worked there) plus another four weeks of pay, plus a $1000 bonus for staying through the transition period. I think I will also qualify for unemployment. I'm trying not to freak out but I don't know what I'm going to do when my severance runs out. I have only had two jobs in my entire life: a grocery store job when I was a teenager for 3 years and this job that I've had for nearly 18 years. My resumé is one page. I have no skills outside of this job. I'm never going to get hired anywhere that's going to pay me anywhere near what this hellhole of a job paid me.

I truly wish I were brave enough to kill myself but I'm not. I keep living and it keeps getting worse and I'm bombarded with hundreds of news articles and Tumblr posts every day telling me how the world is falling apart around me, so even if by some miracle I manage to find a job that pays me enough to fucking live, I don't have a future anyway. I'm almost 40 and I keep waiting for my life to begin but it never does. And it never will. I will never be happy. I will never be safe. I don't deserve happiness. I don't deserve safety. My own fucking parents hated me from the moment my mom read the lines on her pregnancy test. If my own parents can't love me, nobody can. I'm on medication and in therapy but sometimes, I wonder if it's doing anything at all. You can't fix what's wrong with me. I was just born wrong. And no matter where I go or what kind of job I end up in, the same shit will just keep repeating over and over and over because that's all I deserve. I'll just keep on hurting until global warming or war takes me out and I end up in real Hell.

In an hour, I'm going to regret writing any of this and probably delete this post. Because I'm supposed to take it and not say anything.

My Sims are the only thing that gives me any comfort anymore. Even then, I don't have the energy or attention span to do the things I want. I'm just as irrelevant on Simblr as I am in real life. If I disappeared tomorrow, nobody would notice.

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mymistakewriting · 4 months ago

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Just some more SalTommy thoughts

So the boys have been in my head pretty consistently, I've just been having a shit go of things irl so I haven't been able to pause to share any thoughts until now. Please enjoy.

Sal and Tommy are listed as each other's emergency contacts both through the department and on medical release forms. While Sal does have other people on his ICE list, Tommy doesn't. If Tommy's in the hospital, Sal's the only one getting a call. He never fails to show up.

These boys traded clothes a lot. It was always sweatshirts of Tommy's that went missing because Tommy was smaller than Sal back then, but Tommy ended up with t-shirts and Sal's famous beige jacket that he still has years later.

I fully believe that Tommy is the designated driver friend between the two of them. That said, Sal has come to pick Tommy up from a bar at last call when he was near-black out drunk. They never talked about what made Tommy drink so much and drink alone.

Sal's got a key to Tommy's place and vice versa. Sal doesn't call before he drops by, Tommy does. It irritates Sal to no end that Tommy won't listen when he tells him that he's always welcome no matter what's happening.

You square up to one of these boys, you'll end up fighting them both. They're protective over one another for damn sure - think Casey and Severide from Chicago Fire: you insult one, you've insulted them both and you better hope someone steps in because the first punch WILL put you on the ground. Tommy gives a verbal warning before he punches. Sal does not.

They're the "final test" for each other where partners are concerned. For Sal, it's family, team, Tommy. For Tommy, it's team, then Sal.

Sal is one of the few people Tommy still cooks for whenever he asks. He's on a very short list since Gerrard's time as Captain saw cooking used as a punishment.

I am entirely convinced Tommy had a crush on Sal. Whether or not he acted on it? I ping pong a bit on it.

Sal was the first person Tommy came out to. Similarly, Tommy is the only one who's ever seen Sal check out a man's ass while they're out in the city. Sal might not label himself but by God, no one is convinced that man is totally straight.

Sal keeps a list pinned in his phone's notes of things for bad mental health days for Tommy. He also keeps the stuff for a care package on hand just in case it's needed. Said care package includes a few tea bags of a tea he knows Tommy likes, some snacks, a pack of cheap cigarettes and one of the cheap-ass maypop lighters, and a DVD of whatever stupid romcom he could find that he thought Tommy would like but hasn't seen a million times.

Speaking of: Tommy definitely smokes as a stress relief. Man's a firefighter AND a former army pilot, there's no way that habit hasn't snuck in. Sal found out because he stumbled on Tommy with a cigarette in his mouth. It's a well-kept secret, but one that Sal relies on for bad days.

#kieran talks #911 #sal deluca #tommy kinard #saltommy #not writing #not rp #just a lot of thoughts about the boys thats all #I have more but english is being mean to me tonight

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egg-emperor · 1 month ago

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I don't reflect on it much now but it's times like these where I get harsh reminders of how bad of a year 2022 was and realize how far I've come

Becoming the target of harassment and slander due to a combination of my Eggman creations and then being blamed for my abuse after learning the reasons behind it was really hard. I almost died months before that campaign even happened because I was in a terrible place anyway and some knew and still hurt me and made it worse. They made me regret surviving for a while. And if I expressed how hurt I was by it all, I was called manipulative

I lost so much in so many ways and had vile things said about me and my abuse and if it wasn't for the real friends and the lovely followers and anons who stuck by and supported me, I don't think I'd still be here. I was still acting out in terrible ways online for a while after because I was in an absolute awful place mentally due to irl and online struggles. There's a lot of deleted posts and DMs I regret but I genuinely wasn't thinking right for months, my mind was genuinely fucked

I developed some bad habits that I haven't fully recovered from and fluctuate between how bad they are but I'm glad it's one of the only things left to work on. The stress, anxiety, and depression of 2022 worsened my health issues a lot as last year I started experiencing increased fainting and other physical health issues. At that point I realized I needed a change for my safety and health. For a while I didn't even feel like I deserved to be helped so it was hard but I finally did it

Now I'm getting support with bills, going to doctor and hospital appointments to look into my disability for diagnosis and hopefully to be helped, I have a therapist I just started with. I'm personally not an SSRI meds kind of guy so I've been doing every other method to recover instead. I've also made a ton of progress mentally on my own with my mindset, it's far less of a negative and angry place than it was then. I manage how I deal with setbacks better, I don't feel like I'm back at square one when things get bad now

I spend far less time thinking about what happened or letting their negativity consume me. There's been a few times since where parts of it have come back up and it's been challenging at times but I can handle them more rationally and be the sensible level-headed one and assure that I don't go back to that place. It's okay for me to be hurt by it and realize what happened to me was wrong but I don't let it haunt me every moment anymore. It's no longer the first thing I think of when I wake and last when I go to sleep

And I've realized what really matters and what's really important to me. The passion and joyful expression of the things I love and all the great people that are still here that I have the delight of getting to know and talk to. There's still a lot of challenges coming up in the future but I'm happy that it has nothing to do with everything back then. I want to express myself and my passion and never feel the shame they wanted me to. I want to get better. I finally want to live. I have hope and believe better times are ahead

And I'm very grateful for everyone who is warm, kind and supportive of me along the way. I appreciate everyone who is accepting of me and make me feel like I finally belong somewhere. Thank you 💜

#case in point I already managed to turn those feelings I got seeing a painful reminder this morning #into reflection and gratitude for how much better I'm doing now lol #important

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lucy90712 · 8 months ago

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Road to recovery- part 8

Masterlist

Part of me was hoping that the hate would slow down a bit but of course it didn't. Every time I checked any form of social media all I saw was people posting about how much they didn't like me and assuming that I'm only friends with Pablo to gain something. I thought I'd be able to handle the comments but I just can't there has been so many more than I thought there would be and people have said such hurtful things about my appearance and my character. Pablo keeps apologising and asking if I'm ok and I just keep telling him I'm fine which is a bit of a lie but I can tell he already feels bad enough I don't want to make him feel worse by telling him how I really feel. The worst part about it is that everyone seems to be drawing attention to the things I was already insecure about which hasn't helped my mental state at all.

Today though I have a chance to cheer myself up a bit as I have a big check up with my doctor to see how my recovery is progressing. I think it's going pretty good so hopefully he agrees and says something positive as that would really lift my spirits. I've been nervous about the appointment today as well which has really made the last few days even more challenging on my mental health but I'm trying to stay positive as I know wallowing in sadness and anxiety won't do me any good.

Alonso came to pick me up a bit before my appointment; when I got in the car I expected him to tease me about everything that happened with the game this weekend but he didn't instead he asked if I was ok. I was going to lie to him too but because he's my brother he knows exactly when I'm lying so I had to tell him the truth. It was kind of nice to get all of my feelings off my chest and Alonso was really supportive and gave me some good advice. He's been through things like this before with getting hate for his performances out on track so he told me to just delete the apps off my phone for a bit that way I'm not tempted to look at what people are saying. In fact he stole my phone and did it for me as I think he knew I probably wouldn't do it myself.

Once I had my phone back I went into the hospital on my own leaving Alonso to wait in the car for me. The wait for my appointment wasn't long at all and then I went in and was immediately taken for some new scans to see how everything was healing. After scans I was subjected to a load of tests on my range of movement, how much weight I could put on my leg and how much pain I was in. The testing was rigorous and honestly quite exhausting as it's been a long time since I've done this much movement with my knee but for the most part it felt good. After I had done everything the doctor left for a while to review it all and look at my scans which left me just staring at the wall hoping to hear good news. Just as I was daydreaming the door opened again and the doctor came back in, his expression was impossible to read which for some reason filled me with a few more nerves.

"Ok Lola things aren't progressing as we would like them too internally you aren't healing as quick as we thought you would and your movement isn't at the range we would expect it to be" he said

"What does that mean?" I asked holding back tears

"For now it doesn't mean too much this can happen as we can't always accurately predict how quickly people will recover but we will set another one of these appointments in a few weeks and if we aren't seeing improvement you may need a second surgery so that we can see what's going on" the doctor explained

"Ok" was all I could manage to say

"I know this isn't what you wanted to hear but don't let it discourage you if you keep working hard you won't need the surgery" he said

We scheduled my next appointment and that was as long as I could hold it together. All of my emotions that I'd been holding onto for the last few days came out all at once, as soon as I left the hospital doors I burst into tears and I couldn't do anything to stop them. I made my way back to where Alonso parked but before I could get into the car Alonso had got out and wrapped me in his arms. He tried to get me to stop crying and tell him what was wrong but I just couldn't he tried everything to help me all of which had worked before but today nothing could stop me. Eventually he gave up and let me get in the car so we could go home because right now all I want is to just go home and get to grips with my emotions as I clearly have a lot to process.

As much as my eyes were filled with tears I could tell that Alonso didn't take the turn to take me back to my place which meant he was going to take me somewhere in hopes of cheering me up. I really didn't want to go wherever it was he was planning to go but I was sobbing too much to tell him to take me home. We went a bit further before the car stopped and I looked round a bit as at first I didn't recognise where we were but then I saw Pablo's house and realised we were just down the street. I should've known Alonso was going to bring me here but this is the last place I want to be I don't want Pablo to see me like this. I knew we said we would help each other out but I know for a fact Pablo is doing better and I know he's in a better place mentally and I don't want to ruin that by projecting my problems onto him that wouldn't be fair.

Alonso had to practically drag me out of the car and down the road which was rather easy for him as I'm not strong enough to put up too much of a fight. We walked down the street to Pablo's house where Alonso left me to ring the doorbell, part of me was hoping that he wouldn't be in even though he said he had no plans today. Of course after just a few seconds the door opened and I locked eyes with Pablo who straight away rushed over as quick as he could and wrapped me up in his arms. I wanted to stop crying but for some reason I only cried more once I was in Pablo's arms it was like he made me feel safe enough to truly let all of my feelings out. Pablo said a few words to my brother before taking me inside and allowing him to leave.

Pablo took me to the sofa and allowed me to settle into his embrace with my head buried in his chest so he couldn't see my tear stained and probably red and puffy face. His hand was gently stroking my back trying to calm me down while he whispered comforting words in my ears. It wasn't anything special what he was doing but hearing his words and feeling his hands on me did wonders in helping calm my emotions which I didn't have any control over. As my tears began to slow down Pablo kept rubbing my back and he even wiped some of the tears from my face that he could reach as I was still hiding most of my face. I never would've thought he would be so good at comforting me I mean he's always so hyper and full of energy I never imagined that he'd be any good at keeping calm and radiating that onto others but clearly he is. Once I had completely stopped crying and my breathing was getting back to normal Pablo put a hand under my chin and got me to look at him.

"Can you tell me what's wrong I hate seeing you so upset and I want to help" he said

"The doctor said my knee isn't healing properly and I might need another surgery if things don't get better" I said still sniffling slightly

"I'm sorry that sounds awful but that's not the only thing on your mind is it" he probed further

"No that's it" I lied

"Don't lie to me please just tell me what's wrong I'll do whatever I can to help and I won't judge you you know that" he said

Damn why doesn't he have to be able to read me like a book.

"Ok I've been getting a lot of hate since we were seen together at the game and it's been getting to me a bit I thought I could handle it as I'm used to criticism but I can't some people are just so mean" I admitted letting a few more tears fall

"I knew it was getting to you people on social media are assholes because they don't feel the consequences of what they say but none of what they say is true" he said

"But they keep talking about how I must be using you or how I don't deserve to even be friends with you which that part is kind of true" I rambled

"No it's not true I can't even imagine what my life would be like without you I love spending time with you just because you aren't famous doesn't mean you don't deserve to be friends with me and despite what they say I know you aren't using me I know you would never do that" he said

"And before you say anything all of the things they say about your appearance aren't true either you are beautiful inside and out and they are just jealous" he added

Hearing him say that put a smile on my face. Pablo has never really complimented me before he's told me my outfit was cool a few times but he's never called me beautiful so hearing it made me feel a lot better about myself. He must've noticed that I was finally smiling again as he told me I looked pretty when I smiled which only made my cheeks heat up but luckily my face was already red from crying so Pablo probably wouldn't have noticed. Although I kind of wish he knew how he made me feel because as time goes on it's getting harder and harder to hide my true feelings from him.

Pablo's POV

The pain in her eyes just shattered my heart. She's been my rock throughout every step of the way so far so to see her breakdown right in front of me really hurt. This whole time she's been the strong one never letting anything get to her but finally it's caught up with her and part of it's my fault because we got seen together at the game and now people are tearing her apart and one person can only handle so much. I feel so awful that I'm part of the reason she's so upset but knowing that I can be there for her and calm her down makes me feel a bit better. When she arrived she was hysterical and her brother told me he couldn't get a word out of her so he wanted me to try so that's what I did. I'm not very good at keeping myself calm at times let alone other people but I tried my best and after a while of just rubbing her back and whispering to her she calmed down. It felt good to be the one to help her because she's done so much for me that anything I can do to even remotely repay that I'll do in a heartbeat.

Hearing the way she criticised herself as well it pained me. She's the most beautiful and kind person I've ever met so to hear her say that she thought she didn't deserve to be friends with me hurt but what hurt more was to see that those horrible people got to her and made her feel insecure in herself. Throughout the time we've known each other I've always wanted to tell her just how beautiful she is but I've refrained as I know once I open the flood gates there's no going back. Once I start complimenting her I'm scared that I'll let my feelings show but today she needed it so I knew I had to take the risk. Seeing the smile that my compliments gave her made the risk feel worth it though as I'd do anything to keep her smiling 24/7.

Looking into her eyes as she smiled and blushed at my words made me feel some type of way. I've felt something for her since we first met and I've kept those feelings repressed until now but I don't know if I can do it any longer. She's just the most perfect girl I've ever met and I don't want to lose her whether that be to another guy or to the fear of what us being friends might mean for her. I have to tell her how I feel in hopes that as long as she feels the same way it gives her a reason to stick around even when things are tough like they are right now. As scary as it is I have to take the risk.

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