#my therapist helped me last session to come up with some phrasing that might not set off my moms high sensitivity

[a-walking-fandom-reference]

i had a conversation with my parents the other day about how they are not supporting me well and it actually went better then the 500 conversations ive had before with them i think its kind of finally somewhat got through to my mom

[sae-something]

I have a Q for when you have a moment (I know maybe you don’t have a moment bc you’re not well and I’m also sending all the peaceful/recover-asap vibes your way <3)

I emailed my T yesterday saying that I hate her so much. I said a bunch of bad things. I did it because I was stuck in feeling so much need/want for her that I thought I would explode and then my feelings suddenly catapulted in the opposite direction and I was so angry and wanted her to get out of my life.

I had already emailed her earlier in the week to check that she was still there and she replied to that neutrally.

She didn’t reply to the hate email because I told her not to.

I feel so so guilty and I want to apologise but I have sent her too many emails and I don’t rlly know what to do. I might wait until next week and apologise in person but also I want to apologise now because I feel so guilty (but maybe I just want to hear that she’s ok with me which is selfish of me).

How does A respond to angry emails? Does she bring them up in session?

Hey anon,

Ahhhh I really relate to basically everything you described. Sending hugs your way, it's really a lot to go through.

Personally I always wrote another email if I felt the way you feel right now. Mostly because I decided that that was what I would like - obviously I'm not a therapist but I imagined a fight with a friend where maybe the friend had just been sending me endless messages. What would feel better for me? One more message with an apology/explanation? Or one less message? And for me, I'd always prefer one more message. At some point I asked A about it and she expressed a similar sentiment. It helps her to hear my explanation of what happened to cause the "I HATE YOU"-reaction and to hear that (many) part(s) of me don't share the hateful feelings.

Obviously just going "sorry sorry sorry sorry I'm such a bad person" is not really helpful, and if at all possible I'd encourage you to try and implement some sort of "XYZ piled up, which made me feel ABC, etc"-explanation. But also, it's still therapy. And I've definitely also written about how much I dislike when that hate-reaction kicks in. It's been really helpful for me too, that even those horrible emails were 'welcomed' by A; the last half year (?) there's been a shift and it hasn't really happened at all anymore.

With A, we have the deal that emails always come back in therapy. So yes, when there had been an email-spiral from my side, we would always touch on that in therapy. Sometimes I would have already written out all the chain reactions that happened for me (with feelings, parts, reactions, triggers, etc.) and we would spend a whole session on it. Sometimes we had already emailed back and forth and just concluded in session that 'it had been talked through' sufficiently, and if either of us had anything to add to it still.

As for how A responds, let me dive into my emails, lol. Some (translated) phrases from emails she sent me:

I can imagine you are full of rage and anger! I don't think you are a monster, let's talk about it on monday

Oh Sae, so horrible for you. I am glad you emailed me and of course 'I hate you' is painful to read but with everything you share with it, I also understand it. The most horrible thing is, I think, how much you hate yourself. Well; I don't hate you and I want to help you.

Oof, that sounds like a looott of anger!

Oof, it seems really really difficult to feel all there is to feel. Good to see you later today because this is so painful to do alone!

So yeah. That's some examples. The last 2 replies were to emails from me that basically only consisted of "I hate you, you make everything worse, I hope you never come back [from vacation], I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU". The first two examples were sentences in bigger emails, which were replies to also much bigger emails from me (where, besides the "I hate you", I also wrote about other emotions/things).

Also... if I may suggest so, stop asking your therapist to not reply. You are emailing for a reason, and sending huge (emotional) signals and then depriving yourself of a response... that might just be mirroring past experiences of not being seen/met/heard when in emotional turmoil. Of course I don't know you at all, so maybe it's entirely different for you, but that's a little something that stood out to me. You deserve to be heard. Even when raging, even when hating, even when being mean or unreasonable.

If you want to, let me know how things went? I hope you'll be able to talk through this with your therapist when you see her next. It can be really helpful (though extremely terrifying) to bring this into the room.

Sending a hug your way, take care!! <3

[socratoteles]

A year to get Ph.D in letting go

The last time I was here, I wrote that perhaps it was time for me to go out and just enjoy the world. And amid the global pandemic, I sort of managed to do that. It was such a lifesaver in a year of goodbyes. I`ll get to that, but let me begin with my coronavirus scare.

On March 4 last year, I was away in Bandung, aware but not worried of some obscure virus that triggered a total lockdown in some Chinese cities. That very same day was also the time when my colleagues came in contact with a man who later confirmed of having contracted COVID-19.

That was how close I was of contracting the virus. Had I not taken a paid leave to write last year’s essay in the city where I was born, chances were high that I was another case as well, at that early stage of the pandemic too. I`m still familiar with the helplessness that came after I checked in to a hospital only to being denied the test (the nurse reasoned that the contact with my colleagues, who might catch the virus from the confirmed man, cannot be categorized as close contact).

And that experience, of confusion and fear of infecting loved ones, left a lasting impression that shaped my behavior going forward. After all, it takes a pandemic to make wearing mask and washing hands could made the difference between life and death.

Covid-induced isolation meant that I spent most of my time being holed up in my room for the past 12 months. To this day the side effects of this solitary existence is still beyond my full grasp. On one hand, this situation had brought out my inner resiliency, resourcefulness and adaptability in the long days and night when things were just so dark. On the other hand, it also forced me to deal with unresolved traumas and numerous intrusive thoughts, which I will get into later.

People get really creative during the long locked-down days, spending it doing viral social media challenges one after the other. Videoconferencing become a thing on its own and for some reason loads of folks played a game named Among Us too, perhaps to remind themselves of the interactions cruelly torn apart because of the virus.

There was also a newfound awareness on class too, because the coronavirus disproportionately affected different individuals with different income level. At least on my part, I was lucky that essential workers (the pandemic elevated the phrase into such a buzzword) near my place were safe and somehow never contracted the virus. It is worth mentioning that I definitely cannot survive this long if not for the minimarket workers, ride-hailing drivers and dozens of cooks, all of whom must have worked in long hours, despite knowing the risk, just to keep their families fed.

Others, however, were not so lucky. the SARS-CoV-2 had infected more than a million Indonesians a year after it was officially detected in these shores. Millions have lost their jobs as economic activities ground to a halt. The place I currently work was not an exception. Massive layoffs would have happened in my office had the shareholders have enough money to properly compensate their workers.

It was an obviously eye-opening experience to calculate my own severance pay and make sure I could survive on that for as long as possible. The prospect of losing your income during the pandemic –which should be that particular time for anyone to hold on to their what-ifs money– was really awful.

This is the paragraph where I say that I wish nothing but the best for those who left the company simply because they deserve nothing less than that.

But there was another reason why I signed up for a help from professional therapist last year. In the latter part of last year, things got very, very grim. At the risk of oversimplification, let’s just say that I was unable to express my feelings properly to a girl that I really liked, right at the most critical moment when probably both of us needed support from each other. She eventually left with another guy.

Days before that fateful event happened, I was quietly bearing my own burden. After years of convincing myself that I was okay, I was, in fact, not okay, at least mentally. Years of trauma have caught up. It’s too personal to even spell that out here but I`ll just quote this Youtuber just to describe a fitting metaphor. 

“You see, human identity is like a house of card. One that’s always expanding. A story that is ever developing and always referred back to because every memory becomes a new card. Trauma is when a card doesn’t fit because the experience itself is so painful that it’s incompatible with everything else and if you become obsessed with making it fit the whole house of cards can fall apart and you lose the confidence to build anything new.”

Basically, my house of cards came crashing down, hard. At a time, it reduced me into this insecure soul who were unsure that people will accept me for who I was.

The last time I felt this way was a couple years back when my parent’s divorce was formalized. A girlfriend turned ex-girlfriend at that time too. Apparently, the universe has a cruel sense of timing to combine existential crisis with a relationship one.

The road to recovery was rocky, to say the least. I know something fundamental must be addressed, hence the therapy session.

I`m grateful for the company of my friends, either offline or online. (yes, I had become quite loose in terms of isolation because I know I had to prioritize my mental health; COVID-19 be damned). I`m also glad to say that because I talked with my friends about this issue, some of them were also encouraged to seek professional help.

At the height of my despair, I watched La Grande Bellezza (probably for a half a dozen time already) again and found this quote, spoken by the protagonist Jep Gambardella:

“We’re all on the brink of despair. We can only look each other in the face, keep each other company, kid each other a bit. Don’t you agree?”

Someone was kind enough to upload the entire scene on Youtube.

I decided that all bets are off, so I purchased books, many of which had been on my to-read list for years because I know I`ll have to read it when I search for a catharsis. That was how I finally read the Camus’ Myth of Sisyphus, from which I managed to understand what he meant by the absurdities of life. Into the Wild, excellently written by Jon Krakauer, broke my heart too because of Chris Mccandles’ tales somehow mimicked my own, minus the grand adventure part. I finally read Alan Watts too, from whom I learned that efforts to avoid from pain is painful in itself.

And music, a constant part of my life as I know it, helps too. I was saved because Fleet Foxes released a life-affirming record that fittingly spoke about relief, gratitude, and seasonal rebirth. During the darkest days I was just alone with my guitar in my room, terribly singing out the words that these musicians carved out of their soul to release my emotional burden. I was particularly grateful for being reminded time and again that “no one gets it right” but “we’re all supposed to try”.

I made a playlist containing songs that for me served as a reminder to be gentle for myself. You can check that here.

All of that was a roundabout way to say that I indeed, was able to go out amid the pandemic. On one afternoon I just said fuck it, I need to go out and see things. That led me to a weekly socially-distanced walk around the neighborhood, which was therapeutic in itself because the walks allowed me to be fully present and be sensitive to the sights and sounds and smells around me. Nothing is more liberating that allowing your feet to go where it you to go.

I don’t have the full answers yet, but as I wrote his essay, I`m glad to be able to say that I have rebuild my house of cards, with some of the bad cards included as well. It was quite a bumpy ride but when I looked back, this particular tweet was eerily prescient because it rings true today as was the day I tweeted it.

But I walked away from the depths of that bottomless pit not only with knowledge, but also of understanding the parts that made me who I am. I`m also humbled after I saw the abyss for the second time because it suggests that there might be another time when I found myself on the edge of despair.

I`ll never forget the fact that these hard-won lessons came on the back of years of pain, grief and suffering. But it also came on the heels of moments of simple walk in the setting sun and feeling the breeze on the beach too. In fact, I have made it my mission going forward to acknowledge both good and bad things as they are. Because forcing yourself to remember all the bright things when you were in the dark, and vice versa, is a form of self-torture. I hope this essay somehow do that mission justice.

I have said goodbyes to many things in life as the crisis comes and goes, but 2020 goodbyes were simply different. So much so that I thought I have a PhD in letting go already, however absurd that idea is.

[lovelyirony]

 cosmetology anon: this is for you, although I tweaked the idea a bit. i hope you don’t mind! 

Acquiring Tony Stark as an Asset had been purely by chance; after all, he wasn’t planned on being in the car. He was still an insolent teenager, angry with the world and angry with his father. They didn’t think he would’ve gone to a business party. 

But his mother...well. They hadn’t thought that Tony Stark was a mama’s boy. 

Because there Tony is, gasping for air while glass glitters all around him, looking near about like an angel that was torn from heaven with how it surrounded him. 

They had thought he was dead.  

At least, up until the point when he had looked Winter Soldier dead in the eye, said “hey you fucking asshole” and got a pretty damn good shot in the thigh. 

Someone on the brink of death might have tried the gun, but never the insult. 

So Hydra gets a brand new toy. 

Not easily broken, which is a pain-and-a-half to deal with. At least with the Winter Soldier, he was too delirious with blood loss to notice who was operating on him, what they were attaching. 

Tony Stark is on a whole other level. 

He bites, he kicks, he scratches. Quite annoying, they just want him to tire himself out. 

“Stark Industries doesn’t negotiate,” he hisses, trying to kick one of the nurses in the teeth. 

“Who said anything about negotiating?” says the head doctor viciously. His teeth glint in the fluorescent lighting, scalpels reflecting brilliantly onto the walls. “As far as the media knows, you’re dead. No one is going to come looking, and no one even knows who we are.” 

They make him sleep on a cot nearby Winter Soldier. Which is terrifying, to say the least. Not that he can kill him. He can’t touch him either. 

He’s in a deep freezer. Eyes closed, thank god. But they put him there and they tell him all about how he came to be there. 

“Everyone thought Barnes hit a rock and died,” one of the techs says, checking the machine. “He nearly did, but Zola helped us fix him up. Course, that was after a couple of times where he got to someone’s neck, and that was even before programming.” 

“Programming?” 

The tech leers at him, grinning. He’s standing, Tony’s sitting. It shouldn’t be as intimidating as it is. 

“Oh yeah, Stark. They’re gonna fix you all up.” 

“I don’t need fixing.” 

“Tell that to Winter Soldier.” 

“And what if your little machine gets rid of me, hm? Kills me?” 

“We add you to the other disappointments, or we dig a shallow grave and hope you’re found decades later.” 

Not exactly promising. 

But here’s the thing: the tech was wrong. They won’t add him to the pile of disappointments. 

The last time he went to a therapy appointment, his therapist said he had a “deep-seated need to be liked and be useful, which could be dangerous later.” 

He’s assuming that Doc Chesterfield wasn’t exactly expecting Tony to be in the running towards becoming America’s Next Top Murder Machine, but Doc wasn’t really the kind of guy who was “in the know” about a lot of things. 

That need to be liked and useful was about to come in handy.  

Barely able to legally drink, he goes to the main doctor in charge. “You need me.” 

The doctor looks at him incredulously. 

“You think we need a kid to do all this shit? You think we haven’t figured it out?” 

“You can’t have Barnes-” 

“Winter Soldier, boy.” 

“Fine, your little toy soldier. You can’t keep him out longer than necessary, otherwise his brain realizes that all of you are shitty and tries to break out. Again. You need someone else to take a look at it, and I’m the best bet you got.” 

“And why would that be?” 

Tony grins, and they see a shadow of what he has had in his life, exactly just who he used to be. Who he still is, at the moment. 

“Whether you want to admit it or not--I’d say go ahead and admit it, I’m fun like that--I’m the smartest one in the room, maybe in the country. Maybe in two countries. I could swing the UK, it’s not like they’ve had anything interesting for the last hundred or so years--” 

“Get to the point,” the handler hisses. 

“I can help with arm maintenance. I’m not gonna do anything else to this poor guy, but I wanna stay alive and I’m not letting you erase my fucking mind because you want to have another toy soldier to march to your drum.” 

“You almost make a compelling case,” the handler says. “We do need a mechanic on the arm, so to speak. But if he only comes out when we need him...well. Maintenance is manageable.” 

Tony pushes his chin out. 

“I can do better than your best.” 

“Unfortunately, I don’t care. You’re too big of a liability.” 

It is at this moment that Tony realizes he cannot talk his way out, or fight his way out, but damn he gets a scalpel and tries. 

Manages to slice across the face of the handler. Nerve damage, tissue damage, quite potentially a very ugly nose. All very nice. 

That gets him moved up by a month. 

They send him to a chair that’s probably a lot worse than he’s imagining, give him a mouth guard, and tell him to scream all he likes. Sometimes it’s better to not have a voice later. 

They say it like they’re quoting one of those shitty articles from Cosmopolitan that discusses the top forty-five best ways to move in the bedroom or something. He and Rhodey use to read it all the time whenever they visited one of the sororities. 

(He misses Rhodey, more than words can say. The tears burn in his throat as the chair powers up, but he doesn’t dare cry. He hasn’t told them about Rhodey, and he doesn’t want him used against him. 

He doesn’t want to be used against Rhodey.) 

- 

Tony Stark becomes the Mechanic. He stares too long, moves a bit slow at times, and doesn’t like people touching his things. 

Hydra thinks it’s a success. 

-

Tony thinks they should’ve done more than three sessions of go-round for their little buzzy-chair. 

-

Just god, have none of them had to act before? Is that what this is? 

So long as he doesn’t show any aspect of any real personality, they think he’s a walking-talking robot. 

Should’ve just called him Chatty Cathy and attached a pull-string to his back with loadable phrases if they were just gonna call him the Mechanic and think his silence and weird staring habits were fine. 

Winter Soldier needs maintenance. 

Tony tries very carefully to keep his persona up. He thinks he’s doing a good job until the nurse leaves the room for her smoke-break and Winter Soldier gives him a look that’s so...different. 

"They think you’re like me.” 

“I am.” 

“No.” 

“And how can you tell?” 

“You’re not hurting my arm.” 

“Well I can, if you wanna be a masochist about it.” 

He blankly stares. 

“Why didn’t it work?” 

“Not enough rounds.” 

“We need to stop talking or they’ll watch the cameras.” 

“Got it.” 

Tony is not facing the cameras. They have no suspicion now, and if they can’t see him move his lips, then there’s no worry. 

He faces Winter Soldier. 

“You wanna get out of here? Tap once on your left, right on my thigh for yes. Twice for no.” 

Tap. 

There it is. 

“Well, it’ll take time. You okay with that?” 

Tap tap. 

“I can’t make wishes come true,” Tony says sarcastically. Soldier hides a smile. “But. I have someone who might be looking for me. Or he’ll know it’s me.” 

“A friend?” 

“Something better. Family.” 

It takes a little while. Despite Hydra’s incompetence at programming Tony out of his own system, they’re good at watching. They’re good at sniffing out undercover plans, so they set nurses to watch him and give him the worst food in his life. 

And he can’t say anything about it. 

They’re probably rations leftover from World War II, and here he is, pretending like it doesn’t bother him. 

The first mission they’re out on, Tony wants so badly to break free. It looks too easy, probably because it is. 

“The first time I escaped, they dragged me back and nearly gave me a matching leg to go with the arm,” Soldier murmurs in Russian. 

(Tony’s had to take Russian classes. God, he’s lucky he has an eidetic memory otherwise he’d be up a paddle with a slotted spoon.) 

“What, didn’t want to put more value on yourself?” 

“Something like that,” Soldier says grimly. “Pay attention. They’re gonna put you in a cafe, have you run surveillance. You report back to me. Call me Winter.” 

“Call me Mechanic.” 

“That’s the name they chose?” 

“Didn’t count my vote.” 

Winter snorts. 

“Time to get a move on.” 

Tony has never been good at hiding his emotions, but by god he’s learning on the fly. At least Winter has a mask, and they’re...well, they’re working on one for him. 

It’s not exactly priority, because everyone in the world thinks he’s dead. 

- 

Well. Shouldn’t say everyone. There is one guy who has decided that Tony didn’t die. 

James Rhodes is a very smart guy, graduated top of his class at MIT and has full honors. 

He also knows that Tony has fallen off of beds, out of chairs, down one flight of stairs, and tripped on just about everything. 

And he’s lived. He has defied near-death experiences before, and he’s been fine. 

Maybe Rhodey is crazy. He most likely is. 

But he doesn’t mind being crazy if no one can actually confirm that Tony died. The funeral was closed for the family, not even Rhodey could go. 

“Sorry kiddo,” Obie had said, not sorry at all. He’s never liked the kid, thought him too blunt about situations that he didn’t need to be blunt about. 

So Rhodey thinks that this is a conspiracy, only he doesn’t want his best friend to end up on a YouTube video five years later talking about the “tragic disappearance” and how “no one could figure it out.” 

He’s James fucking Rhodes. Sometimes goes by Rhodey. And he’s got this. 

- 

Winter Soldier does not “got this.” He is currently being thrown against a wall, and grunting as he looks at the target. 

Tony is currently trying very hard not to have a full-blown emotional show-off, because he is supposed to be fixing up some of the weapons and sending them out. 

It is rather stress-inducing, once you start thinking about it. 

He tries not to. 

God, he’s not even getting pizza after that. He’s probably going to get some bullshit like a vanilla nutritional protein shake. 

Out everything he’s been put through, and that’s the thing that makes him retch.

 - 

Barnes is looking...rough. He got shoved a lot, the mission didn’t exactly go to plan, which turns out to be quite the large problem. 

Because Tony took over. They found out that he can actually assemble weaponry and aim with nearly-one-hundred-percent accuracy. 

They think it’s because they fried his brain and injected some sort of back-alley-serum. 

It’s not. 

He’s not even sure if their serum worked, if he’s being completely honest.

But this? Oh god. 

The doctors look at him with an almost giddy joy. 

“We’ll have Soldier train you.” 

"He is not going back into the cryogenic chambers?” 

“No, not...not until you prove yourself.” 

“I have proven myself accurate with mechanical fixes.” 

“Always best to diversify your skills.” 

“Expand.” 

(Tony’s been messing with them a lot. They’re not positive he knows advanced vocabulary. He does, he just hates them.) 

Barnes is...not exactly excited that he’s not becoming an ice-pop. 

“I’m...training you?” 

“Yeah, looks like it. You wanna teach me how to choke someone with my thighs?” 

“Only when they send the Widows.” 

“Who are they?” 

“Best damned assassins you’ll ever have the displeasure of experiencing.” 

“Aw, you’re learning how to curse!” 

“Shut up, they’re onto us.” 

- 

Winter Soldier and the Mechanic have a...cordial relationship. At least, out of the ring. 

In the ring, they don’t rather like the other that much. Mechanic much prefers to avoid Soldier at all times. 

“You can’t just run from every opponent,” Winter hisses. 

“You’ve been doing it since 1948,” Tony responds in a robotic tone, nearly missing a kick to the shins. “I don’t see why not.” 

He smiles at that one, looking at Tony. 

He was...Tony was unique. He would whisper stories in the dead of night, mostly about a man named Jarvis and a boy his age named “Rhodey.” 

“His parents...they didn’t actually name him that, did they?” 

Tony has to bury his face in his pillow to hide his face from laughing. 

Winter got a good look at that smile. 

It’s chillingly nice to look at it, and maybe that’s because he hasn’t smiled in years, or maybe it’s because he’s never seen another person smile with joy in it for decades. 

- 

For a couple more months, nothing on their side happens. 

Rhodey, however, learns how to use Tony’s homemade AI for illegal purposes! 

He’s figured out lots of things. 

Tony was never confirmed dead. Technically, he’s a missing person. 

Which means they don’t know if he’s dead because they never found him. 

Secondly, there’s a strange email to someone who goes by Zola. 

Well, Rhodey and Tony didn’t stay up until three a.m. to solve impossible codes for nothing. 

James Rhodes figures out that the Winter Soldier isn’t some whispered about myth, and so he decides to try and find him. 

He’ll need to ask Mama if he can use the sedan, but it should be fine. After all, he has a friend to find. 

- 

Hydra is getting too used to having them out. Tony’s been coaching Barnes on not letting his reactions be at the front and center. 

He’s remembering a lot more. Starting to become a bit more human-like. 

He actually doesn’t like the food now, which is a tasteful improvement. 

“When we get out,” Tony whispers in night. “I’m going to make sure that you get the best goddamned pizza the earth has ever seen. And we’ll celebrate your birthday.” 

“When is my birthday?” 

“I...huh. I don’t know. That’s not the fact I remember from school.” 

“So you remembered that my favorite movie star was Hedy Lamarr, but not my own birthday?” 

“In my defense, Ms. Lamarr is far more memorable than a simple date on the calendar.” 

Barnes smiles. 

“I can’t wait to see a picture of her.” 

“You will, soon.” 

- 

Rhodey is getting close. 

The only barrier is convincing his mama to use the sedan. 

“What for?” 

“A trip.” 

“To?” 

“Washington DC?” 

“Why are you questioning that, young man?” 

“Um, because of gas money? Maybe?” 

Mrs. Rhodes stands up to her full height of five-foot-two and stares. 

“What’s the real reason? I didn’t raise a son who could lie to his mother successfully.” 

Rhodey sighs. 

“Tony’s alive. I think. I’m, like, ninety-five-percent sure.” 

Her face softens. 

“Oh baby, you’ve talked about this with your therapist, and-” 

Rhodey glares. 

“It’s not about the therapist’s opinion, mom. I broke into some records. There was a closed-casket funeral, and technically? They didn’t have a body for Tones. I know he’s out there, and I think I got a lead with the help of Jarvis.” 

“I thought Jarvis was dead.” 

“Not Edwin, Mama. Tony’s creation, an AI named Jarvis.” 

Mama looks at him carefully. 

“You sure this is what is going to make you happy?” 

“I don’t care about being happy, I want to see if I can bring him home, Mama.” 

She dangles the keys. 

“If you scratch this car up, I will not hesitate to tell every single aunt at church about this and have common sense walloped into you.” 

“I promise I won’t,” Rhodey says. “I know what I’m doing.” 

“I’ll pack you a bag. And you need your church clothes.” 

“Ma...” 

“Don’t Ma me, I’m your mother, I know what’s best,” Mrs. Rhodes says, sweeping into the kitchen. “Don’t tell your daddy what you told me, you’ll give him a heart attack.” 

“I thought I was gonna give you a heart attack,” Rhodey says. 

She turns, eyes twinkling. 

“You got a lot of learning to do, young man. But go on to DC for me.” 

First stop: gas station. 

Next stop: saving Tony. 

- 

If Tony had known that his friend was so dedicated to saving him that he would drive his mama’s sedan five miles above the speed limit, perhaps he would have stayed put and played nice. 

But Tony did not know this, so he was currently working on fixing Barnes’ arm to shoot projectile missiles that looked like screws to the security cameras. 

“You think they’re counting each screw when none of them even know what your arm can actually do? Not like Zola is physically around anymore,” Tony mutters, holding a screwdriver in his mouth. 

“What’s your plan for escape?” 

“Element of surprise, my dear Watson.” 

“Don’t like that,” Barnes mutters. “What’s your plan once we’re out?” 

“New York City.” 

“That’s it?” 

“You underestimate exactly how much you can hide,” Tony says. “Believe me. We’ll live in an apartment in Queens.” 

- 

Rhodey is about ten minutes away. 

Tony and Bucky have eventually decided to break out, and are having a lovely time shooting a base and putting people through the walls. Really, they shouldn’t have made it out of drywall. Too easy. 

“What fucking vehicle are we taking?!” Barnes yells. 

“I...I will work on it!” 

“You didn’t think about that?!” 

“I was thinking about escaping from a shitty Hydra base!” 

- 

Here comes the sedan! 

- 

Rhodey thought there was only one person, so now the ex-assassin is sitting on his little sister’s school folder, and getting pink glittery on his military pants. 

This was not the plan. 

He is also still only going five over the speed limit, because this is Mama’s sedan. 

He forgot about the little sticker at the back that says “My Son is on the Honor Roll at MIT!” 

“Rhodey love of my life, please go faster than forty miles an hour,” Tony hisses. 

“I can’t believe you’re alive, let me do one thing at a time,” Rhodey stresses. “I bought you hot fries, they’re on the floor in the green bag.” 

“You thought of road trip snacks?” Bucky asks. 

“Yes! And who are you?” 

“Bucky Barnes.” 

Rhodey whips his head around. 

“You lived?” 

“I’ve been told. Eyes on the road and turn left.” 

One tire barely is on the road as he whips the wheel, slamming onto the curb. 

“We are not allowed to fuck my mama’s car up!” Rhodey yells. “Tony, Bucky...do whatever you have to.” 

“How amenable are you to me paying for a new back window?” Bucky asks, left arm already raising. 

“What do you mean-?” 

And...there goes a projectile! 

- 

After twenty minutes of driving around, ten of that being avoiding police blockades, they finally are out on the highway, no one in sight. 

Tony finally breathes. 

“Put on your seatbelt,” Rhodey murmurs. “To New York?” 

“To New York.” 

- 

By all accounts, the table of three men who look slightly rattled and in danger is not actually the worst table that waitress has ever had. 

In fact, the only odd thing that she’s going to say about it is that the young man on the left is wearing a polo shirt, and it is not Sunday, so no church services. A personal outfit choice. 

The man in the middle seems to know this. 

“Rhodey, seriously?” 

“What? It’s laundry day!” 

“I know you had other shirts. I know you did.” 

“Just because you hate polo shirts doesn’t mean you get to hate on me, especially after the shit I just pulled.” 

“He has a point,” says the man on the right. 

“You have no opinion on this. I just met you.” 

“Are you guys ready to order?” She asks nervously, tapping at her notepad with a chewed-up pen. 

They all stare blankly at the menu, and then back at her. She taps her pen one more time. 

“I’ll...um...give you some more time.” She shakes her head. She’s not gonna ask, she doesn’t get paid enough. 

-

Rhodey looks at the two of them. He knows that things...well. 

Tony probably isn’t going to be playing Jeopardy! with this experience. 

Hell, he probably won’t want to see a therapist about this, and Rhodey will have to play Jeopardy! or some obscure dating show simulation with Tony to even help. 

And then there’s the matter of a man who’s supposed to be dead. 

That and...Rhodey decided to finish up college with a master’s degree. 

No one ever said life was easy. 

But. 

It might be fun. 

[girlmeetsliv3]

Violent Delights

Title: Violent Delights

Genre: Horror, suspense, & Psychological thriller

Pairings: Gang!BTS x reader ; Jimin x reader

Sypnosis: "These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume. What do you say, Y/n? Reckon we'll have a violent end." He maniacally grinned as he pressed the metallic point of the gun against your bleeding temple, the raw brass stinging against your open wound. "I don't know. We might."

Release Date: October 31st, 2019 6:30 pm (GMT-4)

Word Count: 9112

Warnings: The following story is not suitable for all audiences. It contains a lot of graphic violence, gore, varying levels of abuse, toxic relationship, dubious consent, implications of dangerous behavior, and a lot of other mature things. Please keep in mind this is a work of fiction and is not meant to reflect my personal beliefs or ideas, or the character of BTS. Thank you & enjoy.

Y/n stared at the round clock mounted on the wall, listening to the rhythmic ticking while willing the time to pass by faster. Kang Haneul, her therapist, was busy writing down his thoughts on their session today. “Is there anything else you would like to talk about before we wrap up?” His tone nonchalant, but from the tiny twitch of his ears she could tell he was listening intently. “No.” Y/n drew her attention back to the clock, anxiously waiting for the minute hand to land on the twelve. Dr. Kang looked up from his paper and focus on the anxious woman in front of him. Today’s session had been good. He was steadily making progress with the woman that his other colleagues had warned would be a tough case to crack, especially for someone with little experience. Kang did always love a challenge and he was determined to help Y/l/n Y/n no matter what.

           58..59…Finally. Y/n stood up from the tweed couch and began to gather her stuff. “Thank you doctor. Have a good evening.” Her purse was perched on her arm and her leg trembled slightly, she couldn’t wait to get home. “Have a good evening, Y/n. Remember to pick up your prescription from Joy at the front.” She nodded and excused herself, the soles of her rubber shoes squeaking slightly against the white tile floor. Y/n was always scheduled for the last appointment, three times a week, it made things easier and she didn’t have to worry about traffic. Joy had already finished packing up and seemed tired, but she still greeted Y/n with a smile. “Here you go.” Joy said placing the prescription bottle on the counter. It was small and white, anyone could easily confuse it for pain medication unless they read the label. “Thanks Joy. Have a nice night.” Y/n grabbed the bottle and dropped it into her bag, before walking away. “Wait. Y/n don’t you want me to order you a ride?” Joy asked as she peered outside through the large window, noting how dark it had gotten in just a couple of hours. Y/n looked back, a practiced smile on her face. “It’s no problem. It isn’t that long of a walk.”

           It definitely was a long walk. Nearly thirty minutes to her apartment, but Y/n enjoyed strolling through the city. It wasn’t the weekend so there wasn’t an abundance of people crowding the streets trying to seek entertainment in one way or another. She didn’t live in the best neighborhood, but she had lived there long enough to know her way and what streets to avoid if she didn’t want trouble. Problem is trouble usually came looking for her. It was as she was crossing in front of the older part of town, the one riddled with shabby looking buildings were mainly seniors resided that she heard it. A loud scream of pain followed by laughter. Don’t. Just keep walking. But it came again; this time she heard a loud metal clang and a groan. Y/n stood frozen on the spot, an alleyway to her right. It was practically shrouded in darkness if not for a small lamp that hung off the side of a building, several feet away. Y/n just keep walking. As much as she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Doctor Kang had told her that it was important to lend a hand if someone was in trouble, no matter what her mind told her. “Try to place yourself in their shoes. Wouldn’t you want somebody to help you if they were in trouble?” Y/n cast one more look into the alleyway before taking a deep breath and stepping towards it.

            There was conveniently a large dumpster that she crouched behind. Y/n wasn’t about to walk head first into a situation without knowing what she was getting herself into. There was another holler of laughter, it dawned on her that there might be more than one perp. As stealthily as she could, Y/n sneaked a glance towards where the sound was coming from. The lamp was only illuminating a small section of the alleyway, but even with the faint light Y/n could see everything. There was a man and women laying on the ground, the man’s body was severely damaged. Several bruises lined his torso, his skull was cracked open, teeth scattered on the ground, and his hand was pressed against his abdomen which had been ripped open as he desperately tried to keep his intestines inside. The woman beside him had her clothes ripped to shreds and a large bruising on her side, evidence of broken ribs. Her head was also bleeding, and her eyes moved deliriously. Y/n’s entire attention was on the victims, until she witnessed a crowbar flighting into the man’s face driving his nose up into his skull. Y/n was in shock and her eyes slowly traveled to the left.

           There were several men, seven or eight maybe, who were standing above them. Laughing, smiling, or cracking jokes. Their clothes had been stained with blood and each of them had a weapon on hand, except for one who possessed a camera. All of them cheered as the man’s now dead body fell to the side. The woman beside him letting out a shrill of terror. Y/n observed everything with amazement and a sick fascination. This is wrong. What they’re doing is wrong. That was the phrase that kept repeating like a mantra inside her head. Doctor Kang would want her to call the police and get the men arrested, but even though her hand hovered over her phone in her back pocket, she never reached for it. Y/n didn’t like what the men were doing, nor did she get some twisted enjoyment off it. She simply didn’t care. There was a man and a woman on the brink of death right before her eyes and she couldn’t bring herself to care, even though she desperately wanted – needed to. Doctor Kang had said she was getting better, that she should begin to sympathize with people. Y/n hoped that she could, but now confronted with this situation all she could bring herself to care about was her survival. I have to get out of here.

           One of the men crouched in front of the woman, his face a few inches from hers. Y/n couldn’t tell what it is that he had told her, but she had an idea. Until, he stood up and backed away from her. If Y/n focused on him she could notice his face, the man had light hair paired with high cheekbones and pouty lips. His skin was tan and his eyes sharp, quite like that of a cat. He parted his lips to speak, a singular word exiting them. “Run.” The woman struggled to get on her feet, but she quickly took off running towards Y/n’s direction. Don’t be stupid. He’ll just – But the man stayed still, as did his friends simply watching the woman run away. Would they actually? By now the woman was only a few meters away from exiting the alleyway, it was when she neared the dumpster that the man broke out into a sprint after her. She had just managed to pass the dumpster when he tackled her to the ground.

           “No, please. Please don’t.” The woman thrashed around trying to fight him off, but it was evident he easily overpowered her. Y/n had forced herself into a corner and rolled into a ball, trying to look as inauspicious as possible. It would’ve been fine if the woman hadn’t turned towards her direction, making eye contact with Y/n. Y/n desperately shook her head, pleading her not to say anything. “Please help me!” She extended her arm out towards Y/n, causing the man to turn and look at her. A sadistic smile made its way onto his lips as he let out a dry chuckle. The perp focused his attention back on the woman, reaching into his pocket to pull out a knife and using it to jaggedly slice her throat. The woman flailed on the ground as the blood poured endlessly from her wound. Then she too was dead.

           The man stood up and casually wiped off his jeans. Though he wasn’t staring at her, Y/n knew that he was watching her. “Jimin, let’s go. The fun’s over.” A member of the group spoke up, but the man, Jimin, only laughed. “It’s not quite over yet boys.” He said as his eyes trailed up Y/n’s figure. In the blink of an eye, Jimin had pounced on her, dragging her up off the ground. “What do we have here?” Jimin’s face had blood splattered all over it, but when he smiled his teeth were pearly white. Y/n couldn’t speak too afraid of what he would do to her. “What the fuck is going on?” The other men had finally reached them, all making a slight circle around the two of them. “I found a rat by the trash.” Jimin spoke, his voice deep almost like he was growling. “That isn’t a rat, it’s a lady.” Spoke a rather tall boy with long hair, crossing his arms over his rather large chest. All of them looked different and even had different statures, so Y/n doubted they were related. Jimin’s hands had traveled from your arms to your neck, his grip tight. “What’s your name sweetheart?” One of them asked, he stood apart from the rest. He was tall, tan, and had sandy blonde hair. A kind smile adorned his features, though it seemed rehearsed.

           “Y-y/n.” It might have been rather reckless of her to give that away, but she was certain of her death. Sandy seemed pleased with her answer, but Jimin still let one of his hands drop towards her bottom, hovering over it until he located her phone. He quickly threw it to Sandy, who handed off to the guy who was holding the camera. “What’s your password?” Y/n quickly replied, eyes downcast as she tried to avoid Jimin’s intense stare. After a couple of minutes, the camera guy turned towards Sandy and nodded. Y/n couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not. As if someone was watching over her, the man she long thought dead gasped drawing everyone’s attention. The men began to walk over to him and Jimin dragged her with them, his hand tightly wrapped in her hair. It seems he wasn’t dead just yet, which was some cruel miracle. “Yoongi.” Sandy muttered quietly, a grey-haired man stepped forward with a gun tightly clutched in his hand. He fired three blows into the man’s head; its contents flying all over the wall and floor.

           Unbeknownst to Y/n, Jimin had been observing her actions and was shocked at her apathetic reaction to having seen someone’s brains being blown out. “What’s wrong with you?” He asked her, forcing Y/n to look at him. She couldn’t answer him, didn’t want to really. Y/n just wanted them to get over with it. “Namjoon-Hyung, I’m bored let’s go.” Whined the man with long hair. He must be the youngest. “He’s right. The cops will be here any second.” Spoke a broad-shouldered man, “Let’s just take the entertainment home.” Y/n wasn’t given time to dwell on their words, for Jimin flashed her a quick smile before aiming his fist towards her. Knocking her unconscious, the second they hit their target. “Haven’t I warned you not to help others?!”

           Y/n came to when she felt searing pain on the side of her face. Her eyes peered open to view a concrete wall above her. When she tried to stand up, she was pulled back down by a strong force. “You’re not allowed to move.” She whipped her head to see, one of the men sitting next to her. His hair was wet, and his clothes smelled clean, but it was the dark swirls in his eyes that warned Y/n to proceed with caution. She didn’t speak, fearing saying the wrong thing. The man stared at her, taking in every detail of her face before speaking. “I’m Taehyung.” Taehyung looked around her age, his body lean and if she had seen him on the street Y/n might have considered him attractive. At the very least, she wouldn’t have considered him to be someone capable of cold-blooded murder. Taehyung observed her, watching the way she subconsciously made herself as little as possible. Keeping her gaze downward to avoid eye contact.

           Y/n tried to flex her jaw but winced at the pain she felt. That’s right he punched me. Though her face hurt, she was much more curious as to why she wasn’t six feet underground. Not that Y/n was about to question them, she had learned from experience how keeping one’s mouth shut saved their lives. “Ah, good. You’re awake. Tae go help Jin in the kitchen.” Sandy or should she say, Namjoon had just entered walked down the stairs. His hair wet as well, and Y/n deduced they all must be cleaning up. I must’ve not been out that long. Namjoon walked towards where she was on the couch, stopping right in front of where she was sitting purposely towering over her. Y/n looked up at him, preferring to focus on his face in general. Namjoon gave her that rehearsed smile before speaking, “Why are you taking anti-depressants?” Y/n froze, casting a look around trying to find her purse. At her lack of response Namjoon took hold of her chin and pressed against the forming bruise on the side of her jaw, causing Y/n to moan in pain. “I asked you a question.”

           “I-I have anxiety.” Y/n said, trying her best to remain calm. She wasn’t lying, sometimes her anxiety did swell up. “No that isn’t it.” Y/n was threading on thin ice, but it didn’t matter what choice she made – the ice would break and drag her down to the cool icy waters. Tears began to well in her eyes, as she couldn’t think of how to escape this situation. Namjoon smiled, “Are you afraid, Y/n?” She didn’t see a point in lying. “Yes.” Lying wouldn’t do her any good. It certainly wouldn’t get her out of this situation. Y/n didn’t know if she was playing her cards right, but she hoped everything she had endured as a child could prove useful somehow. Namjoon seemed pleased with her answer, letting go of her chin. Namjoon stepped back, “You’re probably hungry. There’s food in the kitchen, tell Jin I let you eat.” Y/n nodded and moved to stand when he suddenly grabbed her wrist, “Dr. Kang is your therapist, right?” It wasn’t a question. Even if she knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, Y/n nodded either way.

           “Oh, yes. Your food is in the microwave.” Jin mumbled as he focused on cutting the raw meat with the sharp butcher’s knife. The meat was lean and dark in color, it didn’t resemble anything you had ever seen before but Jin went about cutting it with such expertise. The man was probably accustomed to cooking it. Y/n walked towards the corner were the microwave was, only for Taehyung to beat her to it. He opened the plastic door and took out it’s contents: rice, greens, and small bits of meat. “Here. Go eat upstairs, third room to the left.” The only utensil she was given was a plastic fork, but that was somewhat understandable. Not that she could cause much harm with a real fork. “Fighting back only leads to more trouble.” Y/n took her plate and exited the kitchen, proceeding to climb up the large stairs. Their home, if it could be called that, was a warehouse that had been remodeled to be a home.

           Balancing everything on one hand, she entered the room assuming no one would be there. She was mistaken. Park Jimin still hadn’t removed the tack and gore from his clothing, simply resting on his bed waiting for Y/n to arrive. When she entered, he quickly stood up and shoved her inside the room; the plate nearly slipping from her hand. “Careful break a plate and I might have to break your neck.” Jimin enjoyed nothing more than seeing her frozen with terror. “I was waiting for you to wake up. Try the food, tell me what you think.” At those words, all her appetite seemingly vanished. Still Y/n moved towards a desk in the bedroom, trying to put the plate down. It’s likely poisoned. Even if it was from the piercing gaze of Jimin’s eyes she had no choice but to take a bite. If I don’t, he’ll probably stab me with the plastic fork. As if he needed a weapon to kill her.

           Tentatively she raised the piece of meat to her lips parting them open and placing it on her tongue. A few bites later, she was still savoring the meat until she finally swallowed. The taste was familiar, it created a sense of longing in her as she tried to figure out what it was. It tasted somewhat like beef, but not fully developed. Almost like veal. Almost like…Y/n began to gag as her eyes widened in horror at what she had just eaten. Jimin began to laugh, “Oh come on. It’s not that bad.” She strongly disagreed, Y/n felt like clawing her throat out. There were certain lines even she wouldn’t dare to cross and yet, unknowingly, she had crossed one of them. Even her mother had never done something like this to her. Jimin walked towards her, his arm coiling tightly around her waist as he pulled her against him. “What you don’t like it?” Jimin teased Y/n, trying to elicit more of her fear. As he gathered more information on her. It wasn’t that she was unafraid, very clearly, she was, her disregard was towards others.

           As Y/n tried to regain control over herself, and her queasy stomach, Jimin softly caressed her bruised jaw. Every time she winced, he would stop for a bit, but would continue nonetheless. Y/n didn’t know why she was still alive but being in a den filled with cannibals didn’t paint a hopeful picture. “Are you all…” She let the question trail off, hanging in the air. Jimin’s face became serious instantly, “Of course not. We’re not monsters. It’s just something we partake in time to time. Lessens the body count.” That made things worse somehow. Jimin twisted her around and pushed her onto the bed, giving her little time to readjust herself. There was a small window in the room, through which moonlight shone. Only the bed was illuminated so whilst Y/n was in the light, Jimin remained in the dark. “I’m going to shower, then we’ll go out.” She didn’t really have a response, so she just stayed quiet, he seemed fine with that. Jimin opened his bedroom door and walked out, it closed slowly behind him until he suddenly turned back. “Don’t leave the room. If you do, you’ll be dessert.”

             Kang Haneul was resting on his couch looking over Y/n’s file the blue hue from the muted television being the only source of light in the living room. It did little to help his degrading vision, but he needed to go to bed. Having a lamp on would only keep him awake for much longer than he needed. Kang looked over his notes transcribed on sticky notes posted all over the manila folder. Sure, he technically wasn’t allowed to take a patient’s file out of his office, but Kang had viewed other older professional’s do it before. His eyes skimmed the news clippings dating back several years as his head began to slightly droop. Kang kept trying to resist the urge, but eventually he did fall victim to his body’s intentions and fell into a deep sleep. Quite convenient for, that is when Kim Namjoon managed to arrive to the apartment. His hands tinkering with the old locks until they gave way. Namjoon quietly stepped inside, sure to avoid the sections of the wood floor that he knew would creak. “Ah doctor Kang, you really should know better.” This wasn’t the first time Namjoon had witnessed the man passed out in his living room couch when he should’ve been in bed.

           Still Namjoon hadn’t stopped by for a reunion or some quick small talk. As luck would have it, the purpose of his visit was sprawled on the doctor’s coffee table and lap. Namjoon quickly took pictures of everything he found, being amazed at just how much information there was. “I see your still up to your same old tricks, huh doctor?” Kang was still deep asleep and Namjoon took advantage to engrain the man’s face into his memory, it was the last time he would see him after all. “I’ll see you in hell, Kang.”

             Jimin had whisked her away to a bar in a shady part of town. Y/n had been forced to go under threat of death, mutilation, and other things she didn’t want to dwell on. The bar was nearly desolate except for the staff and several drunk men scattered along booths. Jimin had his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as he walked them over to an empty booth in a corner. Insisting that Y/n sit beside him. Y/n cast a look around trying to make eye contact with anyone in the bar hoping they might help her, she soon realized the irony in that sentiment. Jimin pressed himself against her, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Choose one.” Y/n turned to meet his eyes, “What?” Jimin redirected her vision to the inhabitants of the bar. “Choose someone for me to kill or I’ll kill you, simple as that.” Y/n didn’t know what to do. She knew what she should do: refuse Jimin or tell him to hurt her, that would be the right thing to do. But I don’t want to die. Y/n’s survival instinct was drilled deep into her mind at such a young age, that she didn’t know any other way. So, she slowly lifted her hand and pointed at an older man, passed out on the table with drool coming out of his mouth.

           Jimin shook his head, “No. It has to be someone of equal value.” Y/n shook her head, her lip trembling. I don’t want to die. “I want someone that looks like you. A nice pretty girl that’s going to scream her guts out before I rip her to shreds.” Subconsciously, Y/n’s gaze landed on a young waitress serving the men. Her dark hair was tied into a messy bun and pulled away from her face, the harsh lines present on them might have fooled people into believing she was older. But it was her body that gave her away. Perhaps Y/n had lingered on her too long and that’s why Jimin had noticed. She hadn’t meant to single her out, Jimin had just been paying too close attention. “You do what you have to do to survive. No matter the consequence.” Jimin beckoned the waitress over, as she approached Jimin shot Y/n a cheeky smile. One that didn’t reach his eyes and was clearly meant as a warning.

           “Hello, I’m Lana. Anything to start you guys off today?” Y/n didn’t bother looking at her, keeping her eyes on the table. “Sorry, but is your manager around? We’ve ran into some car trouble it won’t start.” The lie rolled so easily off his tongue. Jimin oozed charming out of his pores, couple that with his looks and it was a deadly combination. Quite literally. “Uh, my managers not in. But I don’t mind helping you out.” Bad decision. Hadn’t a bad decision brought her to being stuck with a serial killer and being an accomplice to murder. A sudden chill traveled through her spine, doctor kang’s words echoing through her head. “Society has no place for those who break the law or aid other’s in doing so. They’re monsters after.” Hadn’t Kang told her that she wasn’t one though? That she could be saved? Maybe if I help her get away… That idea was shot down immediately by a sudden flash back to her childhood. “Helping others only gets you hurt.” Y/n felt Jimin’s eyes on her. “Babe let’s go.” As if doing so automatically Y/n slid out of the booth, Jimin following suit.

           “It’s here near the back. Didn’t want to risk it getting broken into.” Jimin commented as the three of them walked towards the back of the building. The waitress, Lana, simply nodded along to everything he said. Not finding it weird that the car was so far away, or that Y/n hadn’t spoken a word. “It’s a dangerous neighborhood. Have to be careful around strangers.” Lana responded, as she squinted her eyes to look ahead. “Which one is your car?” Lana asked, turning towards the two of you. Jimin didn’t even bother responding simply smiling before quickly grabbing a hold of her head, snapping her neck with a quick motion. Y/n watched Lana’s body fall to the ground, wanting desperately to feel something and only being more conflicted when she didn’t. “I was right.” Jimin spoke, turning to face her. “You don’t care.” Y/n gulped, her eyes being unable to look anywhere but Lana’s body. Not caring had made her an outcast amongst her friends and society. It had made them treat her like an outsider. But not caring had helped her survive.

           Jimin stepped forward which caused Y/n to take a step back. The two continued this, until Y/n took off running. Trying to outrun him was impossible consider how tall and fast he was, but she did try. Y/n managed to travel quite a distance until Jimin grabbed her and stabbed her in the left lowermost part of her abdomen. He laughed with glee at the silent moan of pain she released. “Why are you trying to ruin my fun?!” A sob tore through her throat as tears began to stream down her face. Jimin held her tightly against him, no space between them. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Y/n repeated over and over again, until Jimin rolled his eyes and showed her the bloody knife. “Be quiet. Let’s go.” He took of his jacket and tied it tightly around her waist, apparently making a makeshift tourniquet. “If we don’t hurry home, you’ll bleed to death. Don’t want that now do we?”

           When the two of them had returned to the warehouse Y/n’s skin color had faded to a pale white, her lips displaying the same color. Jimin had aided her along the way, mainly because dusk was settling and he didn’t want to be caught on the streets, but if it weren’t for him Y/n would’ve surely collapsed. As soon as the door opened, Y/n saw that all the men were gathered in the living room their aura’s deeply confrontational. It quickly dispersed when they laid eyes on her, “Sheesh Jimin. Couldn’t hold yourself back?” Laughed Yoongi, earning an intense glare from Jimin. Hoseok stood up and made his way towards them, only for Jimin to nearly snarl at him. “I’ve got her.” Hoseok backed up, his hands raised as if to show he meant no ill will. “Take her to the kitchen, I’ll be there soon.” Jin spoke. Even in her weakened state Y/n still processed his words, her eyes widening. Jimin smirked, “Don’t worry. You’re not on the menu. Not tonight at least.” He laughed quietly at his own joke, whilst all Y/n could do was take deep breaths and try to calm her breathing.

           Jimin pushed open the kitchen door and hoisted Y/n up into his arms, before laying her on the metallic table in the center of the room. She was certain of her death now. As Jin had said he emerged a few minutes later with a first aid kit in hand. Jin was allowed to raise her shirt and analyze the wound, before disinfecting it and stitching it up. Once he was done, he cast a glare at Jimin. “She needs a blood transfusion.” Jimin merely rolled his eyes in response, “Can’t we just feed her some cress?” Y/n was barely conscious, but she still put all her energy in listening to the conversation. She would be damned if she passed out and was left as easy prey. “I could call one of our guys, though he might not have her blood type. What’s your blood type sweetie?” Y/n incoherently mumbled back her blood type. “If not, we’ll just find somebody off the street. Can’t be too hard.” Jimin shrugged, he thanked Jin and gathered Y/n into his arms once again.

           As Jimin climbed up the stairs, a question kept surfacing in the back of Y/n’s mind. In her delirious state, she accidentally let it slip. “Why haven’t you killed me, yet?” Jimin didn’t look at her, simply kept on climbing the stairs until he reached the top. “Why don’t you care if others die around you?” Both questions had complicated answers, but neither of them wanted to elaborate on them.

             When Y/n woke up the next morning, she had desired that everything which had occurred the previous night had been a nightmare. Perhaps she had gone to bed watching a crime drama, her mind conjuring up the evil images all on its own. Y/n knew it wasn’t true though, whenever she had nightmares it was always the same ones. Not to mention that she had accidentally rolled over onto her side and the wound began to throb painfully. Y/n pulled the sheets off her body and forced herself out of bed. Her attire wasn’t pleasant: a large hoodie and even larger sweats. But Jimin had explained in explicit detail what he would do to her, if she slept with dirty clothes on his clean bed. Not like he wasn’t wearing bloody clothes on them last night. Y/n opened the bedroom door, looking around to make sure no one was there. Go. Escape. Now. As carefully as she could, so as not to rip her stitches open, Y/n traveled down the stairs only to see the men sitting on the couch enjoying their day. Jungkook was the first to notice her and gave her a large smile, she automatically reciprocated one. The last thing she needed was to make any of them upset.

           All of them, especially Jimin, terrified her. They all looked so normal. The picture of what a model citizen might look like, but Y/n had seen what they were capable of. Y/n didn’t know what to do so she remained in her place waiting for something to happen. Then it occurred, a knocking on the metal door. It was a soft rasp of sorts, not intimidating in any sense. Y/n began to feel a small twinge of hope. Could it be? Instead of two uniformed men standing outside the door, there were two women. One older and the other very young, both modestly dressed. “Can I help you ladies?” Hoseok spoke, a bright cheery smile on his face. Even from her position, Y/n could tell it had dazzled the women. “So sorry to interrupt you sir, but we were wondering if you would allow us to speak with you about the lord’s word?” Hoseok cast a glance towards the men on the seats. They all had abandoned their activities and were focused on the interaction. “I’m so sorry ladies, I am terribly busy. Unless…you wouldn’t mind coming in, would you? I have family over.” Both women exchanged a look before agreeing, “It’s no problem. The more the merrier I say.” Spoke the older one. Hoseok laughed along with her, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

           It dawned on Y/n that Jimin was absent from the room. She looked around but found no trace of him whatsoever. Hoseok must’ve spotted her still standing as he motioned her over, “Y/n come sit.” It wasn’t a suggestion, even though his voice had been nothing but cheery. Y/n walked and sat between Namjoon and Jin, both men leaning back to rest their arms on the head. Another warning. “I’m sorry about her. She’s quite shy.” Hoseok told the two women, trying to pass off the obvious tension as a nuisance. “Oh I know, I have a daughter at home. It takes her an hour after she wakes up to speak to anyone.” The older woman laughed again, from the way Hoseok’s smile faltered Y/n could tell it was beginning to irk him.

           “What are your names?” Namjoon asked, looking between them. Eyes wide with curiosity. “Uhm m-my name is M-mary and she’s C-crista.” The youngest, Mary, stuttered. “Don’t mind her. She stutters when she’s nervous.” Crista laughed, once again. “There’s no need to be nervous Crista.” Yoongi offered, he too was smiling. Y/n visibly tensed and tried to put as much distance between herself and the men as possible. “So, tell us about yourself.” Taehyung leaned forward eyes filled with a sadistic gleam. “Yes, what does our lord and savior say about redemption?” Jungkook followed up, a large bunny smile on his face.

           Despite what one may believe, what even Y/n believed, the conversation between all of them went on for quite some time. Y/n barely uttered a word, only nodding occasionally so as not to draw suspicion. Discussing philosophical matters such as morality, sins, and death. The men were playing the long game and Y/n didn’t want to be there when it reached its conclusion. “Sorry,” Mary said speaking directly at her, “Can you please show me to the bathroom?” Seokjin nudged Y/n slightly as she stood up. All eyes trained on her as she guided Mary to the bathroom upstairs. Y/n thought this might be the one opportunity to warn Mary of what might happen, but how would they escape without drawing attention. I have to do it before Jimin gets back. As they climbed up the stairs Mary got close to her, “How did you get that bruise on your jaw?” Y/n had almost forgotten about that.

           “Uhm…” Y/n didn’t know what say. What was the right choice? Should she tell her the truth or play it off? If she escapes, you might not be able to. Still, even if Y/n died that was still the right thing to do. To sacrifice herself for others, right? Don’t be stupid. Y/n strongly desired to one day be able to ignore the voice in her head and act out on her own. Maybe that day will be today. “Here.” They had reached the top floor and Y/n pointed towards the bathroom. Mary cast her a look, but simply went inside the bathroom locking the door. Y/n let out a heavy sigh she wasn’t aware she was holding in. “Smart move.” Y/n swore she had jumped at least a foot off the ground. She turned around to see Jungkook leaning on the stair’s railing. He stepped towards her, getting close enough that their chests brushed. “There’s no point in me wasting my breath to tell you the consequences should you choose to do something you shouldn’t.”  Jungkook’s hand traveled to Y/n’s waist and his fingers pressed into the stitched wound. It took all her will power not to cry out in pain, but Jungkook still got off on the expression of her face. “Jimin-Hyung went through a lot for you, so don’t fuck him over.” Y/n hadn’t realized she had started crying until Jungkook wiped away at her tears, it was then that she heard the toilet flush and the faucet running.

           Jungkook went back downstairs before Mary opened the door, making it seem like nothing had happened. When Mary opened the door, she was greeted by Y/n standing right in front of it. “Do you by any chance have a phone?” Mary seemed confused but nodded either way. Reaching into her front pocket to take out a rather small track phone. Y/n grasped her hand immediately looking around, “Don’t say anything.”

           There was a loud rumbustious laughter coming from down stairs when they returned and Y/n found that one stood out among the rest. When she and Mary came back downstairs, she saw Jimin’s golden blonde hair bouncing as he laughed. They all seemed to be sharing an inside joke of some kind, Crista was wiping away the tears that had formed from cackling too hard. “Oh, you boys are something else.” Y/n traveled towards the back of the couch, not wanting to pass in front of any of them, while Mary returned to her spot. A deep frown nestled between her brows that she quickly removed before it was too noticeable. “Oh babe, you’re back.” A beautiful smile was plastered onto Jimin’s face as he turned around to see face Y/n, his hand reaching up to take hers. “Oh, are the two of you a couple?” Crista asked, shock on her face. Y/n didn’t blame her, Jimin looked like a model right now and well Y/n looked like she had been kidnapped and tortured by a bunch of lowkey cannibalistic psychopaths.

           When Jimin’s hand wrapped tightly around hers, Y/n smiled back. “Y/n suffers from a lot of anxiety. Didn’t come from a good home, you know? So, she doesn’t do well around strangers.” Jin tone was casual, as if he was commenting on the weather and hadn’t just revealed that he knew about Y/n’s past. Y/n swore she felt her heart drop in that moment. There was nothing she could feel, but shock in that moment. How do they… Even though their attention wasn’t specifically on her, Y/n could tell all of them were gauging for her reaction. “Sometimes even when you want to cry, it’s better to stay quiet.” So, Y/n simply nodded and apologized to the women before her. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude.” Jimin didn’t seem satisfied with her response, for his nails dug deeply into her skin.

           “Well, I’m sad to say but we must be leaving.” Crista began to stand up, waving Mary along. “Oh, what a shame. Can’t you stay any longer?” Hoseok pouted. Are they really going to let them leave? Maybe the men could control themselves. Like wild animals, once they had satiated their needs, they could be quite polite. “I’m afraid not. It’s gotten quite late, it’s dangerous to walk the streets alone at night.” The mood in the room had shifted, but it seems Crista had not picked up on it. Yoongi shrugged, “Not as dangerous as entering a stranger’s home and annoying them with your obnoxious laughter to the point where they want kill you.” The silence that had consumed the room, made it so that Y/n could practically hear your own pulse racing. Crista attempted to laugh it off, but she was clearly nervous. Mary was frozen in shock at what she had just heard. Slowly the men stood up and approached the women, purposely taking their time right before they attacked.

           Jimin had made his way behind Y/n, his arms possessively wrapping around her figure as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “I have a gift for you.” She didn’t like the sound of that, “What is it?” Jimin smiled, he began to press kisses along her neck. “If you behave, you’ll find out.” The kiss he pressed against Y/n’s cheek was soft and sweet. It confused her. “Watch and don’t make a sound.” Then Jimin walked away, joining his brothers is in the massacre of the two women who had made the mistake of coming into their home. Y/n stood and watched, not moving, barely breathing when the bones began to break, screams resonated, and bodies were torn open in the most brutal ways. Almost feels like home.

             “Joy have you managed to get in contact with Y/n? This is the second appointment she has missed.” Kang yelled out from his office, looking over his calendar. The last time he had seen Y/l/n Y/n had been on Wednesday, it was now Monday and she failed to show up again. Joy appeared on the threshold of his door, “I’ve tried Doctor Kang. She doesn’t answer her phone.” The doctor placed his head on his hands, he was frustrated. Kang was so close to finally cracking Y/n open, but of course she had to slip from his fingers. A thought popped into his head just then, “I’ll stop by her apartment. I need to make sure she’s alright.” Haneul Kang grabbed his phone from the top of the desk and slipped off his white coat. “Are you sure that’s alright, doctor? Wouldn’t it be better to notify the police?” Joy was concerned about Y/n’s wellbeing, but more so about the therapist’s sudden keen interest in his patient. When Y/n hadn’t shown up Friday the men’s mood had soured terribly, now he looked a bit deranged.

           “Y/n has a bad history with the police. She’s extremely distrustful of them.” Kang was lying through his teeth, but there was no one there that knew any better, so it was fine. “If I don’t find her there, then we can call the police. Have a good evening, Joy.” He quickly placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder to ease her worries before marching out of the office. Y/n was never one to miss appointments. He might forgive her for missing one, but two in a row was far too many. Kang had a strange feeling in his stomach, one he’d possessed since he woke up Thursday morning on the living room couch. Everything looked perfect, but he could sense something was off. “Dear lord, please don’t let her have done anything stupid. Don’t let her be dead.”

             Y/n slid the key into her apartment’s lock, twisting it before opening the door. Jimin stepped in before her, taking in everything. Y/n looked around before walking inside and closing the door. It wasn’t big by any means. All she possessed was a small kitchenette, a fridge, her bed, some seats, a bookshelf, and the bathroom which behind a door to the left. Jimin looked at her book collection, laughing to himself at some of the choices until his eyes landed on a specific book. “Isn’t this a bit cliché? Never thought my girlfriend would enjoy something like this.” His girlfriend, Y/n had gotten quite used to the word. Jimin called her that whenever he was in a good mood. “It’s in that box. Under the bed.” Y/n said pointing to an old orange shoe box whose edge poked out from underneath the covers. Jimin walked over to the bed crouching as he pulled the dusty box out from its hiding place. “Come here.” She moved instantly going to sit on the bed, beside where the box was placed. Jimin leaned in and kissed her, lips moving hungrily against hers.

           Y/n tried to kiss him back but recoiled when she felt the familiar metallic taste on her tongue. “Ah.” Her bruised lips had suffered much under Jimin’s constant need to harshly kiss and bite them. Jimin smirked, before pulling her bottom lip into his mouth sucking on it. “Juh-jimin.” They were on a schedule, Namjoon had warned her if they weren’t back within an hour, he would personally track them down. “The box.” Jimin finally stopped kissing, his attention going back to the contents inside the box. Jimin pulled the lid off, carefully taking his time to look over everything; a small smile grazing his features when he found what he wanted. “You really are something Y/n.” Jimin looked like he had just won the lottery, while Y/n felt as if she had just given up all her life savings. As long as he’s happy I’m safe. “Is that everything Namjoon needs?” She asked, trying to avoid looking at the box as much as possible. Jimin closed it shut, “And so much more.” The smile didn’t reach his eyes and Y/n asked herself if it ever would. “I’m starting to think fate brought us together, babe.”

           Y/n didn’t get a chance to respond, interrupted by the harsh rasping of knuckles on her door. Both Jimin and she stared at the door in shock. “Y/n? Y/n open the door. I must talk to you.” It’s doctor Kang. She felt the sudden change in Jimin’s attitude, his eyes became hooded and he stalked towards the door, his hand reaching into the back of his pants under his hoodie; where the gun was. Y/n raced towards him immediately stopping him. “What if he’s with cops?” She whispered harshly saying the first thing her mind could conjure up. Jimin stood still arm still reaching for the gun, he turned towards her slowly. “Stop me and I’ll put a bullet in your head.” Jimin’s dark eyes pierced into hers and dared her to disobey him, his eyes were practically begging her too. “Don’t.” Y/n stepped back, her body hitting the wall as Jimin moved forward to entrap her. She was shaking, her eyes darting everywhere trying to avoid making eye contact. Y/n’s gaze landed on the box on the bed and the weathered copy of Romeo and Juliet laying on the floor.

           Jimin followed her line of sight, chuckling darkly when he saw what she was staring at. Jimin’s mouth wrapped around her neck, leaving open mouth kisses and hickies in its wake. “Look at me.” He mumbled against her skin. Jimin looked at her neck and upper chest area, it was scattered with his marks as well as bruises of all sorts. Jimin hadn’t taken long to mark her as his all over her body; he also never missed an opportunity to do it. When Y/n’s eyes met his, Jimin couldn’t help but preen with twisted glee. “So why is it in your bookshelf?” Jimin pressed, even if it might be a sensitive topic. “It was my mother’s.” Y/n had spoken so softly one might have struggled to hear her, unless they were as close as Jimin was. Jimin gently pecked her forehead, his face unreadable as he uttered a familiar phrase.

"These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume.” Y/n remained silent, not knowing how to respond in a way that wouldn’t upset him. It was then that she saw the gun in his hand. The gun glinting in the light as it neared her. “What do you say, Y/n? Reckon we'll have a violent end." He uttered as he pressed the muzzle against her temple. Y/n simply shrugged, “I don’t know. We might.” Jimin pulled the safety back, before taking away from her temple and instead pointing it at her heart. “Don’t worry. We’re not near the ending yet.” He spoke, his eye dropping into a wink.

 Kang Haneul pulled up to the shady looking warehouse, he tried to see if there was any police officers around. He doubted it. This was such a bad neighborhood most law enforcement turned a blind eye for the sake of not having to do unnecessary paper work. Kang had been pounding on Y/n’s apartment door when he received a text from Kim Namjoon – a man he hoped to never see again. Kang strolled towards the large metal doors, trying the lock before knocking. It was unlocked by some miracle. Kang slowly pushed the door open, peering inside to make sure no one was around. It seems the doctor wasn’t the best at sneaking in for he didn’t notice Taehyung standing behind the door, gun ready to shoot. The second Kang stepped foot inside Taehyung tackled him to the ground and hit him across the head with the back of the gun. Knocking him unconscious immediately. “Far too easy.”

“Don’t waste any time Tae. Jimin will get here soon.” Namjoon spoke as he emerged from upstairs. Taehyung nodded and proceeded to lift Kang up into his arms, taking him into the kitchen were the others were waiting. “Namjoon. Jimin might not like this.” Jin had been standing by the stairs watching everything. He couldn’t help the bad feeling growing in his stomach, “He’s grown quite attached to her after all.” Namjoon rolled his eyes scoffing, “Jimin is bored and playing the long game. Do you really think he won’t kill her? At least this way her death will serve a purpose.” Jin simply walked away, deciding it best not to pick a fight with Namjoon when he was clearly riled up.

“Everything will go according to plan. Nothing will stop me.”

 Jimin had identified that something was wrong rather quickly. There were more patrols on the street than usual, the streets were empty, and no one had answered the phone. Y/n kept her head down staring at her lap while Jimin drove. They had taken longer than expected, but he had shot a quick text to Namjoon so that he wouldn’t bitch when they arrived. It wasn’t that Jimin couldn’t control himself around her – rather he didn’t want to. His hypothesis was proven correct when he saw the black convertible parked in front of the warehouse. “Y/n?” She raised her head to look at him, as Jimin simply focused on the car. His grip on the steering wheel getting tighter by the second. “When we go inside, I want you to behave.” Y/n’s brows furrowed, but she nodded either way noticing how white his fingertips had gotten. “I will.” Both of them stepped out of the vehicle heading for the front door, Jimin was wearing a smile on his face as he interlocked their hands. Not bothering to knock, Jimin fisted the key out of his pocket and opened the door. Acting as if he hadn’t noticed that it was unlocked. He turned toward Y/n flashing her a brief smile. “Ready?” Jimin doubted she was, but he was so amped for what would happen. He felt like a kid on Christmas only instead of tearing wrapping paper, Jimin was about to tore skulls open.

 When Y/n came to she was laying on the concrete floor of the warehouse. She could feel blood coming from her head and couldn’t move her arm. Looking around she saw several bodies sprawled around the floor, she recognized every one of them. “J-j…” Y/n tried to speak, but it was difficult. “Get up! Come on!” Y/n used her left arm to push herself off the ground, her head pounding when she did. When she tried to use her right arm, a searing pain had her biting her lip in order not to scream. This is it. With all the will power she could muster, she forced herself onto her feet stumbling slightly every time she took a step. Y/n couldn’t tell if it was the room that was tilting or she was, but she grasped onto every solid object she could to stabilize herself. “Y/n.” She whipped her head to see doctor Kang on the floor several gun shot wounds littered his chest as he bled to death. “Y/n thank god you’re alright.”

Y/n stepped towards him. “You can drop the act doctor Kang. I know why you were treating me.” The man’s eyes widened at her words. “Y/n please understand. I never meant to do you any harm. J-just like I never meant to do Namjoon or the others any harm.” Y/n shook her head, scoffing. “I don’t believe you.” She clutched her arm as her dead brother’s voice echoed in her head once again. “People will always lie to protect themselves. You should do the same.” Kang looked at her with tears in his eyes, “I truly did wish to help you Y/n. You aren’t past saving like they are. Woojin knew that.” Her heart skipped a beat at her brother’s name. Tears began to well in her eyes at his mention, “Stop lying.” Y/n refused to listen to his words, he had lied to her and tried to use her. Just like everyone else. Footsteps could be heard echoing through the warehouse, coming closer. Kang sobbed, “Please save yourself.” In his hand he held out an object, willing her to take it. “Please Y/n.”

Jimin appeared his clothes drenched in blood and a grin showing his pearly whites on display. Resembling the night they had first met Y/n was crouched behind the couch when he entered the living room. “There you are.” He said, as if he had been looking for her the entire time. Jimin sauntered towards her, hoisting her up into his arms and kissing her ardently. “Babe you missed quite a show.” Y/n observed at how much blood was present on his clothes and the decaying bodies laying around. He really killed them all…I don’t believe it. “Jimin what’s – ” He shushed her, “Don’t ruin the mood.” Y/n stayed quiet after that which seemed to please him greatly as he once again smiled. After a few seconds, she moved forward to kiss him letting her lips touch his for several seconds before beginning to move them. Though she expected Jimin to try and take control, he didn’t, simply letting her kiss him. It was a goodbye of sorts. When their kiss ended Jimin chuckled, an inquisitive look in his eyes. When she kissed him again, he looked calm. After the third, he smiled this time it reached his eyes.

“Why do you have to go ahead and ruin my fun?” Jimin spoke, his head tilting to the side as he stared deeply at her. Y/n couldn’t answer him. Didn’t want to. Jimin began to laugh, it was a sad laugh but Jimin quickly turned it into a maniacal laugh. “Oh Y/n…Y/n. Did you finally begin to care?” She nodded, tears streaming down her face. Jimin pressed his forehead against her’s, their noses brushing. "These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume. What do you say, Y/n? Reckon we'll have a violent end." He maniacally grinned as he pressed the metallic point of the gun against Y/n’s bleeding temple, the raw brass stinging against the open wound. "I don't know. We might." She muttered back. The gun was lifted from the side of her head before Jimin pressed it against her heart. “You won’t want me if you’re not broken.” Jimin muttered. Y/n couldn’t help but laugh, “I never wanted you in the first place.” Jimin pulled the safety off the gun, at the same time that Y/n reached behind her back for what she had grabbed from Kang. The knife plunged into Jimin’s heart the same time, the gun went off.

[marksburyscripts]

Season 1, Episode 1-- A Difficult Patient

Google Doc

Content Warnings: -Alcohol abuse -Discussion of intent to commit sexual assault

[Pre-episode announcement]

Hey, everyone! Before we begin, I just wanna give a quick heads-up. The Marksbury Incident will have some recurring themes that may be uncomfortable for some listeners, including depression, anxiety, survivor’s guilt, and murder, including that of a child. There will also be episode-specific content warnings in the descriptions of each episode. As excited as we are to share this story with the world, our main priority is always going to be the health and safety of everyone involved. But for now, take care of yourselves, and enjoy!

--

[Therapist’s office. Day. The recording begins, and there are a few seconds of awkward silence.]

NARRATOR

This is stupid.

THERAPIST

You haven’t even started yet. 

NARRATOR

What’s the point? How is this any different than what we usually do?

THERAPIST

I told you. Being able to go back and re-listen to sessions could be helpful. Maybe give you reminders about what we wanted to work on.

[Narrator scoffs.]

THERAPIST (Cont.)

If you have a better suggestion, I’d love to hear it. [He sighs] Look. If you don’t start working with me, I’m going to have to report it. I’ve been telling them that your post traumatic stress has been making progress slow, but it’s only a matter of time before they decide that it’s non-compliance. Not everyone gets this chance. Please. Don’t throw it away.

NARRATOR

...Fine. Fine, okay.

THERAPIST

We’ll just record this one for now and we’ll go from there. It might be a bit awkward at first, but it could help. 

NARRATOR

 ...Do you think they made the right decision? I mean, with what happened…. It’s not like it was a misdemeanor. 

THERAPIST

I think that they saw you the way that I do. A good person who made a mistake. You know better than anyone what kind of state you were in afterwards. And I think they realized that there wasn’t any real malicious intent.

NARRATOR

...Right.

THERAPIST

So you’ll cooperate?

NARRATOR

Yeah. Fine.

THERAPIST

Good. So you said last week you were going to go through your mother’s things?

NARRATOR

Yeah. I managed to do it.

THERAPIST

That’s good. How did it go?

NARRATOR

Okay I guess? Dad kept a lot more than I expected. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of much, but… some of the less sentimental things. Clothes, mostly. Things she never wore much. And… turns out she kept a lot of the drawings I did as a kid in a box under her bed, too. I saved a couple, but most of them I threw out. Then an old journal or diary or something that was in some weird mix of Italian and Gaelic, and a couple of pictures.

THERAPIST

Were the pictures of her?

NARRATOR

Yeah, mostly. There were some of her friend, too. Lauren, I think her name was? Laura? Mom would tell me about her sometimes. Here, I, um… I brought one. 

[The Narrator unzips his bag and retrieves the picture]

THERAPIST

Why’s it ripped?

NARRATOR

I don’t know. That’s just how I found it. There were a lot that were ripped, actually….  I-- I imagine it’s the result of a bad breakup or something.

THERAPIST

Makes sense. You were okay, though? 

NARRATOR

I mean, I had to take a few breaks during it. I think it took… four hours to go through the three boxes? 

THERAPIST

No shame in that. 

NARRATOR

I did have a bit of a breakdown after, though. But… nothing new there, I guess.

THERAPIST

When that happens, what do you do to calm down?

NARRATOR

Depends. On good days I grab a book and try to focus on that. 

THERAPIST

And what about the bad days?

NARRATOR

...Cheap whiskey and cigarettes. But I’ve been trying to quit.

THERAPIST

And after going through the boxes, was that a good day or a bad day?

NARRATOR

Somewhere in the middle, I guess? I promised myself I wouldn’t drink, so I went for a walk.

THERAPIST

That’s good. That’s very good.

NARRATOR

...Yeah. 

THERAPIST

...You don’t sound so sure about that.

NARRATOR

No, it’s…. It’s fine. It was good, it got my mind off of it.

THERAPIST

...Did something happen on your walk?

NARRATOR

Nothing you want to hear about.

THERAPIST

Try me.

NARRATOR

...You’re going to think I’m crazy.

THERAPIST

I’m a psychologist. Once again, try me.

NARRATOR

[He takes a deep breath] ...It was… maybe two in the morning? I-- I think that’s about right, I lost track around 12:30. I'd spent pretty much my whole day putting off going through the stuff, then the rest of the night either actually doing it or calming myself down. Mostly the latter. Then I kept running into some of my dad's things, as well, so that kept hitting me, too. I guess Evelynn missed some things when she was cleaning it all out. Or maybe she thought I would want some of it? I don't know.  Anyway, I'm getting distracted. I was walking past this bar a few streets over from my house. It’s not the most high-brow place in the world, so I made sure to cross the street before I got there. Never know what people will do when they're not thinking straight. Especially since… you know, I'm not exactly the most masculine or threatening person in the world. So I kept a safe distance. Nothing looked suspicious. I could see that the TVs inside had been switched off, so it must have been past last-call. Then I noticed. There was a woman leaning against the wall, doubled over. She had her hands in her pockets, and she was wearing this… deep red hoodie, with her hair hanging loose, covering her face. Even from so far away, I could tell that it was slick with grease, or… something. It was reflecting the streetlights. I think that’s what made me notice her, actually. The glint caught my eye.

NARRATOR (Cont.)

I wasn't about to judge, you never know someone's circumstances. I’ve certainly been in worse condition. I actually considered crossing the street to offer her what change I had in my pocket, but I didn't want to assume she was homeless and end up being wrong. Besides, nothing weird about someone hanging out outside of a bar as it was closing. Maybe she was waiting for a ride home, or getting her bearings before she started walking. Then… two men came out of the bar. They were drunk enough that I could tell neither would remember a thing in the morning, and the taller of the two was laughing and practically hanging off of his friend. He saw the woman and they both fell quiet as they... looked at each other. I could tell what they were thinking. It doesn't take a genius to piece it together. I think that was when I stopped walking. I watched as the taller one went over to the woman, and I couldn't tell what he was saying, but… I had a pretty good guess. She didn't move, but he kept at it, he wouldn’t give it up. I think it lasted two minutes total. He kept getting more and more aggravated, and I was about to yell over that I was going to call the cops. He reached his hand out like he was going to grab her, but he just…  he just stopped. His eyes went wide for a moment, and even from that distance, I could see his terror. Looking back, I think he was probably dead before he hit the ground. His friend ran over to him, he was… screaming. Nothing coherent, he was much too drunk for that. Intoxicated on both alcohol and the fear. And even with everything that was going on, with all that noise? Not a single person came to make sure that he was okay. There was no way that no one heard. They just didn't care. You know, I never understood the phrase "Sent a chill down my spine". But… turns out it feels more literal than I imagined. I-- I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know what I could do. So I just stood there as his screams were cut off by the sound of him choking as he clutched his throat, desperate for air, eyes locked onto her and pleading for mercy. And once he finally went quiet, then the woman finally began to move. 

NARRATOR (Cont.)

She looked up at me. Slow, and I was certain that she'd known I'd been watching the whole time, and was anticipating my response. But her movements were jerky, like she had to force every joint to bend or twist. And I heard a voice. Her voice. I-- I don’t know how I know, but there's no doubt in my mind. Even though she was still across the street, it sounded like she was whispering, rasping in my ear with lungs that hadn’t been used in at least a decade. She said my name. And for some reason, hearing that made me certain that I was going to die. I ran, I locked myself in my house the moment I got home. Every step of the way, I knew she was behind me, I could hear her voice, I could feel her just… there. A couple times, I looked back. I never saw her walk, but she was always the same distance behind me. After I got home, it took me an hour before I finally started to calm down. I thought it was over. But just as I was regaining my composure, there it was again. My name, hardly an inch from my ear. I hated myself for it, but I forced myself to look out the window, and there she was. Just staring at me.

THERAPIST

Did you call the police?

NARRATOR

A-- And tell them what? That there was a person looking at my house? And that two guys had dropped dead just by talking to her? I’m sure they would take that well. Especially from me, the local convicted felon.

THERAPIST

So what did you do?

NARRATOR

I just… sat in my bedroom, in the dark, away from the windows. Like a child. [Laughs] I kept hearing her voice, so I knew that she was still out there even when the sun started to come up. Eventually, I ended up getting the nerve to look again. She had stood there, in the same spot, all night. Just watching. I’ll admit I kinda lost it at that point. I don’t know what I was planning on happening. But I was so freaked out, I-- I didn’t think. I went outside and grabbed a rock out of the garden, and I shouted at her to tell me what she wanted, to leave me alone. If I woke up any of the neighbors, they didn’t say anything. I threw the rock, and-- and I want you to know that I didn’t mean to hit her. I just wanted to scare her off or something. But it did hit her. Right in the chest, around the Xiphoid Process. And she… She crumpled. I mean that literally. It hit the hoodie, but it didn’t hit a person. The moment it made contact, all of her clothes fell to the ground, and I realized that there was nothing inside them.

THERAPIST

So… like a ghost?

NARRATOR

No. No, I don’t believe in ghosts. I think there’s something after death, something that gives people awareness, personality, life-- [He cuts off, takes a breath] ...But no, not ghosts. I don’t know what it was. But the clothes were gone when I looked out an hour later. [Beat.] So. Believe me?

THERAPIST

...I did read that there were two men found dead outside of a bar. One from a brain hemorrhage and the other asphyxiation. 

NARRATOR

But I suppose you think that’s a coincidence.

THERAPIST

...I think it’s... interesting. I think the figure you’re describing could potentially be a manifestation of your internalized guilt over the deaths of--

NARRATOR

Yeah, see? You think it was a hallucination.

THERAPIST

I’m just saying, you did have similar experiences while you were in the hospital.

NARRATOR

That was different! Believe me, I know how it sounds, I’m not an idiot. Would you say the same thing to someone who walked in here saying they saw a vision of Jesus?

THERAPIST

That’s--

NARRATOR

[Bitterly] Different?

THERAPIST

A religious belief. You’ve told me yourself you aren’t religious.

NARRATOR

...Okay, fine. But you can understand where I’m coming from.

THERAPIST

I suppose. I just have to entertain every possibility. Preferably the scientific ones. Henry is studying psychology, right?

NARRATOR [Softly]

...Please don’t.

THERAPIST

Right, sorry. I’m just saying, you have to know that if I just accepted every instance of ghosts or unexplainable events as true, I would be out of a job. I’m sure he’d tell you the same thing. [Beat.] How’s he doing?

NARRATOR [He scoffs] 

Seriously?

THERAPIST

You know what I mean. Has there been any progress?

NARRATOR

Not at all.

THERAPIST

You still visiting him?

NARRATOR

Every day.

THERAPIST

What do you do when you’re there?

NARRATOR

Talk, mostly. Sometimes I end up falling asleep. 

THERAPIST

You know, not many people would have that much dedication. He’s lucky to have a friend like you.

NARRATOR

...Yeah. Really lucky.

THERAPIST

You don’t agree?

NARRATOR

It’s… complicated. I don’t think…. [He trails off, steadying himself] Sorry. 

THERAPIST

No, it’s okay. You’ve opened up a lot today.

NARRATOR

The threat of prison will do that to a person.

THERAPIST

Maybe so. But we’ve been at this since March, and I still feel like I hardly know you. The therapists you went to before me all said the same thing; That you had trouble before, and that ever since you lost your brother, things have only gotten worse. I still think it would be good if you talked to your sister.

NARRATOR

Not gonna happen.

THERAPIST

You both have been through a lot, you’re the only family she has left.

NARRATOR

And yet, she’s made it very clear that she wants nothing to do with me. So forgive me if I’m not jumping at the idea.

THERAPIST

It couldn’t hurt to try.

NARRATOR

You don’t know Evelynn. It very well could. I can’t tell you the amount of times we wrestled as kids, and I never won a single time. [A small laugh] But no, in all seriousness, I don't think that's a good idea. I mean, she cleared out pretty much all of our father's things when I was… you know. 

THERAPIST

Recovering.

NARRATOR 

Recovering, sure. Whatever you wanna call it. I thought that at the very least, losing him would help close the gap between us. But then… I don't know why I thought that, she didn't even look at me at Billy's funeral, I-- [His voice falters, and his breath shakes] I-- I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I can't--

THERAPIST

No, it's okay. We're still working on it. That's more than you usually feel comfortable with. Do you think the recording helped?

NARRATOR

A little? I still couldn't talk about anything important, though. 

THERAPIST

How about this? We'll record sessions every so often, not every week. And for homework, you can record at home. About whatever you feel like. Be it what happened, or even just about your day. Maybe saying it out loud without anyone around will help you eventually talk about it here so we can work on it.

NARRATOR

...Do I have a choice?

THERAPIST [Smug, but kind]

Not really.

NARRATOR

And here I was thinking therapists were supposed to help people stop talking to themselves.

THERAPIST

I'll see you next week, okay?

NARRATOR

Right, yeah.

[The door opens]

THERAPIST

Oh, and before you go?

NARRATOR

Hmm?

THERAPIST

I'm really proud of you.

NARRATOR

...Right.

[The door shuts]

NEXT EPISODE➝

[swimmingnewsie]

Of Coffee and Cookies (Chapter 15)

TW: Mental Health Crisis. Please take care of self.

Love you all!

Link to AO3

---

“I know she means well, but sometimes it feels like she’s smothering me. I can take care of myself. I did it for five years. I'm not fragile." Anna sighed. She needed this session. Knowing that her therapist wasn't there to make her feel bad about what she was feeling helped immensely. Her feelings were still intense, but with the therapist, processing them wasn't as scary. She was allowed to feel everything, even the bad thoughts.

"And have you talked to your sister about that?" 

Anna shook her head. “I don’t want to upset her. She’s done so much to help me and I don’t want to make her mad at me.”

Her therapist gave her that damned head tilt. She knew it was her way of indicating that Anna was having a distorted thought, but Anna couldn’t but feel as if she were in trouble in some way. “Why do you think you’ll upset her?”

Her eyes scrunched up, and she bit her lip nervously. “Because she’s doing things. She’s being so kind and caring, and I don’t want to ruin that.” 

“And do you think that telling your sister you’re upset will stop her from helping you?” Anna sighed. She hated this part of therapy. It just seemed like they were talking in circles. Of course she thought Elsa would be upset for denying her kindness. Her sister could be explosive at times when they were younger. Granted it was a side effect of years of untreated anxiety and mood disorders. But that fear always lingered, even if her sister hadn’t had an explosive episode in years. Anna was not prepared to be the reason she went off. 

“I do.”

“What is your main fear of telling her?”

She felt a chill run down her spine. "That she wouldn't want me around anymore. Call me ungrateful and make me feel guilty."

Her therapist nodded, writing a note on her legal pad. It always made Anna feel off when her therapist wrote in that stupid pad. “How else might she react if you told her?”

Anna shrugged, “I don’t know. Ignore me? Give me a cold shoulder?” Blow up completely in her face?

“Perhaps,” her therapist said. “Do you remember when I told you about the negative attribution bias?”

Her mind raced. The phrase was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. “Kind of?”

“It makes you think the worst in people and that any situation will turn out badly.” she said, tweaking her glasses. “It’s very common in people with post-traumatic stress disorder.” 

Post-traumatic stress disorder? She wasn’t a veteran. She couldn’t have that. 

“I know you don’t like talking about labels, but it’s something that might help you understand it better. It’s a protective mechanism. It’s isn’t necessarily good or bad, but if you can identify it, then you might be able to use it to help yourself.

“He left an impact on you, Anna. And it’s okay that you’re still feeling those impacts. I know it’s hard to talk about, but it’s something to keep in mind when you have these kinds of thoughts.” 

Anna took a deep breath, feeling anger building in her. She hated this so much. Hans wasn’t even here he still was ruining her. When she was younger, she was the eternal optimist, the embodiment of happiness. She had lost so much, but she thought that at least that was still in tact. But she knew it was a delusion.

He had taken that too. 

“What’s going through your mind? What are you feeling?” the therapist asked after letting the silence linger a moment.

“I feel angry,” she replied, eyes squinted closed. “He takes and he takes and he takes. And I can’t get rid of him, no matter what I try. And I know Elsa isn’t Hans, but I can’t help but think everyone will react like he does and I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it.”

Tears fell down her face. It wasn’t uncommon for her to cry in therapy, but she still didn’t like the feeling of laying her soul out in the open. It felt like physical pain, her heart raw and hurting. 

“He changed you, that’s true. All relationships change people, Miss Anna. But not all change is negative. Do you think you can think of something positive that has come from this fallout?”

The change in pace helped to redirect her mind. Good things. Positive things. “I got to reconnect with Elsa since Mom and Dad.”

Her therapist nodded. “You did. What else?”

It took her a little longer to think. “I have more friends. I have a job. I have my own money.”

“And do you think those are bad things because they came about because of him?”

Anna shook her head. She wouldn’t give up her relationships with Elsa and Maren and Ryder and Kristoff for anything. Even though her job was giving her troubles, she could buy things on her own. She didn’t need permission to do the things she wanted. It was nice. 

“You don’t have to be afraid of your sister, Anna. From what you’ve told me, it sounds like she’s doing what she thinks is helpful for you. I think she is reasonable enough to listen to what you’re telling her and work with you to do something that is helpful for you.”

Anna felt her breath slow. Her therapist was right. Her sister may get upset, but it wasn't the same as when Hans got upset. Elsa would listen to her where Hans would belittle her. "I think you're right."

Her therapist nodded before shifting in her seat and putting down her legal pad. "Now before we close out our session, let's talk about your homework for the week."

Anna nodded, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Though it was a normal part of their process, homework still made her uncomfortable at times. Goal setting was good- every self help book she had been reading told her so- but sometimes it just made her feel set up for failure when the days were hard. 

“I know homework has been tough the last few weeks. What do you think feels like a manageable goal for this week?”

Anna’s eyes perked up. Choosing something for herself might make it a little easier, rather than piecing together the crumbs her therapist had probably been leaving through the session that she hadn’t been picking up on. “Hmmm,” she hummed thinking.

What could she do? She could do anything right? The idea of limitless possibilities was a little scary. But she had to do something. “I don’t really know,” she admitted sheepishly. 

“Well,” her therapist started, looking to the ground with a calculated look on her face. “You said that you’ve been reading self help books again, yes?”

Anna nodded. It wasn’t much, but it was something that she felt she could do between sessions to feel a little less alone. But if she was already doing it, then why would she have that be her homework for the coming weeks?

“Those books tend to have little goals etched in them to help people feel better. Can you think of any tips from the book that you’ve wanted to try out?”

“Running.”

The word slipped out of her mouth before she even had time to think. She hadn’t been running since she was on track in high school. She almost had a scholarship, but after Hans, that all fell by the wayside. She missed the feeling of the wind in her hair, the ache in her legs. The all too real runner’s high. It made her feel good. 

“That sounds like a great step. Now let’s make it a concrete goal. The next right thing.”

Anna gave a small smile.  The next right thing indeed.

---

A few days later, Anna found herself huffing to run out of her apartment. Elsa had been intense the last few days. Her sister was clearly stressed over work, but was still trying to hover over Anna and make sure she wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack. It was unsettling.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you? I promise I have time if you don’t want to go alone.”

Anna rolled her eyes, shifting her hold arm band into place. “Elsa, I’m not going to die if I’m away from you for one second, I swear.”

“I know that, but-”

“Do you?” Anna interrupted, feeling a surge of anger and discontent. It was uncomfortable, but she needed to let it out. “I’m not a child, Elsa! I can manage a walk by myself. I swear, you can be so- so- insufferable sometimes!” She could see the hurt in her sister’s eyes, but couldn’t feel the pang of guilt underneath the relief of letting go of her emotions.

“I- I’m sorry. Go for your walk. I’ll see you later.”

Her anger had ended just as quickly as it had started. Anna’s eyes softened. “No, Elsa I’m sorry. I-”

“No. You don’t have to apologize,” she said a bit dejectedly. “Just go for your run. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“El-”

“Go.”

Anna huffed running out the door. That had gone about as swimmingly as she had hoped it would. She secured her keys and phone before heading out into the early spring afternoon.

It was the perfect day for her running experiment. It was a bit cool out, but not cold. The sun felt nice on her face, warm and comforting. She picked up an easy pace, easing her body back into the familiar motions. And though it had been almost five years since she ran, it felt as though it had been but a day.

The comfort was short lived however. Her mind wandered as she went down streets and avenues. Worries about her words with Elsa filled her thoughts. It wasn’t so much a fight as a squabble, but she knew it had affected her sister. This time was meant to be for her, though, not to worry about her sister. So, she pushed the thoughts from her mind and worked to enjoy herself, not exactly paying attention to her surroundings. 

Until something- or rather someone- ran into her. 

Anna yelped in pain, caught off guard by the sudden movement. “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Are you okay?”

A woman with spiked mutli-colored hair did her best to pick the two of them up. Anna would have sworn she was also running if not for the fact she practically jumped into Anna.

"I've been better," Anna said dusting herself off. "What are you in such a rush for? You training for a marathon or something?"

"Or something," she smiled. "Ever heard of parkour?"

Anna nodded and gave a slight tilt of her head. She didn't realize people actually did that anymore. Not seriously anyway. "Yeah. But why are you doing it?"

The woman laughed. "The university sponsors a class in the park for it. I figured it could up my mail carrier game."

Anna smiled herself. "A parkouring mailwoman? Now that's something you don't hear everyday."

"Person." they corrected. "Mail person. I'm non-binary."

Anna felt the blood rush to her face. Oh god, she didn't mean to make this person uncomfortable. Why couldnt she keep her stupid mouth shut? "I'm sorry, I-"

They waved her off. "It's okay happens all the time. I'm Gale. How about you?"

She let go of a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Anna," she said with a warm smile.

"Well, Anna, perhaps you would want to try out the parkour class? Seems like something for a fast runner like you," they teased.

Anna tried to think of a million reasons to say no. She would be late for an appointment. Elsa would get worried. She would miss her shift. But something silenced those thoughts.

"I think that sounds incredible."

---

"It was incredible, Maren! I've never felt anything like it."

Anna's grin hadn't left her face since she did her first tuck and roll. Parkour was exhilarating. It combined the high energy she loved about running, but also let her feel like a little kid again swinging and flowing through the park. She took a quick bite of her frozen yogurt, trying to both enjoy the treat but also ride the high of telling her friends.

It was a nice tradition they had, getting some kind of frozen treat every week. She truly did enjoy spending time with Honeymaren. Especially after everything that had taken place in Denver, she had found a true friend in her sister’s girlfriend. And her sister’s girlfriend’s brother.

“And Ryder, you would absolutely love it. It’s the thrill of climbing trees on steroids.”

Ryder smiled at her, laughing. “I’ve done it a few times at this obstacle gym. If I had known that you would be into it we could have gone a long while ago.”

Anna puffed out her cheeks. “You’ve been parkouring before and you never told me?” she teased.

Maren gave a slight smile. “Probably because he falls more than he runs and jumps over things.”

“I do not!” he laughed, swatting at his sister’s arm. “I just- I just like to test gravity every once in a while. That’s all.”

“Sounds a lot like falling to me, baby brother,” she teased.

“First off, that’s not correct and you know it. And second what if I am falling? It’s all about the momentum, baby.”

Maren shoved her brother. “Yeah yeah, you big goof.”

Anna smiled watching the siblings banter with one another. She sighed, getting lost in thought again. She hoped she and Elsa would be okay when they were both home. Elsa was currently in her own therapy session for the week. Afterwards, they would probably both be calm enough to deal with their little squabble. 

She felt her phone vibrating. That was probably Elsa there, calling for her ride home.

“Hi, Elsa. Are you ready to go?”

“Miss Arendelle, this is Julia from Berkeley Behavioral Health. Do you have a moment?”

---

Anna sped the entire way home. Julia from Berekley told her that her sister had missed her appointment two weeks in a row, and that they wanted to check up on her after some things she had mentioned in session. Damned confidentiality left Anna fearing the worst. Maren was also incredibly worried, coming with her without a moment’s hesitation. At least Anna wasn’t alone in whatever she was about to face. She knew her sister’s past better than anyone. And the thought terrified her.

“Elsa?”

Tentatively, Anna walked into the apartment, doing her best not to startle her sister.. But that quietness proved unnecessary as she entered the living room.

Elsa was lying on the floor curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth as harsh sobs came from her chest. Papers and books were strung about the room, her laptop lay haphazardly on the couch as if it could give her any answers to whatever her problems were. “I can’t- I can’t do this.”

She kept repeating it over and over again.

“Elsa. Elsa.” Anna ran towards her sister, careful to be close but not touch. Elsa was incredibly sensitive to all sensation at times like this. Anxiety attacks were one thing, but she had never seen her sister this broken before. She had no idea what might happen if she tried to hug her without asking, no matter how much she wanted to wrap her sister up and protect her from whatever had her hurting so bad.

“Anna?” She looked up wearily. Her eyes were bloodshot, makeup worn away from tears exposed just how tired her sister was. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She reached out her arms, grabbing onto her sister into a tight hug.

“You’re okay, Elsie. You’re okay,” she said, trying to keep her own tears from falling. Her sister needed her, even if she was scared out of her mind. Anna looked over to Maren, who was just as terrified as she was. 

Her sister was too inconsolable. And if Elsa’s therapist was concerned enough to call her emergency contact, something was seriously up. They needed help, even if Elsa would resist. “Else, do you think you can come with me and go see Julia?”

“No, no!” Elsa shrieked. “They’re- they’re gonna lock me up. I don’t- I don’t wanna go.”

Anna shook her head. “They aren’t gonna lock you up, sissy. Remember? They only do that if they think you’re at risk, remember what you told me?”

“Risk to self, risk to others,” Elsa said, a bit quieter than before. “But, but I am. I’m a monster.”

“No, no,” she shushed. “Not a monster. Upset, yes. Anxious, yes. But never a monster, sissy.” Anna locked eyes with Maren, mouthing to get her phone. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay, you’ll see. We’re just going to talk with Julia, do what we can to help you settle, okay?” 

Elsa cried harder, rocking back and forth. “Don’t let them take me away.”

Anna’s heart broke. “I won’t let them. I promise.”

Elsa didn’t argue her words, giving her full trust to Anna it seemed. She made a promise, and damn it she was going to keep it come hell or high water. They would go to the crisis counseling center and it would all be better. They would come home, and they would be safe, and all this would be over.

At least she could hope.

[wendimydarling]

Hello! I hope 'Ask Wendi' day is still on, because I have a question about battling depression and an ED. I've been struggling with both of these things since I was 20 (I'm now 25) I've been to therapy, but my financial situation has not allowed me to continue. Do you have any tips on how to get out of the negative mental loop? Thank you so much for your time ♥

Hey sweetheart. “Ask Wendi” is all day, everyday; I’m always here! This one is a little long so I’m gonna put it under a “Keep Reading” link so it’s not taking up everyone’s dashboard.

So. I never battled an eating disorder per se, at least, not like anorexia or bulimia. I stress eat and so I tend to over eat instead of under eat. I think the biggest advice I can give there is to force yourself to at least drink water, but you need to know that the food you eat or lack of food is going to affect your mental health, so the depression will be harder to manage if you’re not getting the right nutrition. The mind-body connection is a powerful thing.

Now on to the depression. This I can speak to, having battled it for at least fifteen years that I can solidly remember; most likely it’s been longer. Depression is not easy to manage, and it looks different for everyone. What works for someone will not necessarily work for others, so you might have to tweak any advice I share. I’ll tell you what I do for my depression.

I suffer from situational depression, which can trigger episodes of chronic depression, and Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) in the winter. For those that don’t know those terms, I’ll explain it simply: situational depression is exactly what it sounds like; a situation arises that triggers feelings of depression. This can last any length of time from thirty minutes to weeks/months. Chronic depression is defined as having symptoms of depression for two years or longer (there are many different ways that depression manifests itself, so if you think you might be suffering from depression please, call your doctor). 

What I do to help when I start to feel it happening is to simply let it. I allow myself to wallow in it, I don’t try to fight it. My husband is aware of this, and our code phrase is “I’m having a bummer day”. If the bummer day turns into a bummer week, then I usually try to pick myself up. I think the biggest thing you have to do is accept that this is how your brain works, and to let it work itself through it. 

There are practical things you can do to help with this; I like to get outside for fifteen minutes and get some sun exposure. It’s not much, but you’ll absorb a little Vitamin D from the sun’s rays, and a short walk can increase your serotonin and endorphin levels as well. If you don’t think you can manage a walk around the block, try just going to get the mail. It’s not easy pushing yourself to get up and get out, but creating small goals for yourself can really help kick those depressive feelings.

Another thing I’ll do if I’m feeling low is pick a way to pamper myself, like a shower, do my makeup, do my hair, give myself a pedicure, put on a nice outfit, etc. Just a small amount of self care goes a long way when it comes to depression, and it’s a great mood booster. 

The last big thing that I do is I practice mindfulness. Now this tends to help more when anxiety rears its ugly head, but it can apply for depression too. One of the easiest ways to practice mindfulness is to count to 100, and picture each number vividly in your head. You can picture them however you want; I often picture them as one of those old flip clocks. By focusing on one thing, the rest of your brain is forced to relax, and I often mind myself in a calmer and clearer state of mind afterward. 

Regardless of what you try, just know that depression is not an easy thing to live with, and a lot of people may not understand it, simply because they can’t see it or feel it. A lot of people think that it’s something you can just “power through” or “just stop thinking about it”, but that’s not the case. Love yourself, love the way your brain works, and accept that sometimes it’s going to feel this way. 

I don’t know where you live, but here in the states (especially at seminary colleges) you can get free therapy sessions from students working on hours for their degree. It’s not quite the same as seeing a licensed therapist, but it’s still an opportunity to get the chance to talk to an unbiased outsider about what you’re dealing with, someone who has access to resources that you may not. 

Don’t give up friend, you’ve got this! ❤❤❤

[kl4us4]

The Same (Klaus Hargreeves x Reader, part two)

part one here

tua masterlist

general masterlist

Klaus sits next to you as the rest of the group begins to come in, filling out the seats around you. Letting out a tired sigh, you look around at the people you’ve known for a year. Some are new, some aren’t here anymore. 

“So,” Sunday speaks up, looking around the group and initiating the conversation with a smile on her face, “I would like to just give a few quick words before I start today's session. Y/N, Klaus,” she gestures to you and you just look down with a slight cringe, “Y/N has been in this support group for three years now. Klaus has been here for four-ish. Their time with us has come to an end. Congratulations to the both of you! We’re always here if you need additional support, you’re always welcome to come back.”

Klaus snorts out a quiet laugh as he claps along with the group, knowing how your therapist, Sunday, can be awkward and cliche at times. It’s been three years. Three crazy ones.

Today, three years ago, you began group therapy and rehab and you met Klaus Hargreeves. Now, it’s your last day here. But it’s not sad. If anything, the two of you are relieved to be out of there. You’re the type of person who likes to joke around. So is Klaus. But everyone in that group is kind of... serious. They’re probably relieved to have you both gone.

Together, you’ve both helped and learned how to deal with your powers. It’s taken getting used to, and there are still some days when it’s all too much. But having someone who truly understands definitely helps. You’re still learning and growing each day, together. 

A fresh breeze blows through the air as you sit on the steps of the centre. You close your eyes and let your lungs breathe it in. Klaus watches you with a fond smile, unable to take his eyes off of you. You’re no longer dreading the future, you’re excited about it. 

Something inside Klaus won’t let him take his eyes off of you and the perfect way you’re smiling. “Happy?” He asks you, a smile of his own on your features.

“Oddly enough.” You reply back, resting your head upon his shoulder and watching the street life. Cars and people pass by, each on their own journey.

“Well,” he hums, “You’re doing really well. I’m proud of you.”

Letting out a chuckle, you listen to his breath. “We’re doing really well.” 

Klaus watches a couple holding hands, walking to their car with big smiles on their faces. And he wonders what their story is. “Do you think we‘ll still be... close? Now that we have no reason to see each other every week?”

You pull back, eyeing his expression closely. But there are no signs of worry, there isn’t even evidence of a frown or wrinkle on Klaus’ face. In fact, his lips turn upwards with a smile as his eyes drift over your face. “Of course.” You state obviously before resting against him again, “I want you in my life. That’s reason enough. Plus,” you add, “I imagine you have nowhere to sleep.” 

“What makes you say that?” Klaus asks, pretending to be offended but you both know it’s true. Whilst attending therapy and rehab, Klaus has been living at the centre. 

“You don’t expect to sleep here still, do you?” You ask him, feeling his chest rise and fall with small bursts of silent chuckles. 

“So what? We‘re living together now?” He asks, “You’ll get sick of me.”

“Probably.” You shrug, feeling the sun warm your cheeks up, “I guess we‘ll find out.” 

Klaus laughs, closing his eyes as well as he rests his head upon yours before wrapping an arm around you and holding you closer.

It felt like that moment of happiness would never end. But quicker than it came, it was gone. “Are you... are you high?” You didn’t even want to ask Klaus that. The very thought of it was ridiculous. Of course, he wasn’t.

Klaus shouts back, stumbling into your room. “Like a kite, baby!” 

Okay, he is high. You freeze, recognizing his sunken eyes and shaky hands. You don’t even know what to say. You know it’s wrong. You know he’s just thrown away everything he worked so hard to achieve. But a part of you is screaming, remembering how it felt when you use to get as high as he is right now. 

“Why the sad face?” Klaus pouts, stumbling closer to you before giggling with outstretched arms, “C’mere.”

“No.” You mumble, trying to ignore his genuinely hurt expression. You’re still in shock, wondering if you’re just dreaming. “What happened, Klaus?”

“Nothing.” Is all he says, shrugging you off and heading for the couch. 

“Don’t lie to me.” You follow him, concern all over your expression as you look at him, sitting silently and broken and not looking at you anymore, “I’m here for you, okay? Just tell me what’s going on, please.”

Klaus gulps, looking up at you as his foot taps the ground at an inhuman speed. “He, um...” He’s not sure what to say, how to say it, how to even feel, or how to stop the memories of his childhood from flooding through the barrier he created over the past four years, “My father, he’s dead.”

Klaus looks through his dad's desk and you stand at the door of the study. “Klaus, stop.”

“Just for today, just for today.” He states, “I promise. I just... I can’t do this on my own.” He begs, his eyes sunken and his cheeks hollow.

“You’re not on your own.”

"Klaus? What are you doing in here?” A voice comes from the door and you flinch as you turn around, shook.

 Klaus stands, his eyes wide as he smiles. “Oh! Allison!” He exclaims, walking towards his sister. “Wow, is that you? Hey, come here.” Pulling her in for a hug, you watch the pair with a smile. It’s nice to see him with his family. “Long time. Too long. Hey, I was hoping to see you, actually, because I wanted to get your autograph. Add it to my collection!”

Allison laughs bashfully as she pulls back, smiling at her brother. Her eyes catch onto his wrist, and the white band around it. But she also looks to you before bringing up what she was about to question him about. Allison knows what rehab wrist bands look like. 

“And who is this?” She smiles at you, stretching her arms out and inviting you in for a kind hug. 

You smile up at her, “Y/N. It’s good to finally meet you!” 

Allison whizzes back around to Klaus. “Y/N, your... friend?”

“Yes,” Klaus announces loudly, giving his sister a forced smile at how awkward this situation is. You widen your eyes awkwardly before looking to the ground. 

“I’ll, uh, let you guys catch up.” You smile, excusing yourself from the room and making your way to the kitchen. On your way down the hall, you run into an extremely tall man. He looks down at you with a scowl and a frown. “Oh, hi.” You stretch your hand out to shake his but he just looks at you until you explain your presence. “I’m Y/N. Klaus’ friend.”

Luther raises his eyebrows, “Klaus has friends? Incredible.”

Though it comes off as extremely rude, you just laugh it off awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess so!” 

Luther hums, giving you a nod before walking past you. “How did you two meet?” He wonders, knowing exactly who Klaus is, and the kinds of trouble he gets himself into. But the two of you are disrupted by the ongoing convo inside the room and Klaus is loud.

“Just out of rehab?” Allison questions his brother, once you’re gone.

Klaus fumbles over how many times he can say no within a second. “I'm done with all that.” He sighs, lying through his teeth. He’s glad you left, there’s no way he’d want you to know that he met you in rehab. His siblings would judge him far too harshly, and he’s not sure if he can take that right now. 

But of course, you did hear. And you just look back to Luther, “You can ask him yourself.” You smile, giving him a nod before you walk down the hall. 

Klaus laughs, shaking his head at the horrid childhood memories. There’s no point getting rid of them now that they’re back to haunt him. “Remember how he used to look at us? That scowl? Thank Christ he's not our real father so we couldn't inherit those cold, dead eyes!” 

Luther's voice comes from the doorway. “Get out of his chair.”

Klaus smiles at him too, “Oh, wow, Luther! Wow, you really, uh You really filled out over the years, huh?”

Luther just lets out a sigh, “Klaus.”

He holds a hand up, stopping him mid-sentence, “Save the lecture. I was already leaving.”

"Yeah, well you might want to find your... friend,” Luther states, folding his arms.

Klaus’ eyes widen and he furrows his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Not sure, I talked to her out in the hall... She just seems upset.” Luther admits, frowning when Klaus rushes out of the room and after you. 

“Hey!” He shouts, eyes wide as he wonders if you heard him or if you’re mad at him or if you’ve finally gotten tired of him. “Why are you leaving?” 

You stop at the front door and turn to Klaus, not looking him in the eyes as you shrug. “I just... I don’t know, want to give you some time with your family?”

The way you phrase your answer makes it seem like a lie. And Klaus can tell. “Why are you leaving?”

“Not sure that you want me here.” You admit, “And that’s okay, I just would rather leave if it’s better for you to be with your family.”

“Why would it be better for me to be alone?”

You’re quiet, you shrug. “I don’t know-”

“I mean, sure if you want to ditch me then go ahead but-”

“I’m not ditching you?” You interrupt, frowning at Klaus who paces anxiously as if he just can’t sit still. The rest of your conversation is filled with the two of you talking over one another. “You’re the one who won’t even admit to meeting me in rehab. It must be so embarrassing-” 

“I didn’t tell them because, after all that, I’m not better-”

“Yet-”

“I’m never going to get better!” Klaus sighs, defeated.

“Don’t say that!”

“Stop trying!”

“No!” You laugh in his face, shaking your head. Klaus watches you with wide eyes, feeling his heart beat faster when you look at one another. “Never. You’ve decided that for yourself but that doesn’t mean I agree with it.”

Klaus would let him break down right now, just fall to the floor or into your arms and maybe he’d even kiss you. But the single passing thought that he unfixable and unlovable ruins it. What if he really can’t get better? Or he does and you decide you’re tired of him? Klaus is scared he really is nothing without his high. The thought of that terrifies him and he rejects your closeness. 

“So are you leaving or not?” Is all he asks. He crosses his arms, nervously watching you. 

“Yeah.” You nod truthfully, “For now. For an hour at least. Maybe it’ll give me time to think of an alibi for the last three years.” You shrug, opening the door onto the street and leaving.

[sorryimessedupagain]

Okay ladies and gents. Time to clear the air. Since Reddit decided they wanted to come after me last year (I just now saw it give me a break) about a post I made FOUR YEARS AGO here we are. If you have not read my “I spent three weeks in a mental hospital” post, do so before you read this so it will make the most sense.

1.    Yes, I am painfully aware that I spelled Tourette’s wrong. Autocorrect got the best of 16-year-old me. And yes, I know Tourette’s is a neurological condition and that it’s not a reason to be hospitalized. The boy with Tourette’s tried to commit suicide but when I was making this post, I already had another person in mind to “identify” (isn’t the best word I’m sorry) as the person there for a suicide attempt.

2.    The touching part. This line about the boy with anger issues giving the warmest hug is very true! It was the day I was getting discharged from being in the out-patient program and he snuck me a hug while we were filing out to be picked up. He got yelled at and so did I. So yes, you are alllllll right! Touching wasn’t allowed but he went for it anyways. And just to clear the air for the nasty people in the thread saying he wanted to strangle me: I knew him personally from outside of being hospitalized. We had mutual friends and knew of each other pre-hospitalization.  Being in the out-patient program together helped us get closer.

3.    Another ~hot topic~ the girl who tried to kill herself luring the boy with insomnia to sleep. Opposite sexes were not allowed in bedrooms together. She sat outside his room, WITH A NURSE, reading him books. This kid was I believe 11 or 12, not really sure I never got to know him well. But he was hospitalized for schizophrenia, and also suffered from insomnia. The staff sedated him with what we all called “booty-juice” (this isn’t a joke it’s really what we called it) and he would scream the WHOLE TIME. The only way he would stop would be if this girl read to him because she was his only friend there. It sounds bad when it’s phrased like that but it’s more of a he liked talking to her the most.

4.    My blog does not romanticize depression! I’m sorry if that is what it seems like, but my point of making my blog was for me to journal and post my thoughts somewhere my mom wouldn’t be able to read them. I fucking HATE being depressed! There’s no romanticizing here because I fucking wish I wasn’t like this. It was a coping mechanism; and I get it might not seem like that but none of you know me personally to be able to decide whether or not it works. This leads into point number 5.

5.    NONE OF YOU KNOW ME PERSONALLY SO STOP ACTING LIKE IT. I DO NOT WALLOW IN MY OWN DEPRESSION BECAUSE I FUCKING HATE IT.

6.    I was not self-diagnosed! I went to multiple psychiatrists and therapists since I was 13 and I was diagnosed and put on medication for severe depression and anxiety. I wish I didn’t go to therapy and that I didn’t have anything wrong with me because it would’ve saved my family a lot of time and money and I feel guilty for burdening them with that! I am however, getting better and am off my meds and have not relapsed in over a year!

7.    None of you, and I mean NONE of you, should be shitting on and belittling my experience. My hospitalization was not as light as my post was. My point with posting this was to make people realize that people are more than their diagnosis. But all of you saying that these people never told me I was beautiful and that “mental illness isn’t like that” maybe can’t imagine someone who hates themselves being nice?? I’m sorry if you felt personally triggered by the fact that the girl I roomed with that had bulimia told everyone at the group session that day we were beautiful in our bodies because we were talking about how we didn’t like who we are or how we looked. And yeah, I was admitted into a nicer mental hospital, I know that. My insurance told my parents where they would cover and that’s it, that’s where I went. We didn’t have wings, it was girls on one side of the hall, boys on the other.

8.    Nobody’s experiences being hospitalized are going to be the same. Things in my state have a high chance of being different than yours. I’m sorry that I had a good experience being hospitalized; I got lucky that the kids admitted were so nice to me and that the staff actually wanted me to get better. I was never “doped up” like some of the replies were. In fact, the staff didn’t give me meds until the third night because they wanted to get an all clear from my doctor that I could take them. But just because you or someone else you know had a bad experience doesn’t mean mine didn’t happen?

9.    I never said these people’s mental illnesses were beautiful. I thought that if anything, the fact I got to learn more about them as people besides what they were admitted for was beautiful. That there is more depth to people than their mental illnesses which people forget sometimes. THAT’S THE POINT OF THE POST.

10.  “I love the way that everyone is completely different. There's only one person with anger issues, only one drug taker...” First, yeah I know. That’s how I wanted my post to be formatted: people would lose interest if I repeated the same types of people in there multiple times. Second, there were a lot of people there and I just picked out the people that stuck out most in my head that I felt deserved written justice for how they told me they were treated. There were multiples of many conditions and my intentions were not to make it seem like I was degrading some of these people by grouping them together.

There’s more I could bring up but I’m going to stop with 10 points. I realize that I might seem angry through how I responded, but if you had 200 comments telling you your experiences were fake you might understand the hurt and frustration. I just never thought I’d had to defend my hospitalization to anyone. Tumblr community, thank you for being much more receptive to my post and seeing the message I was trying to convey. I hope you all are safe, take care of yourselves.

Rylee

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Hurts to be Human Chapter 3

Hey guys!! I have internet!! It’s a miracle!! But because I don’t have it long, I am not having this edited. Just going for it and hoping for the best. o.o But here is chapter 3 of Hurts to be Human!! Thank you for being patient!!!

Warnings: I mean, I don’t really think there are any? I think it’s all good this time around!! 

Please don’t post this anywhere without my permission o.o

No gif because I suck..I’m sorry :(

Chapter Three — Walk Me Home

“Life isn’t picking and choosing where you left off and where you can begin again, Bucky.”

Bucky shifted his gaze from the ground to the man sitting across from him. He was older, fought in Vietnam. He was someone he could relate to. A vet with a rough past, someone who did things they weren’t exactly proud of. It was why Sam recommended him. Hell, it was why he worked as his therapist. And seeing him, the man reminded Bucky of when he and Steve had seen Snow White. He was shorter, on the rounder side with constantly flushed cheeks, a big nose, and glasses.

Thus the nickname “Doc” was born.

It helped that he was also a doctor, but the nickname definitely had nothing to do with that and had everything to do with the Disney classic.

“I know, I know,” Bucky agreed, unclasping his hands and leaning back on the couch. He slouched, still not as short as Doc was in his chair. No, still the man managed to be shorter than him. It was incredible really. Bucky couldn’t help, but wonder — how short was the guy’s torso? It was a thought that crossed his mind at least once every session.

“Bucky, are you listening?” Bucky jerked, blinking when he realized he’d zoned out. It happened only when Doc tried telling him something he didn’t like. They both knew it and Doc wasn’t fond of it. “You do know that you pay me for my honesty and help, right?”

Bucky chuckled, smiling as he ran a hand through his short hair. Still, he wasn’t used to the length. He was used to the mane he had for sixty years. Give or take a few. It was a shield, a barrier to protect him from the outside world. Doc and him had several sessions over cutting it and how that would open Bucky up, provide him with a new level of vulnerability. And now that vulnerability meant a different sort of relationship with Y/N.

Y.N. That damn woman. She had been at the compound for two weeks, constantly working on damage control with the media while Sharon took on the government. They finally took the time to explain to Sam and Bucky what was going on and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like that she had to clean up his mess. She was back. Shouldn’t he be taking the time to learn about the woman she had become? Especially after their last conversation? It seemed playing pretend provided new opportunities to frustrate Bucky. He wanted to go back, not to the way they left things, but back to when things were good. 

And Doc was reminding him that that was not a good idea.

“Believe me, it’s hard to forget,” he snarked back, earning an amused chuckle from the old man. Old man. Bucky chuckled to himself. He was still older than Doc, but he looked far from it. “And I do understand, but…”

“You miss her.”

Bucky frowned, looking away. He wasn’t ready to admit that — not aloud, not to anyone else. If he did, that meant there was a whole new level of admitting, of facing the thing he had walked away from.

“It’s okay to miss her. She was your closest friend after Steve left. And when she did —“

“Thin ice, Doc.”

He quieted and Bucky managed to breath a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing in the slightest sort of way. The phrase was a warning, something they had come up with when Doc pried too fast. At first it was something used every week. The initial wall Bucky had, required Doc earning his trust, earning his thoughts and concerns so that they could make progress. He hadn’t actually used the phrase in almost a year. Then again, they hadn’t talked about Y/N in almost a year. 

Drumming his pen on his fingers, Doc tried to tread carefully on the sensitive topic. Silence fell between them in those moments. What about Y/N was safe to discuss and yet would bring about an opportunity for Bucky to open up more? Finally, Doc asked, “You said she has a pet now? Was that something she was initially against?”

Bucky nodded. “H.D. I…when we were together, I always talked about getting a pet. Something to take care of.”

“And something that could also take care of you.” Doc smiled knowingly as Bucky looked up.  Clearly the super soldier hadn’t expected that to be so blatantly clear. “Pets have a way of bringing out a person’s softer side. They’re good for us. It’s why we train them to be service animals. It’s no surprise to hear that was something you were considering.”

Bucky was bitter as he muttered, “She was so against it.”

“Why?”

Frustrated. “Hell if I know. She told me it was because they’re too needy.”

“You sound like you don’t believe that.” 

He sighed, running his hands through his hair. The feeling was a distraction from the topic at hand. At one point in his life, he rarely touched his hair. When he became the Winter Soldier, it was simply to get it out of his sight when lining up a target. Once he reunited with Steve, it became a nervous habit, something he used to bring him back to his reality. The habit, something Y/N often teased him about, was something he still couldn’t break. It was comforting in an odd sort of way. 

“Bucky?”

He looked up, blinking before he finally answered, “No, of course I don’t. This is the same girl that would run up to dogs in the park. She’d beg the owners to let her pet them, Doc. At shelters, she would have as many cats as possible just curled up on her as if she were wearing a ‘welcome home’ sign. Hell, Finding Nemo was one of her favorite movies and she bought a mug with that dog from Up on it. Someone like that doesn’t think pets are too needy.”

“No?”

Bucky hesitated, knowing why Doc was questioning him. He wanted Bucky to think past the rashness of his initial thoughts and assumptions. Though his process was always quick and calculating, it was more often right when he was the Winter Soldier. Now? He was just Bucky.

Even so, he felt he was right. He knew he was right.

“No. Y/N wasn’t avoiding the idea of a pet because they’re needy. It…” He hesitated as the realization finally sunk in, heavy like a hunk of lead on his heart. “She felt broken. Feeling like that, knowing you’re broken, you don’t feel like you deserve to have anything good in your life. Not even something as small as a pet because they…well, they need you, they rely on you.”

“Some people seem to believe they might not be fully capable of taking care of a pet to the extent the animal deserves.”

“Fuck, I’m an ass,” Bucky groaned, running a hand over his face.

Doc laughed, shaking his head. “Far from it, Bucky. You’re human and you’re one of those in the world that has been put through a great deal.”

“But shouldn’t I have realized or noticed? Something?” Doc didn’t say anything, only looking at him. It was frustrating to say the least. “Come on, Doc.”

Doc adjusted his glasses and wrote something down before explaining, “I don’t think so. While we haven’t talked much about Y/N in the past, what you have told me has provided me enough clarity on the subject. The two of you were working through a great deal and relying on each other in a way that eventually became unhealthy. It lacked stability, communication, and openness. Instead, the two of you became lost in yourselves and your own trauma. With that in mind, it’s only understandable that you’d grow oblivious in each other’s needs while sorting through your own.”

Bucky stared at the ground, unable to let go of the guilt that twisted in his gut. They were supposed to be a team and yet he had grown completely oblivious to her and her needs. She had felt broken, shattered, and he never even realized.

—

Bucky’s session had ended not long after his realization. It seemed he always had the best timing when it came to his time with Doc. A miraculous breakthrough followed by the last five minutes and Doc doing his best to work with the time he had. Stepping outside, he quickly took a step back when he saw the downpour that greeted him. 

He truly did have the best timing, didn’t he?

Staring up at the darkened sky, Bucky huffed a frustrated sigh and watched as the cold air tinted his breath. Adjusting his leather jacket, he allowed the rough material to protect him from the chill. Then came tugging at his gloves, keeping his metal arm hidden from onlookers. Always careful, always checking. It was part of his routine. 

As he searched for what he hoped would be a much needed pause in the weather, he noticed the art gallery across the street. It was something new and edgy that Shuri had told him to look into. Apparently it was one of her favorite places to visit when she stopped by. He never did look into it, of course. The only art he really looked at was Steve’s and that stopped a long time ago. No, now he looked not because of the art, but because of who was finishing with a purchase just inside. He smiled, leaning against the brick wall as he watched her. This wasn’t weird, right? Watching her? As a curious and concerned friend?

No, certainly not weird at all.

Today she had worn one of those slouchy beanies he’d often seen this time of year. It was a maroon sort of color, the shade complimenting her skin as if it was made for her. She turned and stepped outside and his eyebrows shot up. Over the leggings and boots, over the t-shirt, barely peeking through, was the leather jacket he’d given her all those years ago. 

It could be a new one.

He brushed aside the voice in his head, searching for the key to knowing whether his hopes were true. She turned, facing his direction, and immediately he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. There, on the corner of the collar, was a red star that matched the one from his old arm. She’d insisted on getting it to symbolize that she wasn’t scared of that part of his past. Everyone teased her about it, but she never seemed to care.

And she kept it.

That had to mean something, right?

“Y/N!” 

She looked at him, that familiar surprise flashing across her features for only a brief moment before she smiled. They had been making progress in their friendship, but it never seemed to go farther than morning coffee or running into each other in the hall. They were friendly, but he wouldn’t exactly call them friends. Now? He had a chance to spend time with her. He had a chance to actually be her friend.

Glancing from one side of the street to the other, he quickly jogged across and joined her side. He noticed the canvas tucked under her arm, neatly packaged away so as to protect it from the weather. A part of him wanted to ask, but he knew better. Y/N was still painfully private, still guarded. He had to show her that she could trust him again.

“What are you doing here?” She was curious, brow furrowed and a breathy laugh escaping her. The last person either of them expected to run into was obviously the person standing before them. 

Bucky gestured to the building he had just left, shrugging. “Therapy. What about you? Since when are you an art fanatic?” He grinned, unable to help himself as he gestured to the rather large piece she held close to her side.

She glanced down at the package, her ears turning a light pink. Looking at him, a sheepish smile and small shrug were her only form of explanation before she finally elaborated. “I was sick of looking at blank walls. Tony didn’t exactly pick the prettiest shade of white to paint the whole damn place. I swear, I was starting to feel like I was in some sort of mental ward.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.” 

Joining her side, the two started walking down the street. Neither seemed to be entirely sure where they were headed or aware of the fact that the rain was giving its best attempts at soaking them to the bone. Instead, they simply enjoyed each other’s presence, as if it were a gift. 

“I can carry that for you,” he offered, finally breaking the silence that had seemingly settled between them. He’d noticed her shift the awkward thing a few times, trying to find a way to carry it. It seemed there was no way.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s not heavy. Just awkward, you know?”

“I figured, but I really don’t mind helping. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Y/N rolled her eyes and begrudgingly let him take the canvas. He tucked it under his metal arm, his free hand brushing against hers as it dropped back to his side. Every instinct in him wanted to reach out, to touch her. Even when they were friends, she always let him touch her. It was his way of staying grounded when he first went through losing Steve. He had relied on it, rarely ever letting her stray far because he craved the physical contact. The feeling, that connection, was what bonded them for so long.

But that was then and this is now.

Now, that urge didn’t feel quite the same. He wanted to touch her, but it wasn’t so desperate. There wasn’t a need or desperation to touch her, to drink her in as if she was the very water he needed to live. Instead, the feeling was subtle, reminding him of the small breeze that would come in when summer transitioned to fall. It was cool, calming — something to be appreciated. When did that feeling change? When did that carnal, overwhelming craving shift into something far sweeter?

“Bucky?”

He looked up, surprised to see Y/N waving a hand in his face. She laughed at the doe-eyed look of bewilderment that came with those bright blue eyes and parted lips. He looked like a child hearing their mother call their name for the fifth time, middle name and all creating that look of a deer caught in the headlights. 

“You alright?”

Clearing his throat, Bucky nodded and the two kept walking. “Yeah, just —“

“Thinking? Was it about your session?”

No. “Yeah.” Really, is lying the best way to get their friendship going? He hesitated. “No,” he corrected.

“So which is it?”

Bucky laughed at the way she raised her eyebrow, knowing if she drew it up any further it would get lost in her hairline. “No, I wasn’t thinking about my session.”

“Then…penny for your thoughts?”

He looked away from her, shrugging. How could he voice how he was feeling? The thoughts in his head? How could he tell her that a part of him missed what they were, but understood her wishes?

Just tell her, Buck. You won’t get very far with someone like Y/N if you aren’t honest. The familiar sound of Sam’s voice reminded him that the birdbrain was basically the angel on his shoulder. He might drive Bucky crazy, but his intentions were true and good, always looking out for Bucky’s best interests. 

You lost her once. Tell her that bullshit in your head and she won’t be sticking around much longer. There it was. The Winter Soldier, a reminder of what he had been. Working with Doc had muddled that voice for the most part, but he and Doc both knew they could never fully rid him of the devil in his head.

It seemed he was always fighting, always trying to figure who was best to listen to. Why couldn’t he ever listen to himself? 

His silence left an impression that perhaps Y/N had overstepped. She ducked her head, rubbing the back of her head as she told him, “You don’t have to share. Sorry for —“

“No!” His panicked voice came out a little higher, a little squeakier, and left a bright pink hue on his cheeks. She looked up, biting her lip to keep herself from laughing. “I — You don’t have to apologize, Y/N.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.” He nudged her gently and was happy to see her shoulders relax. She even knocked into him playfully, something he hadn’t expected. That was a good sign, right? He bit the inside of his cheek before finally telling her, “I was thinking about how much I missed this.”

Confusion. That was the look that greeted him.

Genius. Fuck that birdbrain. Fuck the fact that he could hear the damn guy in his head all the time.

 “Missed what?”

Bucky gestured between them as he elaborated. “This. Us. I missed having my best friend around. I mean, the ‘why’ you’re here sucks, that’s for sure, but I’m really glad you’re back. Does that make sense?”

She smiled. It was brilliant and as bright as the one she offered to everyone else. Slowly, she was letting him back in. Slowly, but just as surely as he was letting her. They needed baby steps and time. Moments like this would certainly help. “I am too. Don’t tell Fury I said this, but I’m glad he found me.”

“Knowing Fury, I think it’s safe to say it was never a matter of finding. He always knew where you were.”

She snorted and he grinned. Y/N never let herself laugh so openly. Not before. Not with him. “Fair enough. You’re probably right.”

“Probably?”

“Okay, you’re completely and utterly right. Is that what you want to hear?”

Bucky laughed, his grin spreading from ear to ear. “Was that so hard?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, shoving her shivering hands in her pockets. It was the only thing keeping her from holding his hand, borrowing his warmth. She didn’t want to repeat history. In fact, she refused to. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them. “You’re utterly ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but then again, you’re the one letting me walk you home.”

She gaped at him. “We live in the same compound, Barnes!”

—

The sound of the door opening and closing caught the attention of one SHIELD agent and one superhero, pulling their focus from the news on the television. The squelch of a pair of shoes and soft thud of a pair of heels signaled exactly who had come back. When did they even run into each other?

Sam exhaled sharply through his nose, earning a look from Sharon. He didn’t seem to notice, instead watching through the doorway as Bucky and Y/N passed through the kitchen. They were laughing and smiling, a level of ease around one another that hadn’t been there before. Neither stopped to check if anyone was home, instead continuing on their way to the dorms. It was then he noticed a particular detail that left him more than a little curious. Both were utterly drenched. “Did they walk the whole way?” he asked, looking back at Sharon. When he noticed her look, he raised his hands in defense. “What, what’d I do?”

“You’re worried.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“Oh, I am. I’m just curious what it is you’re worried about.”

Sam frowned, looking away. The arm that was propped on the couch held the weight of his cheek as he tried to find a way to explain this. He didn’t want to come off like an ass after all. “He’s doing good, Sharon. He’s better than he was the last time she was here.”

“She’s better too.”

“I know! And I’m happy for both of them.”

“But?”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he rubbed his forehead. “I’m concerned that they’ll take steps back.”

“What, now that they’re around each other again?”

“It happened before. They were doing good, going strong, then everything got worse.”

“They’ve grown a lot since then,” Sharon reminded him. She shifted, turning her body to face him as she tucked a leg into her chest. “Fury debated bringing her in for a long time because he knew they were doing so good. He doesn’t want anyone backtracking. Especially not Y/N. She means as much to him as Nat did.”

“I know, I know.”

“You’re going soft for Barnes,” she teased, grinning and earning a glare from her teammate.

“I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not, Carter.”

“Prove it, Wilson.”

Sam groaned, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling. The woman was utterly infuriating and usually right. He knew he’d developed a friendship with Bucky after Steve left. And after Y/N left, that friendship grew stronger. He helped Bucky with a lot of his PTSD, brought him to VA meetings, and helped him find a therapist. Everything he could possibly do to help Bucky in the right direction, he was there for. The last thing he wanted was to see his friend spiral again. To lose all that progress over one girl? It didn’t make sense to him. “I can’t.”

“I know.”

“Your smugness is not appreciated.”

“Look,” Sharon told him, earning his attention and pulling it away from the bland ceiling. “They don’t need each other anymore, Sam. Both of them have grown on their own. They aren’t the same people they were and maybe…maybe they just want each other now.”

“They were wrong for each other then. Why not now?”

“The right person at the wrong time is still the wrong person, Sam. Maybe that’s all it was. The wrong time.”

Sam huffed, shaking his head. “I don’t like when you’re right.”

“But I’m always right.” He smacked her with a pillow, earning a squeal and laugh from her. She grabbed the popcorn bowl from the table, tossing it in his lap. “For that, you get to grab the popcorn while I pick a movie!”

He groaned, loud enough for anyone in the compound to hear his clear irritation. “Oh, come on!”

[avidfanficwriter]

Barbie (Chapter 12)

Chris Pine X Reader.

Summary: What started as a simple date ended as a failed romance. Or has it truly failed?

Warnings: Cursing, as per use.

Author’s note: This chapter is short, i know. I’m sorry. Next chapter is definitely going to be much longer. 

Tags: @mitaputri0412 @wolflhards

Masterlist

It’s clearly an overreaction or coincidence, it’s a coincidence, a really oddly timed coincidence. You keep telling yourself as Chris succumbs to slumber, the doctor warning earlier that the medication he was given might make him drowsy. 

Beau was crazy but he wasn’t that crazy. He wouldn’t try to kill Chris to win the girl... to win you. There was no way.

Slowly, you moved away from Chris, clenching your jaw as he groans in pain when his head lays flat on the pillow. You leave the small area and search for the doctor, hoping to shed some insight on your wild belief.

"Doctor Valdez?" You say, finding him at the nurses station.

He greets you with a tired smile. "Did your boyfriend need anything?" He asks.

"No. He's fine, asleep." You take a deep breath. "What happen to the other driver?" The question comes out quicker than normal, you save yourself by asking another. "Are they okay?"

The doctor raises an eyebrow and looks down at your body, noticing your favoring one side more than the other. "Are you hurt?" He asks.

"Just a sprained ankle, is all." You respond, giving him a smile.

"Have you gotten it looked at?" Suddenly, he's giving you his arm and helping you over to an empty 'room' where he doesn't wait to help you sit on the bed and look at your leg. It's swollen and blue, worse than it was earlier.

"When did you do this?" He asks.

"A day ago."

He nods, gently applying pressure to spots on your ankle, awaiting a reaction. "The other driver fled the scene." He says without a second thought. "You really shouldn't be walking on this."

"They left?"

"I'm going to recommend you get a brace and keep ice on it. No strenuous activities." He smiles, pulling out his prescription pad. "I'm going to write you a prescription for some pain pills because something tells me you may not listen to my suggestions." He quickly hands you a piece of paper and smiles. "The person who was driving the vehicle seems to have fled the scene, the police were here earlier speaking to your boyfriend."

"Oh..."

"No strenuous activities." He repeats and quietly leaves, giving you a small nod and wave.

It was Beau. It had to be Beau. There was no one else in the world that had a green challenger who would have hit Chris and left the scene.

You’re therapist, whose name you’ve finally learned is Joseph, taps his pen on the cushion of his chair. Inhaling deeply he lets his eyes drift to the window every few seconds watching as the birds gathering nesting supplies. It’s your last session, session number three, court ordered session number three technically and according to Mr. Joseph; the most he's learned about you is: “You’re as uncooperative as a toddler.” Which you find insulting at the end of the day but have no argument to change his opinion.

He repeats that phrase nearly every session, once at the beginning and then at the end when the little bell chimes letting you know the session was over. Yet even with that dangling over your head, he still managed to sign off that you were 100% on your paperwork. "Therapy often works better for those who seek it versus those who are forced." He doesn't want to keep you here if that's what you don't want, even watching him sign off on the work, he told you so. "Now that this is signed, you're more than welcome to leave... If that's what you want." Of course that last statement made you refuse to leave, believing it was a trick. One foot out the door and suddenly the paperwork would have disappeared.

It’s tenth time in five minutes that Joseph has looked out the window and the seventh time his pencil has clashed with his notepad harder , “Do you want to be here?” You are the first to speak out of annoyance, your tone rude and hostile.

Joseph’s eyes meet yours with a hint of curiosity, “Do you?” 

You scoff and cross your arms over your chest. “Don’t shrink me.” 

Joseph chuckles, biting the eraser on his pencil. “Anything I say as of now, will have no bearing on your life after this session.” 

"What do you mean?"

"You're paperwork is sign, clearing you of any mental incapacity. Anything you say from now until the end of the session stays between us in a separate file for my eyes only."

“Why is that?” 

“Y/N, every time we discuss the events that occured at the hospital, you deny everything or I'm given some half-assed excuse. It wasn’t as bad as it seems, people overreacted, you were at fault; the excuses go own.” He shakes his head and lets out a deep breathe. “I can’t help you.”

“You’re giving up on me?” The drop of your voice is evident, it feels like a break up. He doesn’t respond for good reason, it’s a death trap. There is no good response or way to make any response end this conversation on civil terms. “Just like that? You’re just leaving?”

Joseph let out a deep sigh, tossing his pencil and notepad onto the coffee table between them. “Are you going back to Beau?” He asks, defeated. 

“What?” 

“Given everything that has happened, tomorrow morning when you wake up will you be alone... or with Beau?”

Your mouth quivers, the air around you fills with static, the hair on your arms standing and your body suddenly getting cold. “I-” The sentence never finishes not that there was much a sentence to finish. You didn’t know the answer anymore than he did. Your experiencing a internal conflict, how dare he ask that question. You're an adult, fully capable of making your own decisions even If they were the wrong ones.

Joseph rises to his feet, adjusting his sweater. "That's why I can't help you. No answer is worse than one." He returns to his desk, turning off the bell and begins focusing on his computer. "You're more than welcome to see yourself out." He adds in a distant tone.

That's it. He's kicking you out, stabbing the knife even further into your back and leaving you to bleed out on the floor. Maybe it's the feeling of dread in the room or the urge to not end a conversation like this but you speak.

"I can't be... without him."

"Impossible." The typing stops and he looks up to meet you, his brown eyes starring uncomfortably into your eyes. "A man like that, what he's done, it is more than possible, necessary even that don't need him."

"You don't know-"

"Him? What he is? You're scared out of your mind to speak about him, any mention of him and you turn into a small mouse who defends him. That man locked you in your hospital room where you were admitted because of him only to threaten you more." The volume of his voice grows louder with each word, his anger bubbling up inside of him at your refusal to see the bigger picture. "He's going to kill you. You're lucky he hasn't already."

You're fist collides with Beau’s solid wooden door, loud and hard. Using every fiber of your being to slam into the door as hard as you can. As expected, the door opens quickly revealing a bruised Beau with the trademark cigarette behind his ear and a slight smile on his face.

"Hi." He says like he's innocent as if he hadn’t been expecting you to show up.

"What the hell is wrong with you! You asshole!" You shout slamming your fists into his chest and forcing him to stumble. You enter his apartment, continuing your assault on him, barely doing any damage aside from garnering the surprised look on his face. “You could have killed him!” It’s a miracle there is enough strength and will power in your body to do this, prior to the accident you would have chickened out. You wouldn't have even made it to his apartment.

You explosion doesn’t last long, all it takes is one heavy hand on your wrist and you’re frozen, fear courses through your body. Finding yourself stuck in the abundance of past memories all ending badly.  “That’s not a way to say hi ta’ someone.” He whispers, sending chills down your spine but it’s not threatening; oddly enough. 

“Y--you’re one to talk.” You’ve lost your strength. 

“I always kissed you when I came home.” 

You scoff, “Yeah, you're right. It was always nice to kiss your after you were done kissing someone else.” 

Ignoring your comment, he redirects the conversation. "What happened to us?" His tone is troublesome, his voice falters. It reminds you of the boy you met years ago, the sweet loving guy that stole your heart not the monster he became.

You had to fight the urge to drop your guard, to give into his charade. It’s a slippery slope one that at any given moment you could find yourself in his arms, telling yourself that he’s changed.  "Beau..." You intend to say with anger but it falls from your lips softly. 

“You and me together, we were good, yeah? Gonna get married, put a few kids in ya.” 

“And how did you expect to do that? Conjugal visits?” You remark in a low voice, the sarcasm fails to come through. 

“For you, I would’ve stopped.” The amount of sincerity in his voice is almost believable. "You can't go back ta' him." He whispers, dropping his eyes. "I'll change for you. I miss ya'. I never should've fucked up. Never should've hurt you." He caresses your cheek, trying to be as lovingly as possible.

"Beau." You say sternly, pushing at his shoulders to gain more distances between you two. "You crashed into Chris's car. You could have killed him."

"I didn't.."

You shake your head. "Where's your car then? How'd you get all these cuts on you?" You find the strength in both your voice and body, managing to push him away. This could work, you can do this. You try to stand taller, trying to hold your ground as much as possible. 

"Deal gone wrong."

“Right.” You mock, letting out a little laugh. “And let me guess someone stole your car. Right?” He nods. "You just told me you were sorry that you were changing and now you're doing deals? God you're pathetic."

You shouldn't have said that. You really shouldn't have said that. Panic runs through you at the sudden change of his behavior, he straightens, swallowing hard and there is a dark cloud that appears in his eyes.

Apologize. Just come out with it. Say you're sorry and leave. Go back to the hospital. Go anywhere. Your mind shouts at yourself, desperate to protect you from whatever consequences you may suffer because of your lack of brains.

In a split second, his hand grabs your wrist again, threateningly now and tugs you inside, forcing you against the nearby wall as he slams the door closed. "I'm pathetic?" Beau asks, grinding his teeth. "Pathetic?" His face is inches from yours, teeth gnawing at his lower lip and breathe heavy of nicotine.

"I..." Your voice is caught in your throat. The simple letter word barely sounds like one, it resembles more of a gasp than anything.

"If I'm so pathetic, ya' really think everything that happened just did?" He asks, cocking his head.

"Wha--?" Another failed word.

"Running inta his ex? Place being robbed? Boy toy getting cut? Gifts at ya' door when he's in ya bed?" He asks with a wicked smile. "Getting inta a wreck?"

You can't speak, you don't even know where to begin or how. He did it. He did it all.

[starryknight09]

Whatever It Takes Ch. 16/?

Summary:  Peter’s struggling to cope after the loss of Mr. Stark. Everyone keeps telling him it’ll get better and that he needs to move on, but Peter doesn’t want to. He can’t envision a life without his mentor. So when an idea comes to him, he doesn’t hesitate, no matter how crazy it is. He’s going to get Mr. Stark back.

“What exactly are we going to do?” Ned asked.

“Whatever it takes.” Peter answered.

Read on AO3.

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Peter wouldn’t exactly call the week trapped in the lake house while being forced to talk to about his feelings every day, a good week. Sure, he got to spend a lot of time with Tony, but it was overshadowed by his bad mood about therapy.  Talking about his emotions and digging up stuff he’d tried to bury, left him constantly drained and raw, and lacking his usual patience.  He’d definitely snapped at Tony more than a couple times, something he never would’ve dreamed of doing before.  Tony, to his credit, took it all in stride.  He somehow seemed to have a sixth sense about when to push and when to give him space.

Right now he seemed to be giving him some space.  Peter had finished his hour long session with Ruth this morning and instead of seeking Tony out, he’d gone straight to his room and thrown himself onto his bed.  It’d been a particularly rough session.  It was only his fifth time meeting with her, but her questions and their discussions had gotten progressively tougher throughout the week.  He thought he’d at least get the weekend off to take a break, but at the end of their session he’d found out that Ruth was coming back tomorrow even though it was Saturday.

Between the continued nightmares, the exhausting mandatory therapy sessions and the weakness he felt every time he swallowed the antidepressant the psychiatrist had prescribed after meeting with him, which Tony and Bruce had needed to specially formulate for his metabolism, Peter just wanted a break from it all.  He wanted a weekend to not have to analyze his actions or think about his stupid feelings. He shoved his head into his pillow and tried not to cry.

A rap of knuckles on his bedroom door came a short while later.

“Hey Pete.” Tony’s voice carried softly through the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” He said into his pillow, but loud enough for Tony to hear.

The door cracked open and Peter heard Tony walk over to his side and sit on the edge of the bed.  He rested a hand on his back a second later.

“I just got done talking to Ruth.  She told me you had kind of a hard time this morning.”

He shrugged.  He didn’t trust his voice not to give him away if he tried to talk.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Tony asked, hand rubbing circles over his back.  It just made him want to cry more.

He shook his head.  He was so sick of talking.  

“Ok.  Is it all right if I sit with you?”

He nodded.

Another couple of minutes passed in silence.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” Tony asked again.

He nodded.

“Can I talk?”

He nodded again, face still stubbornly smooshed into his pillow.

“Ok.  So I have some good news and some bad news.  What do you want to hear first?”

“Good news.” He mumbled.

“Pepper and I signed the paperwork for the new apartment in New York this morning, so we’re moving this weekend.” Tony said.  That’d been fast.  Peter had heard them discussing things throughout the week and Happy had kept him company when Tony had needed to leave a couple times to go to New York, but he hadn’t known they’d actually picked a place.  Or that you could actually buy something and move in that quickly.  Must be a perk of being a billionaire.

“You’re going to love it.” Tony said, and Peter could hear the smile in his voice.  He was sure he would.

“What’s the bad news?” He asked.

Tony sighed.  “Ruth thinks you should take one more week off of school.”

Peter pushed up off the pillow and gave Tony a look of utter betrayal.  “No.”

“Pete—”

“No no no.  I need to go back to school.  I-I can’t keep doing this.  I’m so tired of it.  It’s not helping.  I just want to get back to normal.” He pleaded.  “I don’t want to do this anymore.  PleaseTony.”

Tony pulled him against his chest as he shushed him. “Shh kid.  It’s all right.”

Peter tried to hold back his small hiccupping sobs. “But I don’t want to.  I don’t want to.  Please.  I want to go back to school.”

“I know, but it’s only one more week.”

“I can’t.” He shook his head.  “I can’t.  It’s not even helping.”

“Yes it is buddy.  I know it might not feel like it right now, but it is.”

“No it’s not.  It’s not. It’s making everything so much worse.” He denied frantically, but he knew Tony didn’t believe him.

“Shh.  Take a breath for me.”

Peter managed to calm down somewhat.  Once he had, Tony kissed the top of his head.

“I know it’s been hard but I’m proud of you.” Tony told him.  “And I understand you want to go back to school, but Ruth thinks we should give it one more week.”

Before Peter could protest again, he added, “And I do too. This is hard and it’s stressful and trying to concentrate and do well in school while stirring up all this stuff isn’t setting yourself up for success, and that isn’t fair to you.  Ok?”

Peter didn’t like it, but he sniffled and nodded.  What Tony said was true.  He really couldn’t imagine trying to pay attention in school while he felt like this.

“Good boy.” Tony mumbled and pressed a kiss against his hair.  From anyone else that kind of phrase would’ve pissed him off, but Tony said it with such endearment that he couldn’t even muster annoyance.

He shut his eyes and held Tony.  He just wanted to be back to normal and he didn’t understand why it was so hard to get there.  Or why he had to suffer by dredging up things like his loss of the last five years along with things that seemed completely unrelated, but equally painful, like the loss of his parents and Ben’s death.  But since he didn’t know how to voice all these thoughts to Tony, he could barely do it with the therapist, he just held him.  And hoped things would start to get better.

“FRIDAY pull up my suit footage from the final battle with Thanos.” Tony instructed.  Pepper, Morgan, and Peter were all asleep, but he hadn’t been able to achieve rest himself, so he’d gone down to the workshop and finally decided to do what he’d been putting off.

“FRIDAY.” He said again when nothing happened.

“Are you sure Boss?” She asked hesitantly.

“Yes.  Pull it up.” He said even though he was anything but sure.  There was a reason he hadn’t watched the recording of his own death. The idea of it made him anxious. Afterall, who would ever want to be glaringly confronted with their own mortality like that?  And even though he knew he wasn’t dead, he was fine, Peter had prevented his death, another him hadn’t been so lucky.  But if Peter was still struggling because of it then he owed it to him to view it, especially after what Ruth had shared with him that morning.

“Dr. Cohen is requesting to speak with you Boss.” FRIDAY said, interrupting his work on the hologram screen in front of him.

“Ok.” He frowned and stood.  “Tell her I’ll be right there.”

It wasn’t an unusual request, but usually they touched base over brief phone conversations instead of face to face.  He climbed up the stairs to the main floor above.

“Ruth.” He greeted Ruth as he walked into the living room. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yes.  I’m sorry to bother you Mr. Stark.” She said while she finished putting her things away in her satchel.

“It’s no problem.”

“Before I left, I just wanted to let you know that this morning’s session was particularly hard on Peter today.  We talked about his uncle’s death and…yours.  You might want to check in on him.” Ruth advised.

Tony sucked in a breath.  “Ok.  I will.”

She nodded and started to walk out.

“Um before you go.  One question.” Tony spoke up, wanting to ask something he’d been wondering about.  “His nightmares?  Have you two talked about them?  He said they’re about my death.”

Ruth nodded.  “We have.  Your loss was very difficult for him.  Understandably so.  And I don’t pretend to comprehend how you’re back with us Mr. Stark, but what you have to understand is that what Peter witnessed was very traumatic.  When viewed in the perspective of his past losses, it just makes it that much worse.”

Tony pulled his glasses off to rub at his suddenly aching eyes. Right.  Peter had lost his parents, then he’d lost his uncle who was as good as a father to him, and then Tony.  And Tony liked to think they had a sort of father-son relationship.

“He witnessed his uncle’s death.” Ruth added.  “Did you know that?”

Tony snapped his head up, answer clear on his face. He hadn’t.  He’d known Peter’s uncle had died, had been shot, and that was part of the motivation behind why the kid had done what he had with Spiderman, but he hadn’t known the details.  Peter rarely mentioned Ben, and Tony had never pushed.  He’d allowed the paucity of details surrounding the event, and Ben in general, since he’d known the loss was still too fresh and too painful for Peter.

“He watched his uncle die in front of him and then he had to go through a similar experience with you.  Both deaths were very violent.  Very gruesome.  From what I’ve been told.” Ruth explained.  “It’s no wonder he’s having a hard time.  Having nightmares about it.”

“Jesus.” He stabbed at his eyes again, but for a different reason this time.  He’d never meant to make his kid go through that.  He’d give anything to take it back.

“I don’t…remember.” Tony said when he caught Ruth watching him expectantly.  Even though she was on the Avengers payroll, he couldn’t explain how he’d gone from dead as a doornail to alive and standing in front of her.  He could only imagine the kind of chaos that would erupt if the general public found out it was possible to go back in time and bring a dead loved one forward and essentially resurrect them.

“It’s…surprising to me that before me, he’d never talked to anyone about his uncle’s death, given how traumatic it was for him.” Ruth said. “Instead of dealing with it, he buried it deep down and distracted himself with Spiderman and somehow managed to continue on.  Most people wouldn’t have been able to do that.  He’s a very resilient kid.”

“He is.” Tony agreed.  The kid was the strongest person he’d ever met and that was saying something since he personally knew all the Avengers.  

“But a mind can only take so much before it can’t cope anymore.” Ruth said softly.  “And I think your death was that point.”

“I never wanted to leave him.” He explained softly.

“I know.” Ruth said and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I did all of it for him.”

That earned a quirk of Ruth’s lips.

“I mean I know I’m supposed to say I did it for the good of the world and everything, but…I didn’t.  I did it for him.” He probably shouldn’t admit that but the words just flowed out.

“Understandable.” Ruth nodded.  “He’s your son.  And there’s no greater loss than the loss of a child.  And you found a way to fix that.”

Tony sighed.  “It was all for him, but now he’s…”

Ruth patted his shoulder to placatingly.  “He’ll be ok.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he has you.  And he has an aunt that loves him.  And he has your wife and your daughter.  And many others from what I hear.  An entire support network of people that care about him.”

Tony nodded.

“That’s what he needs.  For all of you to be there for him, supporting him.  And time.  He just needs some time to heal.”

“Ok.  I can do that.  We can do that.”

“I know.” Ruth graced him with a smile.  “He’ll get through it and be all the better for it.”

“Thank you.” Tony said.

She gave him a nod.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye doc.” He said and watched her walk out.

He stood in the center of the living room, staring at the wall and gave himself exactly five minutes to deal with his own maelstrom of emotions before he got himself back under control and walked upstairs to be with his kid.

The words Ruth had used to describe his death, violent and gruesome, echoed in his mind as FRIDAY started projecting the scene of the final battle in front of him.  He clenched his jaw and watched.  He owed it to Peter to see what he’d seen, to be able to better understand what his kid was struggling with.  And he owed it to Pepper and Rhodey and everyone else that had been there and suffered watching him die.  

On the screen he watched as he fought with Thanos.  He remembered this part.  It was right before Peter had appeared out of nowhere and whisked him away to bring him forward in time.  As he kept watching, he recognized the exact moment Peter had intervened.  Everything after it was new.  He had no memory of it.  It hadn’t happened to him.  To this him.

He watched with bated breath as he kept fighting Thanos. It wasn’t going well.  The titan took out Steve and Thor and then Captain Marvel.  All he could think was where was everyone else?  Wanda? Strange?  Anyoneelse that could’ve helped?  But no one else showed up.  And then it was only him and the ugly oversized grape.

He watched as he fell to the ground and caught Dr. Strange’s eye from across the battlefield.  The man shakily raised a single finger.  One.  The one they win.  And he knew what it meant, just like the other Tony on the video must have.  It was up to him.  He knew what he had to do.  

He and Thanos fought viciously.  Thanos finally got ahold of the gauntlet and Tony wrestled with it, but on the screen he appeared to lose as he was flung backward.

“I…am…inevitable.” The asshole spoke, voice sending shivers down Tony’s spine as he watched with wide eyes as Thanos snapped the gauntlet. But…nothing happened.

He frowned and then he was staring at himself as he revealed the stones he’d swiped from the gauntlet with his nanotech.  He watched as he fell to his knees and threw his head back as the power coursed through him.  The intensity of his eyes, the victory, the despair, made him clench his jaw tight.  He wanted to look away, but he didn’t.

“And I…am…Ironman.” His voice said.  Tony watched as he closed his eyes on the screen and snapped.

If he thought it was hard to watch that, the rest was worse.

After he’d somehow lowered himself to the ground, Rhodey got to him first.  God. Rhodey.  His best friend.  And he was so hurt he couldn’t even speak.  He sat against the rubble and stared, there but not really there.  His entire right side including his face was darkened, charred from the force of wielding the stones.  Snapping the gauntlet had hurt the Hulk, so of course it’d irreparably damaged him.  Tony didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that before.  When he’d been told he’d snapped, he kind of assumed it’d been instant death.  Or maybe there hadn’t even been a body to recover, but on the screen, he was still alive, but dying.

Peter was next.  Peter.  His kid. The devastation in his eyes as he tried to comfort him even as he cried, crushed his heart.  Peter had lived this.  And even though this series of events hadn’t come to pass now because of Peter, the memories of it hadn’t been erased from his kid’s head.  Or Rhodey’s.  Or Pepper’s.  Anyone’s.

Pepper.  She was last. A part of him was terribly glad he got to be with her at the end no matter how much it had probably hurt her.

She knelt down and whispered, “Hey.”

“Hey Pep.” He somehow managed to whisper back.  It was right that his last word was her name.

She touched his chest.  “FRIDAY?”

“Life functions critical.” FRIDAY reported sadly.

“Tony.  Look at me.” She ordered.  His eyes tried to follow the command, but he could tell he was fading fast.

“We’re going to be ok.” She reassured, looking so strong. “You can rest now.”

His head sagged to the side, and in the next few seconds he watched the light leave his own eyes as he let go and faded away.  The recording didn’t stop when he died.  He watched Pepper kiss his cheek and lose all her composure as she laid her head on his chest and sobbed.  Behind her, Peter and Rhodey cried.  And as everyone else, including the rest of the Avengers, came over and realized what happened, they each hit their knees one by one, grief apparent on all their faces.  

“Off FRIDAY.” His voice came out so strangled it was incomprehensible.  He swallowed down his all encompassing grief and ordered hoarsely, “Turn it off.”

The video screen blinked to black.

He’d died.  And even though he’d saved the universe, he’d hurt so many people he loved by leaving them behind.  He struggled to process it.  He’d died…but at the same time he hadn’t.  Because of Peter.  His insanely amazing kid.  He’d been given a second chance.  He wasn’t going to waste it.

“Mr. Parker we need a decision on this now.” The man at the head of the table said, obviously frustrated with him.

“What?” Peter frowned.  He sat on the opposite end of the long conference table.  Both sides of it were filled with men in business suits, all staring at him.

“We need an answer on this.” The man stated and pointed to the PowerPoint slide on the screen projected behind him.

“Um…” Peter blinked and tried to squint to see the screen, but all the letters and figures on it were too blurry.  “I can’t…  I can’t read it.”

“Why don’t you try putting on your glasses.” A man to his right said, not very kindly, as he indicated a glasses case sitting on the table in front of Peter.

But he didn’t wear glasses.  He hadn’t needed to since the spider bite.  But then why couldn’t he see the screen a mere twenty feet away from him?

“Right.” He mumbled as he picked up the case and opened it. Instead of his usual dorky glasses, it held a pair of Tony’s tech glasses.

He shook his head.  “These aren’t mine.  These are Tony’s.”

The man to his right scoffed.  “They’re yours now.  Tony’s dead, kid.  Or did you forget?  I don’t see how you could have since he left you everything.”

Peter looked up in shock.  He could read the board now even without the glasses.  It was a Stark Industries proposal.

“Can you put the stupid glasses on so we can get an answer already Parker?  Or just let us decide.  That’d probably be for the best since you’ve been doing such a bang up job of running this company.” The man scowled.

“Yeah, right into the ground.” Another man mumbled.

“I-I-” Peter didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t know what the question was or what decision he had to make.  He could read the slide in front of him, but he couldn’t make any sense of it.

He abruptly stood from the cushioned rolling chair and glanced down.  He was wearing a business suit just like everyone else in the room.  They all stared at him, expectant but annoyed looks on their faces.  Why was he here?  He couldn’t do this.  He turned and ran.

Their voices followed him out into the hallway.

“Where’s he going?”

“What the hell?”

“He’s no Tony Stark.”

That one hurt.  No, he wasn’t.  He knew he wasn’t.  Why had Tony ever thought he could do this?  Why had Tony left him?  He sprinted down the hallway.  He needed to get out.  He needed to escape.  He needed to find…Pepper, or May, or Happy, or someone to help him.

He turned to look behind him to see if anyone had followed him.  No one had. But as he did, his feet somehow got tangled together and he crashed shoulder first onto the carpet.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in the office anymore. He was lying curled up on his side on the dirt ground.  Aliens and madness flew all around him.  He held the gauntlet desperately close to his chest.  He needed to get it somewhere.  Or he was supposed to give it to someone?  To-to Captain Marvel.  But she wasn’t hovering above him like he’d been expecting her to be for some reason. Instead, Tony stood there in his Ironman armor, helmet retracted.  Peter could see the line of blood trailing down the ride side of his face.

“Hey kid.” Tony said, tilting his head and giving him a soft smile.

“Hey.” He said back weakly.

“You got something for me?” Tony asked, giving a small nod toward the gauntlet in Peter’s arms.

But for some reason, Peter didn’t want to give it to him, which was crazy because he trusted Tony more than anyone.  Especially when it came to stuff like this.  Superhero stuff.

“Pete.” Tony said, voice still soft, and it was just the two of them even though it seemed like chaos was literally unfolding all around them.  “Give me the gauntlet.”

He knew he shouldn’t give it Tony, but he couldn’t remember why, just that the very idea felt viscerally wrong.  But this was Tony.  Ironman.  Peter wasn’t going to refuse him.  He uncurled his arms from it and held it out.

Tony took it from him.  “Good work kid.  Now leave the rest to me.”

Tony took several steps back, but he didn’t run with the gauntlet like Peter had expected.  Peter frowned and then watched in frozen horror as Tony placed it on his right hand.

“No!” Peter yelled and thrust an arm out toward him as if he could stop him by that alone.  But it was already too late.  The power of the stones coursed up Tony’s arm, igniting it in majestically terrible colors.

“It’s going to be ok kid.” Tony told him with a calm serenity.

“Don’t!” Peter screamed and tried to jump to his feet, but he couldn’t get up.  It was like he was pinned to the ground.  All his strength had left him.  He could only watch as Tony closed his eyes and snapped his fingers.

His vision erupted in a flash of light.  He tried to shield his eyes with his arms.  When everything faded back to normal, Peter opened his eyes.  Tony sat slumped on the ground a few feet away, his entire right sided burned and blackened, including the armor.

“No.” Peter whispered hoarsely.  Even though he barely felt connected to his body, he managed to get to his hands and knees and crawl to his mentor.

“Tony.” He said, cupping a hand over the man’s unmarred left cheek.  “Tony?”

But Tony didn’t respond, he just stared back at him, and Peter could mark the moment all the intelligence faded from his gaze.

“No.” He cried. “Tony please.  Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Peter shook his shoulder but all it did was jostle him. His empty expression remained unchanged. It didn’t bring him back to life.

“No.  Please.” He begged.  “Please don’t leave me.  Tony.”

“Pete!” Tony’s voice shattered the dream and brought him back awake.  “Peter!”

Tony sat on the bed, hands shaking Peter’s shoulders.

“I’m right here.” Tony said, and Peter couldn’t quite catch up. Of course he was.  He could see him.

“You were calling for me in your sleep.” Tony explained. Oh.  He remembered.

“You-you left me.” He said through jerky breaths.  He only meant to explain the nightmare, but saying it out loud brought with it an excess of hurt he’d been harboring. Because it was true.  Tony had left him.  He’d chosen to snap the gauntlet.  He’d known what it would mean.  Maybe in the moment he hadn’t thought about how he’d be leaving everyone that loved him behind, leaving Peter behind, but it had happened all the same.

“I’m sorry.” Tony whispered.

“You left me.” He sobbed.  “You left me.”

“I know.  I know. I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.” Tony said as he pulled him into his arms.

Peter wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug as he tried to calm down.

“I didn’t want to leave you.” Tony whispered into his curls.

“How do you know?  You didn’t— You weren’t the one who—” The one who snapped, Peter omitted.

“I know.  Because I didn’t get a chance to do it before you saved me.  But kid, I know there’s no way I’d ever willingly leave you.  No matter what.  Especially after I just got you back.”

Then why’d you do it?  Peter wanted to ask, but this Tony hadn’t actually done it, so he couldn’t do anything except guess the answer, which Peter could do just as well.  He’d done it because he’d had no other choice. Because everyone would’ve died otherwise.  He’d sacrificed everything to save the universe.  Because he was a hero.

Peter concentrated on the sound of Tony’s heartbeat under his ear and focused on the fact that Tony was warm, and breathing, and alive. After a couple minutes, his tears slowed to a halt.

“You-you left me your company.  Why did you do that?” Peter asked because that part of the dream had bothered him almost as much.  And it was a question this Tony could actually answer since he must’ve made the arrangements before the final battle with Thanos.

Tony pulled back so he could look down into his face as he asked, “Why do you think Pete?”

He shrugged.  “Because you think I’m smart?”

Tony scoffed.  “No.  I know plenty of smart people.  I wouldn’t leave them the majority of the shares in my company.  And saying you’re smart is definitely an understatement.”

Tony pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Then why?”

“Because you’re my kid.”

“Morgan’s more your kid.”

“No.” Tony said and shook his head.  “I love you both the same.”

“Not to mention at the time she was four.” Tony kept talking as if he hadn’t just dropped a major bombshell on him.  “And we don’t even know if she’s going to end up liking science. Or wanting to follow in my footsteps. But youkiddo.  You’re the real deal.  You’re like a shinier improved version of me.  Better moral compass definitely.”

Peter twisted his face at that.  He didn’t think that was true.  Tony always saw himself in the worst possible way.

“Say Morgan had grown up and wanted to help run the company. What would you have done?” Tony asked.

“Let her, of course.  What kind of question is that?”

“Just proving my point.” Tony said with a smile.  “Why would I ever need to worry about Morgan with you at the helm?  You’re the best person I know, and I know Captain America.”

Peter blushed and ducked his head.  

“You’re just genuinely good.  Even a little too good sometimes.” Tony paused to fondly brush back his hair before continuing, “You were the right choice Pete.  The only choice.  I’ve second guessed myself on almost everything I’ve done, but the one thing I’ve never second guessed is picking you.  As Spiderman.  As my intern. As my kid.  As my successor.”

Peter’s eyes filled with tears.

“It was always going to be you.” Tony looked at him, eyes soft as he cupped Peter’s face in his hands.  “It still is.”

Peter shocked eyes flew to Tony’s.  “What?”

Tony grinned and let go of his face.

“How else are you going to put that MIT education that I’m paying for to good use?”

“What?  Tony you’re not paying for—”

“And let’s just table that pointless little argument for later.” Tony interrupted.  “So we don’t get sidetracked.”

Peter blinked and tried to refocus, although they’d definitely be revisiting the idea of Tony paying for his schooling.  “You really want me to take over SI for you?”

“Well not now obviously.  You’re only a kid.  You’ve got to grow up first.” Tony tousled his hair with a smile.

“But I’m not you.  I’m no Tony Stark.” Peter gave voice to the anxiety from his dream.  

“No, you’re not,” Tony agreed before he declared, “You’re better.”  

Peter shook his head.  He didn’t agree.  No one was better than Tony.

“But…what if-what if I’m not good enough?”

“You will be.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know,” Tony said and then added, “And you won’t be alone.  Pepper will help you.  And I’ll help you.”

Peter fell forward to wrap Tony in another hug.  Tony returned the embrace and kissed the top of his head again before whispering, “You know I’ll always help you.”

“Please don’t leave me again.” Peter pleaded.

“I’m not going anywhere.  Not if I can help it.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

[isa-ly]

“I HATE MY LIFE, LMAO”

TW: mental illness, therapy, self-hatred, self-deprecation

Let's start this one off with a text I received a few months ago from a friend, who I hadn't seen or spoken to in a while:

For anyone who isn't fluent in German, it reads as follows: "I'm hip and have a Twitter too now, as you probably noticed. Your own Twitter doesn't sound like you're too doing well. Can I help in any way?"

At first, I was like: "Huh? What does she mean?"

But, well...

Alright, I see her point.

And that's what I'm here to talk about today: Tweeting and joking your sorrows away (and why it's so hard to stop doing it). Before we get into it, however, I want to drop one last screenshot, because it just fits this current situation oh too well, and the irony made me giggle:

Okay, enough social media plugging, let's get back to business.

As you can see, I am quite active when it comes to tweeting about my struggles with mental illness. Which, in this day and age, really isn't a rarity. You just need to take one look at Twitter, Instagram, Reddit, TikTok or any dank meme, to see that joking, down-playing and iRoniCalLy tAkiNg tHe piSs out of personal problems and issues, has become quite the trend for millennials in general. Once again, I'm not the only one guilty of doing that.

Had you asked me a year ago whether or not I thought that constantly ridiculing very serious and traumatic incidents in my life was maybe a bit worrisome, I would have probably gotten very defensive and told you that "it's called coping, okay?” Because hey, making jokes and laughing about the bad things in your life gives them less power over you and helps distract from the pain. And that's good, right? That's what you're supposed to do. Right?

Well.

Dealing with your own issues, whether that's big or small ones, is a very personal process that, quite frankly, no one really gets to have a say in except for you. And yeah, sure, as we all learned by watching Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, ridiculing and laughing about something that really scares you, loosens the hold said fear has on you and makes it easier to deal with. However, there is a very big difference between the boggards of life (if you don’t get that reference, you clearly weren’t around when J.K. Rowling wasn’t problematic and transphobic yet) and medical mental health issues and disorders.

I am no doctor, I am aware of that, but even I know that having an ironic laugh about a shitty day is something very different to basically verbally abusing yourself and trying to make your own depression or anxiety relatable to ... well, to whom, actually? Random people on the internet? That are never going to really care or react to your self-deprecating jokes? That doesn’t seem like it’ll do much now, does it.

And that’s kind of the whole point, if you’re really honest with yourself. Social media has made it oh too easy to simply shout those invasive, painful and scary thoughts and feelings out into a void before they eat you alive. The thing about a void is, though: You're still alone in it. It doesn't answer you back. It's empty. And it will make you feel that exact emptiness inside you, too. It poses no comfort, it doesn't offer advice, it doesn't give you a hug, a shoulder to cry on or anything, really. It may swallow your word vomit whenever it bubbles out of you, but it will still leave you feeling drained and hollow because there's nothing you get from it in return.

Twitter, Instagram and every other easy-to-access-and-rant-on social media platform lets you dump your initial hurt all over it, but it doesn't lessen the pain. And neither do the self-deprecating jokes and dank depression memes.

I’ll say this once again, for the people in the back (me, I’m talking about myself here, I am the people in the back): Being mentally ill isn't a quirky personality trait, and making a lifestyle and constant comedy show out of is never, ever going to solve your problems and make you feel any better. You'll still be miserable if you don't actually work on solving your issues because you're too busy letting them define you.

Depression is not an aesthetic. Anxiety is not a competition. Panic attacks aren't funny memes.

I'm not saying that you can't and shouldn't joke or laugh about your own problems. Humor can be a very cathartic thing, I'm the living example of it. But staying put in your depression, anxiety or whatever issues you're dealing with, and trying to make a comedy skit out of it every time someone asks you how you are, is only going to make you more comfortable and validated in your own misery. And there are way better places to be comfortable in than that. Trust me.

You are not your mental illness. You are not your disorder. Those things will never define who you are. They're a part of you, yes, but they aren't you. You will always be the one that calls the shots and you always, always have choice and hope on your side. Even when it feels like you are alone and being swallowed whole by the darkness, it is never too early or late to get help. It might feel insincere, it might feel terrifying and impossible. But it never is. That's exactly what your disorders and problems want you to think. But they are wrong.

I had to accept that too. I had to accept that, once again, I wasn't as special of a snowflake as my mental illness painted me to be. By doing that, it simply did what any mental illness does best: it isolated me even more. With every joke, every #relatable tweet, every "lol" behind yet another truly worrisome sentence, I sunk back further and further into the cocoon of loneliness. And, plot twist, you can't finger-gun your way out of depression. Sorry, babes.

So, every time you’re about to chuck out another "I wanna die lmao" in a casual conversation with friends or yet another self-deprecating tweet, just take a second to ask yourself: Is this really a way of coping? Is it really making me feel better? Or is it actually a subconscious, desperate attempt of getting someone, anyone, to see that I'm slowly breaking on the inside?

Again, I don't want this to come across as a self-help guide on how to battle your mental illness. Not at all. If anything, the reason I phrase this blog and all my entries the way I do, is because it's what I need to keep telling myself, every time I revert back to old habits. It's a reminder. For me and, in case you want it to be, for you too. I'm not here to lecture anyone. Well, maybe myself, a little. But everyone makes their own choices and I'm no one's guide or saviour, nor do I want to be. However, I made a promise to myself to really commit to this blog thing, so here I am. I'm my own harshest critic, always have been, so if anything, this is a call out post for my own self-deprecating habits.

Receiving that message from my friend made me realize that even though I would have never admitted it to myself at the time, all those tweets and casually dropped “I’m gonna kms haha lol”s were nothing but very badly disguised cries for help. I was just too much of a coward to admit that to myself. Okay, maybe coward is a bit of a harsh word. I don’t want to diminish my fear or vulnerability just because I know the reason for it now. It’s just that looking back at my own denial, and still sometimes catching myself in moments where I slip back into this behaviour, makes me want to grab myself by the shoulders and shake me until I snap out of it.

Which is why I’m just going to do this through my blog now – for past, present and also future me: Get it together. Stop yourself in your own tracks when you’re about to word-vomit up another cryptic tweet or self-deprecating joke. Instead, talk to a friend. Type up a text. Call someone. Schedule a therapy session. It's always gonna help, way better than forcing out a laugh about something that is in no way a laughable matter. Reaching out is not going to fix everything immediately, but in the long run it will. And that's what we're in for, after all.

You can ask any of my friends and they will tell you that whenever they express feelings of insecurity about sharing their worries to me, I will be quick to stop them in the middle of their sentence to tell them that they can, and always should, talk to me. About any- and everything, be that day or night. It is something that I have been preaching for God knows how long, and I genuinely mean it, too. So, I’ve kind of just been a huge hypocrite by never listening to my own advice. And I knew that. Deep down, I always knew that I was ignoring the exact thing I kept telling the people I loved to do too. And what can I say, I hate being a hypocrite.

I’m not saying that any of this is easy. Hell, it can be the hardest God damn thing ever, especially when you’re as emotionally repressed and inept as I am most of the time. And yes, venting and shit-posting about how much you’ve been crying all day or how much you “hate your own life” might work as a quick fix to let off some of that frustration steam. But it’s never going to actually repair the underlying issues that cause you to feel this shitty in the first place. The only thing that’s gonna do that, is actually talking to people. Whether that is family, friends or a therapist, doesn’t matter. Because other than an Instagram story that disappears after 24 hours, or a tweet that has a 280-character limit, real life people who care about you will actually take the time to listen, say something in return, and provide the comfort and open ear no social media platform or meme ever could. You know that. And I know that too. 

So, I want to try and quit lmao-ing my way through life and instead do what I actually, secretly know I am trying to do anyway with all those self-deprecating attempts at morbid comedy: ask for help. No lol’s needed.

[debtfreeinthree]

Why Self-Care Doesn't (Always) Mean Spending More Money

Lately, I’ve been seeing the word “self-care” thrown about often. I feel like I see it on every social media platform and in magazine ads and I hear it when I’m talking to my friends.

I am a BIG fan of self-care. My favorite ways to self-care are going to my therapist, doing a facial mask a few times a week and eating more veggies than I used to.

But lately, I’ve seen self-care bastardized and co-opted for marketing campaigns and by Instagram influencers. They use self-care to sell you something you probably don’t even need. But in an age where self-care is a valuable commodity, everyone is hopping on the self-care bandwagon.

My Self-Care Journey

When she was stressed out, my college roommate Leah would sometimes declare a “mental health day.” She’d skip class, indulge in a favorite romantic comedy and generally just chill out.

When I was stressed out, I would often indulge in retail therapy, another bullshit term used to entice women to shop. In fact, I became so good at retail therapy that I ended up with a bulging closet and a collection of bras so large my friends used to make fun of me.

My retail therapy took a huge upswing when I lived in New York for a summer, interning at the Associated Press. I was so stressed out with work that I often overspent just to make myself feel better. I’d take a cab instead of the subway or buy food out instead of cooking at home. At one point, I was buying take-out three times a day – THAT’S INSANE!

I used money to make myself feel better, but it never really worked as a long-term strategy. I remember one day I had really messed up at my internship and I went down to the bookstore, where I spent approximately $84 on books and notebooks. Then, I went to the diner to have lunch. I felt sick to my stomach with all my spending, which wasn’t helping me forget about my work mistake.

Money isn’t a band-aid. It isn’t a magic salve that will help you forget about your troubles. In fact, it usually amplifies them.

When I started working as a newspaper reporter making $28,000 a year, I couldn’t afford to rely on retail therapy. After paying my $350 student loan payment, I barely had anything left over. Suddenly, I had to face whatever feelings I was running away from.

Do You Use Self-Care as an Excuse to Spend Money?

I was reading this article from finance guru Tonya Rapley, where she shared her journey from financial abuse victim to financial warrior.

I read this line and immediately knew what she meant:

 But when I left, I had no savings to speak of, and thought that healing myself meant not worrying about how much I was spending.

I’ve never been a victim of abuse, but I’ve been depressed and anxious and thought that worrying about money was counter-productive. Dealing with your finances seems like it’s a chore, but in fact, caring about money is the biggest self-care activity you can do.

One way I hear people talk about stress, self-care and money is this phrase. You’re going to jump back in your seat when you read this. Are you ready? Ok here we go:

I had a bad day, so I DESERVE THIS.

Whoa! Did you just jump back? See, I said you would. Deserve is one of those words that makes it seem like spending money is ok, that it’s great for your mental health. But in fact, it’s just a trick, an excuse your brain uses to spend money when you know you shouldn’t.

How often have you been feeling crappy and used the phrase “I deserve” to justify buying something? It can be as small as a new NYX lipstick or as big as a Kate Spade purse, but this phrase is DESTRUCTIVE TO YOUR FINANCES.

How to Do Self-Care on a Budget

Ok so if bottomless mimosas and retail therapy are outlawed, how can you actually relax, take some time for yourself and not feel bad about it afterward?

Here are my favorite ideas for self-care on a budget:

Take a bubble bath

Ok, yes, you might be thinking: isn’t this kind of an old-fashioned idea? But lemme tell you something: Bubble baths work! Any time I’ve taken a bubble bath, my first thought is, “Why don’t I do this more often?” Quietly soaking in a hot bath is one of the most invigorating activities you can do.

I don’t even buy pricey bubble bath. I just use body oils and body wash I already have and pump in lots of my favorite moisturizer. My bubble bath doesn’t look perfect, but I leave with smooth skin and a calm mind.

Do something with my hands

Most of the time when I feel the need for self-care, I really just want some quiet. The world can feel so loud and noisy and even scrolling through my Instagram feed can seem too much. Sometimes it feels good to get back to the basics and do something tactile. I’ll usually get out my sewing or jewelry-making supplies and work on a simple project.

Sometimes I’ll even get out my watercolors or drawing pencils. Ever wondered why adult coloring books were so popular? It’s the same reason. They allow us to make something with their hands instead of just absorbing content. P.S. For bonus frugal points, I try to find art supplies on sale. Sometimes you can find people giving away free stuff at yard sales or on Craigslist.

Declutter my house 

Ok, I know this sounds like work, but honestly, throwing stuff away is ONE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS. I love the satisfaction that comes with filling up a 32-liter garbage bag and tossing it away (or putting it in my donate pile).

Decluttering always makes me feel I’ve truly accomplished something. And since I’m still in the stage of life where I move almost every year, I know that every garbage bag I throw away is one less garbage bag I have to pack. Plus, it’s always fun going through old stuff (at least if you’re a weirdo like me).

Bake something decadent 

I love to bake. I think it comes from my mom not baking a lot as a kid and me being jealous of kids who always had boxed brownie mix in their pantry. In college, I made cookies and brownies all the time and started experimenting with my own recipes.

Recently, my husband and I have been watching “The Great British Bake-Off” on Netflix and I’ve rediscovered a love for baking. Last time, I made a two-tier chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. It was so good – I still dream about it when I’m feeling hangry. Baking is one of my favorite self-care activities because it’s so innately satisfying. Baking requires your utmost attention and since I struggle with getting through a sentence without – SQUIRREL – losing track, I love the focus I have to spend on baking.

Baking something yourself is so much better than buying it from a store, unless you’re going to a real bakery in which case you’re spending a lot of money. Not only is the act of baking itself enjoyable, but then you get to eat what you made! Even if you don’t love baking, try making a box cake next time you need self-care. I promise you’ll enjoy the process.

Watch a favorite movie 

Ok this idea kind of seems like cheating because, “Duh, everyone knows watching a movie is a good idea when you’re feeling bad.” But trust me, when was the last time you sat down to watch a good old-fashioned chick flick?

A few weeks ago, I discovered that “Miss Congeniality” was on Netflix so I immediately started watching it while painting my nails. IT FELT SO GOOD. The combo of watching a movie I basically grew up with combined with doing something indulgent like an at-home manicure filled my soul.

If you’re lucky enough to have some girlfriends near you, invite them for a full-blown spa session complete with rom coms. One time, my friends and I made homemade strawberry yogurt masks and did a coffee scrub on our legs. It was hilarious, especially when we realized that we’d left the curtains wide open and everyone on the street could see us with red faces and legs covered in leftover coffee grounds.

Exercise

I hope I don’t get any flack for this comment, but there’s a reason why people recommend exercise when you’re depressed or anxious. When I’m feeling anxious, I tend to think about skipping the gym. But every time I go, I feel better. Maybe instead of your normal routine, do something different. Take a bike ride, do some basic yoga or hit the heavy bag (my personal favorite).

Remember, self-care isn’t always about doing the easiest thing. It’s about doing what will truly help you in the moment and in the long run.

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How do you do self-care on a budget? What are your favorite frugal ways to indulge? Leave your suggestions in the comments below!

Why Self-Care Doesn’t (Always) Mean Spending More Money was originally published on Debt Free After Three