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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Frailty, thy name is woman! {1}

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, masturbation, mentions of miscarriage, depression, and suicide.

This is dark!doctor!Steve Rogers and soft!Peter Parker and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You have an illness that can’t be seen or named. Doctor Rogers is your last chance at a cure as your loving husband tries to rediscover the woman he married.

Inspired by this ask

Note: So this went a little long and I split it into 2 but you can just pretend it’s a one shot lol. It’s set in the 1900s so keep that in mind! I hope you all like it.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Another cold morning. It started like any other. You woke in the bed, wrapped in the same woolen blanket, in the same dress you’d been wearing for more than a week. In the same spot you hadn’t left for nearly as long. You didn’t have the strength to do anything but wallow, trapped in another episode of melancholy.

You wanted to be normal, you wanted to be happy, you wanted to get up and go tell your husband to stop messing around in the kitchen so you could do your work. So you could be the wife you were supposed to be. But that desire could not fill the endless pit you felt deep in your chest.

You listened to the clink of heavy dishes and the bubbling of water over the hissing gas burner. Peter moved around in a series of groans and creaks from the floorboards. You pulled the blanket tighter, sickened by your own odor, and sniffed. You wouldn’t cry again, you couldn’t. You always felt as if the tears would fall at any moment but they never came. You just laid there, staring at the wall, curled up against the drafts that blew through the rattling window panes.

You heard the hinges and winced. Worse than letting down your husband was looking in his face and seeing it. He came around your side of the bed and sat on the edge, just against your stomach. He set down a bowl on the boxy night table, steam curling from its brim as he set a spoon against the side and clinked a cup down next to it.

You turned your face into the pillow and he touched your shoulder as he turned and bent his leg up on the mattress. He rubbed your arm gently but you felt nothing. You shivered and knotted your fingers together.

“Hey, you need to eat,” he coaxed, “please.”

You grumbled and shook your head. “I’m not hungry.”

“You said that last night,” he ran his knuckles over your cheek and bent over you, “you haven’t eaten in two days, dear.”

“I don’t care,” you pouted into the feather pillow.

“Well, I do,” he stretched his fingers over your head and rubbed your cheekbone with his thumb, “I care about you, dear. Even after everything that’s happened.”

“Why?” you asked weakly.

“Because I will always care for you. I love you, you’re my wife and we will get through this together, so please, sit up and eat for me.” His voice was brittle and threatened to shatter in the air. Your heart squeezed and you rolled onto your back.

You looked at him grimly, “I’m sorry.”

“No, you don’t need to be sorry,” he pulled open the blanket and hooked his arms under yours to pull you up. He sat you against the metal headboard and took the bowl. “Just eat. I put some cinnamon in the porridge, just like you prefer, and milk in the tea. I promise, it’s not sour this time.”

You accepted the hot bowl and nestled it in your lap. You stared at the oats and wiggled your nose. “I… you shouldn’t do all this. You shouldn’t have to,” you held the bowl with your legs and covered your face, “I want to do it all so badly but--” you blinked away the tears and wiped your cheeks as you dropped your hands back to the dish, “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you want to,” he grabbed the spoon and scooped up some oats, “and I want to help you do that but I can’t unless you help me.”

You let him feed you a mouthful. Just like everything else, it was bland, you barely even felt the heat.

“I’m trying--”

He hushed you and fed you some more. He focused on the task until the bowl was empty and your stomach felt painfully heavy. He placed the bowl back beside the porcelain and handed you the tea.

“I need you to listen to me, dear,” he said, “please and understand this is for your own good. To help you be the wife you once were.”

You held the cup with both hands and watched him over the brim. You gulped. Would he send you to one of those sanitariums where women never came back the same, if at all?

“Please, don’t send me away. You can’t! Please,” you begged and nearly spilled the tea.

“No, no, I… couldn’t,” he touched your elbow gently, “but I’ve been asking around and I’ve found a physician.”

“A physician? Oh, Peter, the last one laughed me out of the room,” you moped, “and the one before him yelled at me so horribly. I cannot do it again.”

“I know, I know,” he played with a fold along his sleeve, “but this one specialises in women’s issues. I’ve heard positive things about him and I think you should talk to him.”

“I don’t know,” you sipped the tea, it was acidic but thin.

Peter was silent as he hung his head. He grasped his knees and his jaw ticked. He heaved and closed his eyes. “I can’t let you die in here. I can’t--” his voice cracked, “please, just try this for me, dear.” He opened his eyes and looked at you, his warm brown irises were desperate, “It would kill me too.”

You lowered your chin and peered into the mug, errant leaves floating in the tea. You exhaled and gulped.

“I’ve made the appointment for noon.”

“I… I’m unready. My hair, my dress… I am unbathed.”

“You have time and I will help you,” he ran his hand up your leg smoothly, “and if you want me in the office with you, I will be there, and if you want me away, I will go.”

You thought and took another drink. You leaned back on the whiny headboard and blinked at Peter.

“You really think he can help me?”

“I’ve got to hope. It’s all I got,” he said as he opened his hands helplessly, “I believe in you. You’re still the woman I fell in love with.”

🩺

Peter helped you wash and dress. You picked the grey dress with the buttons down the front and the straight sleeves. You hid your hair under a black hat and teetered on the low heels of your boots. You felt like an imposter, like anyone could see through your disguise to the horrid creature beneath.

He drove you uptown in the one-horse buggy and the old steed moved slowly through the mud and cobbles.

You felt a sudden storm of guilt as he drew up to the brick front of the office and tied up the horse. He did everything, he worked at the laboratory as an lowly assistant, expected only to dispose of the refuse and wipe the countertops, then came home and did your chores for you. He worked hard for the little money you had and now he was spending it on another doctor to fix your irreparable mind.

He helped you out of the buggy with his hand on yours and you pulled your short cape closer as you huddled down against the collar. He led you to the front door of the shared offices and up the three flights to the door marked ‘Dr. Steven Rogers, physician’.

You wrung your hands as you entered and glanced around as Peter gave your name and the time of your appointment. You were surprised to find that your husband was the only male in the room. He led you to a bench and sat with you, his hand on your arm as he comforted your doubts.

You listened as names were called and after more than an hour, yours finally rose from the nurse’s lips. You stood as Peter did too. “Do you want me here or with you?” he asked.

“I…” your heart raced as you looked between him and the nurse, “I suppose I should do it myself.”

“I’ll be out here. You send for me if you need,” he squeezed your hand one last time and watched you go.

The nurse smiled at you but you couldn’t return the gesture. You were terrified. You had seen so many doctors and each one gave the same answers; there was nothing wrong with you, you were only lazy, you were conjuring it all in your head, you were just another woman without sense.

You were shown into the sterile room and the nurse left your chart on the desk. You stepped up the stool and sat on the metal examination table covered in pure white linen. You waited in suspense, arguing with yourself not to flee and go back to your blanket and bed. When a knock came, you squeaked and the door opened slowly.

A man peeked inside cautiously and cleared his throat as he spotted you. “I’m coming in, miss.”

You nodded and he entered, the door clicking behind him. He greeted you with a handshake and read your name off the chart as he gave his own; Dr. Steven Rogers. He sat on the tall stool by the desk and looked at you.

His blond hair was as neat as his suit and his blue eyes were penetrating but placid. His white jacket hung from his broad shoulders and a stethoscope rounded his neck as his posture put him above most.

“You can sit on the sofa if your are more comfortable,” he gestured to the leather seat along the opposite wall, “this is just an introductory appointment, I won’t be doing any examinations.”

You pursed your lips and shifted off the table. You went to the sofa and sat, your leg shaking wildly as you tried to still it with your hand. He smiled patiently and dipped his pen in the well.

“So, we will start easy, how old are you?”

Your eyes rounded. You sputtered before you got the answer out and he nodded and scribbled on the paper. He went down a list; an previous health issues, height, weight, current prescriptions. When he finished he set aside the folder and looked at you fully.

“That’s all just formality and I don’t like my patients to feel like they’re being interrogated so we’re just going to talk. Would you like some water?”

“No, no, I’m…” you smoothed a wrinkle in your dull skirt and stared at your lap.

“You need a moment?” he dipped his head as he tried to catch your eye, “take a breath, I know it’s a lot.”

“No, I’m just… pathetic.” you murmured.

“Now, we don’t talk like that in this office,” he girded, “so why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

You sucked in a breath and your hands crawled over your skirts nervously, skittering like spiders. You could feel the dread rising and the air was thick in your lungs. You began to pant in shallow breaths and gripped the arm of the couch.

“Ma’am, ma’am,” he stood slowly and neared you, “may I sit with you?”

“Oh, oh, oh,” you moaned as you began to shake, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you wetted your dry lips with your tongue, “yes, doctor.”

He lowered himself lightly onto the cushion. He leaned forward and looked you in your face as you tried to hide from him and struggled to breathe. “I’m going to count and you breathe in time; one, two…”

You focused on the numbers and rocked back and forth until your heart slowed and your gasps petered out. He stopped his count and sat up. He stayed where he was, his hand on his thigh as you felt his gaze on you.

“So, what has been happening in your life, ma’am?” he asked.

“I’m sure my husband--”

“No, I don’t speak with husbands, I want to hear from the women themselves. You see I run a practice for women and their troubles and I cannot treat these troubles if they come from the lips of men. So you explain, in your own way, in your own time.”

You raised your shoulders and exhaled. You folded your hands and nodded. You tried to sort through all your thoughts, the blurred days, and the frightening nights.

“Today is the first I’ve left my bed in more than a week. It’s not the first time, either. It keeps happening and… I just don’t know why,” you’re voice quivered as you shrunk down in shame.

You waited in silence. You peeked over at him as you expected him to speak.

“Go on, just pretend as if you were speaking to yourself. No one else is here, you’re just going through your thoughts aloud. Sometimes when we hear them, they are clearer to us.”

“I don’t understand--” you clapped your hands.

“Close your eyes and keep talking.”

You swallowed and let your lids shut. The room disappeared and you mustered your voice. You didn’t know where to begin. So you went back to the day you married Peter. From the wedding day, to the first episode, the second, the third, you gave a brief map of the three years you’d been together. Then you braced yourself for it, the “I don’t know” and “nothing’s wrong”.

“Hmm,” he stood and you opened your eyes. He paced to the other side of the room and leaned against the table. “That’s not everything. You… have to be honest with yourself. This isn’t about me and what I think, it’s about you. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me everything.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” you gulped.

He nodded and crossed his arms. He dropped them when he saw you frown and resumed his seat on the stool. He sat straight and watched you but held no anger or malintent in his gaze.

“Alright, then we shall go through some questions and answers. Many of my patients find a dialogue more helpful,” he said. “Now, I might ask some personal questions but remember that your answers do not go beyond these walls.”

You bit into your bottom lip and hummed your agreement. He clicked his tongue and smiled again.

“You said you’ve been married for three years, thereabouts, so when was the last time you were close with your husband?”

“Close?” you stammered.

“Intimate,” he prodded.

“Uhhh,” you squirmed and looked away.

“You are married, there is no shame in it. So?”

“Months,” you confessed, “I don’t know how many. And it isn’t as if he doesn’t try but I can’t.”

“Mhmm, and you said you have no children?”

You tensed and couldn’t answer. Your heart sank and you bent over as you hugged yourself.

“You… you’ve lost a child?” he asked softly.

You nodded and batted away tears with your lashes. You shook and grunted in frustration. You stood suddenly and stomped your foot.

“I need to go,” you hissed as you marched to the door.

Doctor Rogers was quick and held the door closed before you could reach it.

“Did he know?” he asked.

You sneered and shook your head.

“Just one?”

You trembled and tried to push his arm down. “I can’t--”

“Hey,” he grabbed your shoulders and edged you back from the door, “I’m trying to help you. You’re here to repair yourself and your marriage, you need to try and it won’t be easy but it would be worse to wallow in all that grief alone.”

“Please, Dr. Rogers, I have to--” you shoved on his arms as you sobbed, “I… I… he is my husband and I can’t give him the most precious thing he ever wanted. I can’t make him happy no matter how I try. It would be a gift if I were to die in that bed. He would be free--”

“No,” he said sharply and guided you backward, “we don’t speak like that.” He sat you down and knelt to look in your eyes, “you don’t speak to yourself like that.”

He sighed and dropped his hands to yours. He held them gently as you sniffed back the tears and hid behind the brim of your hat.

“When was the last?” he asked cautiously.

“I lost it a month and a half back. I abstained from my marital bed in hopes it might survive,” you quavered, “It did not.”

“Is there pain?”

“Now?”

“Yes?”

“At times, but in my soul,” you said.

He let you go and stood, “and how do you sleep?”

“Not much. I cannot. I only lay and stare and wish.”

“Mm, well, I have some things for you to do but they are easy and I do not want you to stress yourself. If you cannot do all, then some.” He sat on his stool again and picked up a small pad. “I will prescribe you a medicine you can put in your tea, it will aid in your sleep and that it the foundation of healing. Then, there are only small things; when your husband comes to you, affectionately, you will let him kiss you, just on the cheek if you wish, but if he cares as you say, you will let him.”

You listened and fidgeted as he spoke.

“And you will do things for yourself and for your children. If you feel like you can make a dinner, do so, if not, you will take a journal and write. These words are only for your. You will write about those you’ve lost so that they may rest and you will too. For every chore you cannot complete, you will write one sentence, or one page, or as many as you need to.”

“What do I write?”

“Whatever you think. Whatever weighs on your heart at that moment. And you will come back to me in two weeks to go over all you’ve done and I have faith that you will make great progress.”

He stood and tore free a page. He neared and held it out to you. “Take this to the apothecary and they will fill it. One drop in your tea, two if it is an especially bad night.”

You took it and rose. You folded it and tucked it into your handbag. You looked up at him and adjusted your cape.

“I’m sorry, doctor, I will try.”

“You will start by not apologizing for yourself. You have a right to feel and be. And try is all I ask.”

He smiled and turned to stride across the office. He opened the door and bent his head.

“Now, I hope a peaceful day awaits you and don’t forget, two weeks. You will make an appointment at the desk before you go.”

🩺

The drive through the city was quiet as Peter watched you worried from the corner of his eye. He didn’t dare to ask how it went as you hadn’t yet said a word but to tell him to stop at the pharmacy. With the vial in hand, he took your home and sat you at the table as he made another pot of tea.

He sat with you and sipped his own cup as you stared at the reddish brown brew. You lifted the vial and read the hand-written label. It was too early to sleep. You put it down and looked at Peter.

“It was… not bad,” you said slowly.

He perked up and sat forward on his chair. “Was he nice?”

“Very nice,” you felt the hot porcelain, “he listened.”

“And the medicine?” he looked at the vial.

“For sleep.”

“That’s good,” he uttered nervously, “you’re going back, right, dear?”

“Yes, two weeks,” you said, “I hope. I…” you looked at him glumly, “I’m going to try. I want to try.”

“I know,” he reached across the table and took your hand, “and I can help. I only want to help.”

You nodded and squeezed his hand. It was rough against your dry skin. You felt as if your body was falling apart from neglect. Your nails were peeling and cracked at the tips. You turned his hand so you did not have to see them.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

You lifted your head and searched his face. You tried to smile but it was small.

“Please,” you whispered.

He came around and bent to kiss your forehead, then your cheek. You stood and shyly looped your arms around him. He held you tentatively and as you leaned into him, he relaxed. You were relieved to find the warmth was still there.

🩺

That night, Peter put you to bed and laid beside you. You wore a proper nightgown and the tincture dragged you down in a deep dreamless slumber. When you woke, you didn’t want to get out of bed but if you stayed, you’d feel worse. You dressed and Peter didn’t hide his joy as he readied for a day at the lab.

You ate together, more porridge and he left you with another kiss. When he was gone, you stared at the wall. You took the dishes and boiled water to wash them in the basin. There were only a few so your work was easy. You thought of wiping down the stove but once more felt the lethargic weight on your chest.

So you went to the bedroom and dug out the old recipe book your mother bought you as a wedding present. You hadn’t used it so the pages remained blank but for a single list of ingredients for stuffed duck. You tore out that page and wrote the date on the next.

You sat at the vanity you never used. Peter bought it after your first episode, thinking it might help you to have the mirror and place to store your toiletries. You held open the pages and dipped the pen into the shallow well. Most of the ink had dried up. You made a blotch on the paper as you tried to think of what to write.

You stayed like that and inked the pen again. Then you wrote the name. The name of the daughter you lost. Peter didn’t know that name and you never dared to speak it. She was the first one, at least, you wanted it to be a girl. You wrote that you wanted her to have Peter’s eyes and his sweetness. You wrote about him holding her and smiling down at her. Then, you shut the book and dropped the pen.

You began to sob and leaned on the vanity. You let out horrible, draining wails. You quaked until you had no strength left. You stood and watched your feet as you went to the bed and fell onto it. It hurt so much.

🩺

You tried to follow Dr. Rogers advice, tried to keep to your chores and your writing, but your renewed vigour faded by your next appointment. That morning wasn’t as hard as the first but Peter had to convince you to leave the house. He couldn’t wait for you as he was due at the lab but he gave you coin for your ride back..

You sat in the hushed waiting room and stared at the wall. The other women chatted with their neighbour or read the penny weekly’s left out for the patients. You rubbed your gloved hands together and counted your breaths. You felt that tidal again, the rising wave of nerves rising within.

When your name was called, you were taken to the same room and the same chart was left on the desk. You sat on the sofa but your restlessness had you back up on your feet and pacing. When the door opened again, you turned and stopped as Dr. Rogers entered with a knock.

“Hello, again,” he offered another stiff handshake and you accepted it meekly as you crossed the room, “and how are you this morning?”

You let out a breath and shrugged, “well as I can be.”

“Please, sit, and we can go over the last two weeks,” he waved to the leather bench and sat on his stool. He ignored the chart as he slung one leg over the other. He waited for you to lower yourself onto the couch and watched your hands you wrung them, “would you like some water? A tea?”

“No, thank you, Doctor,” you tapped your heels nervously.

“You’re anxious,” he said. You nodded and he did the same, “why? Did our last appointment go so poorly?”

You shook your head and stilled your fingers, “I don’t know why I am alight, but I am.”

“Mhmm,” he tapped his fingertips on the desk as he leaned his arm against it, “and your home life, has it changed at all?”

“I… I try to do more but it’s difficult,” you admitted, “I get so overwhelmed.”

“Have you written at all?”

“Some but… it makes me sad,” you explained as you folded a wrinkle in your skirt, “I find myself as I was, in bed with a hole in my heart.”

He considered and scratched his chin, his clean shave smooth beneath his fingers. “Your husband, he is… affectionate?” When you affirmed the question, he continued, “and you have made yourself open to him?”

“Kiss, hand-holding, embraces, but… I cannot…” you squirmed, “I cannot even make him feel as my husband.”

“You have a lot of emotions but speaking of them makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it?” he uncrossed his legs and sat up straight.

“They feel like excuses, like a delusion I’ve made up to escape my life,” you stared at the floor, “like I’ve lied not only to myself but the man I love.”

“You’ve seen other physicians for your maladies?”

“Several, yes.”

“And what did they tell you?”

“They told me I was healthy and that my emotions were of my own failure,” you poked your palm with your nail, “and I couldn’t claim they were wrong for I don’t know myself.”

“Do you take exercise?” he asked.

“Not often, not anymore,” you replied evasively.

“You go out in the sun? Open the windows?”

“No,” you muttered, “no…”

“I would suggest thought it is with your own will to take it that you leave the house once a day, for a few minutes, for an hour, whatever you can do, and just walk. You don’t have to go anywhere but I want you to see the sun and keep your blood moving.” he stood and cleared his throat, “perhaps you cannot see it or you will not accept it, but you are doing well. You’ve made progress. If I am being quite honest, I did not expect a second visit and that in itself is a feat.”

You pressed your lips together and shifted. He went to the end of the examination table and looked you over.

“Now, as this is our second visit and we’ve gone over the basics, it is my usual practice to administer a physical exam but if your are unprepared, we can delay it until your third appointment,” he said cautiously, “but as you’ve disclosed your difficulties with conception, I do think it pertinent that I rule out any biological barriers.”

Your eyebrows shot up and you sucked in air. The only man who had ever seen beyond your dress was your husband and even with him you were shy. Still, he was a doctor and he might be able to help. You doubted yourself knowing that if you had time to think on it, you would refuse it altogether.

“If you advise it,” you stood rigidly, “I would permit it.”

He bowed his head and pulled the corner of the sheet taut on the table. He backed away and smoothed his white jacket as he went to the door.

“You only need remove your under garments and I will return in a moment. You will lay on the table and I will do a brief exam of your anatomy,” he guided, “Is this to your acceptance.”

“Doctor,” you said and watched him go, releasing a sigh when he was on the other side of the door.

You removed your leggings and drawers and folded them. You climbed onto the table and laid on your bad, your legs clenched together as your skirts felt thinner. You waited and tried to ease your nerves. The knock at the door spiked your pulse and you assured Dr. Rogers you were ready.

He entered and you listened to him move around. You squeezed your eyes shut and he neared the table. You quivered as he came near and his hand settled on the hem of your skirt. He stood at the foot of the table and his shadow coloured your eyelids.

“We’ll take it one step at a time, I will let you know everything I do before I do it,” he assured you, “now, I’m going to have you bend your legs.”

You nodded and kept your eyes closed and bent your legs. He touched your knees through the layers gently.

“Now part them,” he coaxed.

That was harder and as you obeyed, you felt a rush of air slip up your skirts. Your dress rustled and Dr. Rogers held the hem firm.

“I will now have a look,” you heard metal and flinched, “and I will use a special tool to do so. You will feel perhaps a cold touch and some pressure inside but I will be quick.”

You only nodded and gripped the sides of the table. He lifted your skirts entirely and you gasped. You felt the metal instrument on your most intimate part and he pressed it until it was slightly inside of you. He bent over you as he opened you up with the tool and removed it almost as suddenly as he’d applied it.

“Well, I see no abnormalities,” he set the instrument aside and fixed your skirts, “nothing which would cause difficulty.”

You sat up and turned your legs over the edge of the table. You felt your cheeks burn but he seemed entirely unbothered. You reminded yourself how usual the practice must have been for him.

“I would also recommend smelling salts if you do not already use them for when you feel faint or overcome and I will have a diet plan for you to take with you. Those might help improve your condition as well. I think for now,” he neared the door and paused with his hand on the handle, “that is enough change. It isn’t about pushing yourself, it is about little steps.”

“Thank you, doctor,” you said.

“And if you require anything, you needn’t wait for your next appointment. If you have questions, you may come in and ask,” he turned the handle slowly, “along with all we’ve gone over today, you will continue on with what we established since our first appointment.”

“Yes, doctor.”

He smiled and left you again. You slid off the table and reached for your undergarments. You dressed quickly and as you stepped out, Dr. Rogers bid you farewell. You hoped he could help you, that this wasn’t another lost cause.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #peter parker #steve rogers x reader #peter parker x reader #two shot #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #au #doctor au #mcu #marvel #spider-man #captain america #1900s #read the warnings #and don't be bitchin in my kitchen

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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago

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Forget Me Not Chapter 18 ~Infectious Madness~

Through heavy eyes and blurry vision, Willie stared at the door of a room in an abandoned and derelict manor house, hoping and praying Claire and Jamie would not walk through it. He knew it was wishful thinking as he could already see either one of them storming in like some avenging angel, demanding to take his place. On second thought, Jamie would have probably locked Claire somewhere in the hotel before bringing her anywhere near danger. They were both stubborn in their own ways, so much so, that it had frustrated him countless times.

When Annalise had ordered him at gunpoint to drive to the abandoned manor house, he hadn't been surprised. She knew of the place as she had seen it on the day he had volunteered to take her to the hospital. They had made a pit stop to look at the neglected structure after Willie saw it up for sale in the paper. Although he had his doubts about Annalise ever since she came to Lallybroch, his earlier suspicions of her lying about Claire being taken had made him extra cautious. Willie didn't want to take a risk and gamble Claire's life based on gut feeling. He knew he had to play his cards right as the lass was too perceptive for her own good.

He remembered the day when they had stopped at Ned Gowans office to deliver her documents, and he had told Annalise that the lawyer will sort out her papers so she can have access to the British healthcare. It wasn't a lie but what she didn't know was that her medical documents were also being checked for their authenticity. When he drove her back to Lallybroch, she had teased him about the way he had looked at Claire to which he had chosen to ignore despite feeling uncomfortable for her insightfulness.

Now sat on the dirty floor with his back up against the pillar, his hands were tightly secured behind the post. Annalise had used an industrial-sized cable tie used in their hotel kitchen, and he presumed she must have found them on his desk while snooping into his laptop. Under normal circumstances, he could have wrestled the gun from her, but the lass was clever. After arriving at the abandoned manor house, she had ordered him to stand by the pillar and to drink the bottled mineral water she threw at him. It must have been laced with some drugs prescribed for her own use, and it incapacitated him just adequately to lose his balance and coordination and make him drunk-like, long enough for her to tie his hands.

Glancing at the small clock Annalise had placed on a table, it had been forty minutes since she made the call to Claire. He wondered if Claire told Jamie or if she would come alone. If she didn't bring Jamie, he could be dead within the space of twenty minutes, leaving Claire to fend for herself.

Shut away in a small room, Willie barely heard the knock. Attempting to stay fully alert, he listened to Annalise's scraping movement on the wooden floor and the creaking of the entrance door opening. When Jamie's voice filtered through, he shook his head to clear the fogginess in his brain, and braced himself against the pillar, ready for any eventuality.

Suddenly, Jamie entered the room with hands in the air and not far behind was Annalise with the gun pointed at his back. Willie strained to see past them, looking for Claire but he didn't see her. Willie presumed Jamie must have left Claire without her knowing or did something to prevent her from coming. Either way, he didn't like seeing his brother there and offering himself a sacrifice. If anything happened to Jamie, Claire would be devastated. He could only hope Claire would stay away.

"Willie, ye alright?" Jamie's face was white as he looked over at his brother for any signs of injuries.

Willie could only manage a nod, saving all his energy for whatever might happen.

Jamie turned towards his ex-girlfriend. "Annalise, I'm here now. Let my brother go. I'll take ye back to France if that is yer wish." Leaving one hand up in the air, his other hand slowly reached for the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out two passports, his and hers. "We can go tonight and leave this all behind. Isn't this what ye want?"

"What about Claire? Where is she?"

"I made a mistake, Annalise. Ye need me, and I'm here to take ye home," Jamie said in a clear voice, but devoid of any emotion. "You don't need Willie. This is between us. And Claire is not coming, so ye can forget about her. Put the gun down now, please."

Willie was relieved to hear that Jamie managed to prevent Claire from getting involved. Although a part of him pained for her knowing any sacrifice on her behalf would destroy Claire, the relief overshadowed the pain.

Annalise tapped the gun against her thigh, considering Jamie's words. "I'll come with you, Jamie, but I need to get rid of him." She jutted her chin in Willie's direction, crazed eyes narrowing. "He tried to separate us, don't you see? It doesn't matter where in the world we go, he won't stop. Your brother is not interested in your happiness at all. Have you seen the way he looks at that English bitch?"

A low growl rumbled from Jamie. "Don't call Claire that," he said in a slow, deliberate tone. "She has been nothing but kind, and it was her idea to send me to France to look after ye. And I still want to do that. Come on, Annalise. Let Willie walk out of here, and we'll both go."

Annalise laughed. "Did you know your brother has a little folder in his desktop disguised as Italian recipes? Within the folder is another folder hiding his dirty little secret. There are pictures of Claire in it and a letter confessing his love for her and..."

"I never sent the letter, and that was from a couple of years ago..." Willie slurred the words out as he interrupted Annalise's rambling. He couldn't look at Jamie in the eye. Surely his wee brother knew that he would never have acted on what he felt for Claire. "It was a draft. I never sent it."

"Shut the fuck up!" she snarled, pointing the gun at him. "You ... you're finally going to get what's coming for you."

"Annalise, no!"

..........

Claire handed several pound notes to the taxi driver the second the vehicle slowed down, a reasonable distance away from the abandoned manor house. Not bothering to wait for her change, she opened the car's door and sprinted through the open field. Claire could see a faint light coming from the window of the derelict building, and just by the side of the road, Jamie's car was carelessly parked. Her heart thumped in her ears, stomach twisted in knots from worry that she had come too late.

When she left the hotel earlier, she had made a last-minute decision to send Geillis a voice message to let her know what was happening before switching her phone to silent. Relieved that Brian, Ellen and Jenny are safe, Claire focused her attention on the two brothers.

As she reached the house, she saw the entrance door was slightly ajar. Slowing her pace and calming her nerves, she slid past the opening, careful not to make any noise. Annalise's angry voice reached her in the front hallway giving Claire an idea someone was alive in there with her. Armed only with an antique pocket knife that belonged to her uncle Lamb, she reached out to the back of her jean pocket to make sure it was still there, hoping she wouldn't have to use it on Annalise. As much as possible, Claire tried not to give in to the waves of dread and worry she felt, knowing if she gave herself time to think, the thoughts would only serve to debilitate her.

Taking a deep breath, she followed the sound of Annalise's voice and pushed open the door that led to a small room. Scanning the scene in one quick swoop, Jamie's taut back was to her, ready to pounce as Annalise pointed the gun towards Willie. As soon as Willie had seen her, he tensed and shook his head, pleading her with his eyes.

Seeing that Willie was in the most danger, she rushed forward and inserted herself between Willie and the gun, ignoring Jamie's whispered expletives muttered under his breath. Immediately, Annalise lowered the weapon, eliciting loud gasps of relief from the brothers. Despite her jealousy towards the French girl, Claire had tried her best to make Annalise feel welcome in Lallybroch. A couple of times she had pastries sent to Annalise and had sent her text messages asking how she was. It must have counted for something, enough that Annalise let go of the trigger even if there was a hint of resentment in her eyes.

"Annalise, please put the gun down. It doesn't need to end this way." Claire was surprised at how her voice sounded steady and firm.

From behind her, she could hear Willie attempting to get on his feet despite his restrained hands. "Claire, please, get out of here, I beg of ye. Now!"

"What the hell are ye doin' Sassenach? Walk out of here now. I'm going with Annalise to take her back to France," Jamie said in a way that Claire would have believed that was his intention if she didn't know him any better.

Shaking her head, her eyes remained on Annalise and the gun. "I'm sorry, but I can't walk out of here. I want to make sure everyone is safe, including Annalise." She hoped Jamie and Willie won't say another word, intending to draw Annalise's attention to her. Extending her hand, she allowed everything except the girl in front of her to fade into nothingness, her measured breaths coming in time with her heartbeat. "Let me help you, Annalise. You are very ill, and you need to rest. Nobody is here to harm you." Claire knew Annalise had liver cirrhosis and understood too, after all the excitement, the fatigue caused by her illness would be enough to weaken her soon. She needed to stall.

Willie continuous shuffle from behind her didn't help her cause, as he was oblivious to Claire's progress. Whatever he had ingested, had dulled his reasoning. "Claire get out of here and walk away."

Annalise took a step sideways and re-aimed the gun at Willie. "He wants me to go to prison, and all I wanted is to be happy and be with Jamie. Is that too much to ask?" Then she aimed the gun back at Claire. "And you, you could have your pick of men, and you had to steal Jamie from me."

"Annalise, let's go and let them be. We'll drive to the airport now, and we could take the next flight to Paris," Jamie interrupted, extending a hand.

Annalise shook her head, muttering to herself, as she redirected the gun back to Willie. "He hates me, he wants me to go to prison. I can't have that, can we now? My family held me as a prisoner before. I'd die first before I go to jail. I'm sorry, Jamie. This is the only way."

Claire turned to look at Willie and her alarmed gaze connected to his. The resignation was etched on his face, as he nodded to her in reassurance. "It's alright, Claire. I've messed this up. This is all my fault."

Turning back around, she found Annalise's finger tightening on the trigger. Without thinking, Claire moved and threw herself in front of Willie to shield him from the oncoming bullet. At the very last second, there was movement behind her as if Jamie had anticipated her move. Using his body, he jumped too to protect her and Willie, his muscular frame spasming at the impact of the gunfire.

Blood rushed to her ears as she felt Jamie's body collapse behind her, both of them falling onto the floor beside Willie. Using all the strength she could muster with her hands, she turned around under his weight to get hold of him. Wrapping her arms around his upper torso to keep him upright, she felt thick moisture gushing over her hands. Blood! Oh, no, no, please! This can't be happening. "Oh, God, Jamie, please." From a distant, she could hear sirens approaching.

"Claire, untie me, please," Willie whispered, his voice trembling in panic.

Straining her head, Claire saw Annalise momentarily distracted by the gun she held in her shaking hand, staring at it in shock. Gently sliding from under the weight of Jamie so as not to aggravate his injury further, she crawled behind the pillar to unfasten the cable-tie on Willie's hand with her pocket knife. Once he was released, she shed her jacket and yanked her sweatshirt off and pressed it against Jamie's wound, while Willie, wobbly on his feet, tackled Annalise to the floor, kicking the gun out of the room.

"Jamie, look at me... stay with me, alright? We're going to get through this." Claire applied more pressure to his wound, as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Blue eyes dulled with pain stared back at her. "Sassenach, this isn't yer fault, ok? I don't want ye to waste yer time blaming yersel'. He winced, his face contorted in pain. "Christ, I love ye so much. Always have."

His words wrenched a sob from her, unaware of the police that stormed into the room and took a shocked Annalise away. "I love you too, Jamie. Don't speak. Just stay awake for me and listen to my voice. Help is on the way."

Based on his expression, Claire knew her face betrayed the deranged agony battering her inside.

"Where's Willie?"

Claire's pulse leapt in panic as Jamie's tensed body slumped, appearing to be on the brink of unconsciousness. Trying her best to keep her sanity intact, she swallowed the dread back, her throat burning like it had been scorched with acid as a shrill whirring sound took resident inside her skull.

"Hey, I'm right here. The ambulance has arrived." Willie gently lifted Jamie's head and placed his jacket underneath.

"Listen to me, bràthair," Jamie wheezed. "Ye'll take care of Claire... promise me that. I need ye to promise me that."

"Don't be daft." Willie choked down the emotion, trying to be brave for all of them. "Ye'll be on yer feet soon to take care of ..."

"Damn it! Promise me!" Jamie gasped, his complexion turning grey by the second.

"I promise."

Jamie nodded his head and then his eyelids slowly drooped, succumbing to the grasps of unconsciousness. "Jamie!" When he didn't respond, excruciating pain ripped through Claire's heart, as she screamed curses to the ceiling, unaware of Willie lifting her off the floor and Geillis trying to get hold of her face. Her arms frantically reached out for Jamie, her feet kicking and body twisting against a sturdy grip that held her when the paramedics placed Jamie's immobile body on the stretcher and wheeled him away.

#melodyheart #forgetmenot #Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser #outlanderfanfic

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deniigi · 6 years ago

Note

Hello! Just about to sit down and read your newest fic, so excited about it! I had a question for you (you very well may have answered this already, so sorry in advance!), but do you have advice for writing? Advice in terms of getting start, plotting out stories, helping get the creative juices flowing? I have all these ideas but seem to lack the drive to get things written out. I know the best advice is to just write, but I'm having a horrible time starting. What do you do in those moments?

Hello my dear!

Sorry for taking so long to get back to you. The lord has blessed me with a head cold and ruined all my plans of productivity for the day, so I can finally answer this ask! I’ll talk a little bit about both how to get started with a story and then some little things that help me motivate myself.

I have started a tag for writing advice here: http://deniigi.tumblr.com/tagged/writing-advice

This is going to be a long post, sorry mobile users.

I am going to preface all of this with the understanding that I am technically a professional writer in terms of like, a handful of ways, but I have absolutely zero training in creative writing, so take everything I say with a grain of salt!

So, I personally find that, on the whole, that psychological hurdle of getting started comes a lot from the anticipation of the kind of response a story will get (how many hits, how many comments, how many kudos) in addition to a bit of anxiety or fear over theloss of sustained interest in that story (by yourself and/or by your audience). I find that this can be alleviated by really, truly internalizing the understanding that you are allowed to write your work however you damn please, for whoever you damn please.

There will be work you write for others, and there will be work you write for yourself. Not all work needs to be published; sometimes, it is really nice to just write shit for yourself; it is a plus for humanity if you decide to share it with others, but you do not have to do that.

Furthermore, I would like to present you with this:

This is what my current folder for under fire looks like. And you might notice that there are almost always multiple drafts per chapter. Yes, I did in fact rewrite chapter four 5 fucking times, you bet your ass I did. And I’m not ashamed of it. I think the story is better for it. And that’s the important thing here: you do not need to produce a perfect draft the first time around. You will not produce that perfect draft. Accept this. Embrace this. Embrace it and your cat at the same time to really ingrain it as a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Liberate yourself from the pressure of needing to produce the perfect, most right draft and you may find starting the piece overall to be a much easier, more pleasant experience.

And along with this beautiful, uplifting spiritual advice, I also bring a practical thought: when it comes to getting started, a lot of times, people feel like they need to set the stage, yadda yadda yadda. Ha. No. Fuck that.

That’s a surefire way to bore the shit out of yourself. Start right in the middle of a scene that captivates you if that’s what you want to write. It’s a free platform. No one’s gonna arrest you if you stick Spiderman upside down in trash first thing. They might even applaud you actually, because you didn’t make them slog through some of that ‘It was the evening of the 25th and it was cold out in the streets” bullshit we all learned from Dickens.

Alright. Now let’s talk about actually getting started making words appear on paper.

So, from my knowledge there are generally two ways that folks write creatively. You have what I’m going to call the planners and then you what I’m going to call the monsters (I call them this entirely affectionately, I’m sure there’s a better word for these folks, but I don’t have it atm, all I have is a headcold). Planners are folks who sit down and work out their major plot points, who write outlines, and who create the scaffolding of their work before they set out on their magical journey. I think of these folks as architects.

And then you have the monsters and these are those fuckers who just sit down and write stream of consciously like the heathens all our high school teachers tried to teach us not to be.

I am both a planner and a monster. And a lot of that depends on the length of work I’m going for. I have never in my life planned a one-shot, for example. I just attack that as it is. I follow my heart, if you will. But when it comes to longer chaptered fics, I really do think that some outlining is super helpful.

You might find it useful for one-shots, though, I dunno. Maybe give it a try and see what happens?

The two main fics I’ve done proper outlines for are Inimitable and under fire and I actually find outlining to be immensely helpful in psyching me up to write the story (I go through and re-read my outlines when I start to lose interest or diverge too much from the plot outlined there in the actual writing. 9 times out of 10, re-reading gets me stupid excited to write all over again) and it also helps me keep momentum going throughout the plot.

Here’s a pic of some pages of under fire’s outline.

Physically writing the work is really important for me because it forces me to only put down key points/feelings/ideas I want to include, whereas typing gives me far too much room to get lost/distracted by extraneous detail. And since my handwriting is a teacher’s worst nightmare and I cross out shit and write huge with emotion, I’ll give you a little bit of what the middle page here says:

Miles-

there’s something thrumming

vibrating in his ears wherever he goes

-closes his eyes and somehow enters blackness- emptyness (Stranger Things style)

beat

“help.”

–BACK - everything is gone

closing his eyes doesn’t bring the space back

–it makes him panic. He doesn’t know why. His heart is pounding. He’s sweating He has a horrible feeling of doom.

beat

its gone.

he goes home anxiously. Pretends everything is normal.

his neck crawls

So basically it’s less of a formal outline and more of a collection of stream of consciousness feelings and screenplay directions which I’ll flesh out in the actual story.

Personally, I love writing these kinds of things because they get me pumped for the story I’m about to tell. I get to write out the key scenes and work through all the hard parts first, and then, while I’m writing, I work through the little fun details and banter and I have to write to figure out how we get from one scene to the next and I love the challenge of having to fit those pieces together. I very rarely stick strictly to my outline, (as anyone who is currently reading under fire can tell you right now), but I do try to stick to the main plot points in it and my writing is certainly better for it.

So yes. Outlining is very good, but it is even better when you do it to some kind of music. I listened to What’s Up Danger from the Into the Spiderverse soundtrack on repeat while I wrote this outline to kind of transfer some of the relentless pace conveyed in that song to the piece’s plot.

I highly recommend using music to set the mood of your piece while/before you write a piece of any length. It helps get you in the right headspace (excited or somber or angry) to write. You need emotion to write creatively. You can’t just make that happen sometimes; you need a little help.

A couple other things which might help:

1. Leave your house or the space you’re normally in. Go to a cafe and find a nice corner and have a think and a try in there. Sometimes moving to a different space helps you escape cyclical thinking patterns.

2. Write what you want to read. Don’t bother writing for other peoples’ interests; that’ll just bore the shit out of you all over again.

3. Find an atmospheric mood sound to listen to on Youtube or smth (I personally like Rain on a Car Windshield for slightly somber fics, but you might be into ocean storms or dripping caves or whatever).

4. Heat your feet. I don’t know why but I am entirely unproductive when my feet are cold. Maybe this one is me-specific, but whatevs. Heat the feets!

5. If you’re still having trouble just sitting down and pounding the story out, that’s okay! Maybe it’s not ready to be written yet. Maybe you’re not in the right headspace yet. Sometimes that’s just how it is. One story makes its way out in like, a hour, and the next one takes like, months to finally be written. We all work at different paces. We all write for different reasons.

It might help to figure out why you want to write a story before you write it. Like, if its for attention, it’s gonna be hard as hell. But if there’s an idea that you feel like is important or if there’s a mood you’re trying to work yourself into or out of, then that might be a little easier. For example, I wrote a piece called make it work which is about Fogs finding his motivation to be a lawyer and fight for justice when Kavanaugh was confirmed and I felt super helpless in the face of our present justice system. That story kind of wrote itself and it needed to be written, I feel, not just for me, but for others who were feeling just as helpless.

Writing is catharsis in that way. Maybe you just need to find out what you need to wring out of your soul.

Sorry that got very metaphysical. But I do want to stress that getting started and ending a story are the hardest parts of writing them, so you are definitely not alone if you feel like you’re ramming your head into a wall here.

I hope something here helps you, my dear!

#fic #writing advice #fanfiction #managingmischiefsince1988

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aharris00britney · 7 years ago

Photo

ASKS 06

Ummmm stuff I’ve ignored and let build up ;-; MM hairlines, a pic of me, default replacement hairs, donation stuff, using my hair conversion meshes, a male hair wip, recolor requests, and other stuff UwU

Anonymous said: face reveal?

lmao this is from October but I never take pics of myself besides snapchat so UwU

@wildfire607 said: I love your content for the game! I have my notifications on for you. Much love from Texas. ♥️

omggg thank you!!!! literally I don’t feel like people would have notifications on for me ;n; again, thank you so much <3

@standardheld said: Hey there! I know you don’t take requests so take it as an idea. Maybe you’ll like it. Otherwise, please don’t feel forced to do anything! So here’s the idea: I haven’t fount an adult’s version of you YeoJin hairs with big pigtails. Remember Cassandra Goth from The Sims 2? It think it would look beautiful and I know you’ve got the necessary talent. If you like the idea, please let me know :)

Hello!!! Lmao I am kinda swamped rn to start ‘new’ things BUTBUTBUT I don’t mind if somebody uses my conversion meshes like YeoJin Hair since all it is is a conversion. So if u wanna do it or wanna ask some other people, feel free!! <3

@pxelsquid said: The WIP hair in your play list post is so beautiful! I can’t wait for it!

Thanks! Planning to get it out in the next week or so

Anonymous said: What do you use donations for?

(answer in bold) lmao I actually don’t get many, at least not enough for them to go towards anything. But I do get a few dollars every couple of months (and that still makes me super happy to see ty to anyone who has donated ever UwU) lmao so I don’t really know what the donations go towards though I guess packs?? which rn I prob wouldn’t buy a pack w/donation money bc irl stufffff but I would think donations on a sims account should go to more sims stuff if you don’t need to money for personal life situations :)

Anonymous said: Hello! Would you ever consider some of your hairs for male sims?

You should be able to disable to masculine filter and see them?? If not go in S4S and edit the tags to let it be seen

Anonymous said: about your last hair: NOPE.

all night all night all niiiiiiiight ✨

Anonymous said: I’m so happy you made the Jennie Hair without headband! I really like it so far. Good job!

Yay!! I’m glad you like it. Thank you so much <3

Anonymous said: When will you be releasing the braids on your post /post/168877609911/ ?

Yeah!! They’ve been done a while, hopefully they should get posted soon. Here is a link if u want early accessssssssssssss UwU

Anonymous said: why did u and yoshi break up?

Richard ( @cas-fulleditmode ) shares the same fetish as me (M*** P**f) lmao im kiddingggggg UwU me and @ayoshi are married in Korea still

Anonymous said: BOOOOOI! HAVE YOU HEARD “BLACK DRESS” BY CLC? IT. IS. LIT

i dont think u get…. my k-pop obsession ;-; lmao I literally keep up with like every girl group and watch the album teasers/everything UwU I still prefer Where Are You? to Black Dress though.

Anonymous said: Are you friends with grimcookies?

to an extend I think so, yes. We have only messaged a few times in the past week or so bc of memessssss

Anonymous said: Can you please post some eyes or tell me where I can download cc eyes? I hate the eyelashes that sims has.

My resource page has the eyes I use and the no EA eyelashes mod link :)

@saurussims said: Pass the happy! 💛 When you get this, reply with 5 things that make you happy and send this to the last 10 people in your notifications!

My birthday is this month so I’m happy about that lmao

Loona

my pug UwU

my friendssss

getting new clothing

Anonymous said: aghhhh your sim style is so nice! Have a nice day!

Thank you so much!!

Anonymous said: Hello! ^_^ I just dropped by to tell you how much I appreciate your hard work in making hairs. I don’t know how much time it takes you to make such wonderful creations, but they definitely made my sims better-looking for your CCs are amazing and they are of matching lengths and styles that really made planning my sims’ hairstyles easier <3 Sorry I’m too broke to donate, and all I can do is THANK YOU :( But please know that you deserve all the praises you get. More power to you and your blog! <3

omggg this is so sweet ;-; thank you!!! I really really really appreciate stuff like this. <3

Anonymous said: Would you consider making more hairs (preferably a long, casual style and maybe a ponytail?) with the Candie/Maja bangs? They’re soooo cute!

I have made another hair with those bangs. Hopefully it gets posted soon :)

Anonymous said: Can you please make the laundry day hairstyles base game compatible?

I actually didn’t buy laundry stuff lmao college/senior payments are taking all my money rn so I prob won’t get any packs anytime soon :P

Anonymous said: all i want in life is curly maxis match boy hairs ahhh :((((((((

aweeee I am really bad at male hairs or I would try :( this is a male hair I did the other day and it is super super basic but like I’m surprised it wasn’t super fucked up ;-;

@jacazul said: ✨💛 This is the Amazing Person Award! Once you are given this award you are supposed to paste it in the ask of eight different people, who, in your opinion, deserve it. If you break the chain nothing will happen, but it is sweet to know someone thinks you’re amazing inside and out 💛✨ <3333

Thank you!!! <3

Anonymous said: how do you get all your sims to look so cute??? every time i think i’ve made a super cute sim i see one of your sims on my dash and i’m like WHOA NEVERMIND THEN. seriously tho what are your secrets

ummmm I use all my sims and then just do ‘make twin/sibling’ and then I get a clone to mold like clay wedgfhv

Anonymous said: which recolor palettes do you recommend for hairs? I like the EA colors but I would like to try some others.. especially after seeing the hair color you put on your sim with the jennie hair in your latest post

Obvi I like the anathema palette bc I put my hairs in that, but the saccharine (?) is really really good and there are tons of hairs in that. and the WMS palette is so so so good there are just too many swatches for me to do that palette tbh

Anonymous said: Are you going to make more hairs that are ombre accessory compatible?

Maybe! I am not sure tbh, it depends on the mesh I use and abunch of other factors :)

Anonymous said: Question, I love your Jisoo hair, it’s well done, but the ombre part, what’s the file name and how do you download it? I’m a noob when it comes to this. Sorry to bother you.

file name -> JisooHairOmbreNaturals[AH00B].package

just put it in your mods folder like you would normal CC. It is in accessories :)

Anonymous said: I’m legit falling in love with you and all these cc’s ❤❤❤

<3333 Thanksssssss UwU

Anonymous said: not to rush you but are any male sims coming out soon :0

My male sim has been in my drafts with all the CC links and everything the past MONTH but I haven’t had the motivation to export his download file omggg. He is on my gallery @ spotharris if u really really want him right now

@bob10112006

said:

I love you and thank you for your cc and can you make not so berry cc?thanks!

People have made recolors of my cc in not so berry colors :) check my sideblog @aharris00britneyrecolors

Anonymous said: Hi! Are you planning to make the Go Won hairs into a bob? the same hair and all but shorter. I just think it will look really nice as a bob.

Maybe?? no plans as of right now though

Anonymous said: please upload your red-ish haired sim! :) x

Already did, check my sim download page

Anonymous said: damn, those new hair really sucks. sorry… but. yeah.

well maybe if you stanned LOONA then you would like them UwU

Anonymous said: I checked out your sim page, they’re so gorgeous! I remember at some point last year you mentioned maybe sharing Briella after you stopped using her, and I haven’t seen her in a while in your posts. Have you considered sharing her or is she just officially retired? She was a very cute sim and is iconic!

Briella wasn’t actually my sim! Her original download post is here

@ayoshi said: Are you gonna tell your followers why you didn’t give me a valentine gift or…???

Me and @cas-fulleditmode were too busy to take a stop in korea sorry UwU

Anonymous said: heey :) could you maybe put the hairlines your were talking about in the latest post for download? i use hairlines myself and i really like your hairs in tge palette you are using and i can’t find any hairlines in it soo? could you do that? :)

the hairlines I made are actually in the saccharine palette bc so many clayified hairs come in that palette lmao. They are kinda messy rn but if I eve use them on a sim download ill link them there :)

Anonymous said: Could you please recolour some of wild-pixel’s hairs in the palette?

Anonymous said: can we give you recolor requests?

Idk if I will do recolors that often but when I do I kinda just do what hairs I find myself using at that time :P

Anonymous said: Will u ever upload girl from “tell me why, why i’m so lonely” post?? Please consider it, she is soooo cute 😍😍😍

I didnt save her :(

@investedwheat40 said: Would you ever consider uploading your joy hair as a default replacement for that one hair Zoe Patel wears?

Prob not since it uses different textures/shadows and stuff, it would be the same size and stuff as the normal Joy hair

Anonymous said: Is there any way to download you models? Because I live how they looks and really want to use them.

I got this before I made my sim download page, but lmao here is a link to my sim download page :P

#asks

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jfleurcannon · 5 years ago

Text

oh fuck. a hysterectomy story.

just so i don't have to go through explaining. please visit links and read up if you are interested, i simplified it AF and wiki'd the source, otherwise, this is legit not the place for you. i talk about things, life, whatnot, and my life is fucking bullshit sometimes.

endometriosis

adenomysosis

fibromyalgia - i'm not even gonna get into this one. because, as the doctor who diagnosed me said, 'not many people believe in this one, so maybe don't say that you have it out loud.' but chalk that guy up for chronic musculoskeletal & joint pain in my wrists, arms, shoulders, back, butt, and knees. but 🤫.

i'm sure y'all know wtf depression and anxiety are, i see those #bellletstalk tags. it's been with me for years, since i guess the chronic pain started. i got my period and wondered why the fuck i was the only one who got sick, like sick. fainting, knocking over a mannequin display at the eddie bauer at fairview mall (you're welcome, sisters), passing out at school and having to be carried out by julie (thank you, sister), missing so many activities and things i wanted to do but couldn't. having 'jenn's always sick anyways' thrown in my face by a childhood friend, being made to feel bad about pain and not wanting to be in the mood, having to cancel plans last minute because of pending pain, side effects from meds i'm taking that make me sick, but not quite as sick as the original problem - so i deal. like i deal with it all. [like a warrior. i have held my pain like the damn death star. my uterus is the death star. except that time i carried and birthed a baby, and then it was fucking AWESOME!] typically it's bottom shelf paper bag internalized. and for years my solution was to therapy it out, or shove the feels down hard so i developed massive GI issues, or maybe that is the endo, who the fuck knows. fast forward years of therapy and a shit ton of medication and three suicide attempts, the final one being in 2007. i was hospitalized for the final attempt at sunnybrook's mental health ward. the F ward, i shit you not. i felt like girl intrurrupted, but there was no winona or angelina. there was a pam and a joan. no padded room, but i couldn't leave to go outside for the first week. that was fucked up.

pain is pain, and although i am a fan of ja-rule, pain has never equaled love to me. it has only left me with an overwhelming hate for parts of my life, that were always plagued by illness, pain, and brewing depressive state. i would get sick for long, long periods of time and there would be no reason for it. had i known then what i had (endo, adeno, fibro, MFGT's) it would have made sense. two of the three are auto-immune diseases. i get a cold, and i really get it. i lose my voice, and it's gone for months.

the only fast thing i've done is labour and delivery. it might seem strange to put the birth of my child in the pain category, however the story will explain why in a mo. i arrived at the hospital at 10am at 2cm dilated, upon exam by a nurse i pushed and my water broke, i was put in a wheelchair and brought to wait for a L&D room, outside the exam room and in the tiny hallway, there my insides tore open, quite literally, nerve damage, and rapid labour. i screamed and screamed and was told to wait while they got things ready. i mean. i thought i was dying. why was this happening so fast? my husband came back up as i was being brought into the room (i think, some details are fuzzy). i was examined by a doctor and was at 10cm. it hadn't been more than 10 minutes since i had arrived. i remember things moving too quickly for me and i was very panicked that something was wrong. i remember being told the boy's heartbeat was becoming compromised and we needed to get him out. options included a C-section, forceps, or the vacuum. all terrified me as i literally was without ANY pain management. we opted for the vacuum and they offered me laughing gas as a super sad knife-in-the-back compromise. i took it, but the hell? AT THAT VERY MOMENT I WANTED THE SWEET, SWEET NECTAR OF THE ALL POWERFUL EPIDURAL! four pushes with the vacuum on and the boy was born, at 10:35am. in 35 minutes i arrived at the hospital had my baby, like whatevs, and held him while being stitched up. naturally there were stitches. i can't even with that pain. OMG. people say you won't remember the labour pain and that 'it'll just go away when you see your perfect baby', you know what? they lied to your face, or they had an epidural, or they didn't experience rapid labour. 2-10 in 5 minutes. they did not teach me that in L&D class. i wanted ice chips, and the tub, and the playlist of music, and maybe a pelvic roll or two on the ball, but no, miles wanted his entrance to be dramatic and fast and it was nothing less than that.

any and all of the things i've battled have stayed with me like wearing a cloak, all day everyday i feel pain, whether it's physical, mental, emotional, or otherwise, i feel it. i can't see it but i fucking feel it. with diagnosis always come the waiting game of endless specialists, tests, interventions by way of oral medication, physical therapy, walking epidurals, suppositories in my ass or vag, chiropractor visits, along with visits to acupuncture, massage, GP, GYNE, and psychologists.

after a thirty year battle, and almost one year of keeping this in my drafts folder, i finally have felt an end to my endometriosis and adenomyosis pain. a hysterectomy and final excision of endo from nerve clusters fused together because of it, i can breathe. i can breathe clearly and without a constant fear of nausea, hot flashes, bizarre mood swings because of the menopausal state the IUD was causing, and chronic pelvic/back/low abdomen/bowel pain. i still have a 44 year old body and permanent nerve damage from rapid labour and negligence from a past surgeon, but holy hot hell it's nice to not want to punch people in the face for asking you how you feel. i know that's not a normal reaction to that question. i get that. however, as someone who has suffered from chronic pain her whole adult life, it is the hardest question to answer honestly. how you feel sometimes is like shit, or crap, or a god damn mess, or you just don't want to talk, especially to that person but you can't say it. so you answer, 'fine', 'great', or 'living the dream'. is the honest answer the best answer? it may not be, but it's the one with the least amount of follow up questions or lengthy conversation to follow. i love things, and flowers, and coffee, and white wine, and my man friend, and my kid, and my family, and a handful of others - but for the most part i would honestly prefer not to talk to anyone about anything. it's all the same conversation anyway. and i'm tired. tired of listening. tired of talking/hearing my own voice. tired of noise. in need of quiet and calm. my one year surgery anniversary is coming up and i'm looking forward to it. i have never looked forward to a post surgery anything because those have always led to more surgeries. but the doctor from brazil with the 'small hands' did the job this time. removed the death star and its accompanying bullshit organs (tubes and cervix) and we are good to go now. she works again, without pain 😉

surgeries for endometriosis & adenomyosis

2006 - laser laparoscopic discovery of endo

2009 - stage IV endo excision via laparoscopy

2015 - laser laparoscopic removal of endo & appendectomy

2016 - endo excision via laparoscopy

2019 - full hysterectomy (minus ovaries) and extensive endo excision on nerve clusters fused together

#hysterectomy #endometriosis #adenomyosis #fibromyalgia #depression #anxiety #rapid labour

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