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lex9923 · 1 month

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Tw// SA

This will be my one and only official statement on this situation, because frankly I’m done with all of this mental hopscotch happening.

I am a sexual assault victim. I was the same age as Caiti is now when it happened, and I was cornered with his hands down my pants touching my vagina and up my shirt touching my boobs, while I tried to get away and make it stop. I still to this day don’t know who my attacker was, but it will follow me for the rest of my life. It’s been five years since then, and my story has not changed once. Not ever. I hadn’t told people for a couple years cause I thought since I didn’t know who my attacker was, I wouldn’t be believed. As well as the fact that I came forward about a sexual harassment I faced at a job and was met with “well, boys will be boys”. Through it all, I am here, and I survived.

Watching the reaction to this situation from both of the main parties involved, those who weren’t there, those who were, and the fans had sent me spiraling. I’ve spent the past two weeks reliving that trauma from five years ago cause I thought I misinterpreted my assault as something else. I had not, and never have. It’s been incredibly invalidating watching the alleged “victim” change the story multiple times, make fake texts, omit important information, all while not even listening to the person she accused of a criminally offensive act.

Caiti is absolutely allowed to feel uncomfortable and regret what happened after the fact, but it is not, and will not ever be assault-unless George actually did touch her boobs, and then that will be a different discussion, but with her credibility disappearing, I’ll only believe it if he admits it himself. I’m trying to extend grace to her being young, sexually inexperienced, and caught up in online culture, but it’s hard the longer this gets dragged out. There are things you do when approaching a situation like this:

1. You absolutely need to provide evidence and proof of your claims. You can’t prove something that never happened, but you can prove something that did. It’s why it’s innocent until proven guilty. Expecting people to blindly believe you is delusional at worst and ignorant at best.

2. You must absolutely have your story 100% correct and factual to how you perceived what happened, before bringing forth any accusations. Using purposefully charged language and then changing the story to match the one you accused is not it. Nor is changing your story yet again when people are catching on to the inconsistencies.

3. Allow the accused person to defend themself. You can’t expect people to listen to all of your claims-most of them blindly doing so-and then get upset when people wait for both sides to say their piece, especially when you present no evidence at your initial statement. Again, you have to prove guilt. If you can’t prove it, the accused are allowed to defend themself.

4. You are in no way obligated to accept apologies, but acknowledging one was made-multiple times in fact- is the bare minimum. Trying to change your story one last time to make it seem even worse than what you both agreed upon, and then hiding behind “I’m not going to address this anymore” is manipulative at worst and cowardly at best.

I hope Caiti gets therapy, cause it’s clear she’s been severely affected by something, though I’m not sure she even knows what it is. I also hope she learns from this, and next time utilizes the “direct message” function every single app has. This could have been a dm, and the way it spiraled has been a shitshow and her intentions are coming off less and less pure the more this gets dragged out. I’m so sorry she was uncomfortable, and regretful, but until she shows any proof whatsoever of any assault happening, it will never be. I hope she heals, and I hope she gets better friends cause they have all failed her.

For George, I’m sorry this got blown so out of proportion and no one even privately talked to him about any uncomfortability being felt. I’m sorry his friends are performative. I’m hopeful that he was made aware of things he wasn’t before, and will do better next time. He is not irredeemable, and I believe growth is possible (the difference in his two responses proves as such). I hope this isn’t the last we see of him or his content, and I hope he can heal from this as well.

To my fellow SA survivors, I’m so incredibly sorry that our trauma has been thrown around like this. Our hurt and pain do not deserve to be mocked in this way, and I wish it would’ve never even happened. You’re stronger than what happened, regardless of how shitty this situation has been for us. And as a 24 year old, I like to consider myself a big sister of sorts, so I love all of you. We got through it then, we’ll do it again.

Speaking woman to woman, I’m sorry this has been so messed up. This will make it harder for us to come forward in the future and that is indescribably frustrating. However, that does not take away from the pain and hurt we went through, and I hope if you do have the strength to come forward, you are believed.

I’m done with this whole situation. It should not have come to this point, and if you stayed this far, I greatly appreciate you reading this. One last time. Caiti, I’m sorry you were so uncomfortable. Get therapy, better friends, and take a break from the internet. George, I hope you learn from this situation, and I’m sorry you were made out to be a criminally offensive person before giving your side or anyone ever speaking to you.

I hope you both heal.

I hope sexual assault victims having to relive trauma, and are affected by this continue to heal.

I love you all.

Lex

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fortheloveofwonderland · 9 months

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Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 14 | S.R

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A/N - this fic deals with some very dark themes such as drug use, self-harm and suicidal ideation. Please proceed with caution and Minors DNI. There is a reader insert but it is very Spencer-centric.

Chapter Summary - Spencer makes a decision regarding Cat. But before he has a chance to follow through he makes a startling realisation that could very well be his undoing.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - mentions of Cat Adam’s, talk of death penalty, therapy, brief mention of masturbation, swearing.

WC - 4.7k

Chapter 14 - Sympathy for the Devil

Another few days passed and there was still no sign of you. Either this really was all in his head or you were avoiding him. But honestly, Spencer didn’t have any free brain capacity to think about it.

His every waking thought revolved around Cat Adam’s and her death sentence and whether or not he had the strength to see her one last time. He wrote about it extensively in his journal, hoping getting it out of his head and onto paper would help him make sense of it all, but it didn’t.

If I see her then I’m basically admitting defeat, I’m playing my hand and letting her have a front row seat to the destruction she’s caused. There’s no hiding what I am. I can put on a smart suit and wear my best poker face but she’ll see right through me.

Cat always does.

She’ll see it in my eyes, the way she’s broken me beyond repair. She’ll be able to tell the full extent of the damage she’s done to me and I don’t want her to have the satisfaction.

But on the other hand, I’m still alive. I may be barely hanging on by a thread but I am alive. And she’ll be dead soon and a part of me wants her to see that she didn’t ruin me completely.

Just mostly.

One thing I do know absolutely is that this is the most I’ve wanted to relapse in weeks. I would kill a man right now for one more hit, one more shot of dilaudid.

I would wrap my hand around someone’s throat, squeezing until their pulse became thready beneath my fingers and watch as the life drained from their eyes. All for one more release.

That fucking bitch shattered me into so many pieces that I’m not sure I’ll ever be whole again. Yet I’m still thinking about seeing her because for whatever reason, I feel bound to her.

She wasn’t wrong when she said we were the same, prison showed me that I am more like her than I could have ever dreamed. When I hurt those men, when I poisoned the drug supply, I became bound to her in ways I never believed possible.

Maybe because she’s the only one who would understand. She’s the only person who could identify with the fact I liked hurting those men. And somehow that enslaved us. It bonded us in ways deeper than if her baby had been mine.

Don’t get me wrong, I hate her more than I ever thought it possible to hate another human being. I would have killed her with my bare hands if JJ hadn’t stopped me and I would have slept well. But her dying doesn’t change anything. Her dying doesn’t suddenly make me a better person. It won’t change the fact I was in prison, it won’t change the fact I am a drug addict.

Her death won’t make my life better or worse. The damage is already done, there’s no way to change that. But at least if she’s dead she might stop haunting my every dream, worming her way into every facet of my life.

Still, the question remains: am I strong enough to see her one last time before she’s put to death?

Maggie glanced up from the journal in her lap to Spencer who was fiddling with his sleeves and chewing on the inside of his cheek. He’d barely spoken in their sessions for days and he still didn’t want to talk about Cat, but reading his journal would help her get an insight.

“Who is Cat?” She asked placing her hands on the pages as if to absorb more information.

“She’s the reason I went to prison. She was a hitwoman. I outsmarted and arrested her so in return she had me arrested.” Spencer didn’t look at her.

“You know I have more questions, right?”

“I assumed as much. Go ahead.” He grazed his slowly growing nails over the back of his hand, able to scratch himself lightly now.

“You wrote about poisoning a drug supply and hurting people? What happened?” Her fingers drummed lightly on the page.

“I was being threatened in prison. If I didn’t help them move these drugs they would have killed me. I needed to buy myself some time. A lot of men ended up really sick, and I didn’t feel bad for it.” He scuffed his shoe on the carpet, watching the way his foot moved back and forth.

“I imagine it was dog eat dog. You had to look out for yourself.”

Spencer suddenly looked up at her, an almost dangerous look in his eyes.

“You don’t understand.” He frowned. “I wanted to kill those men. And not just for self preservation. I wanted them dead because I wanted to see how it would feel. I only felt bad that they didn’t die.”

He saw Maggie swallow before she tore her eyes off of him and looked back at his journal.

“And you mentioned a baby?” She changed the subject. “A baby that wasn’t yours but it could have been?”

“We never had sex.” He was quick to say. “She uh…she claimed to have me sexually assaulted by her partner but I never believed that was true.”

“Burying your head in the sand?” Maggie narrowed her eyes on him.

“No. The science doesn’t add up. The drugs she used to make me hallucinate flood the brain with serotonin. Its effects are similar to MDMA in that it’s nearly impossible to…uh…” he averted his gaze as his cheeks started to burn. “It’s difficult to get an erection.”

“I see.” Maggie was, as usual, unphased. “So this woman had you arrested and then pretended to be pregnant with your child. It all sounds like a power play.”

“Oh it is. Everything is a game to her. And I’m her pawn.”

“Why are you showing me this?” Maggie closed the journal and focused on him.

He thought it was fairly obvious.

“I need you to tell me what to do. She’s being executed in two weeks and I need to know if I should see her or not.” He continued scratching at the back of his hand. It wasn’t anywhere near as satisfying as when his nails were longer but it helped.

“I can’t tell you what to do, Spencer. That’s a decision you need to make on your own. You say you’re already struggling with your sobriety just thinking about her?”

“Yes.” He grinded his teeth. “Very much so.”

“Well then seeing her will only make that worse, surely?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“But if I don’t see her, she’ll think she’s won. I can’t have her going to her grave thinking she beat me.”

“So maybe you should see her.”

“You’re no help.” He growled.

“I told you, I can’t make this decision for you. Only you can decide if you’re strong enough to handle seeing her.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs.

“I don’t think I am.” Spencer huffed. “But I won’t ever get another chance.”

“Think about it. You don’t need to make any rash decisions.”

But Spencer was the king of rash decisions. And so no sooner was he done with his therapy session he found himself at the bank of phones patients were allowed to use, dialling a familiar number. Luke answered on the second ring.

“Luke Alvez.”

“Hi, it’s me. Spencer.” Spencer leant against the wall, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Hey, is everything ok?” Luke sounded concerned.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” He took a breath and closed his eyes. “I want to do it.”

“To do it?” Luke’s frown could be heard down the phone.

“Yes. I want to see Cat before she’s executed.” Even as the words left his lips he wasn’t sure about them.

But he didn’t think he’d ever be sure. He could sit and think about it until he was blue in the face but he’d never be sure what to do either way. He’d regret seeing her and he’d regret not seeing her.

It was a catch twenty-two with no possible good outcome. So ultimately he just had to go with his gut. And his gut told him he needed to see her one last time. Saying it out loud made him instantly wish he had a needle of dilaudid waiting for him.

“You…seriously?” Luke swallowed.

“Yes. I need to prove to her she didn’t break me. I need her to see I’m still standing.” Barely, but I am.

“Ok. If you’re sure.”

He wasn’t sure, not in the slightest. But he was doing it regardless.

“Will you go with me?” Spencer suddenly sounded small and scared.

“Of course I will. We’re away on a case right now but we can do it as soon as I’m back.”

“Thanks Luke. And uh…don’t tell the others. They won’t understand.” Spencer opened his eyes and pushed himself away from the wall.

“I promise. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye.” Spencer hung up the phone, his hand shaking as he did so.

No good could come of him seeing Cat again. He just hoped it wasn’t the final nail in his coffin.

***

Spencer quite often found himself feeling as though he was drowning. Most of the time he barely kept himself afloat, sinking in a pool of his own misery. But actually drowning was a whole other thing.

“Keep kicking! Come on, you can do it!” Nick cheered him on while Spencer frantically waved his arms and tried to keep himself above water.

Now his walking was getting better Nick had suggested swimming to build up his strength. Spencer had never been a fantastic swimmer, but he was ok. He could at the very least stay adrift.

But with his injury, drowning seemed inevitable.

“Kick! Come on Spencer. You’re almost there!”

Spencer flailed his arms hoping he could reach the other side without using his legs too much but it only made his lower half sink and when his lower half sank he started to panic.

His t-shirt clung to his body, the water sodden fabric making him feel heavier. Nick had tried to get him to remove it but Spencer refused. It was bad enough not having trousers and his sweater on.

He needed to regroup. He needed just a second to fail before he could continue. He stilled his movements and let the water encompass him, rising over his head until he was completely submerged.

He told himself he could do this. It was only a few more metres and then he was done. He wasn’t giving up, no matter how much it hurt. He pushed himself back to the surface and inhaled deeply before forcing his legs to kick in time with his arm movements.

He blocked everything else out that didn’t strictly relate to kicking his legs. The side of the pool was getting closer and the burn spread down his thigh but it was a good kind of pain. It was the kind of pain that told him he was achieving something, he would make it to the other side both physically and mentally.

“Come on Spencer! You can do it!” A voice goaded him but it didn’t belong to Nick this time.

He frowned to himself as he pushed himself the last few feet and grasped the wall for dear life. When he wiped the water out of his eyes and the hair back off his face he looked up. You sat on the edge of the pool right in front of him, legs crossed and a proud smile on your face.

“You did it!” You cheered as Spencer just stared at you dumbly.

Soon Nick was by your side, helping Spencer out of the pool.

“That was great!” Nick grinned, helping Spencer sit up as he caught his breath.

He blinked a few times, briefly wondering what it was about Nick he’d thought so similar to Morgan. Sure they looked kinda alike, but not enough for Spencer to have made that connection. He shook his head and looked between you and Nick.

“Uh…you can see her right?” He frowned as he focused on Nick.

“Is that a trick question?” Nick asked in confusion.

“He thinks he’s imagining me.” You spoke with an amused smile. “Tell him he’s not crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.” Nick chuckled, squeezing Spencer’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

His parting gift was to toss a towel at Spencer which he wrapped around his shoulders and obscured himself with. You kicked off your shoes and rolled your jeans up to your calves before dipping your feet in the water.

“So, are you going to stop doubting yourself now?” You smiled while Spencer continued to stare at you.

“Never.” He scoffed, with a roll of his eyes which made you giggle. “I wish it were that simple.”

You stopped giggling at the change in his tone and narrowed your eyes on him. He hugged the towel close to him as though it was a security blanket. His wet hair fell on his forehead and small beads of water rolled down his face. His eyes were full of nerves the way they always seemed to be around you.

“The paranoia that comes with heavy drug use takes a while to kick.” You shuffled a little closer to him and you practically saw the beat his heart skipped.

“The thing is,” he chewed on his lip. “I don’t want you to be real.”

“Uh…wow thanks.” Your eyebrows knitted together.

“I don’t mean it how it sounds.” He was quick to counter. “It’s just…if you’re real…you’re not who I thought you were.”

You mused over his words for a moment knowing he wasn’t about to say anymore on the matter.

“You’re very cryptic sometimes, you know that?” Your lip up tugged at the corner.

“It’s all part of my mysterious charm.” He chuckled lightly.

You couldn’t agree more. There was something about him. Something you couldn’t put your finger on. Something that made you want to succumb to him, let him consume you.

You shuffled even closer and leant forward, placing your hands on his wet thighs. You saw his breath catch in his throat as you edged closer to him. Goosebumps flared on his flesh as you ghosted your fingertips over his skin.

He let go of the towel and his hands settled onto your waist but his eyes never left yours. You moved closer still, until your noses were brushing against one another’s.

He swallowed hard, completely engulfed in you. He could see every little freckle, every little blemish that graced your beautiful face and he tried to memorise every single one of them. He could feel the heat emanating from you and it wrapped around him, comforting him in ways he’d never felt before.

Your eyes fell to his lips and he instinctively ran his tongue along them. Your hands moved up his sides and your arms wrapped around his neck. He wanted to get lost in you. He wanted to throw caution to the wind and let you devour him. He wanted to belong to you again in the ways he’d missed so much.

Even if you weren’t real. Even if none of this was real. It was even more reason to take the plunge wasn’t it? But for some reason he couldn’t. He let his hands drop to his sides and his back straightened a little but you stayed close, clearly not sensing his hesitation.

“W-what are you doing?” He whispered, his breath fanning across your face.

“I don’t know.” You giggled lightly.

“You said…recovery. Your recovery comes first.” His breathing was heightened and he could so easily crash his lips against yours.

But he didn’t. Instead, he surprised you both when he sat back and shuffled away.

“It does.” You frowned. “But I…well now I just feel stupid.”

Spencer sighed and wrapped the towel around himself again.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel stupid. I just…you have no idea how badly I want to kiss you, Y/N. But you and I both know it’s not a good idea. Not like this.”

You chewed on your bottom lip and nodded although you weren’t sure you agreed.

“I’m scared too.” You blurted out, averting your gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you were scared that this isn’t real, but I’m scared that it is.” You glanced back at him and he saw the tears behind your eyes. “In my experience fantasies last. Realities don’t.”

“Agreed.” He gave you a tight lip smile. “Maybe it’s better we just keep the fantasy a little while longer then.”

You nodded before pushing yourself up to your feet and then helped Spencer stand too. The sparks you felt when you took hold of his hands was undeniable, and judging by the way he looked at you, he felt them too.

You stayed in silence as you walked back towards your rooms but it was a heavy, palpable kind of silence. When you reached Spencer’s room you stopped and smiled softly at him.

“So do I get to see you flail about like a dying fish again tomorrow?” You teased him but Spencer didn’t seem in the least bit amused.

His back straightened and he tugged the towel tighter around his body.

“Uh…I’ve actually got a thing tomorrow.”

“A thing?” You frowned a little.

“Day release.” He sighed as he spoke.

“You got some big fancy plans?” You chuckled but he shook his head sadly.

“No.” He ran his fingers through his wet hair. “I need to visit someone.”

“Someone? Someone important?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He sighed again, louder than before. “I’m visiting a prison inmate before their execution. I’m visiting the woman who ruined my life.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Clearly he didn’t want to elaborate and it wasn’t your place to make him.

“Right. Ok.” You nodded, not wanting to pry.

“It’s a really long and messy story I don’t want to get into right now.”

“Fair enough.” You smiled a little as you stepped backwards. “I hope it goes…well? Not really sure what to say.”

“Me too.” He half-smiled, reaching for his door handle. “I’ll see you soon?”

“You surely will.” You smiled one last time before turning on your heels and continuing down the corridor.

Spencer heaved a sigh as he let himself into his room and collapsed on his bed. Tomorrow was going to be his hardest challenge yet. Coming face to face with Cat again would either make or break his recovery.

Although he already had a pretty good idea which one it would be.

***

He was silent for the entire car ride from PIW to Mount Pleasant. Luke tried making small talk but after getting nothing in return he gave up.

Luke had brought him a suit from his apartment along with a white shirt and red tie. It had been weeks since Spencer had dressed so well and admittedly he missed his comfy clothes he’d grown so accustomed to. The shirt felt scratchy against his still healing wounds. The tie felt like a noose around his neck.

He stared out the car window and scratched the back of his palm willing his nails to grow so he could pick at his skin. His chest was tight as though someone were sitting on it, like the weight of the situation was physical and pressing down on him.

He came close to several panic attacks, only just managing to pull himself back from the brink in time. Diverting from his scratching his fingers nimbly shimmied up his shirt sleeve and gripped the crook of his arm. The track marks had all but faded by now but he could feel the heavy pulse of his vein beneath his fingertips.

He pressed against it, wishing more than anything else that it was a needle and not his fingers. He squeezed against his vein in the hopes it would alleviate some of his cravings.

Maggie would tell him to masturbate. But even if he weren’t in a car with Luke in a completely inappropriate environment, he was sure his thoughts of his impending meeting would not allow for him to get it up. Instead he pressed harder against his vein, closing his eyes and imagining the dilaudid coursing its way through his body.

He envisioned the feeling of euphoria that flooded over him when he shot up. He remembered the sensation so well.With his eyes closed he didn’t realise Luke was watching him out of the corner of his eye. And when he felt a hand on his leg he jumped and his eyes darted open.

“We can still turn back. If this is too much for you?” Luke spoke softly.

Spencer recoiled his hand back out of his sleeve and shook his head. He had to do this. There was no turning back.

***

A shiver passed down Spencer’s spine as they stepped inside the women's correctional facility. His temperature plummeted the second the doors were closed behind them. He glanced at Luke who didn’t seem to notice, telling Spencer it was all in his head. Most things these days were, why should this be any different?

They were checked in and scanned by a metal detector where Luke had to hand over his service weapon and cell phone. Spencer remembered it well. He recalled coming here that day he was released from Milburn as though it was yesterday.

He recognised the long, dimly lit halls as they followed the guard to an interrogation room. The air was as thick and heavy as it had been the last time he was here. The last time he was here when Cat made him believe she was pregnant with his child. The last time when she’d made him think she’d had his mother killed.

The last time when he’d thrown a table across the room and shoved Cat against a wall by her throat. The last time when he’d growled at her that he was going to kill her while JJ tried to pull him off of her.

The guard silently led them to the small viewing room where Luke was supposed to wait while Spencer came face to face with the devil. The guard left them alone and Spencer kept his eyes trained on the floor, refusing to look at her through the two way glass. Luke was at his side and he soon felt the other man’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s ok, I’ll be right here the whole time.” Luke whispered but Spencer shook his head.

“I need you to leave.” Spencer croaked out the first words he’d spoken since leaving the institute.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Well I don’t very much care what you think, Luke.” Spencer looked at him, eyes filled with anger. “I need you to leave. Go get a coffee or something but I do not want you witnessing this.”

“Witnessing what, exactly?” Luke raised an eyebrow at him. “You going to finish the job you started last time? Choke her to death?”

“I don’t need to, do I? She’s going to be put to death soon. I just need you to trust me and I need you to leave. Please?” Spencer grinded his teeth.

A small part of Luke worried what might happen if he left. A tiny piece of him actually believed Spencer might kill her. And as much as Luke wouldn’t blame him for doing so, he didn’t want his friend going back to prison. Spencer couldn’t handle prison again.

“Promise me you won’t murder her?”

“I promise.” Spencer rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Come find me when you’re done.” Luke patted his back before skeptically leaving the room.

Once alone, Spencer took several deep breaths whilst rolling the purple and gold bracelet around his wrist. He kept his eyes trained on the floor the whole while, scared that he might break the second he saw her.

His heart beat furiously against his chest making him feel a little nauseous. His vein in his left arm felt like it was pulsating, begging for drugs. He was five weeks sober. This would not be the thing that pushed him over the edge. She couldn’t turn his life upside down again. He had to be stronger. He had to survive this. He had to prove to her that she hadn’t destroyed his life.

Taking one last deep breath he forced his eyes up and through the glass. The breath got caught in his chest as he laid eyes on her for the first time in over two years. She looked much the same, haggard and tired; fed up and frustrated.

She crossed one leg over the other and picked at a thread on her orange jumpsuit much like he did when he was uncomfortable. He gave a thought to what might have happened to her baby, the baby that wasn’t his but he had wished was.

“You’re not pregnant with my baby. That isn’t the secret. It’s too easy.” He slid the chair back out and sat down opposite her again.

“You think getting pregnant with your baby was easy?” She clicked her tongue.

“It’s not my baby.” He shook his head, leaning forward on the table closer to her. “But I wish it were. It should be mine. Because the truth is you and I probably belong together.”

A sentimental smile plastered across her face but he knew it wasn’t genuine. Sociopaths didn’t feel sentiment.

“You think so?”

He leaned even closer to her, not wanting JJ to overhear what he was going to say and hardly believing what he was saying himself.

“I do.” He confessed. “You’re the only person who really gets me. You’re the only person who understands that I liked hurting those men. So yes, I think you and I belong together. In some fucked up, twisted way, you and I are perfect for each other.

And I wish your baby was mine but it isn’t. I wish it were mine so I had something tying us together. And that fucking terrifies me to admit because for the most part, I hate you. For the most part I want you dead. But there is a small part of me that truly believes we are perfect for each other.”

He sat back, straightening his tie while Cat looked at him amusement.

“You’ll always be tied to me, Spencie. Baby or no baby. We’re bound to each other. We’re the same.”

He rubbed his eyes with his palms trying to rid himself of the memory of the last time he’d seen her. It didn’t do him any good to dwell on that now.

Only he couldn’t help himself.

Had he been thinking of you when he’d said those things to her? As much he wanted to deny it, he’d meant those things he’d said.

But what about you? You were who he belonged with. How could he have said those things to Cat and meant them while you were…

…while you were, what?

It all hit Spencer at lightning speed. The puzzle pieces that were his life started slotting into place right in front of his eyes. Everything became clear with startling clarity and suddenly Cat Adam’s was the last thing on his mind.

He quickly darted from the room, heart racing more fiercely than it ever had before. It all made sense yet nothing made sense. And there was only one goddamn person who was going to be able to provide clarity on the situation.

He was hyperventilating by the time he found Luke, sweating and shaking and barely able to breath. Luke was quick to his side, wrapping an arm around him and stroking his back.

“Reid, what’s wrong? What happened?” Luke panicked, eyes wide in fear.

“Need…need to…” Spencer choked out through ragged breaths.

“Just breath, Spencer. Don’t try and talk.” Luke tried to calm him but Spencer pushed him away.

“No.” He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on his words. “I need to speak to Emily right now. You get her here Luke. Get her here right fucking now!”

“Spencer, calm down. Take deep breaths.”

“No!” Spencer raised his voice. “Call Emily and tell her to come here. NOW!”

“Spencer, what’s going on? What happened?” Luke reached for him but Spencer batted him away.

“It’s time Emily and I had a talk.” He panted. “It’s time for her to tell me the truth about Y/N.”

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @dirtytissuebox @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @justreadingficsdontmindme @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle @tiredmilky @thatsonezesty13 @1mechanicalalligator @elle-28

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/m #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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girl-mercury · 5 months

Text

sometimes your bestie tells you to get some fucking therapy

“I think you need to talk to someone,” Donna says.

“I talk all the time, I talk to you, I talk to your mother, I talk to the man who brings the mail —amazing arrangement, mail, not sure I ever stopped to appreciate— what do you mean I should talk to someone?”

“You know what I mean. A professional. A therapist or something.”

“Donna! What the hell would I say to a therapist? Really. What would a human therapist have to say about my life? Nobody lives like me, Donna, nobody has these experiences, nobody studies these experiences in school—“

“You need someone!”

“I’ve got you! I’ve got you. And other friends. So many friends. That I’m actually seeing again. Or planning to. I really do plan to.”

Donna sighs. She feels old. Not in a tired sort of way, not in an ancient sort of way —actually, scratch that, she has a teenage daughter, she’s made to feel ancient five times before breakfast— but she feels old in a grown-up kind of way. The kind of grown up where you know what to say to make a dentist appointment, because it’s no longer your first time doing it after your mum’s made your dentist appointments your whole life. Being grown up means that there’s a lot of things you’re not doing for the first time, all scared and unsure what to say or what you’ll need. You’ve done this before. You’ve got this.

The Doctor always runs, not just from his past but to new experiences. Constantly, new, new, new. It’s a glorious life, full of adventure. Donna’s lived it, and she loves it. It’s such a rush, to never know what you’re doing, but knowing you’ll throw yourself headlong into it regardless. But that’s not all there is. There’s beauty in layering one experience done a hundred times over on top of itself. Every morning she sees Rose’s beautiful face again, so happy now that she can show the face she feels is hers. Every kiss she shares with Shaun is the same as the million before it, all the way back to the first time they kissed, and isn’t that marvelous? The Doctor’s never around for the millionth time of anything. He’s already long gone.

“Just think about it,” she says. “I can help find somebody, figure out what sort of person might get it. Maybe UNIT’s got some resources. I don’t know how long Time Lord burnout lasts, I think taking a break is really going well for you, but I know how you get in your head. Might be good to let it out.”

“How do you know what’s in my head, Donna Noble?” he asks, teasing, knowing the answer.

“Cause I’ve been in there, Spaceman, and it’s a real tip,” she answers, grinning.

He slings an arm around her neck and pulls her close, dropping a quick kiss on her head, and then Rose gets home from school, and there’s some shouting about homework before sewing her new batch of stuffed Adipose babies, and then Wilf rings and says somebody needs to come get him if he’s coming for supper, and then the phone rings again and Donna has to have her third argument of the week with the home insurance company about her claim for the damage the aliens did to the house, and the very ordinary day goes on. The Doctor slips out to go for a walk.

He goes for a lot of walks these days. Trying to slow down from all the running.

+ + +

It’s a few weeks later when he and Shaun are out at the pub, waiting for Donna to join them. The Doctor’s asking if Shaun would mind if he takes Rose on a little adventure to Egypt for her birthday. Shaun’s a little dry when he says, “Permission, eh?”

“Well,” says the Doctor expansively. “It’s up to her, really. Less permission, more… advance warning.”

Donna arrives, drops a kiss on Shaun’s lips, bumps her arm up against the Doctor’s. There’s a pint already waiting for her. “The Doctor’s going to have Rose running through pyramid trap tunnels chased by possessed mummies for her birthday,” Shaun tells her.

“I didn’t say that!” the Doctor protests. “I don’t know that there’s going to be possessed mummies. Just… I do run into some gods, every time I’m there. Not really gods, but, well, you know how rumors get around.”

“Fine,” Donna says. “If I hear my daughter’s even ended up on the altar for being a human sacrifice, I will slap you so hard your face will spin back to the first one.”

His eyebrows go up. If anyone could manage that, Donna could.

Later in the evening, they’ve left, the Doctor is still sitting at one of the outside tables, talking to some other guy whose name he doesn’t know. They’re not drunk, just having the kind of deep conversation you can have with a stranger after three beers.

“My friend, she thinks I need to talk to a therapist,” the Doctor says to his new friend. The man’s an American, just moved to London. He’s told him about adventuring through space, and aliens have come through London enough times that someone having space adventures is plausible even to someone normal. Or maybe the guy thinks he’s bullshitting the whole thing. Impossible to tell, really.

“Therapists can help,” the man says. He lights up a cigarette. “I’ve had to see one a few times, just to get me straightened out after shit’s happened.”

“I don’t know, I just don’t like talking about, you know. Stuff. Things.”

“Oh, yeah, the stuff and the things.”

“And I don’t know who would even have advice. They don’t have specialists in space adventurers, do they? Not to sound arrogant, really and truly, but no one else has this kind of life.”

The man’s taking a drag when the Doctor says this so plaintively, and he chokes, coughing before he can get out his laughing. And then he laughs some more, and the Doctor’s considering getting a little offended. “No, man,” the guy eventually gets out. “You’re in emergency services.”

“I’m in what?”

“Like an EMT, or whatever people call them over here. The medical folks who ride in the back of the ambulance. You show up to a place, everything’s on fire, everyone’s yelling. You get people to safety, you find out what’s wrong with them, and you start helping. You help other people get things to stop exploding, you point the police at whoever caused the ruckus in the first place. You see people at their best, and you see them at their worst, not a lot in between. Then once it’s over, you go home, and sleep, and get up the next day, and go to the next place that’s on fire. Every day.”

“Well, I’m the Doctor,” says the Doctor.

“Maybe a bit overqualified, then. But it gets to you. You do it because you function best under pressure, when everything’s urgent and lives are on the line, and then you keep doing it because it’s what you know how to do. Even when you’ve seen so many fucked up things that there’s this numb part of you that you’re afraid doesn’t feel anything anymore. People die when you’re doing everything to save them and it’s like you’re not even there, and then you realize you’re not there when you’re around the people you love, either, even though they’re happy and safe. Cause it all never stops being on fire.”

“What do you do then?” the Doctor asks.

The guy grinds out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Quit your job and move across the ocean,” he says. “Try doing something new. And see a therapist.”

“Ah.”

“I might have a number for someone you could call, make an appointment with, if you wanted it.”

The Doctor doesn’t think he’s going to call, but he takes it anyway.

You never know.

#like i said i'm not writing fic #doing the thing where characters talk like they've been to therapy #doctor who #fanfiction

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lykaonimagines · 2 years

Text

Come Home - Sherlock x Reader

Paring: Sherlock Holmes (BBC) x F!Reader

Word Count: 4,233

Description: Sherlock had sent Y/N away shortly after Mary’s death in hopes of protecting her... and preventing her from stopping him from doing what he felt he had to do to save John. Now that she’s back and has all the details, she’s not sure their relationship can survive it.

Other Things: Hurt comfort. Angsty but there’s a happy ending. Timeline-wise The Final Problem doesn’t exist, this takes place shortly after the hug in The Lying Detective. Sherlock’s close enough to his mother to talk about feelings.

Warnings: Mentions prior drug use. Overall mentions/references the events of The Lying Detective and things Sherlock did in there (drug use, near overdose, setting himself up to be killed, etc). Breakup. Some swearing.

Y/N’s fingers flex on the door as she takes a deep breath and finally pushes it open. Dragging the suitcase behind her, she carefully heads up the steps to the landing. Leaving the suitcase there, she clenches her fists tightly and turns to the open door of the flat she’s lived in for years.

Taking a few steps into the room, she freezes as she finally sees Sherlock sitting in his usual chair. His eyes meet hers hopefully, but drop to the cup of tea in his hands as she feels a scowl pass across her face.

Looking over his face, her throat tightens as each new detail hits her. Scruff. He never let his facial hair grow beyond when he’s been… so it’s definitely true then. A black eye, the blood vessels in the same eye burst.

“Have you anything to say?” She asks after a few moments of silence.

“You’ve not brought your luggage in,” he states quietly, his gaze going toward the door briefly.

“I’m not sure I’m staying,” she snaps.

“This is your home. Where would you go?”

“Is it Sherlock? Is it my home?” She asks as she crosses her arms. “Because my last memory of this place was you sending me away.”

A frown pulls at his lips, “I wasn’t kicking you out of our home, I needed to send you somewhere safe where you wouldn’t have to be involved. You still live here, and we’re still together.”

“I’m honestly not sure about either of those things anymore. You sent me away giving me no real explanation, then ignored my every attempt to contact you.”

“I was trying to protect you from-” he begins before being quickly cut off.

“From you trying to kill yourself of drug overdose? Or was it the part where you baited a serial killer to murder you? One of those things?” She blinks at the hot tears crowding her eyes. “I’ve talked to John, I know what’s happened since I’ve been gone. So don’t even try to lie.“

“I… wasn’t going to lie to you,” he says softly, getting to his feet.

“No! Don’t come near me!” She yells and backs further away from him. “You sent me away to follow the most idiotic plan you’ve ever come up with. Broke your promise to me about never touching that shit again. And I find out you were weeks at most from your body just shutting down due to it.”

“I had to-”

“No you didn’t! Maybe John just needed time? Maybe he needed more therapy. He agrees with me that he thinks the entire plan was insane. I’m glad you two have mended all that, and that he’s getting the help he needs and moving forward. But what if he hadn’t made it in time Sherlock? What if he didn’t go along with it? Then what? I was supposed to come home and find you dead of an overdose or get a call that you were killed while in the hospital?”

“There was very little chance he wouldn’t have come,” Sherlock insists trying to take a step closer as she takes another away.

“You promised me!” She shouts as the tears finally drip down her cheeks. “No more drugs and no crazy life risking crap. You promised. I told you I couldn’t do this if you continued on like that. I asked you to tell me honestly if it was something you could do before I got too deep. Now here we are, you’ve broken both of them, lied to me, sent me away and ignored me for months, and I’m far too deep to just say it’s just some differences we can’t get past and just be friends. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

“I’ve hurt you,” he says slowly.

“Excellent deduction, just figured that out did you?” She growls, turning her head away from him.

“Please try to understand,” he takes another step toward her.

“What is there to understand? You didn’t attempt to understand how I would have felt about any of this, why do I have to try to understand your view on it?”

Before he can give a response, she sticks her hand up to silence him. “I don’t even know why I came back here. Maybe I was hoping you’d try to fix this somehow. I should have just stayed where I was.”

Turning back toward the door, she steps out onto the landing and grabs her suitcase. Without turning back she shouts over her shoulder, “I’m done Sherlock. This is done.”

“I- your belongings?” Sherlock asks helplessly from the doorway.

“John already said he’d box them up and send them to me when I get a new place. Goodbye,” she tugs the suitcase down the stairs as quickly as she can, pulling it out the doorway and slamming the door behind her.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, she angrily stomps a few blocks away before sinking onto a bench defeated.

Where could she even go for now? Nearly everyone she knows in the city is connected to her through Sherlock. John has a baby, and Sherlock will surely be going over there.

Scrolling through her contacts, she pauses as she sees one in particular. Mummy Holmes as she’d put herself in there. His parents home… seems inappropriate but what choice does she have? He rarely visits them as is. He wouldn’t happen upon her there like he would at John’s. And she did always tell her she could come to her for help.

Swallowing her pride, she taps the contact and holds it to her ear, gnawing at her bottom lip as it rings.

“Y/N darling! It’s so good to hear from you!” The warm familiar voice greats her and eases the tension in her slightly.

“Hello, how are you?” She asks weakly and sniffles, quickly wiping her nose with a tissue from her pocket.

The line stays silent for a moment, “Y/N, are you alright?”

“I… No. I’m not,” she says swallowing thickly.

“What’s wrong? Do you need something?” Mrs. Holmes asks concernedly.

“Sherlock and I broke up,” she admits, the words burning on her tongue. “And I understand completely if based on that information alone the answer is no, but I… I have nowhere to go and-”

“You can come here, there will be a train at 3 and we will pick you up from the station,” she says firmly. “Or I can phone Mycroft and have him send a car to you. You can absolutely stay here dear.”

“I can take the train,” she responds softly, relief washing over her. “I don’t want to trouble your family more than I already am.”

“I assure you that you aren’t troubling us at all,” Mrs. Holmes says quickly. “Now you get a move on and get to that train. I’ll have a nice warm dinner waiting for us when we get back. We’ll see you soon!”

Hanging the phone up, Y/N stands up and grasps her suitcase and heads toward the train station with a renewed sense of determination.

The first few weeks at the Holmes’ Estate go by relatively quickly. Mrs. Holmes doing her best to make Y/N comfortable, and eventually pulling the whole story from her about the breakup.

Staying in Sherlock’s childhood room however wasn’t the easiest part of the whole ordeal. Being surrounded by all the little things that made him, well, him. Made even harder by the daily phone calls by the man himself.

Just one call a day at exactly 8PM. Each time she would watch it ring, his contact photo enlarged on the screen seeming to taunt her. A simple photo of the two of them, him behind her with his chin on her shoulder and one of his relaxed genuine smiles.

And at the end of the rings each time, he’d leave a voicemail. Sixteen voicemails sitting in the inbox staring back at her each time she unlocked her phone. She couldn’t bring herself to listen to them.

Now the seventeenth voicemail popped up on her screen shortly after the contact picture disappears, the sinking feeling in her deepening. She needed to figure out something. What she’s going to do, where she’s going to go. She couldn’t stay at his parents’ home forever.

Walking out into the family room, she freezes as Mrs. Holmes’ voice carries to her, “Sherlock, honey, slow down. What’s wrong?”

The woman in question looks up to see her, and gestures her over.

Y/N looks away for a moment, then finally gives in and walks over to take a seat next to her on the couch.

Mrs. Holmes quickly puts the call on speaker and sets it in between them.

“Mummy I don’t know what to do anymore,” Sherlock’s voice comes from the device sounding defeated and clearly upset. “She won’t answer my calls, she hasn’t responded to my texts, I’ve no clue where she’s gone and Mycroft refuses to help.”

“Dear, she may just not want to speak to you. You can’t force her to talk if she doesn’t want to.”

The line stays silent for a moment before Y/N’s eyes widen at the sound of a sniffle. “I can’t give up. I know I’ve hurt her, I know I was wrong. I know this is all my fault. But I just… can’t. I don’t know what to say or do to fix it, but I want to. I need her. I need to try.”

“You can’t always fix it when you hurt someone Sherlock, there is only so much people can handle or will deal with,” she says gently.

“I know,” he responds miserably. “I know I have probably ruined it. I don’t know how to accept that fact. Clearly I know it, but it won’t actually process as fact. Every time I think of it my brain goes frantic and tries to think of some way to stop it from being true.”

Y/N points toward the mute button on the phone quickly, making eye contact with Mrs. Holmes, “Darling give me one moment, your father just stepped in.”

Tapping the mute she looks back up at Y/N expectantly.

“Can… can you maybe invite him over here?” She asks hesitantly.

“Are you sure?” She asks asks, seemingly searching Y/N’s eyes. “Once he knows you are here, he may keep coming by trying to talk.”

Looking down at the couch, she grabs onto the fabric and takes a deep breath, “I love him… I don’t want to be apart from him. That’s one of the reasons I was so hurt. And that he seemed to not think he’d actually done anything wrong. But he sounds remorseful now… maybe…”

Mrs. Holmes reaches over and squeezes her hand tightly, “I’ll invite him, if you decide you can’t face him once he’s here you can just stay in the room until he leaves.”

Y/N nods firmly as watches as she unmutes the call, “Sherlock honey, come visit us in the morning tomorrow. It will do you some good to get out of that flat for a bit, and you know we always want to see you.”

“I… that may be a good idea,” he says slowly and shuffles on the other end of the phone.

“Why don’t you take the train at 8 and we’ll pick you up from the station?”

“Ok,” he agrees easily. “I will see you tomorrow then. Good night.”

As she ends the call, Mrs. Holmes wraps an arm tight around Y/N’s shoulders and presses a kiss to her head. “Everything is going to be alright dear.”

Fidgeting in front of the mirror, Y/N looks over her reflection for perhaps the hundredth time since she heard the car return to the house.

Was she ready for this? The question burning in her mind as she went around in circles each time she glanced at the door.

Placing her hand on the handle, she quietly twists it open and takes a step out into the hallway. His voice carries to her immediately, and she pushes herself toward the kitchen with all the determination she can manage.

Leaning against the doorway, she looks him over as he talks to his parents with his back angled toward her.

From his profile it’s obvious he still hasn’t shaved, his facial hair longer than when she last saw him. The black eye nearly gone, but his features sunken in. His hair un-styled and barely brushed hangs dully against his skin. And he appears to be wearing an old t-shirt and baggy jeans she wasn’t even aware he owned.

“Drink your tea before it goes cold,” his mother scolds as she gestures toward the cup in front of him and pushes a plate of biscuits across the table before briefly glancing up at Y/N with a reassuring smile.

“Good morning Sherlock,” Y/N says after a moment, watching as his entire frame tenses then whips around to face her, a biscuit halfway in his mouth that tumbles out to the floor.

His eyes widen and he stumbles to his feet quickly, taking a step toward her cautiously before rapidly closing the distance between them and throwing his arms around her. Her cheek presses hard into his chest as his arms tighten around her shoulders and he buries his face in her hair.

Her own arms wrap around his waist and she rubs his back soothingly. His body trembles against hers, his breathing sounding labored against her ear.

“You’re here,” his states, his voice muffled from her hair.

“I am,” she agrees, and tries to pull back to see his face. But his arms quickly tighten and pull her back in.

“I don’t want to let go of you,” he admits softly. “I thought I would never see you again.”

“That had been the initial plan.”

His breath catches in his throat and he makes a garbled sound before pulling her body completely flush to his own. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault, I know how badly I’ve ruined this.”

“Do you?” She asks as she gently runs her fingertips along his spine.

“I’ve lied to you, I’ve left you out, I sent you away, I broke my promises. I was using again, I didn’t consider what you would have felt if it went wrong. I didn’t even consider how you would feel with it working out. I just expected you to be fine with it even though I hurt you,” he says miserably, his breath warm against her head. “I’ve done everything wrong and I have no right to ask it of you, but I need you, please.”

She runs her hand slowly up his back and neck until she reaches his hair, twirling her fingers in the curls she finds there and smiles slightly at the almost purr-like sound he makes at the contact. “I need you to look at me and say it.”

His hold on her slowly loosens, letting his hands go to her shoulders as he takes a step back and her hands move down to his hips.

His eyes meet hers, the redness and irritation from the tears he tries to quickly wipe away on his shirt is obvious but she doesn’t mention it.

“I’m sorry, I have royally screwed up, I’m an idiot to have risked us without a thought,” he states as his grip on her shoulders tightens. “I could make promises again, but I know they mean little after what I’ve done. All I can say is I love you, and I need you in my life. I won’t push you away, I’m going to work on letting you in. I won’t use again, for anything. Recreational or case.”

“And?” She presses quietly.

“And I won’t be as reckless with my life. It’s not just my own anymore. We built a life together and I have no right to carelessly put it at risk.”

Lifting her hand from his hip, she reaches up to cup his cheek. Smiling at him gently as he nuzzles into her palm, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you,” he says firmly, pulling her in closer once again. “Please come home.”

Reaching her other hand up, she grabs ahold of the fabric just below the collar of his shirt and yanks his face down closer to her. “I’ll come home,” she whispers against his lips before pressing them together.

His lips press nearly bruisingly back, his lips moving in a quiet desperation on her own as his arms slip around her waist. As their lips part, a shuttered breath he lets out ghosts over her lips and his body slowly relaxes into her.

“Perhaps you should both come have your tea and give yourselves a chance to relax into this?” Mrs. Holmes voice makes them jump as they remember their audience of two.

“Good point,” Y/N responds sheepishly, slowly pulling back from Sherlock. “I’ll just grab myself a cup.”

Sherlock nods reluctantly, brushing against Y/N briefly as he walks back to his seat at the table.

Heading to the table herself, she steps toward her usual chair before feeling a pair of arm wrap around her midsection and swiftly tug her back into Sherlock’s lap. “I could sit in my own seat you realize right?”

“Mm, a physical possibility yes,” he mumbles and grabs a biscuit from the tray and brings it to her lips. “However, until moments ago I still thought I’d never hold you again. Therefore for my own health and well-being, you should stay where you are.”

Taking a bite of the biscuit, she shrugs gently and leans back against his chest, “If it’s a matter of medical well-being then I suppose I must.”

“Good,” he responds quietly as she looks up at his flushed cheeks. His eyes looking across the table at his mother’s warm gaze on them, his father’s arm across her shoulders with a similar smile.

“I, for one, am very glad you two are working this out. You both seem so distressed apart,” Mrs. Holmes says as she reaches across the table to pat Sherlock’s hand. “And I certainly didn’t want to lose Y/N from the family.”

Sherlock nods in agreement, looking back down at Y/N briefly, “Is this where you’ve been this entire time?”

“Yes, I really didn’t know where to go. I feel safe here, and they graciously let me stay despite the situation. I was here while deciding what exactly I was going to do.”

“You can always come here dear,” Mr. Holmes says with a gentle smile. “You are part of the family, even if our son seemingly does everything to make you want to leave it.”

“Alright fair, I deserve that,” Sherlock responds with a physical cringe. “Where had you intended on going after here?”

“I was talking with a friend out of the country, had put some thought into moving in with her. I have actually applied for jobs there already,” she says with a shrug.

“Offers you will turn down to return home I would presume?” He asks in an even tone, but his eyes betray a moment of panic.

“I said I’d come home, I’ll come home,” she reassures him and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“You’ve been in the guest room here?”

“I put her in your old room,” Mrs. Holmes says with a bit of a smug smile. “I may have hoped it would possibly… inspire a reconciliation.”

“Sneaky,” Y/N laughs and reaches for her tea. “It did have me missing him even more. There’s something so inherently Sherlock about the room. Including rolling over in the middle of the night and stretching out, only to brush against a piece of paper with soil quality test results on it.”

Sherlock stays quiet at that, his eyes gently searching her as she turns back to his parents and continues the conversation.

Twenty minutes go by with his relative silence in their conversation before his head whips toward his parents, “Would it be alright if we stayed here for the day and night?”

“Of course,” his mother responds immediately. “We can have dinner all together tonight. I’ll even invite your brother. A nice family dinner would do us all some good.”

“If you must invite him,” Sherlock rolls his eyes but gives her a tight smile before adjusting his hold on Y/N.

Sweeping her up as he gets to his feet, he carries her bridal style from the room as he announces they’re going up to take a short rest.

“And if I’m not tired?” She teases.

“You are. You were up all night thinking about how this would go,” he answers. “You were nervous.”

Pushing his old bedroom door open with his shoulder, he walks through the door to set her on the bed and turns to shut the door behind them.

He quickly sets to pulling his shoes off then gets on the bed to crawl around her to lay down and press his back flush with the wall, “Joining me?”

Laying back, she grabs the blankets and pulls them over the two of them, sliding in closer until his hand lays on her hip and guides her even closer.

Plopping her head on the pillow beside his, her eyes start roaming over him once again, “Now then, where did this outfit come from? I’ve never seen you in this.”

“Under the rest of my clothes. I… have mainly stayed in my bed clothes lately. I didn’t have the motivation for a suit today. I look rather awful don’t I?” He asks with a frown.

“You look… very worn down at the moment,” she admits reaching out to run her thumb along the dark circle under one of his eyes. “You also still haven’t shaved.”

“I haven’t used since the day in the morgue,” he says in response to her silent question.

“You’ve just decided you like facial hair?” She asks with a raised brow, hand slipping down to run along the hair on his jaw.

“Hardly,” he rolls his eyes and leans into her touch.

“What have you been doing the last seventeen days then?”

“Staying in bed. In my mind palace. Going between trying to think of any way to change your mind and trying to accept that you were done with me. John came over a few times, forced me to eat, and packed your things. They’re sitting in boxes stacked against the wall. Started unpacking one of them one night, putting your clothes back in the drawer, convinced that if I just…” he trails off into silence and his eyes shut tightly.

“Convinced that what?”

“That if I just put everything back, that I’d wake up and you’d be there. That you’d change your mind when you saw all your things still in place, realize you wanted to be at home with me. I put them all back after a day, to not cause further problems for John.”

“Well we can put it all back together this time, hopefully permanently back in place yeah?” She offers and lays her free hand on his chest.

His eyes blink open as his own hand covers hers to move it to the left side of his chest, “If you go again, please just take it with you. I clearly can not handle it well, look at me Y/N.”

“Something so darkly romantic from the one who always said sentiment was a defect on the losing side,” she teases lightly, pressing her forehead to his.

“Mhm, still is,” he states, his eyes drifting down to her lips for a moment. “I’m an absolute mess riddled with sentiment for you. I’m losing that battle, and it’s far too late to correct it. I’m in too deep, and I’ll drown without you there. And frankly, I don’t give a damn as long as you stay with me until my time comes.”

“And that time better be a long ways away, I’m agreeing to this under the condition I’m going to be waking up next to an old man Sherlock in thirty, forty years.”

A small smile spreads across his lips and he exhales deeply, “Just the fact you want that is enough for me.”

“Lift your head would you?” He says, shifting his arm under her as she does, pulling her in until she rests her head on his shoulder. “More comfortable?”

“Mmm,” she mumbles, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ve missed this.”

“Me too,” he admits, settling his chin on her head and cradling her with his other arm. “Get some sleep love.”

“You too,” she replies as she feels his hold on her tighten. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Will you?” He asks, clearing his throat roughly to cover up the crack in his voice.

“I will. And if you’re serious about everything you’ve said, I’ll be there every time you wake up.”

“I will hold you to that,” he says softly, turning his head to bury his face in her hair. “I will see you in a few hours then, messy hair and all.”

A giggle erupts from her throat before she can stop it, and she snuggles in closer to his chest, “Messy hair and all then.”

----

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If you want to be tagged in any future Sherlock stuff let me know or fill out the taglist form on my channel navigation/masterlist. 💙

#Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #sherlock bbc #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x y/n #sherlock holmes x y/n #benedict cumberbatch #fanfiction

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ejzah · 10 months

Note

Can you do a fanfic where Kensi apologizes to Deeks for giving him such a hard time in season 8. I know she was having it rough because of her physical therapy, but she still shouldn't have taken out her anger on Deeks and I wish someone confronted her about it.

Hurt People Hurt People

***

“Thanks for stopping by, Sam. I really needed this,” Kensi said, brushing Sam’s hand with the back of her “claw”.

With her current impairments in mind, Sam had brought over a cheeseburger (cut into more manageable pieces) and fries. At least she could manage to feed herself now and a few other things, even if she had zero fine motor skills.

“Anytime. It’s pretty quiet without you there.” Sam squeezed her back. “Especially with Deeks out so much. Or worrying about you when he is at the office.” He looked around the room expectantly. “I figured he’d be here.”

Kensi grimaced, appetite evaporating in an instance at the mention of Deeks. They’d had another argument; well, she’d raised her voice while Deeks stood there with a sadness in his eyes that just made her feel worse.

“I told him to go home.” She shrugged nonchalantly, like it didn’t matter.

“I’m surprised he listened,” Sam commented, and there was enough of a question there that she dipped her head, pretending to show a sudden interest in picking up a fry. “Kensi, everything ok between you two?” he pressed when she said nothing.

“It’s just been really hard to be around him right now,” she replied heavily, moving food around as she felt another flare of frustration. “Every little thing I do, he acts like it’s some big step forward and like I’m not a broken mess. And he’s so positive and understanding all the time, when sometimes I just want to scream.“

She sucked in a deep breath, not having intended to reveal so much. She snuck an abashed look at Sam, expecting disappointment. Instead, she saw nothing but compassion.

“You’ve been through a lot. I’ve had injuries in the past, but nothing like this. It’s ok to be angry, frustrated, sad.”

Kensi felt her chest squeeze almost painfully tight at the acknowledgment of so much of what she’d felt since she woke up.

“Yeah,” she whispered. Sniffing, she grabbed a tissue, clumsily wiping her nose.

“Deeks has been through it too,” he continued in that same measured, gentle tone. “Not in the same ways for sure, or as bad, but he’s been here every step of the way with you.” He leaned back, lift curving in a smile that wasn’t entirely happy. “You didn’t see him those first weeks when you were in a coma. He was sleeping her every night, going into work for a few hours, coming back again. Terrified that something terrible would happen while he was gone.

“Through all of this, there’s not a lot that he can do though. He couldn’t make you wake up and he can’t make you walk or feel again any faster than you are. That’s on time, healing, and everything you’re working so hard on. All he can do, is pray, cheer you on, and be grateful for any all improvement. Be grateful that you’re still here with us.”

Kensi was quietly crying by the time Sam finished, desperately trying to wipe away the tears. The imagery Sam had created broke her heart. She could picture Deeks all alone with her nearly lifeless body in this room night after night, probably talking to her just the way he did when she couldn’t fall asleep or needed a distraction.

“I never thought of it that way,” she whispered. “God, I’ve been such a—”

“You’ve been recovering,” Sam interrupted firmly. He checked his watch. “Hey, I gotta get going.” Giving Kensi a hug, he nodded to a second plastic bag Kensi had forgotten about. “There’s two servings of chocolate cake in there. Just saying.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Kensi said against his chest. “For everything.”

***

Deeks knocked on Kensi’s door, hesitating in the doorway. “Hey,” he said softly, eyes a little uncertain, fingers tucked into the sleeves of his long sleeve shirt.

She’d done that. Pushing down the self-loathing that always seemed so close at hand these days, Kensi held her good arm out. A silent plea as much as an apology.

Deeks took the chair opposite her bed, staying silent for once. So, she’d have to break the ice this time. Drawing on her inner strength, she bridged the gap between them, and covered his hand as best she could.

“Thank you for coming,” she told him.

“I was kind of surprised you called me,” he admitted. “Thought I pissed you off for good this time.”

“No, you didn’t.” Deeks raised an eyebrow, and she amended. “Well, you did, but not because of anything you did. Not really.” She rushed on before he could interrupt with some form of absolution that she didn’t yet deserve. “I get so angry at myself and I feel so weak. I hate that you have to see me like this.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Deeks inserted quickly. He raised her hand, carefully uncurling a couple fingers to kiss. Kensi pressed her lips together, amazed at his grace and love once again.

“I know,” she assured him. “That’s still the way my brain works. I think of all I’ve lost and what I might never get back. And I let it get to me. I let it warp everything you do for me. I never should have yelled at you like that.”

He pursed his lips, his mouth trembling as he fought whatever was going on in his head. When he spoke again, his voice lacked the usual confidence, soft and vulnerable. “I can be less positive, less talkative. You can shout or scream, or call me whatever helps. Just please don’t push me away.”

In that moment she wished more than anything that she could hold him. “I won’t,” she promised. “I’m so sorry, Deeks.”

As if he could read her mind, he scooted to the edge of his chair, and gently enfolded her in his arms.

“It’s ok. I forgive you.” The words were whispered against the side of her and punctuated by the softest of kisses. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too.” She was crying again, and based on the he’s e of Deeks’ shoulders, he was too. They stayed there, Kensi curled up against chest for several minutes until the tears abated some.

Kensi pulled back, searching for another tissue, but Deeks beat her to it, wiping beneath her eyes with so much care it nearly had her in years all over again.

“You know, Sam was here earlier, and he left some cake,” she mentioned and Deeks laughed, a startled chuckle that made Kensi laugh wetly in response.

“That sounds really good right now,” he said, retrieving the bag, and scooting on the bed next to Kensi.

She watched him take out two clamshell containers, setting them up on the tray in front of her. She knew things were far from perfect, and she’d probably stumble again, but they were on the mend.

As Deeks placed a fork in the bigger piece of cake, and slid it in front of her, she leaned into his shoulder, curling her arm around his neck, pulling him to her for a kiss.

***

Thanks for the prompt!

#ncis la fanfiction #densi #marty deeks #kensi blye #Sam #Sam is wise #season 8 #angst #then a touch of fluff #anonymous prompt #ejzah fanfiction

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jaxteller87 · 2 months

Text

Where I Need to Be 2

I was focusing more on the club than my personal life. Every time a run came up, I threw my hat into the ring and signed up for some open-road therapy. A few weeks had passed before I set foot in the house I call home, even though it felt more like a fancy hotel room at times. Generally, when I was stuck in my head, but that made everything different. I tossed my helmet on the kitchen counter, and from the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a brand new flannel shirt folded on the counter.

“Hey, stud,” I heard Amber call out as she wheeled herself around the corner and into the kitchen.

I chuckled and leaned in for a kiss. She had come down from New York to visit, which always made things feel more homely. “Hey, darlin’! I’m uh— It’s good to see you.”

“You seemed surprised to see me,” Amber looked behind me like she expected me to see a woman following me in, “I’m not interrupting a hot date or anything, am I?”

“What?” I probably looked guilty, but her accusation couldn’t have been further from the truth. “No, it’s just I’ve been on the road. I haven’t been home in weeks, and the first time I stop by, here you are. It’s a very pleasant surprise; the timing is shocking, is all.”

“Oh,” she said, almost looking disappointed. “So, I told you I’d buy a new shirt for you since I ruined the other one.” It was true, and the last time I was home, actually. Opie and Donna were over for a cookout, and after a few beers, Amber thought she was a professional wrestler. Having had a few beers myself, I accepted her challenge. One thing led to another, and my flannel got torn. No big deal to me, I have a dozen of’em between the clubhouse and here— but it meant something to her.

Amber also stopped by the burger joint down the road and picked us up our usual. We sat there at the kitchen table and ate together like we used to do when we were teenagers in love. Through the idle chit-chat and small talk, I noticed that look in her eye, the one that says she has something on my mind that her lips don’t want to say.

“What’s up, darlin’?” I asked, “Something troubling you?”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t know what this is or what it will become,” Amber confessed.

“Amber, honey—”

“Teller, please just let me ramble for a minute; I need to clear out some space in my head.”

“Well, in that case, drop your baggage, girl,” I said, sitting back, trying to replicate Donna or another girl pal.

“Cute,” she smirked, “But that’s why I broke things off a few months ago. I want there to be an ‘us’ so badly, and I think about it all the time, but then when I see you, it just reminds me that I’m not in any shape to be your girlfriend.”

“But darlin’,”

“Jax, let’s call it ‘us’ like we did when we were teenagers— no labels.”

“Are you finished?” I asked.

“I suppose,” Amber looked nervous but mildly relieved to say what she wanted to say.

“Well, the truth is I haven’t been with anyone since right after you broke it off. I admit, I got a little rowdy and hooked up with one girl.”

“Just tell me it wasn’t Ima,” I could see the worry in her eyes.

“It most definitely was not Ima. Some old croweater a few miles from Chino. I was too drunk to remember much else than that. I haven’t felt right since and just took to the road while you did you. But like ya said, whatever this is, I’m here for it— whatever you need, darlin’.”

“Damn it,” she mumbled as tears rolled down her cheeks. “This is what’s so frustrating—I’m fine, and then, boom, I’m a puddle of tears the next.”

I couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t allowing herself to grieve her parents’ passing properly, and now those feelings were resurfacing. Amber would bury herself in her work to keep her mind from straying into the painful stuff— but who could blame her? If I lost Gemma, I’d probably do the same thing.

The next night, I found myself at the club with my ma, taking a break from VP stuff and updating her on Amber.

“Baby, I wish I knew what to tell you,” she sighed sympathetically as I finished up my story with a sentence about me holding Amber in my arms as she cried herself to sleep.

“She’s in pain, ma. I just wish she’d come home. I mean, I get it—Amber can’t uproot her life; plans have to be made, but, still—I can’t help but think if she were here, surrounded by people who give a shit— she’d be better.”

Gemma smiled, placed her hands on mine, and nodded. It wouldn’t be long before I discovered how severe Amber’s depression had become. I felt like Ma was holding back on her true feelings, which was new for her. She’s always been a shoot-from-the-hip kind of person. The few times I knew of her to withhold her thoughts was when she believed they’d hurt me. Knowing this didn’t make me feel any better.

Once I got done using my mom as a sounding board, I returned home to find Amber asleep on the sofa with only one light on. Carefully, I laid down beside her, holding her close as we embraced in what she called the “full-body snuggle.”

“Jax?” she whimpered; she had been crying.

“It’s okay, darlin’. Big Papa’s here,” I whispered, kissing the top of her head as she drifted back to sleep.

Sometime later, I woke up alone. Expecting to hear Amber in the bathroom, but nothing. I lay there for a few minutes before I went on the search. As I approached the kitchen, I could smell the earthy aroma of a freshly lit joint, which led me to the side door— lo and behold, there she was. “You gonna share that?” I pulled over a chair from the table and plopped down beside her.

She exhaled and coughed in the other direction, handing me the joint. “Sure,” she coughed again softly.

“Sweet,” I took a big, long drag, held it for a minute, and then blew it out my nostrils like an angry bull.

“I just want you to know; I swear I’m not leading you on. But if you wanna bail until I get my head on straight, I totally get it.” Amber reached for the joint.

“I’m good, darlin’. You need to do whatever this is, and I promise I’ll be here waiting for you whenever you’re ready to call it what it actually is.”

“And what is it, actually, Teller?”

“If you gotta ask, then you really don’t know.” I smiled at her, and she smiled back.

After that, we went to the bedroom and snuggled up. It was as if my embrace was the only place Amber felt safe, where her demons didn’t scream at her. “You’re safe, Big Papa’s got you, my love,” I whispered, holding her tightly.

The next day, I woke up feeling like everything was good, but instead, I found Amber on the back patio, bawling her eyes out like a kid who just lost their pet hamster.

“Let me ramble for a minute,” she stuttered through her tears.

I nodded, taking her hand in mine.

“Jackson, I don’t know what’s wrong. That’s part of the problem. I haven’t said anything about this part yet— I turned 30, and then I said to my counselor, there’s something else wrong, but I don’t know what it is. I just keep twisting myself up in knots trying to fix it, and the only time I’m not in pain is when I’m with you,” she confessed.

“Shh, my love, it’s okay. I’m right here,” I comforted her.

“It’s not... your... job... to... fix... me,” she sobbed.

“You’re right; it’s not,” I said, wiping my face before she could see my tears. “But I can help you. Let me, please.”

“The only time I feel okay is when I’m in your arms, or well— when we’re— you know,” she chuckled.

“Yeah, sex with me is pretty great,” I smirked, but I instantly realized that she could have taken that the wrong way. Fortunately, she didn’t.

“Oh, Teller— don’t let it go to your head, but it’s true. Only I can fix me. But how can I fix something when I don’t know what the fuck it is?”

“We can figure it out together; that’s what I’m telling you. I’m here for ya, darlin’. I don’t know how you’re going to figure out what you need to figure out, but I’m here to support and help in any way I can. All I know is you’re right where you need to be, and that’s how I feel. Sorry if it’s selfish, but my life is better when you’re around, and I wish there were something I could do to make you see that.”

Later that night, I found myself on the back porch, alone with my drink—more Jack than Coke, as usual. About a month before the accident, Kim, Amber’s mom, had pulled me aside, saying I was going to have my hands full with her daughter when she turned 30. It was funny how right Kim was, but it was also a stark reminder of just how cruel life could be.

#jax x oc #jax teller #jax teller x disabled reader #jax teller fluff

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glitterock · 3 months

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i’ve seen some people claiming you’re a terf or at least friends(?) with a terf. is this true?

i’ve answered this before and i really don’t want to talk about it again because it’s super upsetting to me that people would even think that with 0 evidence but i’ll lay it all out one more time:

a friend of mine from irl also just so happens to have a blog. she accidentally reblogged a picture from an apparent terf on here and didn’t know. since then someone on here made a post about my friend saying that since this happened she must be a crypto terf and that since i know her, i must be a terf apologist or a terf myself. this post included absolutely no evidence that i hold terf ideals except for the fact that i simply know someone who accidentally reblogged a picture. since this person has a following and once someone in here is called a terf it sticks to them, now a large amount of people who know nothing about and have no real facts to go off of are calling me a terf, telling my mutuals im a terf, and spreading a huge fucking nasty rumor about me.

for starters, my friend is not a terf. me and her are a part of the same irl community so i’ve seen her interact with trans people and trans women in our community as well as my friend group which consists of trans people and she’s nothing but kind. we also have had conversations about transness in the lesbian community so i know exactly what her morals and thoughts are on this particular topic and she isn’t a trans exclusionary person. she says she just doesn’t check where she reblogs things from as many of us do because we have lives and don’t have time to research every single username we reblog from. I am believing her because i know her actions in real life and my real life friendships and relationships are more important than what ppl i will never meet on the internet think of me.

i don’t want to have to prove myself because it feels fucking ridiculous and weird and performative to have to make a list of reasons why i’m not a terf but since people keep saying this about me:

i have trans femme friends, i have lived with trans femme roomates and currently live my my best friend who is a trans man, and a i have little cousin who i adore who is a trans woman. When my cousin came out i sent her a huge box full of old clothes, makeup, books about queerness and transness, buttons, accessories, etc. and my aunt called me crying saying what a huge difference it made. When i am out at queer events and see trans women who are are by themselves i always try to make a point of saying hi or complimenting their outfits so they feel a little less alone. When creating my zine, i knew that it would be imperative for me to include trans femme voices in it to create a proper narrative of the lesbian community because trans women are an important part of our community and i have nothing but respect and adoration for them. I always try and do my best to be a trans ally especially knowing the privilege i have as an afab femme in the lesbian community, and I have never once in my life held any terf ideals and never will because that is genuinely not how i am. it’s extremely extremely upsetting that people have stuck this label to me without knowing anything about me and especially without having any proof that i’ve ever said anything against trans women, trans people in general, and tbh i don’t even know anything about radical feminism.

the person who made that post also claimed i was friends with 2 people on here who are terfs, one of them being the person that said something along the lines of: “i would only fuck a femme but i could only be with butches” and it caused a huge fucking mess on here a few months ago. I need to make this extremely clear that we are no longer friends and haven’t been in over a year and have been no contact, again, for a year. i was in an absolutely terrible toxic sexual friendship with them that made me feel genuinely horrible about myself and I spent weeks in therapy trying to unpack it all, get over it, and get out of it. having this old friendship that was so awful for me being thrown in my face as if i’m still in it also is super upsetting for me.

if u want to see the post, im pretty sure the user that made it is meansweatydyke or something like that and im sure it’s still up so u can see for yourself. i want u to pay attention tho to the fact that nothing in their call out post actually pertains to my personal morals or thoughts and only is about my proximity to people who have mistreated me/ or have done things unknowingly. it’s super fucking irritating and upsetting. I am 100% on board for calling people out when their actions show that they are bad people, but i have made 0 actions that show this besides being guilty by association.

short answer: no i am not a terf, have never been a terf, and will never be a terf. it says that in my pinned post, and i always strive to uplift my trans friends and trans voices in the community with the platform i’ve made for myself online and in my zine. anyone who knows me knows i am not a terf.

id really love it if people would stop spreading this horrible fucking rumor about me and stop telling people i am a terf now with absolutely no evidence to back it up

#anon #like i don’t want to keep talking about this but i need everyone to know this #this also isn’t the first time the person who made the call out post has said stuff about me #when i made that post about how queerness is messy they made an indirect saying i was lesbophobic? literally for what #that person just doesn’t like me. and it looking for a reason to validate that.#like you can not like me that is totally fine but to make up a reason as to why you don’t like me and that reason being that imma terf #with nothing ti back it up other than i know someone or used to know someone #is actually vile and fucking bully behavior tbh #especially since i’ve never interacted w that person ever in my life like just hate me from afar like a normal person pls #in the call out they were like ‘i’ve always had a bad feeling about her but never had any evidence to back it up!’ like yeah #that’s called just not liking someone for no reason #which you can totally do!!!!! that’s fine!!!! just don’t make up a fucking reason to go along with it

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sucrosette · 4 months

Text

★— ⋆｡˚ [Things Missed]

For Day 26 of Carry on Countdown 23, Angst @carryon-countdown

Basil's finally ready to talk about the accident and Simon's there to listen, of course he is, he's not about to walk away.

Rated T for themes, language, & trauma talk.

This is part four of the Nurse/Lawyer AU. Just one more to go - I hope you enjoy. 🖤 [Part 1][Part 2][Part 3]

⋆｡˚ BAZ

Some days, I really miss the hours spent feeling my fingers stretched over the neck of my violin, plucking swiftly over the strings. I miss the feeling of the bowstrings reverberating noise under my strokes, the effortful, emotive playing that pushed me to sweat with effort. I even miss sitting my chin over the chinrest and just holding position in anticipation of playing.

I can still play, beautifully even, but I’m not the soloist I once was. I might have been playing sonatas in music halls across all of Europe at one point. I was good enough, I was more than good enough. I can’t do that now.

I usually manage ten to fifteen minutes before my bow hand starts shaking and my neck’s screaming for relief. Oh, there are workarounds, sure. I’ve tried the extended neck braces that eliminate the need for the chin rest. I’ve used the mobility bows that have the wrist straps, removing the need for my grip entirely. It’s just not the same though.

I had fifteen years of playing before the accident happened. It was a lifetime of habits I had needed to unlearn and repackage and… it’s not that I couldn’t have gotten to my old skill level with enough time, enough practice, but… I started to hate playing. I don’t want to hate playing, but every time I’d fuck up a simple chord progression or hit a note wrong or fumble due to relearning, that feeling would surge up inside of me. My body still wanted to play the way it knew best, and I still wanted to let it, and every time that urge clashed with the need to relearn it would put me back a whole day, sometimes more.

It hit a point where even just thinking about practicing would make me nauseous and angry, so I just stopped. I don’t want to hate playing. I love my violin. I focused on my physical therapy instead. I went to therapy. I got to the point where I am now and I changed course.

I switched to law school.

I cried a week over the decision and I had to speedrun undergrad but overall I’m better for it. I don’t hate my grandfather’s violin every time I look at it. I don’t feel frustrated just existing in a room with it. I don’t get jealous of other violinists who play half as well as I do for having just the slightest mobility advantage over me.

I can hold my bow again, position my violin and play my heart out for a full ten minutes without dropping anything or shaking and botching my play. I might not be able to do some of the more complicated pieces I once did, but what I can play, I play perfectly, just the way I remember, just the way I like. For ten whole minutes, it’s like I’m no different than I ever was, and I find that beauty I make in music and let my violin sing for me. She’s my oldest friend. I can’t hate her.

When Simon first hears me play, it’s a bit of an accident. I don’t really play for people anymore, since I can’t play long and sometimes I have to conclude a piece early when I start to feel my body react, so of course it’s a bit of an accident. It’s just my sisters I play for when I play for people now. Otherwise, it’s just me. I play alone and let myself have my memories of what once was and I put her down to reminisce another day. We share a peaceful relationship, an old friendship, but it’s not something I feel most people particularly need to witness. I aim to play alone.

It’s not that Simon doesn’t know I still play, he does, I’ve told him. Besides, she’s seen the violin, she’s seen me rosin the bow and tune my instrument. She got me a custom rosin case for it for my birthday, the very first we’d spent together— Simon is more than aware that I still play.

it just feels intimate in a way I haven’t quite been ready to share. Fifty-fifty odds I’ll cry at the end, or even halfway through. I like Simon seeing me strong, confident, and maybe a little cocky. I’ve been vulnerable, of course, I met him freshly stabbed and all, but this is a different thing.

So it’s a bit of an accident. Simon's been stateside for a friend’s wedding— she’d been her best mate in school— and I’m not expecting him home that day, let alone these ten minutes of the day I’ve chosen to play. I could've gone to the wedding with him, but I thought maybe meeting someone the week of their wedding might be a bit presumptive of me, especially with our relationship being fairly recent. Besides, the caseload at work’s been busy and I’d’ve had to fly separately, Simon's invested in his tickets an era ago and I don’t particularly want to fly over the Atlantic alone. I’ve offered to take Penny and her husband-to-be on a cruise together at some later date and we can get to know each other then, when they’re not so busy with pre-wedding and during-wedding and post-wedding.

Simon tumbles through the door about two minutes after I’ve started but I don’t hear him. He’s still at the door when I finish. Thirteen minutes later. I can feel my hand aching a little but my neck’s doing alright, so I’ll take that as a good day. I blink over at Simon, realizing he’s really there as I carefully settle my violin back into her stand.

“You play beautifully,” Simon says as she closes the door, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

I blink back the way ears in my eyes. It takes me a minute to find my words, but I shake my head to tell him that he hadn’t. I find my confidence and breath and ultimately find it’s not uncomfortable for me to have Simon seeing me play. That’s a relief. Unsurprising, ultimately, but no less a relief. “You’re early?”

“Ah, yeah,” Simon answers as she kicks off her shoes. I’m already moving to help with his bags while he explains, “Pen’s already on honeymoon and originally I’d wanted to stay over to see some sights but I just missed you so I checked to see if I could catch an earlier flight and here I am.” She does a silly little wave of her hands and it makes me impossibly bloody fond.

“You missed me that much?” There’s a touch of teasing there and Simon punches my arm for it, but he doesn’t use any strength to do it, and just sort of scrunches his nose in annoyance.

“Of bloody course I did, you prick. It’s been a whole week already…”

I hum as I follow Simon to our room, helping him unpack when we get there. I pause to nudge his side and when he turns my way I catch him in a kiss. “I missed you too.”

It’s an easy admission. “Of course you did,” Simon says it like it’s obvious.

it is obvious.

We work through unpacking him in relative silence, a companionable quiet that tells me both how tired he is and how happy he is just to be home. I’ll ask him all about everything after he’s gotten some sleep in him, reset properly from the jetlag over some food. I’m just as happy to have Simon home again too. I missed existing with her the last week.

“I’ll let you hear me play again,” I say apropos of nothing, except I can still hear those words in my head. You play beautifully.

I know I do. Or I knew I did.

The declaration stops Simon midway from tossing his dirty wash in our hamper, but only for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, whenever I play next.” It’ll be tomorrow. I play almost every day, so long as it’s not a snow day.

“I’d like that,” He answers with a soft smile, “I’d like it a lot.”

I love this about Simon. He’s just so bloody understanding. I don’t understand how he doesn’t press or complicate or assume anything. We just finish getting through his unpacking and collapse into our bed and cuddle close.

I think he’s fallen asleep already when his voice catches me off guard, but maybe I’d been the one closer to sleep. “Are you gonna tell me about it?”

“Not tonight,” I know exactly what he means without asking, “But soon, probably. After you tell me all about how the wedding went.”

Simon hums and snuggles in closer and I melt around him, letting myself relax with him, letting myself feel how much I missed him. I can feel Simon melting in my arms too. I’m too tired for anything else, he’s too tired for anything else, and it’s so bloody easy for us to fall asleep like that, tangled up in one another.

⋆｡˚ SIMON

He doesn’t tell me the next morning, not after all the talking I can manage on Pen’s ceremony and dress and everything. It’s a lazy morning. He called in to work from home (“No court days?” “No court days.”) and we slept in and stayed in bed hours longer and I still had three whole more days off work. I’m not in any rush to find out, I’m just happy I’ve gotten to hear him play now.

I ramble on and on about the States and everything that I’d missed about home and weird little language differences and all the things Pen had gone on about herself during our downtime. I think Baz might know her better than he thinks with how much I talk about her, but I’m not mad he didn’t come with me. I just missed him.

I don’t ask. I don’t need to ask. He’ll tell me when he’s ready.

I’m happy to linger in lazy mornings like this forever, if he’ll be here with me for them.

⋆｡˚ BAZ

I keep thinking I’m going to tell her, and then I don’t. I keep thinking I should bring it up, but then I don’t. It’s just such a bloody happy day and I’m such a greedy, selfish sap. I want to keep it a happy day. We deserve more happy, lazy days.

I do play my violin for him, just like I’d said I would. I only just make it through about eight minutes today, but Simon smiles so beautifully for such a simple piece.

I’m going to tell him, I know it, just not today. Today I want to keep his smile just like it was when he woke up, refreshed and comfortable after a week out of our bed. I want to keep her just like this forever.

⋆｡˚ SIMON

It’s about two weeks later when Basil wakes up in a cold sweat next to me. It’s not the first time I’ve witnessed his night terrors, we’ve lived together far too long by now for me not to be at least a little familiar with them, but normally he goes through the motions quickly enough that I barely have time to comfort at all. This time must’ve been particularly visceral. I sit up beside him and he still hasn’t budged an inch, except to curl in on himself. I touch carefully, brushing my fingers through his thick, dark hair, brushing his bangs aside so they don’t stick to his sweat-slick skin and hum.

I hum whatever he’d played me last. Something by Bach, I think, but I’m not good at classical music. I am learning, a little, but I still can’t tell Beethoven from the Greatest Showman and apparently the latter is a musical, not a classical composition. I’m learning. Baz smiles whenever I get something right.

He unwinds enough to roll himself over and into my arms and I wrap him up like I’m a security blanket made just for him.

“Bloody nightmares…” His voice comes out in rasp, dry and angry, but I don’t push, I just hold him like that until he stops shaking, until his breathing settles out against my chest.

I glance at the clock. Twelve more hours till work. I can nap after this all settles if I need more sleep. I have time. “Think you can sleep again?” I ask it as gently as I can manage.

Baz shakes his head against my chest, but it’s alright, I just keep humming while he sinks deeper into my arms and the tangle of blankets around us. If there was less time, I’d even call out, but there’s plenty of time.

“I think I want to talk about it.”

⋆｡˚ BAZ

I’ve surprised him, I can tell. His mouth is doing that little ‘oh’ thing that she only does when she’s caught off guard. Maybe that’s fair, I haven’t talked about for long enough that maybe she was never truly expecting me to, but I have wanted to.

⋆｡˚ SIMON

He presses a kiss to the hollow of my throat and it brings me back to my senses enough to encourage him to keep going. “If you’re ready.”

Basil hums again and nods along, “I’m ready.”

I press a kiss to his temple and wait. I have time. I can always wait where Baz is concerned, but he doesn’t make me wait long. It spills out in chunks, but I fill in the blanks well enough. Trauma’s like that, I know, sometimes memories just don’t come back clean.

⋆｡˚ BAZ

I was twenty when it happened. It was winter break and I was driving back home for the holidays. The road had been slick from the storm but it was only a four hour drive, a little longer if I went easy, and I always go easy when I need to. So I’m headed home and thinking about what to get my sisters in the meanwhile and not at all worried about the process of getting there.

Of course, it was never me I had to worry about. A truck twice the size of my little Beetle comes hurtling down the opposite side of the road at a good twice my speed. It must’ve started hydroplaning at the exact right moment to cause him to swerve right into me.

There’s no time to react, no time to brake or swerve or anything at all.

There’s only the truck’s blinding headlights on a collision course straight for me.

I can still feel the hear the sound of the metal crunching together in front of me. I can still feel the pressure of the airbag going off against my face, against my hands. The way my arm had hit the center dash and turned blue almost immediately. The whiplash from my head flinging back so suddenly, the wrongness in my neck.

Simon’s petting through my hair as he listens to me, taking everything in, kissing my forehead again, and then pulling back enough to pull my hands up to kiss them too. She’s patient through it all and it’s not until the lull in my story that I realize I’ve been crying. Just a little. Just quietly while I go through it.

I lose myself in the realization for a moment, thoughts dissipating into nothing. I’m not sure where I was in the story, or where to pick up, it’s just all sort of a blur anyway. I let myself have my tears about and Simon, my sweet Simon, kisses my tears away and holds me closer through it.

“Is that what your nightmares are about?” Simon asks when my tears start to slow and I’ve worked myself further out of that ball of stress.

“No,” I answer, and it feels a bit silly, but also not at all. “My nightmares are… they’re about the first time I picked up my grandfather’s violin, after I’d supposedly healed enough to try again, and I dropped it.”

⋆｡˚ SIMON

Baz chokes when he confesses it, loses his voice halfway through the word dropped, but his mouth still forms the word it. My skill in lipreading fills in that blank too. “You don’t have to say more if you don’t want to, you know. It’s okay to be done talking.”

He hums low and shifts our hold so he’s more holding me now, wrapping his legs around mine and practically clinging. I don’t bother to resist. I don’t mind comforting him like this either. It’s plenty comfortable in Baz’s arms too.

“I don’t think there’s much else to say,” Baz breathes out when he finds his voice again, “If there is I can’t recall right now.”

I nuzzle his chest and tangle us up that much more thoroughly. “It’s alright, love… if you want to talk more later, I’m always here for you, alright?”

“Alright.”

“I love you.”

⋆｡˚ BAZ

Simon quiets in my arms after that and I can feel my exhaustion creeping up again. I press a kiss to her temple and let my thoughts drift away from my nightmares, from my spotty memories, from the little Volvo I had once loved so much. I suppose it saved my life that day, gave it’s own for me. If cars have souls, I hope it's thriving somewhere.

I let myself drift to thoughts of Simon, of our life. Of the time we’ve had together so far, of the time we’re going to have together. I think of his soft hair and softer marshmallow scent. I thought it was a perfume or cologne at first, but no. That’s just Simon, sugary sweet.

“Hey, Simon?”

She murmurs her own soft, unintelligible acknowledgment against my chest and I can tell from the weight of him that she’s drifting back off already.

“Thank you,” I say into the mess of her hair and she makes a happy little noise. Her own of course, anytime, always, without the mess of words. She makes me so bloody soft, so bloody comfortable. “I love you too.”

Simon’s little noise repeats itself and I can feel a smile crack my lips, just a little bit even after all the emotions thinking about the accident can give me.

“Rest well, love,” my words fall soft and Simon’s already gone, and I think I can manage the same. I think, probably, without dreaming terrible things all over again.

#Carry On Countdown #COC 2023 #baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #carry on fanfiction #my writing #there's more of this to be posted #Bigender Nurse Simon Snow (He/She)#Lawyer Baz Pitch #soft snowbaz #emotional hurt/comfort #tw: car accident #alternating pov

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compassionatereminders · 7 months

Note

hi Kat, I wanted to see if you have any advice or kind words for me. I’m going through a breakup, I ended things 2-3 weeks ago. today would have been our 6 year anniversary. I decided to end things bc my ex’s dissociation & overall mental health has declined the past couple years and was affecting us. she went through a bad breakup a couple years back (we were polyamorous) which was the beginning of the decline. it was traumatic for her. I supported her as best as I could, but she says I wasn’t supportive enough (I’m autistic & I provide a lot more tangible support than verbal support). after that, we kept having instances where she would say outright mean things to me, seemingly pick fights over nothing, accuse me of things I wasn’t doing, and generally be really hurtful and not like herself. and it just got worse and worse for 2 years. we both did individual therapy, couples therapy, and both have psychiatrists. but she has an alter that is resentful of me or hates me or something, idk. so she would switch out, say mean things to me, but when we’d talk about it later she would just say I never said that, that didn’t happen, and so on. she said I was gaslighting her while in the same breath telling me that all my memories are wrong. it escalated to a point where my therapist encouraged me to leave, and she’s never made a suggestion like that before so I took it seriously. I left a week ago & I have to move in with a friend. I’ve been in an abusive relationship before where I was gaslit, meanwhile she would flip it around and say I didn’t do that, YOU did and accuse me of gaslighting her. so it’s been really triggering to have this current situation where one person has DID and genuinely doesn’t remember what happened trying to convince me that my memories are wrong all the time. she’ll say something cruel to me, later deny that it ever happened, and a few hours later be back to being sweet and kind and loving. every time I’ve talked about possibly ending the relationship she changes for a few days and is extra sweet, then we go back to the relationship being bad. I’m just really, really sad. I still love her and I didn’t want things to end. I wish we could go back to the relationship we had a few years ago. our mutual friends say she’s talking shit about me, meanwhile I’m over here saying that I love her and wish I could be with her. my therapist and my long-term friends (most of whom know me & my ex well) think that I’m making the right decision and that my ex has steadily treated me worse and worse, especially in the last year. (their opinions aren’t even 100% based on what I’ve told them, some of it is things they’ve witnessed first hand.) I’m just really sad and feel like I’m making a mistake, even though I’m probably not. I’ve had long-term relationships end before and it’s never felt this bad. I’ve always felt like eventually I would be able to move on, but I don’t feel that way this time.

It honestly sounds like you made the right decision by breaking up. One thing is saying "I don't remember that" - but going "I don't remember that, so you must be lying!" is just not an okay conclusion. Especially not if you're aware that you frequently experience amnesia due to DID

#chat with kat #gaslighting tw

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newgenog · 11 months

Text

REVENGE

Notes: This is NOT part one of chapter five. This is a teaser from chapter five.

If you're just stumbling across this, and haven't already done so, please stop and start by reading part one of chapter one.

This #Batwoman AU is based on the ABC tv series #Revenge. Ryan Wilder had just about everything taken from her when we met her, and she was doing her best to get it back. In this version of the story, that means taking some people down along the way. And, she's definitely no hero.

Let's just say chapter four was the mid-season finale and this is the spring hiatus trailer. And with that, I'll give you a game plan for this entire story.

We're going to finish this story by end of year.

In my story, season two of the tv series Batwoman parallels season one of the tv series Revenge, which will end with chapter 7.

I'm more or less skipping season two of Revenge, and will parallel season three for both shows.

I'll conclude with that season, too, ending on chapter 12. We're almost posting month for month with 2023, so that feels like a nice timeline.

Meet me here on Tumblr next Friday for part one of chapter five. Here's an out of sequence and context snippet from that part.

CHAPTER FIVE SNEAK PEEK

Tommy: “I knew you should have never trusted Robyn.”

Kate: “What are you talking about?”

Kate sips her drink, annoyed by the sudden accusation and shift in conversation. She wasn’t even aware that Tommy had an issue with Robyn.

Tommy: “Isn’t she supposed to be your friend, but she’s moving in on your girl?”

Kate sighs through her nose.

Kate: “Regardless to how I feel, Sophie isn’t mine. And neither is Robyn. We all met her at the same time. She doesn’t owe any allegiance to me.”

Tommy: “Right. What a coincidence. She just drops into all of your lives out of nowhere, and now she’s an integral part of it from every angle? You don’t find that odd?”

Kate: “Are you jealous of my relationship with Robyn? Because she’s been nothing but nice to you, so I don’t understand why you would randomly attack her, especially after you saw what just happened to her tonight.”

Tommy: “Seems pretty convenient to me.”

Kate: “What the hell is convenient about having your recorded therapy session shared with a bunch of strangers?”

Tommy: “Exactly! Strangers! What do you even know about this woman? Because what I see is that your ex seems to be coincidently falling for her, she’s become besties with both Catherine’s and your most trusted employees, and she’s been in Gotham for 5 minutes and is suddenly included in a video leak of Gotham elites.”

Kate: “She IS a Gotham elite, or whatever, if you insist on using those terms. She’s the CEO at Jetirian. Of course she’d use the top recommended therapist. You know what, Tommy? I was just trying to confide in you about Sophie, and this insane rabbit hole you’re digging feels like you’re questioning my judgment in friends. And maybe you’re right about that, because I thought you, my friend, were supposed to be helping me figure out how to get out of this merry go round of feelings about a woman I still love who can barely tolerate me. But maybe you’ve had so much to drink that you’re becoming delusional.”

Tommy, relatively sober, because he’s been more focused on feeding drinks to Kate than consuming them himself, fights back the urge to follow up on the mysterious selection of Robyn as CEO of Jetirian, because he can tell she’s not going to listen to reason tonight. Tommy doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, but as someone who’s pulled a scam or two of his own, he knows one when he sees one. He throws an arm over Kate’s shoulder, bringing her in for a side hug.

Tommy: “Truce bestie! Maybe you’re right. I’ve missed you, and she gets to do all the fun stuff we used to do together. I’m sure you’re right, and I just need to get to know her as well as you do. So, let’s talk about how we get your girl back.”

~~~~~

See you next week!

All #Batwoman things I do now are in the name of #SaveBatwoman. The month of May has so many fun activities planned for the campaign, including some committee members posting live updates from the #Starfury #Ultimates-Apokolips convention. Go follow @savebatwoman on social Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and YouTube.

#wmw23 #wildmoore week #wildmoore #batwoman #fanfic #ryan wilder #ryan x sophie #sophie moore #save batwoman #lgbtq

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vtforpedro · 11 months

Text

update - tw in tags please read

I’ve been meaning to make a life/health/disability update the last week or so but those things don’t really matter to me right now. My cat Isis, my soulmate if ever there was one, died in my arms on Thursday morning at 10:32 AM. It happened after I heard a long, mournful yell/groan from her at 10:25 AM. She was fine before, then dead in my arms in seven minutes. 11 years and 1 month old. No warning, no lead up. To say I am devastated is an understatement. I genuinely don’t know how to live without my soulmate. She took half of me with her and my half, well... it’s circling the drain and has been for years. It’s why I’ve always said my cats and my mom are the only reasons I don’t unalive myself. My relationship with my mom is ruined and she won’t do family therapy, and my soulmate is gone. I love all of my pets the same, give them the same love, but there is the once in a lifetime or very rare animal in a long line of them who is just different and that was Isis. Tomorrow will be my third morning waking up and not seeing her come to greet me. She did that on the day she passed but I hung out in bed too long so she went to the bedroom. 10-12 minutes later and as I was getting up, I heard her cry. After attempting CPR, I knew the second she died and the ER vet’s front desk told me sometimes they choose when to go as I wailed with agony. She didn’t fucking choose this. She’d choose to be home if she could. Warm and loved. Not fucking that. I held her in my arms for 40 minutes. Then I held her on her favorite blanket on my lap for almost two hours. We wrapped her in another favorite blanket when we took her to the vet. We spoke with her vet, who is quite familiar with her, and he said it was likely a blood clot or sudden heart issue from what I described. Nothing to be done and no way I could have saved her. She felt pain and fear, but for a brief time she was aware that I was with her and I hope she was comforted by my presence in some way. I’m getting her cremains and a paw print back and one day I’d like to commission art of her. Right now, all I can think about is that I had not yet fully healed from the LP over a year ago so I could sit on the couch and she would lay on my chest and purr for an hour before falling asleep. What healing she’s given me for 10 years. Through some of the lowest points of my life, she has kept me going. I adopted her on May 5th, 2013. I lost her on May 18th, 2023. She was 11 going on kitten. Life is cruel and unfair. I wouldn’t wish going through those seven minutes of agony on anyone and I would turn back the clock to save her from the pain and fear, as she felt them both acutely. Life is so terrible to such innocent beings who have unconditional and insane amounts of love to give, as Isis did to anyone and everyone she knew longer than a day. Everyone always told me how sweet she was. They were always so shocked at how loud her purr was, the very reason I adopted her. I cannot believe I am never going to hear it or feel it again. I don’t want to believe it. She did everything with me and my morning routines are excruciating right now because she isn’t there. She went on most bathroom trips with me, we chatted up a storm every day, she laid in her designated second computer chair at my side, always always always laid at my side on the recliner or couch, and purred purred purred. Isis was the funniest, sweetest, most talkative, comforting, attention-hogging, purring machine. She was orange and proud of it. An instigating little shit and also proud of it. She is with me and I am with her, I hope. I’m still coming down from the shock of what happened but I don’t think this heavy grief will go away for a long time. The apartment has gotten too quiet and I’m lonelier than ever. Lilly is my lovebug and honey bun and she is looking for Isis all the time. Not because they were friends, but Isis did not let her have a moment’s peace! lol But watching her look for her is still incredibly painful. She was fully aware something was happening to Isis, as I had to push her away twice during those seven minutes, but not the concept of death certainly. Still, it’s only been 2.5 days and Lilly is becoming more anxious and restless. She spent today out in the living room with me. Almost all day. She is queen of the Queen Bed Kingdom and the bedroom is her territory (she and Isis had many words about it), so it was really unusual. Isis never really let her put her guard down out here and I hope she starts to. She will stop looking for Isis much sooner than I will. I see her everywhere. I feel her against my leg. I hear her. I feel the touch of her soft fur, of her headbutts, her cold nose as she always tries to lick my chin and cheeks and forehead and nose. I feel as if I could simply say Isis and she’d brrp and be here again. I don’t want to adopt another cat. I want to hang on for Lilly if I can. I want Isis with me again, even if it’s only her name on an urn and the fleeting touch of her paw in clay. But how I long to go back and experience adopting her and having her for another decade at my side. Maybe she’ll stop by my dreams and they’ll be kind ones instead. ☀️

#vtforpedro personal #tw animal death #tw pet death #tw poor mental health #i am not doing well #i was not prepared to say goodbye #not for many more years

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izukuwus · 1 year

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Edible Arrangements 27

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Read on Ao3

A/N: WE REMAIN ON SCHEDULE. I also figured out how to make formatting not break when copying from Scrivener, so this went much faster! Have a, uh, Thanksgiving chapter in December, lmao

Chapter Summary: It's nearly Friendsgiving! You finalize your project with Neito and have a good time with your friends.

Warnings: Some medical talk regarding dislocated bones, the general existence of Thanksgiving

Word Count: 3800+

You regret to admit as much, but you might actually not totally despise Neito. Sure, there’s still that lingering unease around him, and no, you still won’t meet him without backup, not even after three weeks of uneventful project work interspersed with angry debates. But… weeks of chatting with him and no major incidents have steeled your nerves. All the lingering unease is just that—lingering. And now the end of this stupid philosophy project is in sight, and you’re nearly free, and you find yourself actually willing to have pleasant conversation with him, not an underlying accusation in sight.

(Of course, none of that to say the conversation wasn’t awkward. Just less unpleasant.)

Mina was on duty today, but she’s stepped away to the restroom, leaving you to make conversation alone. “So, uh,” you start, closing your laptop at the end of your final pass-through of the paper. “Doing anything for break?”

Neito’s fingers still on his laptop keyboard. You’ve got no idea what he was typing, but you know it wasn’t in your shared Google doc. His wheels turn for a moment before he answers.

“I’m not sure. I… My… Things are weird now. With my family.”

You hum as you pack up. “I guess it’s your first holiday as, uh… this.”

He nods. “I can’t say I’m on very good terms with Itsuka after this. The drive home will be rough.”

“Itsuka? The one who turned you, right? Is she…”

“My stepsister,” he finishes. “We ended up at the same university. She’s… I can’t say I’ve really talked with her about all this.”

“You haven’t?” You raise an eyebrow. “What, have you just been avoiding each other for the past month?”

Neito lets out the longest sigh he can hold. “Essentially, yes. I woke up, she told me about what I need to know as a new vampire, and then we haven’t had a real conversation since. It’s all, ‘are you adjusting well?’ and ‘getting on okay in your classes?’ The rest of the time, we’re just… hovering around each other.”

“Is it because you don’t want to talk to her, or because she doesn’t want to talk to you?”

“Neither, I think.” He runs a hand through his hair. Maybe it’s only because you hadn’t spent much time together, but he’s looked more disheveled in the past weeks than you had ever noticed before. “Or maybe… maybe I don’t know how to talk to her anymore. How do you talk to someone after that? Perhaps I was in the wrong when I took it on myself to hunt innocent people, thinking myself a hero, but… even if I deserved the consequences received, I don’t know how to talk to someone who hurt me so deeply.”

You sigh. It’s clear that he’s hurting a lot from this, and your sympathy wars with the ongoing aches in your arm. “Have you considered getting a therapist?”

“Hm?”

“I mean, like, I’ve been through some shit. I mean, obviously.” You gesture to your scarring arm. “But even before that, there’d been some bullshit. I went to therapy for a little while after that. Would’ve kept going if my finances didn’t tank, but either way, my therapist was really cool.”

“Some bullshit?” He raises an eyebrow. “Like what, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh that? I got stabbed. And some other stuff, too, I guess, but it wasn’t all that important.”

He hums thoughtfully, fingers returning to flying across his keyboard with whatever he’s doing. “You said your therapist was good? Can you point me their way?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s, uh… shit. What was her name?” You genuinely can’t remember. It’s hazy, a name on the tip of your brain, but every time you brush against it, it slips away. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. I’ll dig into my records when I’m home, I sure I wrote down her info when I was still seeing her.”

“Don’t worry about it; take as much time as you need. I admit I’m a bit wary of seeing a therapist without a good recommendation, so it would be of great help to me.”

“Yeah, sure! I’ll submit stuff tonight and go digging for my old therapist’s info for you. Sound good?”

“Please.”

It’s bitter, mostly, this sort of parting. Mina returns from the bathroom, and you gather up your stuff in relative silence. Things could have been different, you think, but then your arm brushes against the metal of your chair and leaves an angry burn behind, and you shake it off.

You’ll get him his therapist, and then you’ll be done with this, all of it.

You make your way home. You’ve got a kitten to play with, a paper to submit, and a therapist’s info to dig up. You call out to Izuku on your way in, but no one replies, just Sbeve barreling at you at top speeds from the top of the stairs. Sbeve’s proven to be quite the cuddle bug, curling right up in your arms as you walk around the house looking for Izuku.

He’s not downstairs. He’s not in the basement. You don’t find him in the kitchen, the library, or his secret study. Then, just for completion’s sake, you glance outside and realize his car isn’t even here. He must not have mentioned he was going out.

No matter. It just gives you time to focus on other things—Sbeve to cuddle up with you while you go through your laptop. A chill, quiet night in. You can work with that.

The group of them meets up on campus, the sun already having set in the November cold. They meet up under a streetlamp outside the library. In attendance: Tsuyu and Mina, representing the only humans present. Also in attendance: Izuku, Neito, Hitoshi, and an unexpected face, accompanying Hitoshi.

Neito is the first to recognize him. “Dr. Aizawa?”

“Monoma. You have a project due tonight, as I recall.”

He shakes his head, waves it off. “We finalized it earlier. [name] should be submitting it sometime right around now.”

He nods, lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Sorry for crashing the Disenthrallment Council or whatever you’re calling it. Hitoshi asked me for advice, as his sire, so I guess I’m also helping out with this.”

“No, no problem!” Izuku says, waving his hands a touch frantically. “It’s rare to see you outside of staff meetings!”

Dr. Aizawa arches an eyebrow at him. “You don’t even work on campus.”

“Well, I… Y-yeah, I guess so!” He clams right back up.

“So, then. Who’s leading this, anyway?”

“Leading?” Mina echoes. “No one’s really a leader here. We’re not really directed enough for that.”

“I’ll start us off, then. I don’t have all night.”

“R-right…”

“What’s the current status on trying to disenthrall this student?”

Tsuyu raises her hand, more out of instinct than anything. “We’ve just gotten information from Tenya about what the enthrallment covers this week. We’re still figuring out a strategy, kero.”

Neito nods. “We thought to start trying by sort of prying at the “edges” of their memory, but…”

“What’s the “edge” of a memory, anyway?” Mina complains. “It’s fine to say that, but what does that even mean?”

“Like where their memories are weak?”

She hums, dissatisfied with the answer.

“I thought I was finding the edge of one of those memories at the end of our project meeting today, but it seems I was unsuccessful… I doubt I’ll, personally, have many more opportunities.” Neito sighs. “It’s a shame, too.”

Dr. Aizawa looks over each of them slowly, tired eyes closing as he thinks. “So, what you’re trying to do is get them to focus on the weaker parts of the thrall?”

“Yeah,” Hitoshi says. “We’re looking, basically, for bits of memories where they don’t seem to change the subject as quickly, and pressing those.”

“Why don’t you look for a way to force them to look at the memories as a whole?” he asks.

Izuku shakes his head. “It’s no good. They start reacting pretty negatively, and last time, they got a very serious headache. I’m worried that it’ll create more damage by forcing them to face the thrall head-on.”

“Are you worried it’ll hurt them, or are you worried that it’ll be uncomfortable?”

“Well, I… it’s not that, i-it’s just…”

Dr. Aizawa sighs. “You were a medical doctor at one point, weren’t you? Have you ever handled a dislocated shoulder?”

Izuku cringes a bit. “I have. And I understand what you’re saying, but—“

“Then you know that sometimes forcing a patient through the pain is necessary for them to do any healing.”

“But it should be done by a trained professional!” he protested. “You risk so much more damage to the dislocated joint if you put it back without the correct training, the correct precautions, the right approach and technique and—“

“Do you think you’ll find anyone who has that training in this situation? As far as I’ve heard, no one alive knows how to do what you kids are trying to do. There are no experts, and there is no right approach or any sort of training. You’re just going to have to do the painful thing.”

“I don’t… I don’t know about all that…” Izuku says, quietly and to himself. The conversation is already blazing forward without his enthusiasm.

“If you were to take the route of forcing them to acknowledge their own memories, then I guess the best route would be to present them with evidence of things they’ve forgotten. They’ve had their memories overwritten, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“There should be evidence somewhere to prove what’s actually happened. If they’ve got pictures hidden somewhere from back then, or if there were videos of them doing something they don’t remember doing, for example. Give them something they can’t look away from.”

“In other words,” Neito says, his phone buzzing in his hand, “smash the thrall.”

He checks the text, an eyebrow raised.

[name] to Neito at 6:04 PM

[name]: okay so project’s uploaded

[name]: I did some digging and found an email exchange with my old therapist

[name]: looks like she’s not currently open to new patients, but she’s got a waitlist you can get on to be contacted when she’s got time

[name]: anyways here’s her page

[name]: small.link/clear-skies-clinic

[name]: I remember her being really, really good and helpful, so hopefully she’ll be useful to you and everything. there wasn’t really much of anything I couldn’t tell her and feel comfy.

[name]: good luck with your new biting thing. or whatever.

Neito’s eyebrow arches higher. Not much they couldn’t tell her…

Neito: When did you see her, again?

[name]: weird question, but ok

[name]: like, two-ish years ago

“I guess I have some old pictures? But [name] might just think they were taken after they and Tenya “met”…” Mina has a hand on her shoulder as she brainstorms.

“We’ll have to spend some time gathering evidence.”

Dr. Aizawa nods. “It has to be enough evidence that they can’t possibly come up with an argument for it. I don’t think just a few pictures is going to cut it.”

Neito tunes them out, opening up the link you sent. There it is—the therapist’s contact info, a professional picture of her—pleasant expression, glasses, white hair with little shocks of red. Below the photo, the text reads: Dr. Fuyumi Todoroki: Licensed Mental Health Counselor, EdD, LCMHC, LCAS.

“Hey. Van Helsing wannabe.”

Neito’s eyes snap away from the therapist’s email address. “Hm?”

“Wow, you actually answered to that.”

He rolls his eyes. “What?”

“Are you listening or what?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Our resident thrall was texting.”

Hitoshi rolls his eyes in return. “If you could pay attention, that would be great.”

“No, no, I think the distraction was good. How long do you suppose therapists keep their notes?”

“If they’re following local regulations, seven years, kero.” Tsuyu tilts her head. “Why are you asking?”

“I may have something of a debatably ethical idea.”

Fall break settles nicely around you. All projects out of the way, homework binged on the first day of break, finds you instead focused on texting and trying to coordinate any kind of holiday feast with your friends. Draped across the living room couch, you text, keeping one eye on the little ball of fluff perched atop the cat tree.

capris are for drinking to Friendliest Friends at 1:59PM

capris are for drinking: Alright bitches it’s noon I need you to wake up and sound off @ET come home

ET come home: excuse you, I’ve been in the dance studio since like 6am

ribbit: that doesn’t actually disprove that you were sleeping

capris are for drinking: @I Must Proceed With Speed sound off

I Must Proceed With Speed: Oh, good. Someone changed my nickname again.

ET come home: <3

capris are for drinking: <3

ribbit: <3

capris are for drinking: it is now officially fall break!

ET come home: fall break started yesterday

capris are for drinking: not according to the fall 2050 academic calendar it didn’t!

capris are for drinking: anyways shut up

capris are for drinking: and give me your guyseseses schedules

capris are for drinking: we need to coord friendsgiving and I’m free infinitely at the moment so I’m the common denominator

You hear movement behind you. Sbeve hasn’t left line of sight, which leaves one option…

“Hey, Izuku. Plans for holiday stuff this week?”

Izuku freezes in the doorway to the kitchen area, staring at you blankly. “Oh. I forgot about Thanksgiving.”

You shake your head. “Not Thanksgiving. But we do do a Friendsgiving-type thing. I’m working on organizing it with the usual group, but we will need to figure out where to host. We could do it here, if you’re okay with it…? Obviously you’re invited.”

“I’ve got no plans or anything, so feel free! I can help put it all together and everything, too.”

“We do it like a potluck feast. Mina, Tsuyu, and Tenya all would be bringing stuff, so we won’t be worrying about all of the food.”

He comes to lean on the back of the couch as you text and talk. “So who’s in charge of what?”

“We haven’t figured it out yet. Let’s see…”

ET come home: I’m good for tomorrow if you guys are

I Must Proceed With Speed: I don’t have any particular plans, though the notice is short

capris are for drinking: yeah, sorry about that! it’s been… you know, a lot, recently.

capris are for drinking: school bullshit and prepping for exams and like, writing an entire paper with… well, you know, tenya

capris are for drinking: what about saturday? would that work better?

I Must Proceed With Speed: much better.

ribbit: works for me!

ET come home: I’m down!

capris are for drinking: great. zuku says we can host here if that’s okay?

ET come home: oh good more excuses for you not to leave the house ;)

capris are for drinking: fuck you <3

Their agreements sound off, and soon, with Izuku peeking over your shoulder and offering suggestions, food is coordinated. It’ll take some time preparing—in fact, probably the rest of today planning and shopping—but you wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Planning is, actually, the worst part. You find yourself sitting at the kitchen counter, notebook in front of you, head in your hands as Izuku takes inventory of the fridge and pantry.

“I can’t do it,” you moan. “It’s so much thinking. My brain’s too fried.”

“It’s not that bad. Look, what does Tsuyu always bring?”

“Kickasserole.”

“Is… is that the official name?”

“Didn’t used to be, but we renamed it. It’s kickasserole these days.”

He laughs, then nods. “Okay, so we don’t need to worry about the casserole. What’s Mina always bring?”

“Pie. Oh my god her pie is so good. She brings, like, four of them. We don’t need to worry about dessert.”

“Great! No worries about dessert, then. What’s Tenya bring?”

“Tenya always brings the turkey, but he hasn’t been coming ever since his—“

You stop. Furrow your brow.

…

“…sorry,” you say after a long moment. That’s strange. You had a sentence in your head, but it just… vanished. “My head kinda hurts, lost my train of thought there. So I was saying, that leaves us with bread rolls, mashed potatoes, drinks. Mina does alcohol, but Tsuyu’s not much of a drinker, so we should have another option or two on deck.”

Izuku watches you for a second. You shift under his gaze, nervously turning back to your notes. “What was it you were saying before?” he asks after a moment.

“What?”

“Tenya hasn’t been coming ever since what?”

You arch a brow. “What are you talking about? I just met Tenya in, like, January. Of course he hasn’t been coming.”

“I’m just saying, y-you didn’t even think about including him in your plans, right? You just already knew to do so.”

“Yeah? Friendsgiving is with the lunch bunch. It’s not like I’d exclude him. We’re over that whole fight, I think. And I’m not the only one deciding, after all.”

“But he also didn’t seem surprised by your suddenly bringing it up,” he presses. “Isn’t that weird?”

You shrug. “I probably brought it up like, last week and just forgot. We run into each other on campus all the time.”

He frowns, but says nothing, and you return to planning, then to shopping, then to prepping, all in a smooth line.

Tenya is the first to arrive that day, carrying in a hefty tray with you-know-exactly-what as you hold Sbeve back. He sets it down, and it’s not long until the other two arrive—Mina with her pies, carried in in two trips, and Tsuyu with her kickasserole. The meal settles in, your friends with it, and the day passes without incident. Even Tenya and Izuku seem to be getting close to getting along. Kind of.

They leave in the opposite order they came. Tsuyu has to leave to pick up her brother from his friend’s house, Mina rolls out with a sly look that implies she’s wanting to give you alone time with your housemate. Tenya is the one who lingers, petting Sbeve’s head with three thick fingers in your living room as you walk him to the door.

“Thanks for coming,” you say at the door.

He nods. “Of course.”

“It was short notice and all.”

“I really don’t mind. It’s good to be flexible!”

You sigh, smiling as not even a hint of a glow comes to him. “Thank you, then.”

There’s a moment where both of you pause at the door. The pair of you stand there, not speaking. Sbeve’s purring fills the silence between you, and in that air, your questions hang.

You wonder where Tenya gets his drinks. He’s never so much as looked at you, Mina, or Tsuyu for blood, although your collective knowledge of his vampirism is fairly recent. Still, to not even have asked… has there ever been a moment where he seemed to be off? Thirsty? Is it the family hospital? How would his brother feel if—

…his brother?

“…say, Tenya—“

“Before I go, I’d like to speak with you,” he says, and he’s not looking at you. His eyes are past you, where Izuku has frozen on his way into the kitchen with plates in hand.

“O-oh! Uh, no problem. Would you prefer this be private, or—“

He barely takes a moment to consider it. “Yes, actually. If you don’t mind, [name]…”

“No, no! Go right ahead.”

Your vampires head further in, and you’re left with Sbeve, sitting on the couch with Tenya’s dish, waiting for them to have their talk.

“I need to apologize to you.”

Tenya says it before the door’s even closed, his voice low, and Izuku bristles.

“O-okay?”

When the door clicks closed, Tenya lets out a long, sad sigh, his hand lingering on the doorknob. “I have been unfair to you from the moment [name] mentioned you. I’m sorry for that.”

Izuku is silent, staring at him with a furrowed brow. When Tenya lets him marinate in the silence, he gives in to speaking. “Why are you apologizing now?”

“Stop trying to break their thrall. The others will be fine, but…”

“Why?”

“You haven’t gone through the information I sent you?”

“I know that the two of you have known each other for a while, but…”

Tenya meets his eyes, a deep-set frown on his lips. “Their thrall is likely not possible to break. But if it is, and you do it, you will be driving them away. They will likely remember who they were when they were enthralled, and though I don’t deserve it, if they truly remember me…”

“I get it. That’s a choice [name] will have to make for themselves.”

“You’re going to keep trying? Even if it means you lose them?”

“It’s not about that. I’m doing this for them, not me.”

Izuku has to wonder. He hates it, but he has to wonder: would he be lying, in your eyes?

“I’m sure there’s plenty that you’re smarter than me about. You have the years and experience to have reached that point, not to mention far too much schooling. But I think you’re doing something incredibly stupid by choosing to keep on with this.”

Tenya cracks the door, about to leave. Izuku flashes him a thin smile. “Thank you for apologizing.”

“I doubt it will happen again.”

Izuku watches Tenya leave. He needs a moment to himself.

Tenya comes to you alone, Izuku nowhere in sight. You nearly miss him on his way out the door, though your attention snaps to him the moment you hear him.

“Mind if I ask what all that was about?”

“I do, unfortunately,” he says.

You smile. “No worries.”

There it is again. That awkwardness. There’s something hanging in the air. A kind of tension in your chest, a closure that’s missing, that can never come, because you haven’t the first clue what you’re even looking for.

“Thank you again. I know you don’t like Izuku, so… thank you for playing nice with him tonight. Please tell me you weren’t in there threatening him again.”

“No, nothing of the sort.”

To your relief, he isn’t lying. You pass him back his dish, brain reaching for the question you’d wanted to ask him before, but you can’t seem to get a grip on it.

“Have a good night, Tenya.”

This is weird. This is really weird.

He pulls you into a hug, soft and big and painful on a level you can’t understand.

“Good night, [name].”

On your porch, he pauses, looking back at you. “Before I forget. You wanted to ask something before, didn’t you? Sorry I interrupted you.”

You shake your head. “I can’t remember what it was. Don’t worry about it, okay, Tenya?”

He nods and bids you one last goodnight. You watch him go.

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#my fics #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #bnha vampire au #bnha reader insert #mha reader insert #vampire midoriya izuku #vampire izuku midoriya

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exvangelicalrage · 10 months

Text

I took a couple weeks off from writing about christianity, and in that time, I decided to also take a break from therapy.

I've been going to the same therapist for the last two years, and I learned a lot from her. She helped me understand the true impact of religious trauma, introduced me to IFS and some other techniques that have helped me manage the maelstrom of feelings inside, and told me I was neurodivergent, which I'd always wished to be but thought the term didn't apply because I didn't have autism or adhd.

But something about my therapist has been bothering me more and more lately, and that's this: she's an exvangelical, but still christian.

When I started going to her, she told me that she had begun doing therapy focused on people with religious trauma, and then went to divinity school to help them more, which I fully appreciate and respect. She said she wanted to help heal the damage the church has wrought. But she remained christian throughout it all, and is even now a pastor.

It didn't bother me at first. She was the first person I'd found who specialized in religious trauma, she was located in my state, she was clearly very smart, and she was obviously not trying to convert me back.

But I realized recently that I've been holding back. I'm afraid to fully criticize christianty in front of her.

In one session, I told her I flip off churches when I drive by—and christian billboards and yard signs and flags. And she flinched. Just a little. I noticed and said, "It helps cool the rage," and then moved on.

But I've never forgotten that flinch.

And now, every time I want to criticize christianity, I feel like I have to add the caveat, "Not all christians, though." But the truth is, I'm not sure I agree with the "not all christians" bit. Maybe I do a little—I recognize that there are nuances and gradation to christians, just like in every other group. But if I don't feel fully safe shitting on the ideology in front of her, how much more can I get out of my sessions with her?

The thing is, the closer I examine my rage, the more I realize it's not a simmering pot of boiling water; it's a raging inferno.

A raging inferno I can't tell my therapist about.

christianity stole so much from me. Not just my childhood. Not just experiences and opportunities. Not just my self esteem and personal agency, which I've had to fight and claw to get back. But it took my peace. It took my calm. It ripped away my ability to have a normal, healthy life. It left me alone, isolated, and stranded, when it promised to do the opposite. It left me rejected and hated, when it promised to love me.

I can't even have a simple conversation with my parents without knowing in the back of my head that they think I'm going to hell.

They say they love me, and they do in a limited way. But that unconditional love they promised? It's not there. It can't be.

It's not just rage swirling inside me. It's sadness. And grief. And deep, abiding pain.

And for the most part, I suffer that pain alone.

Aloneness isn't scary; in fact, overall I'd say it's a pretty safe place for me to be in. I'm an introvert. I've always sought it. And I'm not alone in every way. I'm married. I have atheist/non-christian friends. I still talk to my family.

But in this pain, I am alone.

christianity promised fulfillment, and instead, it left emptiness. It promised peace, and it left fury. It promised hope, and it left an empty chasm.

I guess I'm a little sad today.

But luckily, quitting christianity is a lot like quitting booze. It leaves you feeling sad, empty, and alone, a lot at first and less as time passes—but on the other side, there's a whole new world of beauty to fill up the hole with. Art, exercise, animals, people, life. And in the end, it's a million times better than the beforetimes.

But just for today, I'm gonna let myself be a little bit sad.

#exvangelical #ex christian #exchristian #atheist #agnostic #sadness #grief #aloneness #religious trauma #therapy #therapy for religious trauma #christianity sucks #ex evangelical #cult ideologies #hell #i flip off churches

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herrmannhalsteadproduction · 1 year

Text

The Centre Must Hold (Chapter One)

Summary: This is Part Fifteen of my series A Herrmann/Halstead Production. It is an AU where Christopher Herrmann's mom had an affair with Pat Halstead resulting in a baby. The series follows this OC character (Rebecca "Bex" Herrmann) as she grows up and gets to know her brothers and the various Chicago teams. It is very much an AU, just to underscore that. It doesn't follow the same timeline and characters will follow different paths.

Click here for the Series Rundown where you can find the links to read all of the previous installments (which I highly recommend you do so that this one makes sense.)

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationships: Christopher Herrmann & Original Female Character, Christopher Herrmann/Cindy Herrmann, Jay Halstead & Original Female Character, Will Halstead & Original Female Character, Jay Halstead & Will Halstead, pre-Greg 'Mouse' Gerwitz/Original Female Character, pre-Will Halstead/Connor Rhodes

Warnings: This loosely follows the arc where Chris is stabbed by Freddie Clemente. There will be discussion of his injuries, but not in extreme detail. Also: Hospitalization, Near Death Experience, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Arguing, just lots of stress A/N: To underscore my previous note, this is an alternate universe so things have unfolded differently. This will not follow the canon arc exactly by any means. But I hope you'll still enjoy it!

Chapter One

Bex

Bex was bustling around the kitchen, getting lunch ready for her and Will. He was at therapy this morning and while he never felt like talking about it when he got home, it helped if she was there and they could spend some time together.

And even better if there was delicious food waiting.

He came through the door just as she was pulling the cookies out of the oven.

“Hey!” Bex called out. “I’ve got BLTs ready to go and double fudge cookies!”

Will wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the table with a sigh. “Have I told you lately that you’re my favourite sister?”

“And don’t you forget it,” she laughed.

Bex surreptitiously gave him a once over while they ate. Will looked tired, but every week he also looked a little bit lighter. Even though talking through his past was hard, it was definitely having a positive effect.

He was still Will—just more so. Like he was settling into himself.

She was so damn proud of him.

“Why are you smiling at me like that, you weirdo?” Will was squinting at her, sandwich paused in front of his face.

“You have a gigantic glob of mayo on your chin.”

Will cursed, laughing as he swiped a finger, trying to locate the mess.

“Left. No, my left. More—oh, my god, just get a paper towel, Will,” she laughed.

He grabbed one from the counter and wiped exaggeratedly at his face. “Better?”

“I mean…it’s still your face, but yes.”

Will balled up the paper towel and threw it in her face. “What are you up to for the rest of the day?”

“I was going to stop by and help Cindy sort through some of the kids’ clothes for donations and then I have a shift at Molly’s,” she said, getting up as her phone started ringing in the living room.

Bex stilled as she saw the name on the caller ID before grabbing the phone and darting into her room. “…hello?”

***

Bex

Twenty minutes later, she sat frozen on her bed, phone clutched in her hand.

She hadn't yet managed to process what she’d been told.

A quiet knock sounded on her door. “Bex?” Will called. “You okay in there?”

“Um, yeah. Yup. Just a second.” She roused herself out of her stupor and opened the door. Will stood in the hallway with a concerned frown on his face.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not trying to be nosy, you’ve just been in there for a long time and it’s been quiet for a while. Was it—is it bad news?”

Bex couldn’t help the surprised laugh that bubbled out. “The opposite? Actually?”

Will followed her as she wandered out to the living room and sat bonelessly on the couch.

“Okay, well, can you tell me what it was because you’re kind of freaking me out right now.”

She turned to face him where he sat beside her and realized that—though this was excellent news—she was about to get the scolding of her life.

And then again from Cindy and Chris and Jay.

Might as well get started then.

“So, you know I’ve been working on my graphic novel, right?”

Will sat up, excitement lighting up his eyes. “Yeah.”

“A few months ago, I kind of signed with a literary agent who has been submitting my work to publishers?”

His mouth fell open and she rushed ahead with the rest of the news.

“And that was her on the phone just now and we have an offer on it? Not the one I showed you. I actually started on one for kids? And yeah, someone wants to publish it.”

“Bex—that’s—oh, my god, Bex!” Will grabbed her up in a hug before pulling back to scowl at her. “You got a literary agent and didn’t tell me? Did you tell Jay? Chris?”

“No?” Bex shrugged, staring down at her tangled fingers. “I didn’t want to get everyone’s hopes up, you know? The odds were not great of anything happening and I didn’t want you guys to be all excited for something that might not ever happen.”

“But what if we want to be excited for you? I want to cheer you on every step of the way, Bex,” he said gently. “And if it didn’t work out, I want to be here to eat ice cream and curse the publishing industry with you. Isn’t that what you keep telling me family is for?”

“Yes,” she sighed, steeling herself to be fully honest, now that she was telling him everything. “I think the other part was that I didn’t want to get my hopes up, you know? I wanted this so bad and I didn’t really know what I was going to do if it didn’t work out. So, I just put it out of my mind.”

“I get that,” Will nodded. Then he grabbed her arm again and grinned. “But Bex—it is happening. You’re getting published!”

Her own wide grin spread across her face. “I’m getting published!”

He pulled her up off the couch to cheer and jump around before falling back down. “Okay, tell me everything,” he said.

She filled him in on the ins and outs of the process as she understood it and what her book was about and the fact that it was super secret news for now before catching a glimpse at the time. “I’ve got go,” she exclaimed, grabbing her stuff. “I’m supposed to be at Cindy’s in like fifteen minutes.”

“Go, go,” Will shooed her out the door. “Don’t forget to call Jay and call me later to tell me everyone’s reactions!”

“I’ll be home late so celebration breakfast tomorrow?” She called over her shoulder.

“You know it,” he said with a smile. “I’ll make pancakes.

Bex made it over to Chris and Cindy’s just before Chris was headed out the door for a supply run. She sat them both down in the kitchen and broke the news.

Chris was instantly a mess. He pulled her into a hug, tears running down his face as Cindy put the kettle on. “I’m just so proud of you, kiddo,” he said, squeezing her tight and getting choked up. “You knew what you wanted and you worked hard and you never gave up. You’re amazing.”

“Thanks, Chris.” Bex hugged him back just as tight.

“No more keeping secrets though!” he chastised her. “I want to hear everything about every step from here on out. What’s next?”

She told them about the next steps and the fact that everything had to be kept a secret until the deal was announced.

“Right,” Chris nodded. “So, 51 family only.”

“No,” Bex laughed, shaking her head. “As in, you, Cindy, Will, and Jay are the only ones who get to know. Seriously. A secret secret, Chris.”

“Well, that sucks,” Chris complained. “I wanna brag!”

Cindy patted his shoulder. “All in good time, hun. All in good time.”

Bex could hardly wait to tell him it would probably be another two years before the book actually came out.

She would hold off on sharing that little tidbit.

He hung out with them a bit longer, badgering Bex with every question he could think of before heading out, dropping a smooch on both of their heads before he left. “See you tonight, amazing soon to be published author,” he called out.

Bex exchanged a look with Cindy who chuckled at her. “This secret thing isn’t going to last long, is it?”

“You know Christopher,” Cindy said with a fond gaze at the front door. “He can’t help himself when it comes to his family.”

Bex couldn’t even be annoyed. It was just Chris and she loved him for it.

“Let’s tackle those donations, hm?” Cindy put their mugs in the sink and they got to work sorting through the clothes that no longer fit any of her forever growing nephews.

“Annabelle is never allowed to grow up,” Bex sniffed. “One of them has to stay tiny.”

“She’s already four going on twenty-four,” Cindy exclaimed. “Honestly, that kid keeps me hopping more than her brothers all put together.”

“That’s my girl,” Bex said with a satisfied nod.

She and Cindy got everything bagged up and loaded into her car so she could drop it off at the donation centre. With a bit of time to kill after accomplishing that task, Bex took a chance on texting Jay to see if he had a moment.

Luckily, he was in the middle of paperwork and more than happy to have a break. She met up with him at the parking lot of 21 and told him the big news.

He also had to get his two cents in for keeping secrets (“Cut that shit out.”) before grilling her for all the details he could during their little window of visit time.

“I didn’t even know you were working on one for kids!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, yeah, that was kind of Annabelle’s fault?” Bex laughed. “I’ve been telling her this bedtime story when I’ve been babysitting and because it’s Annabelle, she wanted one with a girl kicking butt so the story kind of spun out from there.”

“Nothing, but the butt-kickingest-best for Annabelle.”

“Exactly,” Bex said. “So, it’s about a girl who has all of these older brothers who are super heroes—” Jay raised an eyebrow at her. “—and they get kidnapped by these super villains and she has to go and rescue them.”

“Well, that sounds awesome,” Jay said with a grin. “I can’t wait to read it. Oh, man, wait until I tell everyone.”

Jay was about as pleased as Chris to hear about the keep it secret, keep it safe nature of the news.

“Okay, but when can I talk about it?”

“I will let you know! I promise?” she exclaimed.

“Like how you told me about your agent? Hm? I feel like I need this promise in writing, Bex,” he teased her, darting out of the way of her swat before grabbing her in a hug. “Proud of you, kid. You should be too.”

“Thanks, Jay.” She hugged him back and he tousled her hair before letting her go.

“I’ve got to head back up, but we’re celebrating soon!”

“Will’s making pancakes tomorrow morning,” Bex said.

“I am there,” Jay said. “I’ll bring fancy juice so we can toast.”

“What’s fancy juice?” Bex laughed.

“I don’t know,” Jay shrugged. “The kind that has more than one fruit? I’ll find the best one and that’s what I’ll bring.”

“Sounds good,” Bex said, still laughing as she got back in her car while he jogged back into the station.

***

Jay

Jay winced as he heard Bex’s brakes scream as she left the parking lot. Maybe now that she had a book deal, she could get an actual reliable vehicle. That would be a relief.

“Mini-Chuckles okay?” Platt asked as he passed the desk.

“She’s great,” Jay said, hurrying up the stairs before she could ask any further questions because he definitely wanted to spill his guts.

Back at his desk, he slipped into his chair and got back to his paperwork, avoiding everyone’s questioning looks. A shadow fell over his files and he looked up to see Mouse hovering nearby.

“Was, uh—that was Bex, right?” he asked, eyes flicking to the stairs, like she might be coming up next. “Everything good?”

Jay narrowed his eyes at Mouse, trying to decipher his expression. Was that worry? Casual interest? UN-casual interest? He felt like he was second-guessing every familiar twitch of his friend’s features now that he had growing suspicions about said friend.

Mouse’s twitchiness grew and Jay didn’t have the heart to keep him dangling. “Yeah, she’s fine, man,” he said, putting Mouse at ease. “She just had some good news to share. Ah—” He held up a finger cutting off the inevitable next question. “I’m not allowed to talk about it yet.”

Mouse’s face fell into an instant pout and Jay couldn’t help laughing a bit. “I’m sure she’s gonna tell you soon enough,” he said. And then unable to resist a little poking, he added—

“You guys seem to be talking a lot lately.”

“She’s better at texting than you,” Mouse shot back. “If I’m trying to track you down, she’ll tell me where you are and what you’re up to in the time it takes you to find your phone.”

He couldn’t really argue that.

But still. He knew they had to be talking about more than his whereabouts.

“Whatever, man,” he grumbled and Mouse just smirked at him as he headed back to his own desk. Jay watched as he pulled out his own phone, tapping out a quick message before setting it down and dropping into his chair. He must have felt Jay’s eyes on him because he looked up and—

Blushed?

Like Jay had caught him in the act?

Of texting his baby sister perhaps?

Jay narrowed his eyes at him before slowly returning to his paperwork.

More surveillance was clearly needed.

***

Bex

She rolled her eyes affectionately at the message on her phone.

Mouse: Heard you have news…

“Wow, Jay,” she muttered. “That took about five seconds.” The text had been waiting for her once she’d finally looked at her phone after arriving at Molly’s.

Bex: And when I can share it, you will hear all about it.

Mouse: ☹ Mouse: I want to know now. Mouse: I like cool news too.

Bex: Jay said it was cool news?

Mouse: No. Mouse: I just assumed. He seemed excited and it was you so I figured it was cool.

Bex: 😊 You’re not wrong. Bex: Come to breakfast tomorrow. Will’s making pancakes and I’ll fill you in.

Mouse: I’ll be there.

“Who are you texting that’s got you grinning like that?” Chris asked, trying to take a peek at her phone.

“Just Jay being a dork,” she said, tucking her phone away in her pocket.

“Then stop hanging around and help me get this stuff put away.” He loaded her up with boxes to take into the store room and unload. “We’ve got to get this place sorted before open and I’m not sure when Freddie’s showing up to lend a hand.”

“How’s it going with him?” She asked as she followed him to the back.

“Eh.” Chris moved his head from side to side since his hands weren’t free to do the see-saw motion. “He’s a tough nut to crack, but it’s early days.”

“I think it’s really great what you guys are doing.” Bex set her boxes on the floor and started rearranging the shelves. “Joe reaching out to him and you guys offering him the job here. He deserves a chance.”

“I think Cruz has his work cut out for him,” Chris quipped. “But yeah, being around a different environment could really help.”

“Being around you guys,” Bex added. “You know, I think about Jay and how angry he was as a kid and what a difference you made for him.” Chris looked over at her with soft eyes at that, nodding at the memories.

“As bad as things were at the Halstead house, I think Freddie’s had it even worse.” She reached out to squeeze Chris’s shoulder. “I’m happy you guys are at least making the effort. I hope he sticks with it.”

“Cruz isn’t giving up on him any time soon so he’s got that going for him too,” Chris said. “All we can do is try, right?”

“Exactly,” she nodded. And then frowned at the shelf. “Okay, why does Otis insist on organizing things this way. It makes no sense!”

“Don’t rearrange it!” Chris held a warning hand out. “Last time you switched it around, he complained about it for a week.”

“He’s never said anything to me.”

“Because he hates arguing with you,” Chris rolled his eyes. “He says you pull out the sad puppy eyes and it’s cheating.”

Bex laughed. “Oh! These?” She widened her eyes at Chris.

“Yeah, those haven’t worked on me since you were eight,” he snorted.

“But they work on Otis,” she cackled and got to work on switching things around to her liking.

***

Bex

The evening passed by in a blur of drinks and laughter and cheering the return of Uncle Bo to the firehouse. Chris had filled her in on bits and pieces of what had been going on, but hearing the full story from everyone and seeing the relief was something else.

She basked in the joy of having them all together. The only thing that would have been better would be if Will, Jay, and Mouse were there, but they were staying in at Jay’s watching some kind of sporting event. She’d tuned out the details because sportsball.

Freddie kind of skirted the edge of things, bussing tables and talking a little bit with Joe, Otis, Chris, Gabi, and herself. He shied away anytime Kelly came up to the bar and she didn’t blame him with the glare that kept being aimed in his direction.

Not exactly the spirit of 51 that they were aiming for.

Bex made a quiet note to ask Chris about it and see if maybe he could talk to Kelly about it. Or ask Matt to talk to him. She knew he’d been through a hard time, but his level of animosity felt really out of proportion.

The evening was winding down and they were cleaning up behind the bar.

Otis was grumbling to himself about something and she caught Freddie’s name.

“What’s up?”

He looked over and sighed. “I sent Freddie to the back for some lowball glasses, but I think he’s having trouble finding them because somebody rearranged everything again.”

Bex widened her eyes at the look he gave her and he immediately started shaking a finger in her face. “No,” he said. “Don’t start with that. It’s cheating!”

She laughed at him, tossing a bar rag at his still wagging finger. “I’ll go back and help him,” she said. “Relax.”

Still chuckling, she headed to the storage room. “Hey, Freddie, you need some help? I can show you where—”

She stopped short at the sight of the empty room.

A groan sounded from the floor.

Bex stepped further in and then froze.

Every part of her

froze.

All she could hear was a high-pitched whine.

Screaming in her ears.

Chris was laying on the ground in a pool of blood, gasping out pained little breaths.

Bleeding.

Dying.

“B—ex—”

His strained voice cut through her shock and she dropped to her knees beside him. “Oh, my god, Chris. Chris! What happened?” Her hands fluttered over him, trying figure out what to do, how to help.

“Freddie—stabbed me—”

“Wh—where—what do I do—Chris—what—”

He took another breath, a shaky hand reaching for her. “B-breathe, Bex. Breathe.”

She gulped in air and tried to calm down. Tried to think.

“T-owel—”

Right. Yes. Stop the bleeding. She grabbed a clean bar towel from the shelf and pressed it against Chris’s side and he grunted.

“Call—help—” he whispered.

Help. That word kicked her brain back online and it was like the real world rushed back in. She could hear the sounds of everyone laughing out in the bar. The sounds that Chris had been lying here listening too while no one came.

But she was here now.

And they needed help.

“Help,” she called out.

Not loud enough.

“Help! We need help in here! Help!”

Footsteps running their way.

“You’re going to be okay, Chris,” she whispered to him. “You’re going to be okay.”

Kept whispering.

You’re going to be okay.

You’re going to be—

Click here for Chapter Two Click here for Chapter Three Click here for Chapter Four Click here for Chapter Five Click here for Chapter Six Click here for Chapter Seven

Click here to read The Centre Must Hold on ao3:

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