#if i tried to add looking for a psychiatrist to my to do list i would definitely be at the bottom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mioyeo · 1 year

Text

8 Makes 1 Team

No matter how different, without one of us there is no 8 makes 1 Team

Synopsis : In which 8 boys build a friendship despise of their differences with the help of a psychiatrist

Pairing : psychiatrist! Reader x Ateez (for now )

Warnings : this chapter includes mentions of , heavy abuse , crying , minor panic attack, , vomiting , Ptsd , burned bodies ,please tell me if I forgot something , and I’m not romanticizing disorders in anyway and this is pure fiction meaning this doesn’t represent Ateez in any type of way

And I would like to apologize and just like to explain that after I post the chapters of you guys getting to meet the patients (Ateez ) there will be back stories as to why they are where they are and etc , besides I do my research before writing about these disorders and other things

Tag list : @veneziamadness , @hcyaa , @sadcoffeecritic , @aapplepii , @lavishloving , @dogsongy ,

Also if you want to be added to the tagging list for the next chapter comment so I can add you

I apologize for taking longer than I actually wanted to upload this chapter, this is the final chapter of meeting all 8 boys the next chapters will be them meeting each other at breakfast time in two groups with each four members

Word count: 1,5k

MEETING JONGHO

𝗣𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝟬𝟴𝟮𝟯

𝙉𝙖𝙢𝙚 : 𝘾𝙝𝙤𝙞 𝙅𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙝𝙤

𝗕𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 : 𝗢𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟮, 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟬

𝗛𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁: 𝟭.𝟳𝟲𝗺

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧: 𝙋𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙘 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘴: 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘥 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 , 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘴 , 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥

She was going through the patients files and organizing them since there was still time before meeting her last patient

All files had bunch of pictures from their childhood and other stuff inside boxes so Y/n took out everything and started reading through the boys files

" A diary ? "

The blue book with bears was opened as she started to read through it

February 16th , I came home from school to my parents loud commotion again one thing I was glad about was that my little brother stayed at a friends house

She continued reading carefully and making notes about him on her book for all of the eight boys

" So he had lived with problematic Parents ? "

She flipped the page

February 22 , Dad hit mom again after coming home drunk he had lost his job and blamed it on her for some reason, I hid underneath the staircase afraid he'd come up to my room and see me or grab my little brother so I told him to hide under his bed until I get him

She frowned and continued flipping the pages reading through it

March 5 , Mom cried because she couldn't afford to buy me a new school uniform so I had to go to school with the same from last semester, I don't blame her dad spends all our saved money on drinks and than blames us for being miserable , I wish I could work to help mom and wipe away her tears

" So his dad was the abusive one "

Y/n made notes feeling her heart beat a bit faster when she just got a glimpse of imagination from the whole situation

March 29 , Dad put his hands on mom because a friend tried to help her pay for us , he beat and cut her hair off , I watched her look at herself in the bathroom that night with tears streaming down her beautiful face, mom saw me and shushed me telling me to go back into my room and not make a noise

Y/n looked away as she started imagining the situation in graphic details

April 30 , I came back from school to see ambulances , firefighters and the police surrounding my home , they tried taking out the fire as people looked worried and started crowding around the house, I saw how my little brother's body hugged my moms as they held each other severely burnt lifeless , my dad had put the house on fire because my mom wanted to divorce him and take us away , and that was the last day I ever saw the people I cared about the most after that beautiful morning

Y/n stood up and ran to the nearest sink and started throwing up as her whole body shook in terror

" Gosh , h-how can someone do this "

She held onto the sink and tried calming down as tears fell

" What's wrong with her ? "

The voices of her colleagues entering the break room made her wash her mouth and clean out the sink quickly

" Is everything alright? "

Someone asked her while biting into their apple

" Yeah I'm fine just felt a little overwhelmed "

She smiled and started packing the stuff back inside the box and putting it away

" Have a nice break "

Y/n went out the room and made her way to her patients room after calming down fully

" He is in a very isolated situation "

The guard told her after pressing the button allowing her to enter the boys room

She slowly entered and saw him look at his feet as they swayed back and forth

" Hey , how are you doing? "

He looked at her and stopped swaying his feet

" If your here because tha-"

" Don't worry I'm not trying to persuade into talking about anything , just checking up on you and introduce myself "

She smiled at him and sat on the chair she brought with her

" Who are you ? "

" Well I'm Y/n your new psychiatrist and the one that it's in charge of you now "

" What do you mean in charge of me now "

She chuckled and waved her hands

" As in help you getting better , im the one assigned for your needs here "

" That's just bullshit , y'all just say stupid meaningless things in hope to make us believe it so you can gain money "

He scoffed and sat up

" I'm going to be frank with you , some of these psychiatrists here are the most disgusting human beings I have ever seen and witnessed the type of behavior they sell out "

" I know that , I saw some worker push some kids head into the laundry machine as I passed to go to the cafeteria "

He shrugged his shoulders

" I just want to assure you that I am not like them , and if you'd give me a chance I'll show you what I mean "

She smiled and clapped her hands together

" You seem like a happy go lucky person and it kinda scares me "

" Oh so you prefer me to act like a monster? "

She stood up and ran around doing silly things making the boy look at her weirdly

" Why are you doing frog sounds if you said your a monster ? "

" Really ? Well how does a monster sound than ? "

He looked away and teared up slowly

" Is everything alright ? "

"M-My mom knew how to make monster sounds "

The boy teared up and wiped his nose

" Hey , I'm sorry for making you upset "

She said softly indicating him to breath in and out before he could get a panic attack

" I saw their burnt bodies t-that day "

He kept rambling and sobbing rocking himself back and forth

" Is it ok if I wrap my hands around you ? "

She held out her arms and waited for the boy to come on his own

" Remember if it makes you uncomfortable than you can decline the offer alright? "

Y/n counted slowly as she saw him whimper and cry out loud

" He-e said he will kill me once he's out "

Loud cries where heard as he cried with his eyes closed

" Listen can you tell me where you are now ? "

“ H-He’s staring at me ”

" Try touching the stress balls "

She had put some anti stress toys on his bed to get him back into reality

" Good job keep kneading them and when I tell you to count till twenty you'll open your eyes

Y/n kept monitoring him as she felt him slowly focus more on the touches

“ Just focus on the smell I’ll be waving around your nose and tell me what it is "

She grabbed a strong mint oil and swung it around his nose as he sobbed

“ Tell what do you smell ”

“ I-It’s minty and strong it’s burning my nose ”

Y/n removed the bottle and waited for him to fully focus on his own

“ Keep breathing in and out , I’m here ”

The boy sniffed and slowly tried opening his eyes making Y/n feel bad because she slightly triggered him

“ Where are you now ? ”

“ I-In my room ”

He finally looked at her and wiped his eyes

“ I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable ”

She apologized looking at him with a sad smile

“ What is your name again ? ”

“ Y/n what about you ? ”

“ I’m J-Jongho ”

He sniffed again and looked at her as his eyes darted towards the mini bag she had with her

“ Want to know what’s in here ? ”

Jongho nodded and waited patiently

“ I brought you something that will help you a lot , there may be days I’ll be busy with the other patients and I won’t be able to check on you on time so I bought you a friend to keep you company for the while ”

She pulled out a yellow bear that had a hat on and a small Apple on his hand

“ Do you like it ? ”

He smiled at the bear and looked at her

“ It’s beautiful and smells like vanilla ”

“ You’ll find out the purpose why the bear gives out that smell ”

“ Thank you , you do seem nice but I don’t trust you that much fully ”

“That’s ok , trust comes first and also tomorrow you can have breakfast with the other boys if you’d like ”

“ I’ve never really left my room , are their big boys ? are they mean ? ”

“ Don’t worry the other three boys are nice but you don’t need to come if you don’t want to ”

He looked at the bear and back up to her

“ Can I take Joongie with me ? ”

She smiled and nodded

“ What a cute name you picked I like it ”

Y/n stood up and clapped the chair together

“ Well Jongho I’m looking forward to tomorrow, is there anything you’d like to eat ? ”

“ I don’t really like sweet stuff ”

“ How about a cheesy toast ? ”

He smiled and nodded

“ I’ll see you tomorrow than sweet dreams ”

She waited for him to lay back down and finally left

Getting to know patient 0823 done

#ateez #ateez angst #ateez atiny #ateez fluff #ateez hongjoong #ateez imagines #ateez jongho #ateez mingi #ateez san #ateez seonghwa #ateez yeosang #ateez yunho #ateez wooyoung #angst with a happy ending #jongho #a #ateez x reader #angst

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coexistentialism · 8 months

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Hey! Thank you for your posts on DID. You don't have to answer this, but what was the process on diagnosis like for you? I booked an appointment with a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner (full psychiatrists are harder to come by especially ones that mention dissociation) and hoping to be all around evaluated. This NP has experience at the McLean hospital which I like! But I have so many worries about it! "Do I need an *actual* psychiatrist to get a formal diagnosis?" "Will they actually do comprehensive testing?" (i personally want it to be comprehensive so I can feel secure its accurate) And the concerns go on. ANYWAYS.... yes. What was your experience like? Thank you btw! Have a good day!

This definitely depends on your location; I'm in the U.S., so my experience is purely in the U.S. Other people in different countries will have a different experience/process!

This became long because I felt like it might actually be super helpful for a lot of other people who might come across this and are wondering about a diagnosis of DID or OSDD.

For me, I am very anxious and hesitant to find any ol' psychiatrist/therapist, and even doctors outside of mental health fields, so whenever I found a place or a person that seemed to be trustworthy, I tried to look up if there were any reviews about them.

If any places had below 3-4 star ratings, I wouldn't trust it; even 3 stars felt like I was pushing it.

Of course the star ratings aren't the perfect picture, so I would read the reviews for myself.

If multiple people said things like:

They didn't listen, I felt invalidated and ignored...

They were very rude to me, kept interrupting me and wouldn't let me speak!

They just kept talking about their personal life, I couldn't talk about my own problems

And similar stuff, I knew that I didn't want to risk it.

There are other more "extreme" red flags too, like if a review says that a therapist tried to date them or a therapist tried to be sexually intimate with them, etc., those are some pretty obvious and Huge red flags (and illegal), so if any places have reviews like that: run the fuck the other way.

I would also check their website (and other websites they may have if they have them), and tried to check if they listed "DID/OSDD" as anything they were knowledgeable on and had experience being able to diagnose the disorders. Some places won't have DID/OSDD listed, but they might still list "trauma & dissociative disorders."

Regardless of whether or not these places have DID/OSDD or "trauma & dissociation" listed on their websites, etc., I would still find an email to contact therapists/individual places and directly ask them their experience, because just listing "yeah, I can diagnose DID" on their website doesn't automatically mean that they are ACTUALLY educated on it properly.

I also would then still go on to ask about things like what their stances are on LGBTQ+ issues and such, because a homophobic/transphobic therapist is probably a shit one. Bonus points if they're like mine and accept neopronouns and "weird" identities like catgender or something. And bonus points as well if they're also like my therapist and accepts self-diagnosis.

Here is a basic email I would write out:

Hello! I am looking for a therapist that is knowledgeable about trauma and dissociation, with a focus on dissociative identity disorder (DID), as I am seeking a diagnosis of DID. If you aren't able to diagnose DID or if you aren't educated enough, do you think you could refer me to someone who is? Thanks!

You can edit and change and add anything to this as needed if you want, of course.

If they respond saying that they can treat/diagnose DID, I then go on to ask further questions.

Some therapists offer a "sliding scale", which means that you pay out of pocket based on your income if you don't have insurance/don't have insurance that they take. Since I make no income, my boyfriend is able to pay out of pocket, and it's VERY cheap BECAUSE of the fact I make no income and because she offers a sliding scale, because she doesn't take my insurance. This is really going to depend on the therapist and your insurance, etc., so I would ask about insurance and options for payment, etc.

Of course, as I said, a therapist SAYING they can treat and diagnose DID/OSDD doesn't mean they're actually properly educated, so I would ask questions like this:

"What would you expect of daily life of a person with DID? What do you know about different presentations of dissociative disorders, like OSDD or polyfragmented DID?"

"What does healing for a DID system look like to you? What if a system wants to heal, but not fuse?"

"Do you do extra research on the disorders of your clients if you find yourself not up to date with something?"

"How would you react if a client had a history of intense and unusual trauma?" (Not always relevant, but definitely helpful if you feel it might be)

"What would you do if a client said that they'd gone through trauma that seemed unbelievable?"

"How would you treat a child alter? What if they went against your expectations or said they didn't want to be treated like a biological child?"

"How would you respond if a client disagreed with you and told you they had newer, backed up information about something?"

"What is your stance on "false memories"?"

"Do you try to keep as up-to-date as possible on newer research about different disorders?"

"How does DID develop?"

"What can switching look like to an outside person?"

"How distinct from each other do you think alters are?"

"Do you know about presentations of DID where alters are similar to each other, but still alters?"

"Do you view DID symptoms to have a spectrum of presentation?"

You don't have to ask all of these questions, but these are good things to ask!

Some signs that a therapist is not actually correctly educated on DID, or OSDD:

They are expecting you to "pass out" and switch

They are expecting your alters to be incredibly distinct with totally separate personalities, as if they are fully-fledged separate people, and if you don't have that presentation, tries to diagnose you with a different disorder (my old therapist tried to diagnose me with DPDR instead of DID because he was expecting my amnesia to be like fugue states)

They dismiss the possibility of you having DID because "your trauma isn't bad enough", "you can't remember your trauma", etc.

Dismisses memories you try to bring up because you previously had total amnesia for them and/or dismisses memories because they're "too extreme/unusual/bizarre/etc."

Asks you things like "what's the last thing you remember?" as if they are expecting total amnesia right then and there (my old therapist did this, and it made me extremely uncomfortable)

Only accepts switching to be like "feeling like you are possessed"

Treats child alters and acts like they are the same as a biological child

Dismisses you because you are strongly away of your alters and/or your alters are much more overt

Tries to force language on you that you aren't comfortable with

Tries to suppress alters that seem "bad"/have unhealthy behaviors such as self-harm, etc.

Tries to treat any specific alter(s) and/or the host as if they are the "real person"

Tries to force final fusion and doesn't believe that any other treatment method of DID/OSDD is okay/acceptable/healthy/etc.

Doesn't hold you responsible for your own behaviors (encouraging the "not me" aspect, which is encouraging dissociation and is discouraging you from taking responsibility for your own actions)

Again, you don't have to ask the therapist all of these questions, but these are all great things to keep in mind!

I will also say this, and I feel that this is the most important thing to keep in mind: if you end up finding a therapist/psychiatrist who doesn't believe you have DID (or OSDD) and instead diagnoses you with something else/tries to diagnose you with something else, it's absolutely okay to search for second, third, fourth, fifth opinions.

Like I said, I saw two different therapists for a diagnosis before finding my current one, both of which didn't think I had it and tried to diagnose me with other things instead.

Other people have had to find three different therapists, four different therapists, five, six, seven, and more, until they finally landed on one that properly diagnosed them. It doesn't mean you're faking or that you 100% don't have it.

Of course sometimes it does turn out you don't have DID or OSDD, but personally, if you go in for a diagnosis of DID/OSDD and get diagnosed with something else, but you feel like you still suspect DID/OSDD, it's perfectly fine to get other opinions, even if in the end it does turn out you have something else.

If you see one or two or three etc. therapists who say you don't have DID/OSDD and try to avoid diagnosing you, it doesn't mean you're faking or that you don't have it. Sometimes that therapist is just very misguided and uneducated, which makes them think you don't fit the criteria because of their own myths and misunderstandings and improper education, as was the case with the two people I saw.

I hope this helps, and I hope things work out okay for your appointment. Remember that if it sucks, hit da bricks!!!

#my posts #inbox #actuallydid #actuallyosdd #osdd system #did system

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brokentoys · 10 months

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Speaking of the good comics, which ones are those or what ones do you recommend?

Okie! ✌️ I'll list my absolute favorite ones!

Batman Chronicles #3 (1995) / Riddle of the Jinxed Sphinx.

This one is actually a mini-story in a comic filled with three mini stories. (The other two being about Zsasz, and Croc) - but that doesn't matter. Despite it being a short story, you get a good look in Ed's head. This is actually a take on the "Eddie tries to give up leaving riddles behind". Which there's been at least three of those I can recall. Most people know of the one based on the Animated Series / New Adventures of Batman & Robin. And while that one's good. This one's the best because it focuses on Riddler more rather than Batman and Robin trying to figure out if Eddie's actually giving up riddles or not. It's also more realistic to OCD compared to the other one(s) which does it in a sillier manner. I'd go into depth as to why, but I don't wanna spoil anything.

That being said...

Batman Gotham Adventures #11 (1999) / The Oldest One in the Book!

Even though, imo, it's not as good as above, I still recommend reading it regardless! It has a very emotional ending, and it still has some characterization points I like. (Dealing with Ed's shame regarding his mental illnesses). Which is funny, given that I actually dislike most of the Gotham Adventure comics with Eddie because they also watered down his character to be a money grubby thief and nothing more. (When that goes against everything about Animated Series Eddie from the beginning - who didn't care about money / tried to kill a greedy CEO)

Batman #23.2 (2013) / Solitaire

May be my FAVORITE Eddie comic. Maybe. Also you'll notice it's one of the few recent / post New 52 comics I'll add to this list. It's such a satisfying read.

DC Strange Love Adventures (2022) / Dinner for Two

EDDIE IS CANONICALLY BISEXUAL HELL YEAH. A short story in a comic with many short comics (most of them are Movie Baits) but this one is so so so so fucking good. Probably the best Riddler comic in the last nine years or so (at its time). Which is sad. But it's a comic that truly understands what a lonely person Eddie is. Which I wish more comics would acknowledge that. Amazing read. It's the last one in the book, though.

BATMAN #608-619 (2002) / HUSH

If you read this one expecting Riddler - just know you won't see much of him. But by god, the moments you DO see him? Totally worth it. Jeph gave a new concept for Riddler, and how he could be a WONDERFUL villain. Unfortunately DC discarded all of this.

Batman Confidential #26, #27, #28 (2009)

A Batman and Riddler team up comic! Although there are parts I've felt were contrived, this is a VERY enjoyable one that's three parts. Eddie and Bruce's dynamic is just so fun and hilarious (in a good way!) And Eddie's characterization is also entertaining as hell. It helps show how Bruce and Eddie can help each other, too.

The Brave and the Bold #183 (1982) / The Death of Batman

ANOTHER Batman and Riddler team up comic, though older! This one's also a blast just because, again, Eddie and Bruce's dynamic is so entertaining. But Bruce's patience seems to be much thinner in this one, because he snaps at Riddler A LOT. They also share some pretty hilarious back and forths.

Detective Comics Annual #8 (1995) / Questions Multiple The Mystery

In this one, Eddie finally opens up to an Arkham psychiatrist, and tells his story. Whilst this one, unfortunately, goes with the "Eddie is a cheat and cheated in school" concept - the rest of it makes up for that. I also feel it has some good depictions of his psychosis. May even been the first comic to show him struggling with psychosis? But I can't quite remember that.

Gotham City Sirens #3 (2010)

About a reformed Eddie. And man, he just has some good development in this is all.

Gotham City Sirens #9 and #10 (2010)

This one has many reasons why I love it - like how I love most of these, it's another comic that gets deep into his psychology. And for once, depicts Eddie as beating himself up / talking down on himself rather than the generic "I'm THE GREATEST PERSON ALIVE-" I guess what I'm saying it also feels like a more realistic depiction of NPD.

HONORARY MENTIONS

BATMAN ZERO YEAR (2013) ... YEAH THIS ALSO WENT ON FOR LIKE 12 FUCKING ISSUES

I didn't love this comic. And frankly, it was definitely dragged out waaaay longer than it needed to be. That's because they literally wanted this to go on for a year (as comics release monthly) But imo, it took way too long to start and takes many issues in before it gets actually interesting. But I bother to mention it here just because it's one of the very, very, very few events where Eddie's the main antagonist. (Other than the War of Jokes and Riddles - but you'll never see me recommending a Tom King book) So props to him. And it still has some fine moments.

Batman Legends of the Dark Knight #185-189 (2005) / Riddle Me That

EMO PLASTIC SURGERY RIDDLER. MY BELOATHED. I literally have a love/hate relationship with this one. Riddler's design, and his characterization was just... okay???? And it's way longer than it should be. This was an attempt to rebrand the character to Appeal to the Modern Kids - and kinda spat on Eddie's old design, plus everything Jeph Loeb did with Hush. Which all failed. However, there are still some things I really enjoy in this comic. For one, it MIGHT be the first to retcon the "Eddie's a cheat / Eddie cheated in school" and instead changed it to that he was a victim of gaslighting by jealous parents. I would say it may be the first time Eddie was depicted as an abuse victim - but I don't know if it's credited to this comic, as it seems like that's just an idea DC must've had in general. As Alex Ross' Justice also mentioned him being beaten by his father for "cheating/lying," and Batman 2004 cartoon also depicted Eddie with a bad father (though the abuse was watered down due to being a kid's show) so it seems like that's just something DC told everyone they were doing with Ed's character or something. Anyway, despite having several glaring issues - there are still moments I love in this comic, regardless. Read it with caution, I guess.

JUSTICE #2 (2005)

While part of a short series, I've only ever read this one. It's an enjoyable one! Ed's intelligence is also credited in this one. However, I like it for it also mentions the abuse Eddie went through. It's also where I got my URL from.

Catwoman: Lonely City (2022)

A Catwoman comic? Why? Because Eddie's drug abuse is mentioned (also since it's a future, it's revealed he got clean <3) and he also fucks Catwoman. What more could you want?

There are more I could recommend. But these are, imo, the very best ones. Of course, I will also recommend watching the Animated Series (he was only in three eps </3) as well as checking him out in Arkham City and Arkham Origins - as those are my fav Eddies in those games.

#( 🧩 ✧ INFERIOR PUPPETEER ✧ | OOC )#( 🧩 ✧ SENT TO ARKHAM ✧ | INBOX )#long post

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affectiondeficitdisorder · 2 years

Text

This Is Not A Love Object: A Philosopher Looks at Love and Limerence

I’ve been writing about love addiction for, oh, 12 or 13 years now. Most of the time, people just thought I was crazy. I interviewed psychiatrist Dr. Reef Karim for the 2011 book Love Addict: Sex, Romance and Other Dangerous Drugs. He told me, "If I went to an American Psychiatric Association conference and said, ‘Doctors, today we're going to talk about love addiction,’ a third of the room would start laughing.”

Well, he and I had the last laugh in 2014 when psychiatrist Dr. Vineeth John stood up at the annual meeting of the American Psychiatric Association and said, "What might be the criteria for love addiction and its destructive and dysfunctional behaviors?”

Okay, we didn’t actually laugh. Being right about a debilitating and potentially fatal behavioral addiction isn’t that all damn funny… although sometimes it helps to look at it that way.

So now there have been more than 700 peer-reviewed scientific studies about the neurological, behavioral and emotional aspects of love addiction. As of today, we can add “philosophical” to the list, as University of Tennessee Professor of Philosophy Dr. Georgi Gardiner has written We Forge the Conditions of Love - Linguistic Luck: Essays in Anti-Luck Semantics (eds. Carlos Montemayor & Abrol Fairweather.)

Guess what? I’m footnoted!

“As you know,” Dr. Gardiner told me, “there aren't many scholarly articles about limerence, and this is the first philosophy essay about limerence.” She does write about other aspects of love than limerence — aka infatuation, my favorite drug — but I’m all about what she has to say about this one. And she says it using very big words.

One of her main points is that how we verbalize or frame our ideas of romantic love can change how we experience it. “Self-ascribing love can change emotions, attitudes, and values,” is now she puts it. “Self-ascriptions of love are affected by the person’s conception of love.

“A person’s whose conception of limerence is shaped by discourse that emphasises addiction science, neurochemical pathways, or behavioural conditioning might accordingly conceive of limerence as primarily an addiction.” That would be me. My discourse about limerence is that is can be addictive, particularly to people who are genetically and environmentally predisposed to addiction.

“The addiction is to thought patterns, rather than external drugs or behaviours like cocaine or gambling,” she writes. “They might thus understand limerence as contiguous with non-romantic cognitive or attentional addictions, such as maladaptive daydreaming, compulsive rumination, cognitive stimming, mental perseveration, and compulsive suicidal, violent, argumentative, or sexual ideation.”

“The addiction,” she continues, “is not to interacting with the person. It is to thinking about them.”

I agree. We are rarely in love with a person so much as we are to the feeling of being in love with that person. And thinking about them re-stimulates that feeling. It’s as if thinking about a drink actually gave you a buzz.… and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop thinking about it, even if you wanted to.

“Two features of this mental activity are emphasised: Incessance—the thoughts are constant — and lack of cognitive control. Therapeutic manuals bluntly deny limerents can intentionally stop thinking about the limerent object. [Dorothy] Tennov writes, ‘In summary, limerent fantasy is, most of all, intrusive and inescapable. It seems not to be something you do, but something that happens.’ Forum posts continually cast suicide as the only escape.”

The thing is, “limerence — not love — is a monomaniacal attentional phenomenon.” In other words, that thing that feels like this-is-my-soulmate-I-must-be-with-them-or-I-will-die-are-they-thinking-about-me-I-have-to-check-their-Instagram… that ain’t love. That is a “monomaniacal attentional phenomenon.”

“Limerence—like many addictions—ultimately arises from unmet needs: The need for romantic companionship or to feel desirable, which corresponds to romantic limerence. The need for approval, especially from authority figures, which commonly underwrites limerence for teachers and bosses. And the need for emotional processing, leading to limerence for therapists and alterous limerence.

“In the resulting conceptual nexus, perhaps love is—at least in its most ideal instantiations—a way to bond, connect, and structure a life. The addiction described by the discourse is not to interacting with the person. It is to thinking about them. Limerence is a way to think.”

So if I have this right — and my degree is in World Literature, not Philosophy, so bear with me — Dr. Gardiner is in our corner. Addictive love isn’t a way of loving; it is a way of thinking. And we do it because we are trying to fill that existential hole every addict and alcoholic talks about. So maybe if we talk about it differently, we will start to experience it differently. I assume this is what she means by “linguistic luck.” The reality we inhabit depends on the way we frame our reality. Changing the way we talk about our thinking… can change the way we think. Which, for some of us, is a worthwhile goal.

So thanks for the reframing, Dr, Gardiner. Plus, I like being a scholarly footnote. A scholarly footnote who cusses.

#love addiction #romance #relationships #limerence #Dorothy Tennov #Georgi Gardiner

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thewarriorspecial · 11 months

Text

Dress Up (CH3 - Lying to Himself)

*Archive Edition* Previously only linked to AO3, full work now available under the cut.

Read on AO3

Rating: Explicit | Guy Gardner/Kyle Rayner, Hal Jordan, John Stewart, Original Character

Additional Tags (All chapters listed): Established Relationship, hand wavy timeline, Lace Panties, Spanking, Lingerie, Oral Sex, Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Character dealing with/avoiding their PTSD, Rimming, Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Bloody Kisses, Polyamory

Guy's still looking for some way to help. Kyle's still trying to barrel towards a sense of normalcy. Guy takes a turn at making their dress-up surprises a thing and it doesn't go the way he hoped.

Guy was hunched over his desk, head leaned in his folded hands as he tried to piece together a question or command to ask the ring for what he needed. The most powerful weapon in the universe was also a storehouse of all the universe’s knowledge for anyone who knew how to draw it out. If I was on Earth, he thought, what would I look for? How would I look?

He leaned back, one arm wrapping around his chest and the other rubbing his chin. He stared at the empty space in front of the desk. He pictured a bookshelf and watched it manifest.

“Alright. Gimme everything you’ve got on human psychology and trauma.” Immediately the bookshelf overflowed with with books, more appearing in stacks on the floor. Stacks began appearing on the desktop, under the desk, in Guy’s lap, anywhere there was flat space.

“Okay. Woah. Narrow it down. Gimme everything specifically on unhealthy coping mechanisms for trauma.”

Most of the books vanished, and the bookshelf refilled with a few more stacks appearing on the floor. Guy pointed at the first one on top of one of the stacks, flicking his fingers towards himself. The book floated in front of him and opened. He reached into his vest and pulled construct glasses from within. After paging through the first book, he slid it unceremoniously off the side of the desk and it disappeared. He repeated the process with the next three.

Looking up at the ceiling and rubbing his eyes he sighed, “This is gonna be a long night.”

Over the course of the evening, the bookshelf refilled over and over. Each time the stacks for a little smaller. Yet, no connection could be made between Kyle’s symptoms. Nightmares and flashbacks don’t present alongside hyper-sexual behavior. They create the opposite problem. Especially in males.

Fuck.

Unless it’s something compound? Complex?

“Show me the definition and conditions for C-PTSD and all known symptoms.” Guy carefully read through the stack of papers that appeared. Long term exposure. Childhood. Detachment. Relationship issues. Negative self-image and worldview. Nothing matched there either. That he knew of anyways. Should probably show this to Hal. “Add this to my notes.” The papers added themselves to a vey large three ring binder that appeared, opened, shut, and disappeared.

Guy leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He needed a walk and some water. He’d have to walk passed Kyle who was still haunting the sofa, pretending to watch TV.

Fuck.

“What would you do?” Guy asked the ring, pressing the cool surface to the skin of his cheek. “For Kyle, I mean. What would you do to help?”

A business card materialized on the desk. 'Leslie Thompkins, Psychiatrist’, it read.

“I remember her. Yeah. Yeah you’re right. How the hell do I get him to go?” A very large pet carrier and a bag of candy appeared. Guy stood up and waved his hands through the constructs to dismiss them. “Get outta here with that,” he laughed softly.

“You coming to bed?” Guy asked, leaning in the doorway of their bedroom.

“Yeh,” Kyle murmured, eyes glued to the screen.

“Later?”

“Yeh.”

“Okay.” Guy shut the door to block out the light and the noise. He dreamed of Kyle’s laugh and the taste of his skin.

When the door closed, Kyle pulled the bottle of vodka out from under the covers and took a drink. He preferred doing bong rips. The relaxation and elevated mood were a lot nicer than the slosh and brain fog from the booze but it would have to do.

“You’ll have to do.” Ganthet had said.

Should I even be here? Why won’t he sit with me? He’s up my ass all day until I’m sad. Am I becoming a burden? Does anyone else know? He probably wants to fuck. I’m not in the mood to fake it right now. I’ll surprise him with something tomorrow to make up for it.

Kyle propped himself up against the armrest, sipping from the bottle as he watched the DVD he put in earlier. When he and Guy left Earth, he had tried to back up all of his pirated movies and shows. For whatever reason the episode lists played in reverse order but he’s unconcerned. It was nostalgic and it felt good. Firefly played in front of his eyes and his fonder memories with Guy and Hal and John played in the back of his mind. He fell into a restless sleep and the bottle slipped from his hand.

Kaylee is shot. She gasps as blood soaks her overalls.

“Kaylee, stay with me. Can you move your feet?”

Guy look at me. Look at me. Stay with me. Squeeze my hand. Stay awake.

“Are you asking me to dance?”

You wanna hold my hand and skip? Heh, heh.

Kyle staggers to the bathroom and vomits.

Guy woke up with Kyle wrapped around him. They were side by side, chest to chest. Kyle’s head was tucked under Guy’s chin. Guy felt warm breath on his skin as Kyle snored and twitched in a deep sleep.

The bed smelled like sex and sweat. Kyle had gotten into the habit of coming to bed in the barely light hours of the morning, coaxing Guy awake with light kisses and caresses. Kyle would tuck himself into Guy, urging the bigger man on top. Kyle would writhe and beg to be touched, but his body didn’t always respond.

“This okay?” Guy would ask.

“Hell yeah,” Kyle would groan and Guy would waver between a desire to give his partner what he’s asking for and the guilt for doing it at all.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m with you. This is all I want.” And Kyle would smile with all the warmth and light of a new star.

And until Kyle woke, either kissing Guy and asking about his plan for the day or vanishing without a word, so stood their nightly routine.

Guy watches the rookies twist and dive through the obstacle course John built. Flight training was one of their favorite exercises. It’s impossible to forget your first real flight. In some ways you never really come down.

“How’s he doing?” John asks.

“‘Bout the same.” Guy answers.

“Hey it’s not worse. One day at a time. You get him to talk to anyone yet?”

“No.”

“Keep trying. Everything’s gonna be fine. And when it isn’t, I got you. Both of you.”

“I know. You took care of me. I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

“You did in your own way.” John smiles fondly, watching the blush creep up behind Guy’s ears.

“‘Suppose so.”

Guy returned to the apartment. He checked for Kyle and heard the shower running. He sat on their worn couch, next to Kyle’s depression nest. He picked up the mostly empty bottle of vodka, replacing the lid. He picked up candy wrappers and folded the blanket, tossing it neatly over the back of the couch. Kyle’s sketchbook tumbled to the floor with a thud. Guy scooped it up and searched the cushions for any lost pens and pencils. He set the drawing implements down on the end table and sat down with the sketchbook. It’s newer, the cover only mildly blemished with wear and graphite smears. He saw that a little over half the pages are still blank as he thumbed through them. He felt his heart wriggle with a deep joy. Kyle was drawing again. Too many months it seemed Kyle would drink and stare off the balcony, into unfamiliar constellations forever.

Guy popped open the cover, starting from the beginning. He was immediately greeted with a pencil drawing of a poorly wrapped fruit basket. He’d put it together and set it out on the kitchen table with the new sketchbook and art supplies in an attempt to lure Kyle out of his blanket fort. The next page was sketches of John’s face in various expressions, most of them joyful and all from his right. Next was Hal’s face given the same treatment from the front. Then Guy’s own face from the left. They were all smiling, laughing, hands shaping the stories they had been telling. Kyle’s ability to draw from memory was unparalleled.

There were sketches of Oan flowers that grew by nearby waterways. Superman, for no one’s enjoyment. A beagle. Hal holding a beagle, smiling indulgently. One in full color; Guy could make out the blonde hair and the shape of her face—Alex. Then the next one was just a refrigerator in high contrast, pouring out eerie light. Piano keys. A pitched battle scene, Lantern and Sinestro Crops symbols mixed throughout. Guy’s face with bedroom eyes. Hal in his flight suit, sticking his tongue out. A night scene where the only light came from a streetlamp over an empty park bench. Hal’s face, again, his salt-and-pepper hair rendered in loving detail. A young woman Guy had never seen before, wearing overalls and bleeding from a gunshot wound.

The last image sprawled across two pages and the only word Guy could think to describe it was demon. It was the alien that nearly killed him. It was massive—top-heavy and bipedal like Arkillo. It had a serpentine neck and horse-like head with a maw that opened like an eel. Sinewy arms ended in talons with an opposable thumb. Two agile tails whipped behind it, each tipped in a scorpion-like barb.

Alpha Lanterns had simply called them Hunters. They preyed along the Outer Limits. They were solitary, rarely in a pair. No one was sure yet where they came from but they lived up to their name with malicious intelligence. They had some kind of primal telepathy. Guy had perceived it as a push in his mind; just feelings, no images or words.

Guy had been hunched down inside the outpost he and a few Lanterns had been sent to build. The Guardians wanted to set up a way station to increase the range and support of Lantern sweeps in those areas. To look for problems like the Hunters. He had been welding, he remembered. They were piecing together the ventilation system when he heard the first scream. Something that big, that heavy, shouldn’t have been able to move in perfect silence. Before he knew it he had been beaten down and stabbed twice. Poison burned a path though his veins. He had ordered the team to make a distress call and retreat. But Kyle refused to leave his side. He remembered the agony of being run through again, of hearing Kyle scream. Hearing Kyle sob and not being able to draw a breath to say it’ll be okay.

“You remember it?” Kyle asked, suddenly behind him. He was leaning on his elbows on the back of the couch.

Guy startled and caught the sketchbook before it fell, “Uh. Sorry. I shouldn’t be snooping like that. I was just excited, you know. You’re getting back to nor—comfortable again.”

“No,” Kyle sighed. “I’m not. But I really want to.” His shoulders scrunched up and he crossed his arms tightly. “Do we have to look at it?”

“Nah, course not.” Guy closed the sketchbook and set it on the end table without looking away from Kyle’s face. They looked at each other for a long time. Guy could see the emotions rolling through Kyle’s expressions as they both reached for something to say. “C’mere,” he offered instead, holding his hand out.

Kyle took his hand and rounded the couch. He had a hair clip holding one of their shitty bath towels around his waist. He dropped himself into Guy’s lap with a heavy sigh and Guy wrapped him up in a tight hug.

“You warm enough?” Guy asked, laying a big, warm hand on Kyle’s thigh.

“Yeah.” Kyle nuzzled into Guy’s neck, his arms returning to their crossed position around himself. Guy could feel him shiver so he pulled the folded blanket down around them.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna talk to someone?”

“Can’t I just talk to you?”

“Yeah, I mean, you can tell me anything. I’m just not really qualified to help with this.”

“Weren’t you a psychologist?”

“I was a counselor. It’s different.”

“You talked to people when they were at their worst. Didn’t it help?”

Guy sighed heavily. “I wasn’t wheedling the plot out of Hannibal, Kyle. When I worked in the prison, it was mostly a dumping ground for undesirables. I’d ask these guys what was going on and they’d tell me things like how I’m the first person who used their name or asked them what was wrong at all. I gave them respect and sometimes I gave them some hope to hold onto.” Guy looked away as the words sped up, realizing he was rambling. “Didn’t make me a real psychiatrist, though. I couldn’t treat the schizophrenia or whatever that got them tossed into the street. Even if I had the credentials all I’d be able to do is medicate them while they were locked up.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring all that up.”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I can’t be what you need.” Guy tightened his hold and rubbed his thumb along Kyle’s back.

Kyle felt too warm and trapped under Guy’s big hands. He wanted to get up but feared the look in Guy’s eyes if he pulled away. So he sat and listened to Guy breathe. He tried not to think too hard about being pressed up against the hole in Guy’s side.

“Alright poozers, listen up. Today we’re working on your speed. You’re going to have to outrun and outthink one of the fastest Lanterns in the Corps.” Killowog addressed the five fresh Lanterns, all sans their Corps symbols and ready to change that today. Each one wore a construct belt around their midsection with two flags hanging from the sides. “Your goal is to remove one of Kyle’s flags before he takes both of yours.”

“That’s it?” One of the newbies asked.

“Oh? Did I mention—they’ll all be trying to kick your faces off the entire time.”

“They?”

“Show ‘em, Kyle.”

Kyle grinned as he held his hands out, crossing his first two fingers on both hands to make a plus sign, “Shadow Clone Jutsu!” Four more identical Kyles appeared, each one photorealistic and moving independently. His clones followed as he leapt into the air, tearing through the sky at breakneck speed. The rookies followed in his wake like a formation of geese. Weak constructs of lassos and nets floated passed as they missed. He laughed, elated at the feel of the wind in his hair and the sun on his face. The world below shrank as he climbed, leaving the weight on his mind far behind.

As he tagged the rookies out one by one, he noticed the squid-like Lantern lurking behind buildings and rock formations. He could feel its gaze studying him as it kept its distance. When it was down to just the two of them, it shot a stream of bubble constructs passed Kyle. They floated by without touching him, but gave him an ominous feeling as they slowly closed in. They were shiny, and he could see his own reflection swaying on all their surfaces like funhouse mirrors.

He’d lost sight of his clones. He shot an energy blast at one of the bubbles and it opened like a doughnut, letting the blast pass through before it snapped shut again. He released his clones and they dematerialized instantly. He formed a Gundam inspired mech around himself and shot a hail of missiles at the surrounding bubbles. They repeated the same trick—shifting, opening, and closing.

He reached behind his back and drew an energy sword, thrusting forward and slashing side to side. Their texture was like slime, his weapon dragging through their cores like trying to cut through tar. His chest heaved and his muscles burned with the effort. The ring of bubbles pressed in closer, their shape throwing the light of Sto-Oa into his eyes, blinding him. He let himself fall through the swinging mech construct, sinking away from the bubbles. A tentacle whip-cracked at his ankle, barely missing as he changed direction and sped off. The Squid-Lantern’s arms spun and it shot forward in pursuit.

Kyle dodged row after row of the creepy bubbles, glancing over his shoulder to track his opponent. He ran his palm over his belt, making sure both flags were still there. Squid-Lantern was missing one. This was anyone’s game. A ray of light shot over his shoulder. He rolled and dove to dodge it. When he faced forward again, he slammed into one of the bubbles, sinking chest deep into its sticky surface. Squid-Lantern landed gently on the surface, its tentacles bowing the bubble’s skin without breaking it. It gently removed both flags from Kyle’s belt. The short, crescent eyelids over its opalescent eyes widened. It lifted all of its tentacles into the air and swayed.

“Hooray! Hooray! I have the winning!” Kyle’s ring translated. The bubble released him and he turned himself upright.

“Wow! Nicely done,” Kyle offered his hand to the victor. Squid-Lantern’s swaying paused as it considered Kyle’s appendage. It stuck half of its tentacles out, mimicking Kyle’s motion.

“Oh, uh, handshake?”

Squid-Lantern’s tentacles vibrated. Kyle flailed his arm and laughed.

Kyle approached the battery, bathed in its ethereal glow. He’d reluctantly left the cackling pack of rookies behind at Warrior’s. Even their enthusiasm couldn’t drown out the incessant nagging of his ring reminding him that his charge was “Critically! Low!”. He raised his ring hand, making a fist and squaring his shoulders.

The words wouldn’t come.

He tried again. And still nothing. He was just tired. This had been the longest day out of the house in a long time. It was a good tired, his mother would say, from playing so hard. You’ll sleep well.

He lowered his arm. He knew the words—could hear them in his mind. There was no power, no conviction in his voice. Would it charge if he could only whisper? He raised his arm again. He felt stupid. He felt weak.

He nearly leapt out of his own skin when he felt a hand under his forearm, a body pressed against his back. Kyle leaned into the familiar scent of aftershave and whiskey.

“In brightest day,” Hal began, voice warm and unwavering. Kyle repeated the words, gaining strength as they finished the oath in tandem.

Kyle’s ring recharged and he felt the surge of power through his whole body. He was still leaning into Hal. He turned his head to look at his friend, leaving their faces inches apart.

“You okay, kid?” Hal asked and Kyle’s heart pounded. Hal had his mask off and dark eyes glittered in the battery’s light. At 5’10 they were the same height, but Hal was extremely wiry and compact. He was warm and so solid. Where in the fuck was this coming from? Hal lowered his arm to Kyle’s waist to support him.

“Yeah,” Kyle’s body quivered. “Thanks.” He spun around suddenly, shoving Hal aside. “I should go,” he pointed stiffly at the doorway. “Bye.”

“Dude?” Hal asked of the empty room.

Kyle landed on the balcony. He looked down at his still trembling hands. How was he gonna sneak this thing into the house without Guy asking too many questions. He willed his skintight uniform away, leaving him in jeans and hoodie. He adjusted himself and pulled the hoodie down. Why was it so hard to get it up for Guy like this?

The balcony door slid open about a foot and Guy’s freckled, smiling face emerged. Speak of the devil. “You’re home! How’d it go?”

Kyle couldn’t help the smile that came across his face. God but he loved those big blue eyes. “Really good actually. I thought I’d be more tired but I recharged and uh,” he faltered, rubbing the back of his neck, “I feel pretty peppy now.”

“Good because I have a little surprise for you,” Guy’s expression melted into a naughty grin and he dramatically whipped the sliding door open. He stood in a cheap Halloween sexy-nurse costume, complete with a little red cross cap and white thigh-highs. “I thought you could use a little TLC after you had such a hard day.”

Kyle’s brain flipped to the static channel as he zeroed in on the gap between Guy’s very short skirt and the top of the stockings. “Th-thighs,” he mumbled.

“Get in here,” Guy rumbled, grabbing Kyle’s shirt and dragging him inside. Kyle surged forward, roughly shoving Guy into the back of the couch, and pulled his big man down for a kiss. Guy spread his feet until they were even height making his skirt ride up obscenely over his erection. His plan to soothe Kyle’s stress and gently tuck him into bed was already gone out the window. Kyle kissed him like he’d been gone for months. His hands roved up and down Guy’s thighs, fingers dipping into the tops of the stockings.

“Turn around, lemme see you,” Kyle murmured as he pulled on Guy’s hips. Guy turned, leaning over the couch and raising his ass in the air obediently. He had nothing on underneath the costume. “Goddamn,” Kyle growled, digging his fingers into the backs of Guy’s thighs and spreading him open with the heels of his hands. Guy had shaved everything and his skin smelled fresh from the shower. Kyle rolled the pad of his thumb against Guy’s quivering hole, “You need me to get you ready?”

“P-please,” Guy whispered, his hands moving to cover his face as his hips pressed back into Kyle involuntarily.

Kyle spread Guy open and leaned forward, licking a stripe from Guy’ balls to his tailbone. Guy clapped his ring hand over his mouth to keep the high-pitched sounds from escaping. His other arm braced his weight against the cushions as he lost his footing.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Guy wailed into his palm.

Kyle lapped and rolled his tongue, coaxing every imaginable sound out of his big, broad partner. He pinched and squeezed those thick thighs, only coming up when he had to breathe. He smiled and groaned against Guy’s entrance, thoroughly enjoying driving him wild. His attention had Guy literally on his toes. He glanced down at Guy’s pretty feet, perched on that sexy angle. Feet freaked Guy the fuck out so he didn’t dare mention his obsession. He just quietly scooted all of Guy’s normal shoes into the back of the closet.

Guy’s hips rolled with an unconscious rhythm and Kyle leaned back with his tongue out and let him rub his ass into his face. Guy’s eyes were clenched shut and a deep blush had worked its way down the back of his neck.

“Kyle,” Guy breathed, both hands clenching the cushions now, “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“I…um,” Guy looked over his shoulder, beet red, “Will you…?” He glanced at his ass and back up at Kyle.

Kyle leaned over Guy’s back putting his lips against Guy’s ear, “You are so hot, Guy. I can’t get enough.” Guy dropped his face into his hands again. Kyle ran his hands up and down Guy’s back, making the cheap fabric of the costume crinkle with static. “I want you so bad.” He rolled his hips against Guy’s ass and realized with horror that he’d lost his hard-on.

Are you fucking kidding me? Now??

Kyle’s body tensed as he held in a frustrated sigh. He’d die before he made Guy feel like anything about this wasn’t perfectly hot and welcome. He sent a construct hand into the bedroom to grab the lube off of the nightstand. He coated his fingers and rubbed the tip of the middle one against Guy’s hole. “You ready?” Kyle asked as he pulled his clothes off, making a pile somewhere off to the side of the couch.

“Yes, please,” came the muffled reply.

Kyle pressed his finger slowly in, soaking up the desperate sighs escaping his partner. Guy was so good to him. He was gonna make his man come rivers no matter what his body would or wouldn’t do. He fucked Guy open slowly until he had three fingers buried in his tight heat.

“Kyle please, please,” Guy moaned from behind his hands.

Kyle took a deep breath to focus, making a construct around his limp dick. Like the rest of his creations, it was true to life. It even felt warm and twitched if he willed it. He lined himself up and pressed in gently. He had to keep pushing the costume up and out of the way to see what he was doing. “Take this off for me, love.”

Guy pushed himself up, gasping as the angle changed. He crossed his arms in front of himself, grabbing the bottom of the slinky costume dress. He chanced a heated look over his shoulder as he very slowly pulled it up and over his head. Kyle’s eyes flicked back and forth between the inches of sexy freckled skin slowly being revealed and the passion in those gorgeous eyes. His hands chased the hem of the dress, traveling over all the familiar constellations on Guy’s back. Guy’s freckles were concentrated on the tops of his shoulders like a permanent sunburn. They thinned out as they spread down his back, then gathered again at the dips in his hipbones, filling the spaces like a liquid—like someone had poured a galaxy over his body. Kyle’s hands brushed along the back of Guy’s neck, fingertips dragging in his hair. Guy leaned into the touch and groaned. Kyle wanted to lay kisses along the nape of Guy’s neck but he couldn’t reach.

“Alright,” Kyle nudged Guy forward with a hand between his shoulder blades, “Get back down there, you’re too tall.” He felt Guy’s laugh under his hand and Guy leaned down until he was on his elbows.

Guy groaned as he shifted, feeling Kyle still inside him, “Baby, please, I’m so horny.”

Kyle finally started to move, keeping his pace steady and not too rough.

“God, yes,” Guy sighed, arching his back, “That’s perfect. Please, please don’t stop.” He covered his mouth again, embarrassed with how soft he sounded.

Kyle focused on Guy’s voice, his own breathing picking up with the exertion. He wrapped his hands around Guy’s waist and felt for tells in his body—the tremors, the way he’d start to push back, the soft, high sighs when he finally took his hand away from his mouth again.

“Kyle, I—I’m…Are you…?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

Guy reached back, grasping the back of the couch as he came with a long moan. Kyle feigned a little stutter in his hips, pulling out and pretending to finish himself with his hand. Watching to make sure Guy hadn’t looked up, he sucked his cheeks and quietly spit on Guy’s back.

Kyle stepped back and wiped the sweat from his face. “Wow,” he said, the smile coming through in his voice, “That was hot.”

Guy was still panting, still leaned over the couch.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” Guy groaned, as he stood up. He rubbed hips where they’d been pressed into the couch, “Just a little sore. M’alright.”

Kyle held his hands out with a bright smile on his face, “Wanna go lay down?”

“Nah,” Guy said looking at Kyle’s hands, “I’m gonna go get a shower.”

“Oh,” Kyle watched Guy walk away. “Oh, okay. Are you coming to bed after?”

The bathroom door clicked shut.

Guy turned the water on full blast and sat on the toilet lid. He rested his chin on his folded hands with his elbows on his knees.

Fuck.

I’m the problem.

#*myfic #guykyle

0 notes

aphandgflover · 1 year

Text

Tw suicide attempt

One of my closest friends tried to kill herself last night. She told everyone she was going to someone else's place in another city, and then threw herself in the harbour. A kind lady called for help and got her out and to the hospital. We only knew because her phone survived and Lyra, my wife, was listed as her emergency contact.

I don't know how I feel.

In a way I'm angry at her.

She was having a really hard time lately. We knew that. She was staying with us. I had to watch her wash her hands twice, sometimes thrice in a row, so I could prove to her that they were clean. I had to tell her to put on hand cream after that so that her skin didn't get so dry it broke. I had to fetch her pills for her, so she knew she hadn't thrown them in the cats' water. I had to wake up at four in the morning, because she had needed to pee and had to wash her hands again. I had to make sure she ate something, even though she slept through most meal times.

And when she was awake, I had to sit with her, to show her she was not alone, to tell her she was safe, she was going to be okay. I've had to listen as she said the same things over and over, that she was never going to go better, that surely her intrusive thoughts meant she was a horrible person who wanted to harm our cats, to harm us, to harm herself, that she was a monster. I've had to repeat to her, over and over, that this wasn't true, that she was our friend, and a good person who was in pain, that we wanted her to feel better, that we were going to do everything it took.

We had taken her to the hospital so she could see an emergency psychiatrist. They managed to book a week at a local clinic for her. She was supposed to go there this wednesday. She was so close. I don't understand why she gave up now. I don't understand why, even though she had so many people taking care of her, even though she had a light at the end of the tunnel to look forward to, she still couldn't hold on for just a couple more days.

I suppose you really have to be in her state to understand. I suppose she was less lucid than I though she was.

I'm angry that she did that. It feels like a selfish emotion. It's not her fault, I know that. But I still feel angry. Angry that she would just throw away all the care we had for her. That even for a moment she thought that Lyra and I wouldn't feel the worst kind of pain had she succeeded in killing herself. That we wouldn't cry or scream or hold each other in despair, not knowing how to comfort each other.

She's twenty-three, she's three years younger than us, she's my little sister's age. We call her our little sister sometimes. We call her little one, like she's our daughter. We call her our roomie, because she's been sleeping on our couch regularly for almost four years now.

We already lost friends to suicide. More than what feels could maybe be normal. We lost family, also, people we loved deeply, especially Lyra. I'm angry she didn't realize how horrible we both feel about it and that she would add to it.

I'm angry there's also a possibility she didn't care. That she knew all of this and still decided to do it.

I want to run to her hospital bed, shake her and scream at her for what she did. I want to call her selfish, and stupid. I want to take her home, to wrap her in a blanket like it's a straight jacket and to not let her out of my sight.

I want to understand. I want to ask her what she was thinking, what I could have done to prevent this, what I can do now so she'll promise to never ever try to do it again. There isn't much I wouldn't do.

Selfishly, I just want her to be okay.

#tw sui attempt #vent #rant #rambling #too many emotions I need to let out

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emptysighs66x · 2 years

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I worry that sometimes the people around me don't realize how mentally ill I am. Like, Kevin and I have been together 5 years, but he hasn't seen me off my meds until this past year. He saw me dealing with my unstable bipolar when we first met, then stable bipolar about a year after we moved into our house, but I don't think he realized how bad off I was going to get while off my meds, but if I want kids, I can't be on my meds according to my psychiatrist and my gynocolgist because the stuff I was taking was pretty potent.

But I have so many diagnoses that it's unreal and most of them are hereditary/side effects from a rough life led.

It started with the depression and anxiety at 14, added on insomnia at 15, bipolar at 16, PTSD at 20. Then there's the side effects that come from all these illnesses, my worst being my depressive episodes, my episodes of disassociation and feeling like I'm not real and everything around me isn't real, and my occasional spells of excessive paranoia. Then there's also the side effect that I developed after I stopped my meds which is a tic that causes me to jerk my neck, roll my eyes, and make a very high pitched, "Woo." My psych says it's likelihood cause is my brain chemicals being wonky from started my antidepressants so young. He says it may stop when I restart my meds, but I won't know until then. Another recent issue is if someone is speaking to me in person, everything they say sounds garbled even though they're speaking plain English and that's really stressing me out because I've noticed it also effecting the way I write. Like I suddenly don't understand anything that I'm saying.

Like, this job I have now, I work alone throughout the day and I felt off before I left the house and I told Kevin that I felt off. It's been super slow and since I don't have anything to do, it's making me disassociate. I've tried my grounding techniques that my therapist taught me and nothing is helping. I texted Kevin and he told me to take off my shoes and put my feet flat on the floor, but that's never worked for me when it comes to grounding myself because in my head, this life isn't real and I'm just a puppet, my body isn't my body, I don't recognize who I am when I look in a mirror, kinda bullshit.

I've thankfully never been hospitalized despite probably needing to be multiple times and it's hard to explain what goes on in my head to people to a point they understand. A lot of the time, it always feels like I'm fighting for control of my own actions as in I don't always have the motivation to do things that I need to do, or be "present" because I'm too busy off in some lala land that I don't remember (in those times it's like the lights are on, but nobody is home).

I'm just over it. I'm tired of being mentally ill honestly because it's exhausting and the more I talk to my psych or a doctor about it, the more that they add another diagnosis to my list as if I'm collecting every toy in a Happy Meal.

I guess that's enough of my rant. Hopefully it's coherent. Thank God I only have a couple hours left at work and I can go home, eat and edible so I can forget about my problems, and enjoy two fucking days off.

Fuck.

#kayla blogs from work #mind of kayla vi #tw mental illness

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randomshyperson · 3 years

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Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Sorry for your lost - Part I “I will grieve”.

Serie Masterlist here || Part II|| Read on AO3

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, hurtful behaviors, domestic wanda.

Chapter warnings: Heavy angst, death.

Author’s notes: Hello readers! I'm finally back to posting something, but I disappeared for a good reason, I was writing three new series. And here is the first of them. I really enjoyed this work and it's something I've been trying to write since I watched WandaVision, and only now I've managed to put it into words. I am not finished yet, but there is only one chapter left, so your reading will not be affected. Pay attention to the warnings, and good reading!

Tag list (let me know if you wanna be tagged)

@mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch

//-//

Chapter One - I’ll grieve.

You wished you could go back to sleep as soon as you opened your eyes. The sound of your alarm buzzed loudly throughout the room, and after putting it on snooze mode at least four times, you finally got annoyed enough to grab it and throw it across the room. But the sound continued.

Letting out a grumble of dissatisfaction, you pushed the comforter off you, and sat up in your bed. Your room was a mess, but you just skipped through the clothes on the floor to reach the phone, turning off the alarm through the new crack you made in the screen.

"Honey, are you up?" you heard your mother's distant voice calling you through the door, probably from the living room or the kitchen. "Don't forget your therapy today."

You sighed impatiently, running your hands through your hair. The damn group therapy.

Grumbling lightly, you forced yourself to take a shower, not wanting "poor hygiene" to end up on your progress report card.

A while later, when you were finished, you went into the kitchen. Your mother was using her laptop on the counter, and just waved at you.

"Are you going to take me?" You asked her with your hands in your pockets. Your mother took her eyes off the screen to evaluate the sweatshirt you were wearing, and you rolled your eyes at her disapproving expression.

"You know, you could try driv-"

"Mom" You cut her off in earnest, your heart racing momentarily. You don't drive. An she knows. Your mother sighs, putting her hands up in a sign of surrender.

"It was just a suggestion dear." She retorts as she stands up, reaching for her car key on the key rack exiting the kitchen. "But I'm busy with the store, you'll need to take the subway next time."

"Thanks for the support." You grumble as you step out in front and your mother lets out a wry chuckle.

You frown and let out a dissatisfied exclamation as you step outside feeling the sun's rays on your face.

"You're not a vampire, cut the drama." Mocks your mother by pushing you lightly to get you out of the way.

You grumble as you walk to the car. And when you are sitting on the seat, your mother is starting the vehicle and she asks:

"Are you sure you're not going to eat anything?"

Looking out the window, you just mumble that you're not hungry, and she shakes her head in disapproval before you back the car up. You don't speak any more on the way.

//-//

Your mother dropped you off in the parking lot of a gymnasium where the therapy group would be meeting. You sighed as you got out, and thanked her for the ride and the money she gave you to eat, even though you probably weren't going to use.

Resisting the urge to run away, you forced your feet to walk toward the place.

There were a few people at the door, but you didn't smile at any of them, entering the place with your head down and your hands in your pockets.

And then a woman greeted you, and put a little sticker with your name on your shirt when you gave her your papers.

Then she signaled the way you should go, and you ended up on the gymnasium court, where there was a wheel of chairs, and a table with food and drink, and several people scattered around, who you thought were part of your therapy group.

Sighing impatiently you made your way to the bleachers of the venue, hoping to be alone until the session started and you could leave.

Fortunately it wasn't long before the leader signaled for everyone to sit in the circle, and you sighed as you stood up. You ended up with one of the chairs on the far left opposite the therapist, which could be bad since he would see you clearly.

"Thank you very much for coming." Said the therapist smiling gently as his gaze roved over everyone in the circle. You kept your gaze on your shoes. He made a noise with his throat. "Who would like to start today?"

The silence lasted for a few seconds, but then someone was speaking. You forced yourself to come back to reality and pay attention.

"[...] and this is my fourth week around here." Said a woman in a leather jacket. You noticed the army lanyard around her neck. She was talking about an accident when you got distracted again. Lightly poking your eye with your finger, you tried to focus again, letting out a low sigh. And then the therapist was talking again.

"We have new faces today." He said and you felt your heart speed up. You absolutely did not want to talk in front of strangers. "Why don't you share with us, miss?"

You raised your gaze to meet that of the therapist, smiling gently at you. The rest of the group looked at you as well. Taking a deep breath, you began to wiggle your fingers on your leg.

"I don't... I've never been in a group." You say clumsily. "What should I say?"

"Whatever you wish to say." He answers with a smile. You swallow the urge to tell him you didn't want to talk at all. Realizing your lack of response, he is quick to add. "Why don't you tell us why you are here?."

You let out a dry laugh.

"I really didn't have much choice." You retort wryly. The therapist looks slightly surprised, but makes no mention of interrupting you. You let out a sigh before clarifying. "My psychiatrist, she...she didn't approve of my social ratings. She wanted me to talk to other people. People who... went through the same things I did." You count staring at the floor. When you look up again, the group still waits for you to continue, and you sigh, running your hands through your hair. "I haven't... I... I haven't talked to other people outside of my family in six months. Not since..."

You move your head, sniffling slightly as you straighten your posture. The therapist clears his throat.

"You just need to share whatever you are ready to tell us." He says gently, you nod slightly feeling extremely vulnerable. "But remember that this is a safe space. There is nothing to fear here."

And then he is talking about methods of easing the guilt, and dealing with the pain and you were distracted again. You would like to go back to bed. It must have taken a while, but the session is finally over.

The group dispersed around the room, and you went toward the therapist's desk to have him sign your schedule. He smiled as you approached.

"Miss Y/N/L, I was happy to hear that you would be joining us today." He said greeting you with a handshake. You nodded, taking the paper from your pocket. He chuckled, but accepted it. "You know, I'd like you to try to have a partner in the group, it's recommended for cases like yours."

"What do you mean cases like me?" You ask snidely, but he doesn't care.

"Doctor Harkness gave me your chart." He explained as he signed the paper you gave him while you frowned. "Extreme Social Anxiety in the first few months of treatment. Tendency to complete isolation, introverted..."

"Yeah I know my problems, buddy." You interrupt him with irritation. "You don't have to list them for me."

The therapist gives a lopsided chuckle, and holds out the signed paper to you. But he adds with a serious look:

"I'm here to help you, Y/N." He says. "Don't forget that."

You don't respond and take the paper, turning toward the exit.

//-//

Your week passes slowly and tortuously. Which is surprising because you barely get out of bed. And then it is group therapy day again, and you are making a new crack at your cell phone screen.

Your mother greets you with a pat on the back as you enter the kitchen, and she is walking past you toward her own room.

You know you have to take the subway today, and you are trying not to think about it too much. As you are walking out the door, your eyes pass quickly over your car key, and you think you have a flash of memory, but you shake your head quickly, pushing the thought away. And then you walk forward.

And you are late for the session, because you can't take the bus to the station, since your feet simply didn't obey you. But that's okay, you don't really care.

You weren't the only one who was late. When you went to enter the door, a red-haired woman bumped into you, also running to get in. She smiled slightly as she apologized, and you just made room for her to enter first.

"Sorry Stephen." She said to the therapist as soon as you two entered the gymnasium, "I had an emergency with the kids."

The man just shook his head with a smile, and waved for you both to sit down.

"And why were you late today, miss Y/L/N?" He asked you. You shrugged your shoulders.

"I didn't wanna come." You retorted and the group giggled, and the sudden sound startled you slightly, but you just sat with your arms crossed.

"Do you want to try again?" He retorted with light humor in his voice. And you bit the inside of your cheeks. And then you looked down at the floor.

"I couldn't get on the bus." You confessed next. Stephen looked at you tenderly, though, and you didn't like the feeling of your chest heaving slightly.

"And why do you think that happened?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable.

"I don't know. I... There were too many people." You said embarrassed. And then you started twiddling your fingers, feeling all eyes on you. "I just... I knew I'd have to say hello to the driver, and the conductor. And then I would pass strangers in the hallway, and one of them would sit next to me. And I just... I couldn't."

Stephen nodded slightly in agreement.

"It's okay, Y/N. " He stated. "No one is judging you here."

You let out a dry laugh, and Stephen blinks in surprise, which spurs you to explode.

"Everyone is judging me, Doc." You say through gritted teeth, swinging your leg. "It's as if I can hear the gears in people's brains forming opinions about me." You state with a sigh. "Like my mother for example. She...she...acts like I'm past the time of mourning." You explain with tears in your eyes. "Like there's a limit, and I'm extending her goodwill. Because it's been six months, and she doesn't want me to be sad anymore. But guess what? I don't know how to move on!" You state angrily. "I can't! If I don't miss her, what's left for me? If I don't... God, I can't do this."

And you stand up, wiping your tears away, and walk out of the gymnasium, heading for the restrooms. You feel your heart racing, and it's hard to breathe.

As you rest your hands on the sink, your brain starts to wander back to the day of the accident again. You choke, because it feels like you're sinking again. You see the water rising through the metal of the car. Your hands on the steering wheel, and then on the seat belt. You shake your head, pushing the images away, and rush to turn on the faucet in front of you and pour the water on your face.

You take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears. And then there is someone entering.

"Are you okay?" Stephen asks and you nod lightly, ignoring the trembling in your hands as you stare at him through the reflection of the mirror. "I gave a break to the group, wouldn't you like to walk with me?"

"I'm not good company right now." You grumble but he smiles, nodding slightly as if to repeat the invitation. You take a deep breath before turning around.

You walk silently and slowly to the outside of the gymnasium, and then he is speaking again.

"You were very brave today." He comments, and you let out a dry laugh. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I panicked today." You say. " It doesn't sound very brave to me."

Stephen smiles guiding you through the gymnasium entrance toward the parking lot.

"You talked about a trauma to a group of people." He says. "That takes a lot of courage, even if you don't believe it."

"I don't believe in anything." You grumble, but Stephen doesn't mind your hostility. He stays with his friendly posture.

"I would like you to accept my request from before." He said after a moment. "About a group partner."

You let out a sigh.

"I don't even know what that means." You retort with slight impatience as you reach the edge of the parking lot. You notice the garden a few feet ahead of you.

"It's like a therapy buddy." He explains with a smile. "We encourage socializing here. That's why Agatha recommended this group to you."

"Oh, of course you do. Agatha is a bitch." You wryly wipe your hands across your face. Stephen laughs lightly. "How does that work anyway? Do I have to hold someone's hand? Exchange friendship bracelets?"

"No, it's much better." He says with a chuckle. "You talk to that person. You exchange experiences with them. You learn to trust somebody else again."

"My god, it looks like a fucking Disney movie." You retort with irritation and Stephen lets out a laugh. And then you let out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders. "Okay, I'll do it. I have nothing to lose, and it seems that neither you nor Agatha will leave me alone if I don't agree."

"We want you to feel better. Don't take this as a punishment." He says, guiding you back to the gym. You nod slightly, thinking that it really does feel like punishment anyway.

//-//

You see Agatha the same week. Your appointments have been switched to monthly meetings instead of weeks as they were at the beginning of treatment, and while you appreciate the familiarity of seeing her, you can't help but feel irritated with her.

"Someone's grumpy." She comments as soon as you sit down on the couch in the room, to which you roll your eyes.

"You are always so very tender, Agatha." You mock as you cross your legs, hoping the time will pass soon.

Agatha laughs lightly, finishing tidying up a few things on her desk. And then she gets up and sits down in the armchair a few feet in front of the sofa where you are, carrying a small notebook in her hands.

"So, why don't you tell me how your your first two sessions in group therapy went?"

You let out a dry laugh.

"Like Stephen didn't tell you everything." You sneer and Agatha just smiles, waiting for you to speak. You let out an impatient sigh, before stating wryly. "It was amazing, doc. It only took two sessions for me to have a panic attack, so thank you for that."

"Why do you think that happened?"

You squeezed your eyes.

"I have no idea." You retorted. "I'm not the doctor here." Agatha laughs lightly, and then opens her notebook and starts writing something. You sigh impatiently. “Really, you're going to start that again?”

"If you don't talk, I write." She states simply, and you roll your eyes, shifting on the couch uncomfortably.

"Agatha, I just... I couldn't get on a bus, okay?" you tell her, and she closes her notebook to look at you attentively. You take a deep breath. "There were a lot of people. I don't mind walking anyway. It helps me think."

"You don't mind walking eight blocks?" She asks with a slight irony. "That's pretty athletic of you."

"It's weird that you know my address off the top of your head." You play lightly, and she just laughs, straightening her posture.

"Why don't you just tell me what you want to tell me?"

"Why don't you ask me what you want to ask?"

Agatha blinks slightly in surprise, and then she shakes her head slightly, opening her notebook again. You sigh.

"Okay, sorry." You say, and she looks at you for a moment before closing the object again. I... I thought I was drowning again.”

"Are your nightmares back?" She asks seriously, and you deny it with your head.

"I feel too anxious to sleep." You tell. "And then I black out from exhaustion in the night or in the morning. I don't dream anymore."

"Have you been taking your medication?"

You sigh.

"Of course I have." You say. "I don't... I'm having trouble keeping my mind still. Like the first few months, you know. Everything seems so noisy now."

Agatha nods slightly, becoming thoughtful for a few moments.

"I know it may sound strange to hear that, but that means you're getting better." She declares and you frown in surprise, then let out a dry laugh.

"How is my peak anxiety a good thing?"

She opens the book again, but before you can ask what you said wrong, she is reading.

"The first day you were here, you said you felt like you were empty." She narrated and you swallowed dryly. "During your first two months, you continued to describe that you felt like an empty shell. And that you no longer had any dreams, thoughts, or opinions. Without your wife, you said you were no longer here."

You felt your eyes fill with water at the mention of her. But you swallowed your emotions. Agatha turned a page, and read for a few seconds, and then looked at you.

"With your history of anxiety, your mind was remarkably quiet after the passing of your wife." She says. "But now that you're on medication, and therapeutic treatment, plus you're socializing even superficially with the world again, you're starting to feel things again. That's progress."

You look away from her, nodding slightly, trying to believe her words, and trying not to be so terrified at the thought of learning to live again. Without Nat.

You choke slightly, holding back a sob, and then Agatha hands you a box of tissues, but you refuse with a nod, wiping away the tears that have slightly escaped.

"What do you want to talk about now?" She asks after a moment. You take a deep breath, still trying to calm yourself.

"Last week I took a cold bath." You count. "It was snowing."

Agatha blinks in surprise at the information and then lets out a giggle.

"You want me to write it in the book don't you?"

You laugh, wiping away the last of the insistent tears. You just hope Agatha could help you.

//-//

You hate coffee. But you barely slept last night, and now you need to stay awake during the group meeting, so instead of walking to the chair in the corner like you used to, you detour your way to the food and beverage table as soon as you arrive at the gym.

There are a few members around, but you don't look at them, just sidestepping as you extend your arm to the coffee bottle. You pour some, and as you touch the cup, you notice. It's cold.

"Hey sorry about that." Said a girl you thought was named Val or something, as soon as she saw you touching the cup. "We mixed up the shifts yesterday and nobody made new coffee."

You rolled your eyes, picking up the cup and throwing it in the trash. Then you forced a wry smile on the girl and walked outside.

It was cold, but you are boiling with rage. It was just a damn cup of coffee, you thought as you closed your eyes and tried to reduce your anger. Just coffee.

You stumbled with fright when Stephen called out to you.

"We'll get started in a minute." He said looking at you curiously. You just nodded, following him after a few seconds.

You bit the inside of your cheek when you noticed the same coffee girl as before, now sitting where you usually sat. The universe was testing you today.

You just sighed, twiddling your fingers inside your pocket, and walked over to one of the free chairs.

After Stephen gave the briefing, he asked if everyone was all right, and the group lied in unison. You were almost asleep when he called your name.

"I would like to choose your partner today." He says and you feel your heart racing as you straighten your posture. "But I want to know if you have any preferences."

You blink in confusion, and roll your eyes.

"I don't know anyone here, but I'm sure they will all hate me equally, doc." You tried to joke, but Stephen only looked at you with concern.

"No one does or will hate you." He says and you swallow dryly, looking away as you mumble that it was just a joke. Stephen pauses momentarily before continuing. "You know that everyone here has their own experiences of loss and they are unique in their own way, even if they have similarities." He begins and you just wish he would speak soon who your partner is at once. "Usually we don't put new members together, but with the release of one of our members, the number ended up getting odd." He explains. "Anyway, I'm sure you and Mrs. Maximoff will get along very well together."

You frowned slightly at the whole explanation. Then you looked around the group, and realized that this Maximoff woman was the late redhead from the previous session who looked at you curiously. You looked away from her to Stephen.

"Thank you, doc." You said with a slight irony and Stephen just nodded smiling.

"Partners are grieving companions ladies." He says. "We will assess your progress at each session, and then switch partners once the necessary improvement has been achieved."

You grumbled in understanding, and looked away to your lap. When Stephen began to ask about the stories, your mind wandered to the departure time.

And when the session was over you wished you could go to sleep. But Stephen made a slight movement of his head in Maximoff's direction, and you understood that you should talk to her.

Ignoring the urge to show Stephen the middle finger, you just sighed as you got up from your chair and lazily walked over to the woman at the exit. She was talking to a man, and you were even more anxious to address not one, but two strangers.

"Hi." You greeted awkwardly, and both of them turned to you with mild curiosity.

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" Said the man with a smile as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bucky. James Barnes actually, but everyone calls me Bucky." He said and you shook his hand, smiling awkwardly. Then he quickly pointed at the woman. "And this is Wanda Maximoff, your grief partner."

"Hi." Wanda said shyly as she offered her hand to greet you. You accepted as clumsily as she did.

"Sorry, I don't know how this works." You say. "Should we exchange numbers or something? Or is that just a therapy thing?"

Bucky gives a little chuckle.

"Oh believe me, they'll know if you're not making it work." He counters. "My first partner was Sam Wilson and we wanted to jump on each other's necks whenever we saw each other. And then Stephen asked us to move in together." He says and you blink in surprise. "We're married now, but that's not the point. I guess I'm getting off topic..."

"Bucky." Wanda interrupts with a smile, and he smiles half-heartedly as well. You frown, annoyed by Bucky's story. You didn't want to marry anyone. "I guess we'll make it work, I hope you don't mind having the company of two tiny restless creatures on our walks."

You look at her with confusion and then you understand, smiling shyly.

"No, it's okay." You say. "I like children."

"Really?" She asks in surprise.

You nod slightly. "Unlike adults, they tell the truth."

Wanda seemed to be thoughtful, but then Bucky lets out an exclamation.

"As group guide, I have to pass the to-do list to you ladies." He says pulling a small notebook from the back pocket of his pants. He pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to Wanda. "Partners need to develop these habits of socializing and coping with grief together. And yes, there is a test."

You sigh impatiently, tucking a loose string behind your ear.

"That sounds fun." You mock lightly making them smile.

"Anyway, good luck to you two." He says tenderly. "And Wanda, call me if you need help with Tommy. I know a good therapist."

You frown slightly, not understanding what he is referring to, but you prefer to stay out of matters that are none of your business. And then Bucky kisses Wanda on the cheek in farewell and waves to you smiling before leaving. You switch foot weights when you are alone with Wanda. Talking to other people is not exactly your strong suit these past few months.

"So..." You start clumsily when she turns to you.

"So." She repeats equally embarrassed. You then clear your throat and rush to pull your cell phone out of your pocket and hand it to her.

"Give me your number." You say. "That way we can arrange...whatever this is."

Wanda smiles weakly as she accepts the device, and you ignore the curious look when she notices the cracks in the screen. A moment later she hands the cell phone back to you.

"I gotta go." She says. "I need to pick up my kids from school."

You nod slightly and force a smile to say goodbye, and Wanda copies your movement before leaving.

You stare at your cell phone next, noticing the slight anxiety in your stomach as you read the contact "Wanda Maximoff" on the screen.

//-//

By the weekend, you are miserable. Just like the first few months.

You spilled some tea under your bed, and when you went to clean it up, you ended up taking the objects that were lying there. And then you found a crumpled piece of paper.

It was your farewell speech. The words you wrote down to speak on the day of the funeral. The paper you pulled out of your pocket when you got home from the ceremony and probably fell under the bed when you collapsed on the floor from crying so hard.

Suddenly your chest tightened and you couldn't breathe. But you didn't want your mother to worry, so you concentrated on remembering the exercises your therapist had taught you.

And when the room started to get too small, you left.

But because it was cold and rainy, you had just taken a hot shower and had decided to brew tea before you finished putting on a sweater, you had bent down to pick up your socks, and the liquid fell on the floor.

You went outside without your shoes, and your mother let out a worried exclamation when she saw you standing outside, staring at nothing.

"Honey?" She asked walking out the door after seeing you through the kitchen window. "Honey, what is it?"

You didn't answer. Your face was wet. Your mother's hands wrapped around your shoulders, and she gently pushed you inside, worried that you would end up getting hypothermia.

"I'm fine." You gasped as she led you inside, but she just shook her head. "I'm fine."

"No, honey." She retorted making you frown. "You're not."

"Mom."

"Sit down."

And then there were blankets around you, and socks on your feet. And your mother was in the kitchen, on the phone, but everything seemed stuffy. You began to be absent again. Thousands of memories flashing through your eyes.

An image of yourself on that living room floor, laughing while your girlfriend had her arms wrapped around you. Your mother was pouring a glass of wine for each of you, and you were happy to tell her about your engagement.

Then an image of you running across the room, trying to dodge the tickles your father tickled you while you laughed.

Then a puppy in your hands on the floor. You looked at it fondly, laughing at how cute it looked.

Looking down, you saw a hand on your thigh. It was your wife's, the ring on her finger. She smiled at you. You were happy because that was the day you told your mother about the house purchase.

You gasped slightly when you felt someone's hand on your shoulder suddenly.

"I need you to tell me three things you can see." It was Agatha. God, you should have been out of reaction long enough for her to get here. Wiping away your tears, you took a deep breath, trying to reason straight.

"I... I..." You started, but your brain didn't seem to obey you. You took another deep breath. You could see the carpet, so you told her so.

"Two more." Agatha asked tenderly, her hand caressing your back from top to bottom.

"The... table." You replied crying. "I can see the table."

"That's right, honey." She said. "Just one more now. Tell me what else?"

"My feet." You add breathlessly. "I can see my feet."

"Now breathe with me, okay?" She asks. "Like I taught you."

The exercises help you to calm down again. You apologize for scaring your mother, and for making Agatha drive to your house, but neither of them is upset with you. You feel exhausted, but the doctor wants to talk to you after she accepts the cup of coffee your mother offers her.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" She asks as you sit on the covered porch, fluffy pillows around you.

You lower your gaze to the floor, sniffling lightly.

"I found my grief speech." You count. "Under my bed. The next minute I was outside."

Agatha sighs.

"You ready to talk about the accident."

You raise your eyes quickly, frowning, because it wasn't a question.

"W-what?"

She takes a deep breath, crossing her legs.

"It's suffocating you." She clarifies. "You need to talk or these attacks will happen again."

"I-I don't..."

"It won't be today." She interrupts with a tender smile. "Tonight you need to sleep. But we won't prolong this any longer. You need to talk about it, even if it’s only to scream."

Clenching your jaw, you hold back your tears as Agatha takes one last look at you before getting up. She murmurs that she will see you on Monday, but you don't look at her.

//-//

You don't sleep well on Sunday. And it's definitely because you can't stop thinking about your appointment.

And it goes well for the first twenty minutes. Agatha doesn't pressure you, and agrees to hear about your week, without mentioning the incident on Thursday.

There is a pause after you have told her about the dog barking noise in the early morning and then you know it is time to speak up.

"I was driving." You say softly suddenly, ignoring the feeling that your throat wants to close up. Agatha has her hands folded in her lap as she listens to you. "She...she was sleeping in the passenger seat." You swallow dryly, trying to count and not get caught up in the memory again, your heart racing. Talking is almost like going back there. "I looked at her for a moment and I got distracted... and then... we just..."

You only realize that you are crying because tears fall on your hand. You blink, sniffling. Taking a deep breath, you continue.

"We fell into the water, and Nat...she just...I couldn't get her belt off." You gasp breathlessly. "The water just...kept coming up around us. And she looked at me, and... she just shook her head like she knew what was going to happen." You tell between sobs. Agatha's eyes water, but she doesn't interrupt. "I just...she pushed me. She pushed my hands away and she told me she would follow me. And god... my dumb brain believed her!" You confess angrily. "She told me she was right behind me! And I swam out and when I came up she wasn't with me."

You shut up, not being able to tell anymore through the sobs. You can't even see the office clearly because of the tears.

It takes a moment for you to speak again, your head down.

"When I swam back, the car was completely covered with water everywhere" You recount. "I...I was going to dive again.... I wanted to get her out of there. But the people who saw the accident jumped in after us. And they pulled me out of the water. And I kept thinking that if I hadn't been distracted, she...she would be...."

"No." Agatha interrupts by offering you a tissue. "Natasha had a stomach injury, don't you remember?" She counters and you gasp, the words echoing in your brain. "That's why you couldn't remove the belt."

And then you were remembering clearly now.

Soft music echoed in the car as you hummed the tune and drove to your friends' house. Your wife mumbled softly beside you, making you smile as you watched the sleeping figure. The red hair in front of her face.

"Hey sleepyhead." You called softly, looking away from the track for a moment. "We're almost there."

Nat muttered in agreement. You bit your lip, thinking she looked beautiful. And then you heard a noise, and a white light in the window. You barely had time to frown when the impact threw your car off the road.

Your body tensed immediately as you sat up, looking around with desperation. The car was sinking fast and you turned to Nat.

A wound on her forehead was bleeding, and she was clearly disoriented as you touched her hands. You hurried to unbuckle her belt, but it was jammed tightly in her waist, and you gasped in shock at the wound.

"N-no." You grumbled, trying to move the metal, but Nat gasped in pain, pushing your hands away. You could barely breathe in desperation. Your feet were freezing, because the water was already at your ankles. "Babe, move please. We have to get out."

Nat advanced toward you, taking off your belt. You tried to touch her, but she pushed your hands away again, intending to guide you out.

" Sweetheart, go! Open the door! " she commanded and you shook your head, the water on your knees. Nat forced a smile, the tears in her eyes made your stomach turn. "Don't worry love. I'm right behind you."

As you opened the door, the water moved all the way into the car, and you held your breath Nat repeated the words "I'm right behind you" one more time. And then you swam out.

When you reached the surface, you were alone.

Sobbing, you couldn't say anything else to Agatha, and she proceeded to stroke your back, trying to soothe you with words of affirmation.

"I need you to remember some things honey." She says tenderly. "You couldn't have helped Natasha. She got stuck. You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened." Agatha whispers to you, and you sob. "Remember the investigation, okay? The police said that the driver of the truck was drunk and hit your car after he fell asleep. It wasn't your fault." Agatha says trying to remind you. You gasp, countless memories flooding your head at once. "Say that for me, will you?" She asks and you gasp. "Tell me it wasn't your fault."

You sob, burying your face in your hands. It takes a moment, but you repeat the words.

"It wasn't my fault." You whisper breathlessly. "It...it wasn't my fault."

When you leave therapy that day, you feel different.

You think that it is the healing process that is beginning to work. You still have a long way to go, but you have the feeling that a weight has been lifted off your back, because you have started to believe your own words. You could not have saved Natasha.

There is still a deep sadness in you, but you still buy your favorite drink on the way home, and try to stay in the living room for a few hours before going to your room when you are inside.

#wanda maximoff #wandaxreader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda imagine #wanda imagines #sorry for your lost #wandaxyou

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

Text

New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months. Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling. Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies. You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway. The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head. You people are a terrible influence! Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those. And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk. The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality. Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session. The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb. The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper. It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world. Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here. Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended. “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment. Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services. The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair. People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms. Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed. They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible. In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away. The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really. Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?” But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile. Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up. And up. And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley. His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh. As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product. His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance. But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea. Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired. He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled. “That’s me. And it’s pronounced Beecham. Please, come in Mister Fraser.” She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself. Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied. “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.” She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached. She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well. His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment. She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back. The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh. She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak. This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal. He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No. That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid. Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?” His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time. Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna. Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.” His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace. She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused. Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff. Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office. Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully. “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser. This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five. There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea. Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes. I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression. He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor. I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do. Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken. She practically raised me. And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face. Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight. As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie. If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you. That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting. But I can handle it my own way. I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits. Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it. The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it. The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions. None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you. I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite. Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea. With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly. When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment. Maybe Geillis was right. Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied. “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out. Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade. If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all. And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time. It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art. If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow. Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?”

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other. Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?” Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue.

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.” She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it. Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air. He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued. It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic. She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state. Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up. She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something. Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape. Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become. Your sister obviously loves you. Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes. The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name. No coded symbols flowed from her pen. When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye? Wee fox, tha’ one. And he told me he liked my shortbread!” Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly. “He’s very nice.”

“Nice! Nice? Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky. Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know. And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed. “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late. I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie. Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself. Jamie Fraser is your patient.

#my writing #outlander

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professional-benaddict · 3 years

Note

depressed!peter gets into a fight with some classmate which leads to him getting a skull injury. He wakes up in the psych ward regressed and cuffed to his hospital bed. Tony is his assigned psychiatrist and is trained in Littles. Especially ones with mood disorders.

anything for my auntie!!🥺🥺💗💗 this got a bit heavy, but i hope the comfort makes up for it!!

Psychiatrist Tony, +18 Little Peter, Littles are Known, doctor Stephen, depression, suicidal thoughts, crying, head injuries, hospitalisation, psych hold, whump, comfort

“Hey, Doctor Stark.”

“Yeah?”

“Doctor Strange called from the ER. He says he has a patient who he thinks should be put on psych hold.”

“All right, I’ll head down in a bit.”

The psychiatric ward of the hospital is at the far west side of the hospital, so Tony has a bit of walking to get to the ER at the other end of the huge hospital. He brings a coffee with him, sipping on it while he walks, his mind already racing a bit with what Stephen Strange has for him at the ER.

For once, the ER is surprisingly quiet when Tony walks in. He throws away his empty coffee cup before he finds Stephen in trauma room 3. The neurosurgeon is stood at the foot of the hospital bed, his nose in a chart scribbling away. He smiles a little tiredly at Tony.

“Hey, he’s the one.” Stephen says, pointing at the patient with his pen.

The patient is a male in his late teens or early twenties. He is unconscious, although it seems like he is just sleeping peacefully where he is tucked in the blankets. The bandage on his head tells another story.

“Peter Parker, 18 years old. Someone found him knocked out unconscious and bleeding after what seems like a fight. He woke up in the ambulance, but he didn’t make much sense. My guess is he fell or was pushed over and knocked his head on the ground. He was bleeding from his head and vomitied once when he woke up. CT confirms a skull fracture, but there’s no other damage luckily. 12 stitches on his scalp, and he’s stable now.” Stephen lists, hanging the chart back on the boy’s bed.

“So, why did you bring me here?” Tony asks.

“He said he wanted to die in the ambulance. Multiple times.” Stephen says, his tone more serious. “Will you take him?”

“Of course. No doubts about it.” Tony nods, putting his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “I’ll talk to the nurses to have him transported.” He adds, turning on his heel to walk out, but Stephen speaks up.

“And one more thing. He’s a Little.”

Oh. That complicates things.

———

Peter wakes up to a pounding headache. He sometimes does that when he hasn’t had enough to drink the day before, so the pain in itself isn’t surprising. However, as he starts to come to his senses, he realises it’s not his head that hurts. It’s his scalp.

The boy opens his eyes, realising with a soft gasp that he is in a room he doesn’t recognise. It is white, bare and far from homey. It’s a hospital room, Peter realises, closing his eyes again in agony.

What happened?

He was going to class, although he didn’t want to. Some of his classmates bumped into him, wanting to cause trouble. And Peter saw an opportunity, and he took it. He had ended up exactly where he wanted, but then again he didn’t.

The confusion, the fear and the uncertainty of it all crashes down on Peter, and he regresses into his Little headspace. It just makes it worse, but at least it lets him cry. So, Peter cries.

Peter tries to lift his hands to his face to wipe his eyes, but he feels something holding him down. Looking down at his wrists, Peter finds he has been restrained to the bed. The restraints have soft faux fur on the insides, but the emotional hurt still pains him.

Peter cries louder, so he doesn’t hear the knocks on the door to his hospital room. A man in a white coat walks in, and he hurries to the bed with a concerned look on his face.

“Wha-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m Doctor Stark. You’re safe here, it’s okay. Are you in pain?”

At first, Peter nods his head. He is hurting, but then he realises that’s not what the doctor is asking about. He shakes his head, and his lips wobble as he looks up at the doctor.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I know you must be scared, but it’s okay, and you’ll be okay. Can you try and breathe for me?”

Peter does as he is told. Being given simple instructions to follow makes Peter feel a lot better, in fact. It’s a common thing for Littles, wanting to please their caregivers by doing as they are told. The boy clings to the doctor’s calm and reassuring aura.

“My hands- I…”

“I’ll take them off.” The doctor says with a kind smile. Peter cannot help but notice how nice and warm the doctor’s hands are on his wrists. Peter wants to hold onto him, but he resists the urge with all his might. “There, that’s better. Here, I’ll raise your bed a bit. You should blow your nose too.”

Again, Peter does as he is told. He blows his nose, whimpering a bit at the pain that spreads through his head in the process.

“What happened…?” Peter asks, holding his head. He feels the bandage that’s wrapped around his head and the dressing above his left ear.

“You hit your head on the ground, and you fractured your skull.” The doctor says. He is leaning his hands on the side rail of Peter’s bed. His hands look strong.

“Wha- I dunno… what that means…” Peter mumbles. The words are hard to find, and Peter is not sure whether that is due to his head injury or his current headspace. It’s been months since he last dropped.

“Tell me, Peter, how old do you feel?”

“Huh?”

“It says in your file that you’re a Little. You’re regressing now, right? It’s important for me to know how old you are in your headspace, so that I can explain things to you so that you understand.”

“Oh…” So, they know. They must know about everything. Peter has to lean back on the bed and cover his eyes with his hands to keep himself together. Otherwise, he will just burst into tears in front of the nice doctor, like a silly baby. “I- 10, maybe? I- I dunno…”

“Okay, thank you. You’re doing great, Peter. Now, about your head…”

Doctor Stark is easy to understand. Despite his upset and the pain, Peter finds it easy to follow the doctor’s explanations. There’s a fracture in his skull, a part of the bone that’s broken, but nothing else has been damaged. The bone will heal on it’s own, and he’ll be okay. But, Peter still doesn’t feel okay. He hasn’t in a long time.

“Peter, I can see that something is eating at you. Tell me what it is.”

“I…”

A long pause. The sobs are pushing at Peter’s throat again, wanting to get out so bad.

“It’s okay. It’s safe to tell me.”

Maybe, just maybe.

“I- I said I wanna die…”

“You said you wanted to die.” Doctor Stark repeats. Hearing it back like that makes Peter sob finally. “Do you want to die now?”

If only he wasn’t feeling 10 years old, Peter would be able to explain. He doesn’t want to die, but he wants to die. He wants everything to stop, and he hates himself for wanting such a thing. What would May think? His palms are wet with tears.

It started a few weeks after he got classified officially and his first regression started. Peter never thought he would be one of the rare Littles to suffer from depression after classification, but he did.

“Okay, Peter. I see how upset you are, and I’m going to help you. I’ll get a nurse to start a ketamine treatment. It helps people who are in similar situations as you.”

Peter nods a little, wiping his tears. He is too embarrassed and snotty to look the doctor in his eyes, but his ears are zoned in on the doctor’s calming voice.

“I’ll look after you, Peter. I bet you’ve had it rough for a while, and I know how to help you. We’ll get this sorted out, so you don’t have to worry. You’ll be okay, I’ll make sure of it.”

Peter nods again. He wants to cry more, but he finds the strength to hold back now, thanks to Doctor Stark.

“I’ll help you, Peter. We’ll sort this out.”

And Peter believes him.

#my prompts #auntie claire #little!peter #daddy!tony #starker #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #peter parker #tony stark #stephen strange #ask

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amelia · 3 years

Note

related to that last ask but now i actually have a question! what are your favourite episodes for amy as a character? (sorry if i’m pestering you btw you don’t have to answer right away ❣️)

it is absolutely never a bother for me to talk about amy pond!! gosh though this is a Question. okay. i did interpret this as episodes that are my favorite for the lens of My Understanding Of Amy instead of favorite pond era episodes as a whole if that makes sense? under the cut bc i got long as i tend to do

i think my number 1 has to be the big bang, because it really is just like. okay, pond era absolutely runs into the problem of frequently making stories/episodes that should be centered around amy's emotional journey actually about somebody else — but the big bang is all hers. it is all on her! she's leading the show SHE'S the one in the pandorica SHE'S the one who remembers the doctor into existence it is HER choice to say goodbye to leadworth and continue to travel completely without remorse SHE IS THE HERO. it goes from "time can be rewritten, he'll find a way" to AMY being the one who finds the way. rory and river and the doctor all of course get their Moments but it's unquestionably amy's spotlight moment the whole way through

i have also ALWAYSSS been obsessed with starless universe amelia and the way that she still believes in stars in a world where they DON'T EXIST the power of her mind and the conviction of her beliefs is a CORE TENET of amy's character, the doctor has NOTHING to do with it!!! it's just who she is !!! best character of all time <3

other things about the amy's writing in this episode i love: the line "the universe pouring into her dreams every night," space florida outfit <3, ok i obviously do not love this but i think so much about amy talking about the doctor at her wedding and her mother is still like "NOT THIS SHIT AGAIN… i thought the psychiatrists FIXED her" like once again !!! a UNIVERSAL CONSTANT that amy is the one who believes in things nobody else does and is LOUD about it and is RIGHT !!! (let's kill hitler tried to retcon this but it simply won't work on me ❤️ just like anything else about the let's kill hitler flashbacks ❤️❤️❤️), OKAY DOCTOR DID I SURPRISE YOU THIS TIME? <3

number 2, i think, is the eleventh hour itself? like it's just… i've rewatched it so many times and it's still the most captivating character introduction i have ever seen. i know i'm biased but i love it so much. her introduction as a clearly neglected seven year old girl (constantly think about the deleted line that has her talking to aunt sharon and saying "you're not supposed to leave me, i'm seven!" WOOF) who's not afraid of anything except for the crack in her wall… she has drawings up all over her house of burning houses, she draws smiley faces into her apples bc her mom used to do that, she can cook for herself way better than i could at seven, and she desperately just wants to leave. but when the doctor tells her he'll be back in five minutes, amy is already so used to adults leaving her and breaking their promises that she doesn't believe him. but he makes her believe anyway. and he doesn't come back.

and all of the rest of her character hinges on that introduction — of course she has to believe him, he was REAL, nobody can take his realness away from her even if she is the only one who believes. but he also left her all alone for so long, just like everyone else who was supposed to be there for her did, so what good does that to her? so yeah of course she grows up angry and bitter and hiding those layers of hurt deeply under the surface, scorning all attachment and serious relationships because she knows she can't trust them. she outwardly distances herself from her childhood self by changing her name but she IS still just such a child inside.

she's not ready to settle, to grow up, to become what everyone in her tiny village wants her to be, thinks that she should be — so when she gets the chance to GO, of course she takes it. but she's also not just going to let the doctor off the hook for [gestures] her entire life, you know? the exchanges "people always say that" "i'm not people, do i even look like people?" | "people always have a reason" "do i look like people?" "Yes." always just GUT ME. she may trust him but it's NOT a blind trust, it can't be.

number 3 has to be the beast below it just makes me SCREAM how good that episode is at really developing amy through her compassion for other people — right from the start she sees that kid crying and she thinks the doctor must ignore stuff like this all the time, and she says that she could never do that. she's learning and intuiting leaps and bounds about the doctor with everything he says to her — which is another one of my favorite amy character traits, the way she is SO quick to pick up on things about other people and analyze them. everything that she picks up about the doctor allows her to KNOW what to do to save the star whale, allows her to be confident in the fact that the star whale wanted to help the whole time. the choice is IN HER HANDS she IS THE HERO <3 as she always should be. you couldn't just stand there and watch people cry! all that pain and misery and loneliness and it MADE IT KIND. i don't care how overused that quote is it still HITS !!!

um. number 4 is the girl who waited but my very specific headcanon-ridden interpretation and cutting out all that garbage "rory's the most beautiful man i've ever met" "defying destiny causality the nexus of time itself for a boy" bullshit. idk there's so many terrible things about this episode but it also gave me so much to think about when it comes to amy it's on my mind a LOT. one thing i think about is the way it parallels amy's first abandonment by the doctor — not just in the obvious sense but in the way that she's actively fighting for her life in a hostile atmosphere, but nobody else SEES it as a hostile atmosphere. the two streams facility is leadworth like it really is. and what adds a more chilling component is the way the handbots signature line is "do not be alarmed, this is a kindness" — like all the people who were trying to convince amy she was crazy throughout her entire childhood really thought they were doing her a kindness. they thought they were helping her. but they were killing her. because she wasn't made for that environment.

beyond that i am just obsessed with 36-years-later amy she is an icon she is a legend she is the moment i don't care! every mean thing she said about the doctor and rory was absolutely deserved and in fact she should have been so much meaner! she is SO SMART she makes her own SONIC PROBES OUT OF CAMERA PHONES the fact that she even was able to SURVIVE THAT LONG and in COMPLETE isolation and still retain her own mental faculties is just insane to me it speaks so much about her insane mental strength oh my god it makes me sooo emotional i am tearing up a little typing this right now.

i just am always THINKING about the line "there he is, the voice of god. number one lesson: survive, because no one's coming for you. you taught me that" it says SO MUCH about her. oh my god older amy didn't want to die she'll be kicking and screaming and fighting til the end… i fucking hate this show and picking and choosing when paradoxes should apply OLDER AMY DESERVED TO LIVE

number 5 is probably the power of three but my own very headcanon infused interpretation of it. because it's like. the ultimate miscommunication/misunderstanding that exists between amy and the doctor coming to a head. where amy in 7.02 is like "i can't not wait for you, even now. (…) we think you're weaning us off you" (that line always makes me slow exhale … the phrasing of the doctor as a drug) and the doctor keeps insisting that's not true, "you'll be there until the end of me" "or vice versa" (and they have that loaded held stare and you know they're both thinking about what he said to her before he left in the god complex…)

but it's not until this episode where amy starts to actually believe he means it. at the same time she's spent so much TIME preparing for the inevitable moment where the doctor says goodbye and doesn't say hello ever again that she's not willing to fully hope that the doctor really means it when he says that he would never leave her permanently on purpose. and i love that this episode gives amy a lot of space to verbally communicate her emotions because the later pond episodes SORELY LACK THAT. and amy tells him, don't be nice to me, don't stop coming around just because you think that's the kind thing to do. even though she says herself that she doesn't know if she can have "both" — she knows that she can tell the doctor to stay, in her own way, and that he'll listen.

ideally they would have just gone off traveling together forever after that and the angels take manhattan did not happen but unlike what the doctor says about amy, i don't ever get what i want 🙃

also, this episode gave amy friends that weren't rory or the doctor or river so i love it for that on principal <3 i know amy had fun being the bridesmaid at laura's lesbian wedding. and kate!!

( i do hate that this episode ends with that conversation between brian and the doctor. i hate brian as a character and i will forever. won't get into this right now but OUGH )

honestly this list is kind of wobbly and might change if you asked me in a month so i'll just rattle off other favorite episodes / moments real quickly: the good night minisode (it counts!), RIVER SONG DIDN'T GET IT ALL FROM YOU SWEETIE (timeline frozen amy my beloved!), "i remember it so it happened so i did it," vincent and the doctor specifically when vincent tells amy that he hears the song of her sadness…. ow, i could write a whole other essay about amy's choice and how it is so much more complex than people give it credit for but this post is already so goddamn long

#i literally do apologize for how long this got but you have to understand i was holding myself back .#she is…. everything. to me. i could keep going for so long #amy pond #ask #jonismitchell

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xxisxxisxxis · 3 years

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Gateway Drug | Part Eighty-Four

Words: 4K

Warning(s): Drug abuse (Overdose), explicit language, suicide attempt

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Duff and I move like the speed of lightening, him getting his pants on and me just putting my panties on and his t-shirt that got pulled off, before we rush next door with Steven, seeing people scrambling out the door, into connected suites, flushing drugs, all while Sally and Slash are working on waking him up, smacking at his face, to no avail.

"Wh-What happened?!" I ask them.

"Someone fucking shot him up and he fell out." She states.

"Who?" I ask and she sighs.

"Vivian, we really don't have time for questions, help me get him to the bath." She says just as I'm looking over her shoulder where we're crouched over Nikki, to see Sparkie, shock on his face.

We make eye contact and I just know he did this.

"Vivian!" She snaps and I'm back to reality, helping them to drag him to the bathroom all while Sparkie takes the opportunity to get out of dodge.

Suddenly Slash starts crying hysterically, clearly drunk and under the influence of many different substances.

"Slash, calm down." Sally assures him as we get some cold water on Nikki's body, Duff and Steven still slapping at his face.

"Damn it, Nikki." Duff mumbles, trying to keep himself calm.

"Slash," Sally repeats as he starts getting louder and louder to the point it's hard to focus on the issue at hand.

She stands and goes to the bathroom door, and Slash stops crying in a second.

"I'm sorry to knock him out but the last thing we need is to get hysterical over this, we can get him back if we try hard enough." She assures us.

After another minute and nothing's changing, I get uneasy.

"The ambulance is on the way." I hear someone say over the noise of the running water and the blood throbbing in my ears from my mind racing.

My heart feels like it's about to burst, my lungs feel flat, like they don't have the muscle to expand and let me catch my breath.

Duff's t-shirt that I'm wearing is soaked with freezing cold water, Nikki's grayish-yellow skin now blue…

Steven tries to knock him awake with his cast--from an injury he'd gotten earlier this week--before me, Sally, Duff and him get Nikki from the cold shower and get him back in the living room floor, tearing at his shirt and the buttons fly off.

"Holy shit." Steven says just under his breath as I go to start cpr but I'm stopping when my hands hit something like ice.

I quickly see what it is and I nearly fall back.

It's my crucifix that I thought I had lost when I left it in Duff's hotel room a couple months ago…

"He knows." I say it with a panic in my voice, beginning to hyperventilate. "Duff, he knows."

Duff looks at me, confused and frantic before he eyes the crucifix and if he had time to think about it, he would.

"Viv, just stay calm." Steven tells me as Sally starts pumping on Nikki's chest.

"C'mon, Nikki," She pleads by the fourth round.

Nothing.

"C'mon, I'm getting tired." She states and Duff takes over while Steven waits by his head for any sign of life.

"Nikki, I swear to God if you die," I threaten him, running my hands through my hair, tears streaming down my face as I look at the smidge of blood on his forehead from where Steven tried to wake him up.

"Let me try," I sniffle as Duff continues chest compressions and in between rounds of compressions, I try mouth to mouth resuscitation.

The more time that passes, the deader he looks.

"He's not waking up," I tell them, my adrenaline starting to wear off a little. "Nikki's not waking up, what else do we do?" I refuse to give up, looking to them for plan B.

"Shhit." Steven sighs out, sorrow in his quiet voice as he starts to pace.

It's very evident they don't have a plan B as ambulance sirens wail in the distance, coming closer and closer at the speed of light.

"We let the paramedics try to bring him back." Sally says, continuing CPR, and the thought paralyzes me. "And if they can't then…"

She doesn't finish, as if not wanting to entertain the possibility of Nikki dying tonight.

Within the next minutes, medics are all but busting the door down with a gurney.

Duff pulls me out of the way and I await them to start CPR, or pull out a magical pill that they shove down his throat and he magically comes back to life.

They check his pulse while listening to his heart with a stethoscope, and look at each other.

"Call it." The first one sighs out and my reality is beaten into me with a two ton hammer.

My body and mind disconnect, my heart wrenching in my chest as my soul screams out through my throat, struggling to get away from Duff, as I plead, "Nikki, don't leave me!"

"This is Nikki Sixx, he's not dying on my watch!" The other medic snaps to the first one over my cries. "Grab some adrenaline!"

"Nikki, I love you, I love you, please don't leave me!" I shriek, my throat raw as I claw against Duff, trying to get away so I can go to him.

"He's been out for too lon--"

"He's not dying tonight!" He barks over him and reaches for their bag, uncapping a long needle and plunging it into Nikki's heart.

Nothing happens.

What my new normal is about to look like flashes through my mind and I can't bear to even imagine what living in a world without him would be like.

"Vivian!" Duff screams as he, Steven and Sally scramble to pull me away from the balcony railing overlooking a thirty foot drop as I keep a white knuckled grip on the steel railing, trying to pull myself away from them.

"Let me go with him!" I scream at them, trying to kick them away from me.

Paramedic number one sedated me while paramedic number two shot another dose of adrenaline into Nikki's heart...he came back to life while I was subconsciously praying I'd lose mine.

When I wake up, my head's groggy, my heart hurts, and my body just feels heavy.

I'm in a hospital bed, confused for a moment, until it all comes back to me in a sudden, thundering moment.

Tears come to my eyes, panic kickstarting the pounding of my heart as I try to sit up.

"Hey, hey," I hear my dad say, getting up from the chair next to the bed to see me, and I look at him, confused. "They called me a few hours ago he explains." And I nod, my lip shaking as tears steadily roll down my cheeks.

"Is he…" I can't finish my question, scared of the answer.

"They got him back." My dad assures me with a nod and relief floods my body.

"Oh, God," I close my eyes and my dad hugs me tightly, my face buried in his shoulder. "Oh, God, thank you." I acknowledge God for the first time in a while, my heart tensing at the sorrow I was so close to facing in a reality where Nikki was dead.

"I'll go tell the nurse you're awake, they wanted to ask you some questions." He tells me after a moment and I nod.

He kisses my forehead and gives a reassuring smile before stepping into the hall.

I wipe my eyes and a doctor is stepping in behind my dad in a matter of moments.

He asks me questions about whether or not I've been suicidal in the past, if I'm still taking my antidepressant...I just say, "I've never tried to kill myself, I've never thought about it" and "No, I'm not on Nardil anymore, it made me worse."

He decides my attempt at hurting myself was a spur of the moment panic, not a contemplated plan come to fruition at unlikely timing, and with a referral to a new Psychiatrist, they let me out of the psych wing of the hospital.

Steven, Slash, and Duff are waiting in the waiting room of the E.R., and when we get down there, Duff sees me and stands up, stepping to me slowly before quickening his pace, wrapping me in a vice grip of his arms when he gets to me...I feel a few of his tears against my temple as he holds me.

When we pull away, I look at my dad, and he looks away from me for a moment, eyes on the floor, brows furrowing slightly…

"I'm just gonna go home with my dad for a few hours." I tell Duff quietly, wiping my tears and he does the same, nodding.

I give his hand a squeeze before stepping to Steven and Slash, who're both standing hesitantly...guilty expressions on their faces.

"We're sorry for scorin--" I shut Steven up, hugging him to me and he squeezes me.

"You could've ran like everyone else but you didn't." I point out, my voice hoarse from screaming during the night. "He probably wouldn't be here without you caring in the first place, so thank you." I add, looking at him, his tired eyes. I don't think he's slept at all.

I hug Slash next, feeling sorry for him since he and Nikki are like brothers at this point.

"They said he should be alright." He tells me.

"Dad told me." I reply.

"It used to happen to me all the time." He says next. "I just didn't think it'd happen to him like that." He adds. "That bad, I mean."

"He's sick, Slash." I repeat Duff's words, finally accepting the fact that Nikki really is sick. "He's just sick."

I finish saying bye and me and dad make our way to his car, and he fumbles in his pocket for the keys, getting it unlocked and I get in, staring at the windshield.

Dad gets in next and shuts the door, completely silent.

"It's been happening since September." I tell him, lowly, and something tells me he knows exactly what I'm talking about. "Me and Nikki separated after the Vanity thing happened in July and Duff and I started seeing each other in September."

"Does he know?" He asks and I sigh.

"I didn't think he did, until last night." I reply, feeling ashamed, sniffling.

"Can I tell you something I haven't told anybody before because your mother swore me to FBI level confidentiality?" He asks and I nod as he hands me a paper towel from his pocket.

"Your aunt Lily didn't get into heroin from her boyfriend she was head over heels for, they did it together, but he's not the one that introduced her to it." He admits and I furrow my brows. "Your mother was on methadone for part of her pregnancy with you."

"What?" I nearly snap out, shock shuttering everything I've been taught my whole life.

"She got untangled from that web by the time you were born because she wanted to be better for you, and that's why she's always been so hard on trying to have you make the right choices, she just didn't want you to end up like her, and when Lily kept struggling with drugs over the years, she felt like it was her fault because Lily grew up knowing Charlette was on it and she felt like she was the one who brought her baby sister into all of it--even though your mother was clean years before Lily even touched it. Then you and Nikki getting engaged, she just…" he trails off, sighing. "...I don't know, she just has her own demons she fights with, still, I guess. But she does love you, Vivian. And everything she's done has been to try to protect you from making the same mistake she did--even if it wasn't worth the emotional turmoil you went through, and there's no excuse for it. And I know I didn't protect you as much as I could have from her, as much as I should have, I was just used to being with her for so long...I took things with a grain of salt, and I wasn't thinking that you were too young to understand that you just needed to do that with her sometimes. Even now, when she drives me up the damn wall, I still find some good in it, because I remember that it can be so, so much worse. She was so much worse at one point." He informs me. "My point is, don't be so hard on yourself. You had an affair--God doesn't hate you for it, you're not a bad person or a sorry excuse of a woman or any less of a Christian. You're human. God is well aware we are all human and don't make the best choices sometimes. And given that I've been you before, married to what seems like somebody you love one day and then the devil the next, I can see why you wanted something that wasn't weighed down with the burden of a goddamn demon like heroin." He adds and I try to blink back more tears. "So the question is, now what?"

"I don't know if I still want a divorce." I confess, rubbing my lips together.

"You think?" He asks, a little smile on his face. "You tried to throw yourself from a two story balcony so you wouldn't get left by your momentarily dead husband, and you think you don't want a divorce anymore?"

I find myself chuckling at his point, wiping my tears again.

"I just want to get him back, Dad. The old him, because I feel like I've been married to a stranger."

"I think you need to go get help for yourself before you start trying to help him, though." He tells me next, reassuringly patting the crown of my hair.

"Okay." I nod and he reaches over and hugs me, kissing my hair before pulling back, cranking the car, sniffling.

"Alright, now, you're getting me teary eyed, you gotta stop that." He tells me and I laugh, just as a radio announcer states, "Last night, rock n roll bassist, Nikki Sixx, died of a heroin overdose at the Frankli--" my dad quickly cuts it off.

"I just wanna go home." I mumble.

"Alright." He replies, putting the car in reverse.

"I mean home-home, Dad." I clarify and he looks at me.

Mom was off at the women's Christmas dinner for church, so it was a perfect opportunity for Dad to have mercy on me and bring me back to the house I grew up in--that I hadn't step foot in for six years.

"You still haven't painted over that?" My finger traces over the measurements notched into the doorway of our living room.

"Your mom wants me to, but I'm not." He replies, putting his keys on the counter.

"Your mom won't be back for a few more hours. Why don't you go get some sleep that you haven't been induced into?" He suggests and I nod.

I step into my old room, nothing's been touched.

Dust has settled over old books, my desk, picture frames I didn't take with me...my bed is still unmade, exactly how I left it.

I get on the mattress, laying my head on the pillow, smelling the perfume I used to wear in high school.

I turn over and stare at my window, remembering all the times Nikki's climbed in to see me, and helped me down when I was sneaking out.

All the times Tommy would toss forbidden records up here for me to listen to when my mom wasn't here and the times my dad would help me out and hide them in his own stash of Charlette-band music.

I miss being a teenager.

I chew on the inside of my lip and look up at the ceiling, closing my eyes for a second.

I end up falling asleep, waking up to a single knock before the door opens.

The figure in the doorway is tall and lanky and at first I think it's Duff until I realize it's a brunette, his hair longer and more curly than Duff's.

"Hey," Tommy lowly starts, and I hear Heather downstairs laughing with my Dad.

"Hey," I sit up and he sits down on the bed next to me.

"So, I heard about Sixx." He tells me, slightly awkward, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Everybody's heard about him." I mumble.

"...I heard about you, too." He adds and I look at him. "I talked to Steven and Slash."

"I'm fine, Tom--"

"--Fucking knock it off, Vivian, damn it." He sighs out, standing back up, rubbing his face. "You're not fine. If you were fine you wouldn't have tried to do that."

"I'm depressed, Tommy, I think everyone freaking knows I'm depressed, and I've been depressed for years now, I'm not suicidal but I'm not the most mentally stable at the moment and I panicked in a stressful situation and did something without giving it a second thought." I argue, my voice shaking.

"Well, why not? Why not give it a second thought or something? You're not even together anymore."

"Because it's him, Tommy, that's why."

"You're not even together anymore, Viv--"

"--He's been all I've known for the past six years, Tommy, you can't expect six years of everything together to go away just because he fucked up."

"What about us, huh? Me and Vince and Tansy? We've been friends for years. You and me have been friends for nearly twenty years, Viv, and you were about to make all of it go away just because he fucked up." His voice cracks and I breathe out, my eyes watering as a result of him forcing back tears, rubbing his eyes.

He plops back on the bed, and buries his face in his hands, his elbows on his knees.

"I knew this would happen." He tells me next, sniffling. "I knew this would happen, and that's why I didn't want him going anywhere near you because I knew somehow, someway, he'd fuck you up, and he has. And I have, too, because I fucking let him." He adds, exhaling. "I know you don't want to live without him, but I can't live without you. And I know I've done a lot to push you away and I-I've taken his side over your's on a lot of shit but, Viv, you can't just decide to leave me without telling me, without giving me a chance to say 'goodbye,' and you can't…" he trails off, sniffling, quickly rubbing away at his eyes to block his tears from falling.

I don't say anything, because I don't know what to say.

I just wrap my arms around him, my cheek against his shoulder, my eyes closing as he starts crying quietly.

I rarely saw Tommy cry, the last time I'd seen him cry until then was when Razzle died…I don't know if he was crying over Nikki nearly leaving us, or me, but he didn't brush it off. He just sat there for a few minutes and let himself actually feel stuff. No drugs. No alcohol. Just actually allowing himself to process.

The next morning I wake up in Tommy and Heather's spare bedroom, Heather on one side, Sharise and Skylar on the other…all of them curled up with me.

It's heart warming knowing that I've managed to wrangle in some good, stable women into my life along the past several years. Making up for lost time with my mom and my aunt, I guess.

I think back to what my dad told me yesterday about my mom.

Who the hell would have ever thought that my mother would be into something like heroin at one point?

Despite not being able to forgive her quite yet for everything she put me through, I know my dad was right: she was just trying to keep me in line so I wouldn't make the same mistakes she made.

No wonder she lost her shit when me and Nikki went public with our relationship. All she could see was me losing myself in the money and access and swimming in melted black tar and China white.

I scoot to the foot of the bed, careful not to wake the girls and I go to the hallway and grab their phone.

"Hey, it's Nikki. I'm not here because I'm dead." Our answering machine beeps and I hang up, feeling a hole in my soul.

At least he made it home alright, I tell myself, tired of crying.

I hang up the phone and go to the kitchen to make some coffee, stopping by the counter to see "VIVIAN" written in big, black marker on a large manilla envelope.

I furrow my brows and open the prongs, pulling the papers out.

The top is labeled, "California Judiciary."

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction #gateway drug

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studying-with-adult-adhd · 4 years

Text

The Canadian Healthcare System and Why It Sucks, but Is Still Better Than The US

So, this tis be my diagnosis story.

When I first went to go see my family doctor about the feelings I was having, I was asked to sit down and fill out a survey of sorts. It was about how I was feeling. I didn’t talk to a doctor. I didn’t get to explain anything. They took those papers away and then my doctor came in and said “Aliesha, I think you may have mild to severe anxiety and depression.” She prescribed me medications and told me to make an appointment with their therapist.

So, I tried the medication for a few months, while sitting on the wait list for a half hour appointment with a therapist who clearly didn’t want to listen to me and only wanted to tell me what to do. It took me 3 months to get into this therapist. Not once was I sent for any tests to see if it could have been a physical condition (such as a thyroid issue).

The medication didn’t work. I tried a new one. I waited 3 months between my appointments with my therapist. This time, the medication made me dissociate, which the doctor had no clue what that was. I only found out after talking to my therapist in my clinic years later. I turned 18, and then I was told that I couldn’t see the therapist anymore because I wasn’t a minor. So I got scheduled to meet a new one. Again, it was the same thing.

I was finally switched to my last anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medication. It didn’t work None of them worked. Not once was it suggested to me that I could have ADHD because I didn’t have typical symptoms. I had been asking to be referred to a psychiatrist, I even found a few that I thought would work. I was at the end of my rope and I just wanted to find help. My doctor never referred me, told me that there was no reason for me to be referred to one.

Eventually, I switched family doctors. I met with their clinics behavioral consultant lady. She talked to my new doctor and they referred me to the Emerging Adult Treatment Clinic. There was going to be a wait but they had given me resources. This doctor sent me for blood tests and tried to see what could be causing it. I stopped taking the medication I was on because it just didn’t feel like it was doing anything (PSA: DO NOT STOP TAKING YOUR MEDICATION COLD TURKEY. PLEASE TALK TO YOUR DOCTOR AND REDUCE IT GRADUALLY. THOSE FEW MONTHS WERE LITERAL HELL ON EARTH.)

About 8 months later, I was contacted by this clinic and was told to come in for an assessment appointment. The clinic was calm. It was mean for children and youth up to 24 years old. As I was talking to the intake therapist, he turned to me and told me “Aliesha, I think you’re a great candidate for this clinic and I’m going to go ahead and book you for orientation.”

I started crying. Bawling. I told him that it felt good to hear that I was finally going to get help. I told him that if they had denied me, I’m not sure what would have happened.

Orientation was two group sessions of going through what was going to happen and what type of programs were available to us in the clinic. We were going to be doing individual therapy, where our assigned therapists had us for an hour, and would help us. They would also make suggestions for which program, if any, would be helpful. We were told we would also be meeting with a psychiatrist as soon as we could.

I started my therapy with my psychologist Natalie. She was absolutely amazing and I wish I could thank her again. I told her what was going on and she asked me what i hoped to gain out of therapy. She asked me what I most wanted to work on. We started on basic necessities. Like eating and sleeping properly. She always encouraged me, she validated me. She made me feel valued again.

I then got to meet with the psychiatrist. Natalie was also there for all my psychiatry appointments to make notes for our sessions, as well as add anything that she felt was important. My psychiatrist right away had said “Aliesha, I’ve noticed a few things while you’ve been sitting here, and do you think you could possibly have ADHD?” I had said, I never thought about it but you’re the doctor and I’m trusting you. He gave me an option for my treatment. He told me he wanted to start me on medication that day, see if it helped a little, and then we’d go from there. I had a choice. He asked me if I was willing to do that. I told him yes.

I started Vyvanse 10mg the next morning. Holy shit, I felt like I could do my homework without dying. I was focused. I was happy. I felt like I could do things again. He also had me fill out some questionnaires, and asked if my mom would be willing to fill out one about my childhood. Yeah, looking back on it now, ADHD was definitely there when I was younger too. Things make sense.

I registered to go back to a in-classroom setting to finish my diploma. Natalie was so proud of me, and wow it felt good to hear someone professional say that they were proud of me and that they could see how hard I was trying.

I started DBT in this clinic too, and I felt it helped at least a little bit. I made amends with someone I used to go to school with that hated me; we had said some awful things to each other in school.

I made a complete 180 with the help of this clinic. Even now, after this hell of a year, I am happier. I’m healthier. My thoughts are healthier (though, I still have to work on things).

I walked with away from this clinic with a discharge paper stating my diagnoses, which are as followed:

ADHD

General Anxiety Disorder

Social Anxiety Disorder

and something that is almost PTSD but didn’t quite fit the mold from the DSM. My psychiatrist wrote it down as “Trauma and Stressor Related Disorder”.

That’s the story of how I was diagnosed. Let me tell you why the healthcare system is flawed.

I had to wait 4 years to get help. To get proper help. To be listened to. Unless I wanted to pay a ton of money that I didn’t have. I wasn’t listened to because I was a minor. I was told many times by doctors and “therapists” that if I lost weight, my problems would go away. I was told it was normal.

IT SHOULD NOT TAKE THAT LONG FOR SOMEONE TO FIND HELP.

I almost killed myself. If I had been denied from that clinic, I probably wouldn’t be here today. I was at the end of my rope and I was fighting to hold on. Not everyone gets to hang on so long. Not everyone is able to.

SUICIDE WILL NOT STOP UNTIL WE ADDRESS THE FUNDAMENTAL CONCERNS.

PROVIDE STUDENTS WITH BETTER ACCESS TO MENTAL HEALTH CARE. LISTEN TO THEM. PROVIDE TEACHERS AND ALL ADMIN STAFF WITH TRAINING TO UNDERSTAND AND IDENTIFY SOMEONE WHO COULD BE STRUGGLING.

MAKE WAIT TIMES LESS. MAKE APPOINTMENTS LONGER. MAKE SURE THE DOCTORS AND ALL HEALTHCARE PROFESSIONALS ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT HELPING YOU.

Yes, our Canadian Healthcare System is flawed. However, I didn’t have to pay to see my doctor. I didn’t have to outrageous bills after seeing my psychiatrist. The ONLY thing I paid for, was my prescriptions, which without insurance were $166 a month.

PROVIDE FREE HEALTHCARE FOR ALL CITIZENS.

#ADHD #adult adhd

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peterpanouat · 4 years

Text

| Jerome x Reader | Heart of Darkness | Part 7 - Finding His Queen |

I do not own the characters of DC or of Gotham this is strictly for recreational purposes. Do not reblog unless you leave my credit. my work is protected under the creative commons license.

Here is the new update I hope you all like it! Feel free to leave me some feedback as well to tell me if you like it or dislike it. I love hearing from you all <3

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Tag List: @sophiyaaaaay

After she left Edward in the room, Harleen went and found Jim and waited for them to go home. It was a bit odd just how happy she seemed to be ever since leaving Edward’s office. Jim shook his head of those thoughts before seeing Lee and then they started walking towards the car. They headed home for the day and when they got back Harleen helped Lee with making dinner.

It was rather odd that she was so happy and even Lee could sense that as well but she knew that she had to be rather careful. So with that Lee put a smile on her face and turned to Harleen. “What seems to have gotten you in such a good mood? Did you and Nygma close another case?” She asks before stirring the pasta sauce with the spoon and then tasting some of it.

Harleen was rather lost in her thoughts as when she had heard Lee asking her a question. “Sorry, what were you saying?” She asks as she strained the pasta and placed it into one of the serving bowls while humming one of the tunes from the circus.

Lee repeated her question and caused Harley to shrug her shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess I am finally just letting go of the past and accepted that I need to move on.” She lied before continuing with the fantasy of hers. “I think that maybe I should become a psychiatrist, help people who can’t help themselves, you know? Help those just like you and Gordon.” She explains.

“I know that I have been Nygma’s apprentice for a while and I think that maybe I should look into going to school? Do you think that there would be a way to make that happen?” She asks curiously, knowing that Lee felt bad for her and wanted to help however she could. Maybe if she had the proper knowledge on how to get what she wanted, she could get back her Jerome.

Lee nodded her head, “I think that we can figure something out for sure. I am glad that you are starting to see the bright side to things.” She tells her, causing Harley to smile. The rest of the night goes rather well for the three of them. They spend some more time bonding and Harley starts to fathom for maybe just a second that if she had a family, this is what she would want it to be like. She pictured herself and Jerome with kids of their own and fell asleep with those thoughts in her mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The next day, the three of them had gone to work as they had before but this time it was different. There was something different. Harley wouldn’t know however because she was too preoccupied with Edward and coming up with a plan to really know about what was taking place. So when Lee and Jim were told of the escape of the Arkham patients and learned who was on that list, they knew they had to tread carefully.

“Should we tell her?” He asks Lee before turning his attention to Harley and Nygma who were having a conversation across the precinct. Lee shook her head, “We should at least give her some time to be happy. We can tell her later tonight. There is no way that they would come to the precinct. There has to be someone else behind their escape.” She reasons with him before the captain gets everyone’s attention.

“Attention everyone. There is some news that I would like to share. The mayor has been kidnapped and that needs to be our number one priority right now. We need to find him immediately. In other news, Jim will be lead on finding those that have escaped Arkham. Jim if you could brief everyone on what happened, I will assemble a team to find the mayor. That is all. Thank you.” She tells them before dismissing everyone.

The announcement from the captain immediately caught Harley’s attention. When Jim was briefing the team on who had escaped, he kept a careful eye on Harley to see her reaction but it was rather hard when she was still keeping herself mostly to Edward. Turning to Edward, she took a deep breath. “Maybe we need to enact your plan sooner than we thought. If he is out, that means he will be coming to get me. I know he is.” She tells him.

“Well then I guess we just have to be extra prepared for when he arrives don’t we?” He smirked before seeing Jim walking over after the briefing had finished. “Looks like you got some company headed this way.” He tells her before she turns her attention back to Jim and putting on a fake face.

“Hey, I know I should have told you about it when it happened but we didn’t want to ruin the mood yesterday. Lee and I think that with Jerome back, we should take you up on that offer for you to go back to school. The sooner we get you out of here the better.”

“You think that I should go to school while Jerome is out of Arkham? What if he tries to find me?” She asks in concern. Jim shakes his head, “He won’t find you. I will make sure of that.” He tells her before she nodded her head, “Okay I trust you.” She tells him before grabbing her things. She turned back to Edward before whispering something into his ear. “I will be back soon, just text me if you need me.” She smiled before heading off with Jim to assemble some of her things together for the trip.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had finished gathering her things and Jim had the bus that was to take her somewhere disguised as a school bus in hopes to keep her identity under wraps. The trip was going rather well until she felt the bus stopping abruptly. When she heard the gunshot ring out, she knew that there was trouble. She also knew that Jim had made sure it would be hard to trace her location but apparently that wasn’t enough.

Seeing the familiar face down the aisle, she could feel her heart beating wildly in her chest. “Jerome…” She said more to herself. “Now, I am sure that you all don’t know how hard it was for me to find this bus but I am looking for someone in particular. If she agrees to come with me willingly everyone will be fine, otherwise I will just have to well….burn it to the ground.” He smirked as a playful smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Oh my dear Harley, come out come out wherever you are.” He coos as he makes his way through the bus with the gun still in hand. She couldn’t stop the wild pounding in her chest as his steps got closer and closer to her but she knew deep down that she was still angry with him. “There you are darling. Time for us to make our great escape.” He purred as the strange men started to cuff the other girls to the seats on the bus.

Harley scoffed and rolled her eyes. “You really think that I want to go with you after you slept with that whore? Do you think that I am stupid or something?” She hissed, “I am not going with you. I would rather burn with the bus.”

Jerome lets out a more than dramatic laugh when he hears her words before putting on a serious face. “Oh come on Harls you can’t be serious. You know that she was only saying that to get under your skin. I never slept with the whore. She was throwing herself at me even though I told her I already had a girl waiting for me when I got out...but look we can discuss this once we get out of here. Regardless, you are coming with me.” He tells her. “Now if that is by force or of your own free will that is completely up to you.”

Harley had thought about how much she had missed him and dreamed of a moment when he would come back for her. She was his missing piece and she knew that. “Jim would never let you get away with this and you know it.” She tells him as she got up to go with him. Jerome let Greenwood spray the bus down with gasoline before Jerome and Harley exited the bus. Jerome had her handcuffed to himself so she couldn’t leave his side.

Greenwood emerged from the bus right as the cops were arriving. Jerome held Harley close and started firing shots at the cops before he spotted Jim. Jim told the cops to hold their fire before trying to talk some sense into Jerome but it seemed Jerome didn’t really care to hear it.

“Look Jimbo, I will always be grateful to you for watching after my Harls but I think we have been away from each other long enough and it’s time for us to spend a little quality time together. Lit em’ up.” Jerome smirked before pulling Harley with him to the truck. Greenwood hopped in as well but Arnold stayed behind to light the fire as they started to drive away.

Harley was quiet for most of the drive and given how she didn’t really have much room in the front seat for all four of them, she still tried to distance herself from Jerome even with the handcuffs on. “Come on doll, don’t be like that. Everything will be explained when we get to the penthouse.” He reassures her.

#jerome valeska #jerome x reader #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska x reader #gotham imagines #gotham #cameron monaghan #jerome valeska imagines

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