#these thoughts came from my mental well being the past few weeks + my school forcing everyone to go to a presenter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mattscoquette · 2 months

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“ 𝐨𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝜗𝜚 “

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: matt sturniolo x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: based off of mary's song by taylor swift

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: kissing, slight arguing, no use of y/n

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k

𝐚/𝐧: this is one of my fav taylor swift songs i hope u all enjoy reading this much as i did writing it !! matt is so mary’s song coded so i had to do this. i love u all ty for all the love i’ve been getting on my writing!

xoxo ₊˚⊹ ୨ৎ

⋆。˚ ౨ৎ

i was seven and you were nine

i looked at you like the stars that shine

and our daddies used to joke about the two of us growing up and falling in love

you were in the backyard, running around on the wooden play set your dad had built for your fifth birthday. it was an early evening in mid august, the heat of the summer day finally beginning to cool down. your family invited the neighbors over for a barbecue for about the third time this week, and it was only thursday.

“matty,” you giggled, brushing the dirt off your knees from the slight tumble you took, “i said no tag backs.” your mother had put your auburn hair into braids for today, which were beginning to fall out from all of your running around. you wore a light green sundress, bringing out the slight green specks in your usual blue irises.

matt laughed back down at you, running away once more, yelling you’re it. you watched as the taller blonde boy made his way down the slide, getting his washed out overalls wet from the sprinkler water that was spraying around the yard.

you two continued to run around while your dad was cooking, admiring the way the two children interacted.

“i bet they’ll get married on day.” he told matt’s dad.

take me back when our world was one block wide

i dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried

later that night, matt and his family stayed past dinner to have a bonfire. matt, being the big boy he said he was, convinced his parents to let him walk up the road to the connivence store with you to retrieve things to make s’mores with. he was nine now, after all. following thirty minutes of being told to stick together and don’t talk to strangers, you and matt made the quarter of a mile trek with the thirty dollars your mom gave you two.

although the walk wasn’t that far, it still was still exhausting seemed to take days, especially to your poor seven year old self. to make the time pass, you and matt threw rocks down the sidewalk, racing each other to see who’d get there first. matt won, but only because you were tired, or so you claimed.

you two began walking again, hands swinging next to one another.

“truth or dare, matty?” you spoke, grinning over at matt, flashing your new grown up teeth that were starting to grow in.

“hmmm,” matt began, already knowing his answer. he shuffled his feet on the sidewalk, trailing behind you slightly to make you look back and laugh. “dare.”

you thought for a moment, trying to come up with a dare. there wasn’t much to do seeing as you two were walking to the store.

“kiss me” you giggled, puckering your lips out at matt. when he began to pucker his back, you ran up the road to the store shrieking.

well, i was sixteen when suddenly i wasn't that little girl you used to see

you and matt stayed friends your whole childhood. constantly at each other’s houses, having after school play dates or movie nights during the weekend. you two were inseparable. over the years, you two began to change, both physically and mentally. you shot up when you were about 12, standing a few inches taller than matt, until he came home from summer camp taller than you again. you two went through the awkward teenage phases together, finally now growing out of it.

today was your sixteenth birthday, and matt was over at your house with his family for dinner and cake. you’d always been pretty to matt, but over the last year he’s watched you grow into the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. you’d grown tall, having long slim legs that seemed to be miles high. your hair stayed the same color, unlike matt’s who’s had turned brunette over time. you started wearing makeup recently, not much, but enough to accentuate your already stunning features.

matt watched you in awe as you blew out your birthday candles, silently hoping you wished for him. after dessert, the two of you found yourselves outside sitting on the swings of the play set you two used to once roam. you looked beautiful underneath the stars, wearing a brand new blue sundress you bought last weekend. you and matt gazed at each other, both secretly wanting more than you had now.

“remember when i used to give you birthday punches?” matt laughed, peering down into his lap and swinging ever-so-slightly.

you giggled, recalling the time he’d accidentally hit you so hard you’d bruised. he cried for days afterwards, he felt so bad.

“do i get any this year?” you asked him, leaning over into him more as he sat next to you, staring back into your blue eyes.

she shook his head. “i can give you something else.”

you didn’t realize how far you two leaned in until you felt his soft lips pressed to yours.

“one”

you smiled lightly as matt pulled away, suddenly feeling them again back on your own.

“two”

this went on well past sixteen, finally letting go of so much pent up feelings towards one another, as the both of you spent the whole night exchanging kisses back and forth on your old play set. at the end of the night he asked you to be his girlfriend.

take me back to the time we had our very first fight

the slamming of doors instead of kissing goodnight

you and matt had been together for two years now. it was late spring, and you got accepted into your dream college. the only problem was the school was on the other side of the country. matt had stayed home after graduation, deciding he wanted to pursue a career in youtube with his brothers. you two were currently yelling back and forth about the future of your relationship.

“it’s not fair for you to leave!” matt argues, running his hands through his messy hair.

“we’ll be fine, matt,” you assured him also sounding upset, “this is my dream we’re talking about here.”

“how do you know we’ll be okay? we’ve spent our whole lives together.” the brunette boy shot back.

you began to feel tears prick your eyes, blinking to keep them at bay. he was right, you didn’t know for sure if you two would make it.

“i waited my whole life to finally be with you, i’m not losing you now.” matt shouted, his eyes becoming red with tears as well.

“you won’t lose me!” you tried to plea, full on crying now.

matt huffed, walking out of your bedroom, slamming the door behind him. you spent the whole night sobbing into your pillow, hugging a sweatshirt you had of matt’s. he’d done the same thing, waking up extra early the next morning to show up to your front door with flowers.

upon seeing your poor boy at the door with red puffy eyes clutching a bouquet of daisies, you pulled him in for the tightest hug you had in you. “i’m sorry pretty girl” he kept muttering into the side of your head, repedealty kissing you over and over again. you spent the day with him cuddling on the couch, legs intertwined with one another as you watched the movie. you were both uncertain about the future, but you had right now, and that’s what was most important.

a few years had gone and come around

we were sitting at our favorite spot in town and you looked at me, got down on one knee

matt decided to go out west with you to school. he couldn’t bare the idea of not being together for four years. he got an apartment that you two shared together, finally being able to wake up next to your favorite person everyday. little mundane things showed the love you two shared. you would wake up early for class, making an extra cup of coffee you’d set out for matt while you both ate breakfast together. you two had shared drawers, often finding his t-shirts mixed into your clothes. matt would always shower while you were in the bathroom getting ready for the day. little things.

it was now the summer after your college graduation, and you and matt were home visiting your families. upon arrival, his mother had sneakily given matt her engagement ring to propose to you with. you had no idea, so when matt had dropped to one knee in front of the connivence store you bought marshmallows from all those years back, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

take me back to the time when we walked down the aisle

our whole town came and our mamas cried

you and matt decided to get married the next summer, right in your old backyard. the once sturdy playground was now old and rotting, so your dad broke it apart and rebuilt it as the archway you and matt stood under as you exchanged your vows.

you both stood facing one another, hand in hand as you listened to the officiant list off the promises you two swore to keep until death do you part. matt looked at you beaming, tears in his eyes as he imagined the future he would share with the girl next door he fell in love with so many years ago.

“you may kiss the bride.” the man spoke as matt pulled you in. he grabbed your waist, spinning you around so he was holding you up as you leaned backwards, kissing you like you were the air he needed to breathe. you both smiled as you shared the moment with your families and friends, something they had all been waiting for since you both were kids.

take me home where we met so many years before

we'll rock our babies on that very front porch

you ended up moving into matt’s old childhood home after his parents moved out of state to retire. you made it a whole project together, updating the wall colors and floorboards, making it your home. you two spent countless days and nights at the hardware store, buying and returning supplies to make sure your new home together was perfect.

you both sat in the center of the living room, the furniture covered in plastic as a fresh coat of burgundy was plastered on the walls. exhausted from the day’s work, you two ordered chinese takeout for dinner.

“when should we tell everyone about the girls?” you asked matt, taking a bite into a spring roll. a few months ago, you found out you were pregnant. at the last doctor’s visit, you two were informed you had twin girls growing inside you. you and matt were absolutely ecstatic, already beginning to prepare the nursery.

“i don’t know, i just hope they have your hair.” he smiled back at you tiredly but with love in his eyes.

after all this time, you and i

a quick six months after that, you brought two beautiful baby girls into the world, who did in fact have your hair. matt loved you three to pieces, constantly attacking you guys with bear hugs when he returned home from long days at work.

becoming a parent was easily the best thing that ever happened to you and matt. you both promised to raise and love your girls as best you could, and you two had absolutely delivered. everyone loved the twins, claiming them to be “angels sent from heaven.”

as time went on, your girls got older, until eventually they were packing up for college, going to the same school you went to. the first few months were rough, you two not being used the quiet in the once loud and booming house. the quiet reminded you of your time before you were a parent, and when it used to just be you and matt.

i'll be eighty-seven, you'll be eighty-nine

i’ ll still look at you like the stars that shine in the sky

you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect life. you spent all your time with the people who loved you the most, something a tangible item could never live up to. you and matt were sat on the porch of your house, waiting for one of your daughter’s to come home from the hospital with her first baby. you looked over at your husband, meeting the blue eyes you fell for so many years ago. you think about all the time’s you’ve shared together, both good and bad. you remember the big things, like being matt’s date to his prom, and the smaller things, like his promise to constantly keep your vases filled with fresh flowers.

you think to way back when you were seven years old, playing in your backyard with matt as your dad’s joked about you two growing up and getting married. oh my my my.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬:

@alorsxsturn @sturniolossss @cammie4298 @bussybandit1 @amorttentia @franticroads @sturnsssbow @cams5sos @strombolilovr @st7rnioioss @junnniiieee07 @mattscurlygirly @simply-a-simper @sturnrc @sturnifyed @freshlovie

#𐙚 ⊹ ࣪ ˖#‧₊˚ 𓂃 𝜗𝜚 #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #taylor swift #Spotify

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python333 · 8 months

Note

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it.

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight.

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts.

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either.

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago.

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important.

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment.

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder.

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off.

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves?

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep.

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool.

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now.

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true.

You’re still staring at the scalpel.

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting.

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife.

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself.

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations.

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough.

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it.

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind.

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about.

The fists your hands have formed become tighter.

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring.

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel.

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin.

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain.

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself.

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger.

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed.

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun.

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar.

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred.

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go.

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area.

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart.

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it.

There’s a knock. Then another.

The door handle twists.

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second.

The door opens.

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?”

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip.

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.”

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried.

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.”

“... Ye sure?”

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.”

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?”

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.”

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.”

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.”

“Ye whit?”

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—”

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.”

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.”

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die.

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally.

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions.

“No.”

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?”

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others.

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?”

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred.

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters.

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive.

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s.

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far.

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word.

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?”

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest.

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.”

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself.

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well.

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads.

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention?

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].”

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled.

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings.

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no.

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit.

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.”

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.”

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk.

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—”

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.”

“But I—”

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks.

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you.

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left.

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit.

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more.

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, “Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?”

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it.

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms.

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again.

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.”

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you.

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself.

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better.

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click.

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier.

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters.

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly.

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin.

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure.

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once.

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it.

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort.

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did.

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more.

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned.

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either.

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?”

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.”

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.”

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.”

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?”

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin.

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question.

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.”

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?”

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either.

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.”

“Us ‘four’ being… ?”

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.”

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally.

Your words affect them more than you thought they would.

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince.

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?”

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you.

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.”

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.”

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz.

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price.

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably.

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did.

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple.

“Does that surprise you?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.”

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?”

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.”

“I do.”

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—”

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.”

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.”

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.”

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.”

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.”

“But you just said that I was strong.”

“I did.”

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks.

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.”

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.”

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up.

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.”

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.”

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

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wannabe-fic-writer · 6 months

Text

Wanda Maximoff x Reader : Christmas Break

Summary: You plan a fun outing for your family. Covers the ‘Sledding’ square of Holiday Bingo.

Warning: None.

Word Count: 2k

* * * * * * * *

The house is quiet, incredibly so. Given the fact that your children are home due to the holiday break, you were expecting quite a bit of noise.

At the beginning of the week, when you came home around noon, you found them having a blast on their day off. You were certain their excited energy of not being in school would last until the very last day of break but now you’re not so sure.

Leaving your home office, you stroll down the hall to the living room where you find your boys, Billy and Tommy, slumped on the couch with bored expressions as some cartoon plays on the TV screen. The scene causes a frown to form on your face, curiosity and the tiniest bit of worry coursing through you. Before bothering them, you go looking for your wife for possible answers.

Wanda, your gorgeous wife and mother of your children, is in the kitchen standing over the stove. She slightly sways to the soft Jazz playing from her phone as she stirs the contents of a pot on the stove.

Unable to fight the smile that forms on your face, you sidle up behind her and wrap your arms around her waist.“ Hi, my love.” You greet her, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek.

“Hi, milaya.” Her soft voice flows straight into your ear as she turns her head towards you.“ You finished already?”

You hum,“ not yet but it was oddly quiet so I came to check on things.” Reluctantly parting from her, you move to lean against the counter beside her, arms crossing as you look through the space at the boys.“ Those two have never been that quiet. Everything okay?”

She sighs, lowering the burner, then turning to look at them as well.“ They’re fine, just really, really, bored.”

“Well, with the way they’ve been tearing through this place the past few days, I’m not surprised.” You admit, knowing that within the first three days of their vacation they played every game they could think of.

Wanda nods, mentally agreeing.“ I know but they just look so sad. That’s their favorite show and they’re barely even reacting to it.” Your wife’s insanely soft spot for them bleeds through.“ I offered to make them hot chocolate to lift their spirits. The smell usually has them running over before it’s even done.”

A hefty sigh sounds from you, eyebrow furrow as you take in her words and start thinking.

Christmas Eve is two days away and while you have plenty of fun activities and things planned for then, you hadn’t given much thought to what to do before. You figured they’d be able to keep themselves occupied until you finished up the last bits of the work you had before your time was completely free. Now though, the ever present need to make sure every member of your little family is happy causes your brain to kick into overdrive to find a plan to cure your kids’ boredom.

It’s with a glance outside, seeing the snow fall from the sky and further cover the streets, that inspiration strikes.

“Wanda, I know what we’re gonna do today.” You beam, quoting one of the phrases from the very cartoon on screen.

She rolls her eyes, lightly slapping your arm with the back of her hand.“ What is it, goofy?”

“A surprise.” You stick your tongue out at her.“ Get that hot cocoa into some thermoses, I’ll tell those two to go get ready, and then grab everything else we need.”

Loving the enthusiasm in your eyes and always willing to have some fun with her three favorite people, Wanda nods.“ Will do, mama.” She says a little teasingly.

“Thank you.” You slap a soft, quick kiss on her cheek before heading to the boys.

When you step around the couch into their view, they don’t move a muscle but their eyes follow you as you take a seat on the coffee table in front of them.

“Hi my beautiful boys.” You greet.“ I hear we’re havin a bit of a boredom problem around here.”

It’s Billy who speaks.“ There’s nothing to do.” He practically groans.

“Well, what if I told you I have something really fun we can do,” your words cause them to perk up a little, faces showing their curious excitement,“ it just requires you two putting on your snow gear.”

“Snow gear?” Tommy asks, fully sitting up now.“ What’re we gonna do?”

You smile, eyebrows wiggling playfully.“ Go get ready and you’ll find out.”

Not needing anything more than a mysterious promise of fun, they hop up and run off upstairs to get ready.

Sharing an amused look with your wife, you shake your head and go off to get ready yourself. After having pulled on your boots, coat, hats, and gloves, you dipped out the backdoor to the shed to grab a few things.

With your truck warming up and the things you needed in the back, you slip back inside the house, stomping the snow off your boots on the rug at the door.

“Oh Mrs. Y/ln-Maximoff,” you sing softly, smiling at the beauty that is your wife.“ You also need to go get ready my dear.”

“I will, love. Was just packing a few snacks along with the hot chocolate.” She informs you as she packs a few more things into the lunch bag you usually use for family outings.

When she finishes, you go to grab the lunch bag, smirking as she runs a flirty yet tender hand across your chest. She gives you a wink as she heads up the stairs and you push away the hundreds of thoughts that fill your head with a deep breath, then take the bag out to the car.

Shortly thereafter, your sons come running down the stairs, the swishing of their snowsuits sounding loudly.

“Aye, no running on the stairs. Not safe.” You lightly scold them, making both boys nod as they’ve been reminded of this a few times before.

“So, where are we going, mama?” Billy asks, coming to a halt at your side. He looks up at you with those eyes that are strikingly similar to Wanda’s and you are quick to smile.

Cupping his cheeks in your hand, you lean down and say,“ it’s a surprise,” before planting a kiss on his forehead.

He giggles, wiggling out of your grasp just to send a light and playful punch to your arm.

Immediately going with the flow, you begin play fighting with the boy, his brother jumping into the fray as well.

The scene of you on the floor, both boys laying on top of you, letting out shrieks of giggles as you tickle them, is a warming sight for Wanda. She smiles, pulling her phone out and snapping a few pictures of the three of you. She sends one to the group chat containing your former teammates with the message, ‘Avenger taken down by twin boys’, attached to it. Then she pockets the phone and calls for your attention.

“Boys, your mama can’t take you to your surprise if you never let her up off the floor.” She tells them, which has the 7 year olds scrambling up off you and even assisting you to stand as well.

You chuckle, brushing yourself off and straightening your clothes.“ Thanks for the save, gorgeous.” You wink at Wanda, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

Taking her hand, you shepherd the boys outside and into the truck. You’re all more than happy that the truck is already warmed up, the blasting heat pushing away the chill you felt from the front door to the vehicle.

After everyone’s seat belts are buckled, you turn on your usual playlist for riding with your family, and pull out of the driveway.

Singing along to the songs keeps the boys distracted for about ten minutes, then they shift to repeatedly asking what the surprise is and where you’re going.

Instead of helping you deflect or dodge the heat, Wanda merely watched in amusement, letting out the occasional laugh.

Luckily the drive isn’t long so, in a few more minutes, you’re pulling down a snow covered gravel path and parking off to the side, the bed of your truck facing the destination.

With nothing but trees and a rather large hill in sight, the boys are a little confused. That quickly fades away the second they see the sleds you pull from the bed of the truck.

“Sledding?!” They both exclaim, running closer to take a look.

You know they’d seen kids sledding in movies, having made mention of wanting to do the activity a few times. Before winter last year you’d purchased the sleds but hadn’t had the time to use them until now.

“Yup, sledding.” Turning to them, you pass a smaller plastic sled and a helmet to each of the boys and they happily accept them and take off towards the hill. You turn to Wanda, noting the smile she has just at seeing them happy, and say,“ don’t worry Mrs. Y/ln-Maximoff, they won’t be the only ones having fun.”

When you pull out a larger wooden sled, Wanda can’t help but admire how beautiful it looks. The dark wood shines and the red accents and straps add a nice pop to it.

She takes your hand after you pull it out, tugging as she heads to the mountain with excitement that nearly rivals the twins’.

Atop the hill, you run through some simple safety precautions with the boys(and Wanda) and tell them the fairly simple instructions on how to ride. Everyone gives a confirmation that they understood you completely and in no time you’re all seated on the sleds.

The boys are at your right, giddy beyond belief, while Wanda sits between your legs gripping the red straps with excited anticipation.

“Everybody ready?” You ask.

“Yeah!” They boys and Wanda cheer.

“Alright. 3! 2! 1! GO!”

Pushing off with your hands, all of you slide forward a little slowly, then shoot down the slope of the hill.

Despite the cold wind whipping across your face, you still smile at hearing the happy shouts and giggles from your family.

You all skid to a stop a few feet away from the bottom of the hill.

Dismounting, you check over your family. Smiles are still present, even as their chests heave and their faces redden from the cold.

“Fun?” You ask with two thumbs up.

“Yes!” Wanda exclaims hands landing on your shoulders and slightly shaking you.

“Oh my god that was so cool!” Billy exclaims as Tommy yells,“ we went so fast!” Then they look at you with big brown eyes and ask,“ can we go again?!”

Still matching their energy, Wanda gives you the exact same bright brown eyes.

“Of course we can. Let’s go.” You wave for them to head back up the hill.

You lose count of how many times you all sled down the hill. At some point Tommy even gets a little air which you panic over until you confirm he’s okay. You then have to tell them both not to purposely try to push themselves into the air.

Eventually you and your wife grow tired, so you leave the boys to keep going and head back to the truck.

You prop the sled against the tire before opening the trunk. Spreading a blanket out over the bed of the truck, you nod for Wanda to get up and sit before going to grab the lunch bag from the front and going to join her.

With cups of hot cocoa in hand and the snacks Wanda packed set out, you watch the boys sled with your woman under your arm.

She cuddles into your side, happily sipping from her cup. Unexpectedly, she raises her hand for a high five which you accept.“ Great idea, mama.” She tells you.

“Why thank you, my love.” You respond, placing a kiss on her head, then resting your head against hers.“ They’re gonna be out like a light when they get in the car.”

She snorts.“ I’m not at all opposed to that inevitable future.”

* * * * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @blackxwidowsxwife @b-5by5 @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout @alotofpockets @storiesofsvu

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #storiesofsvuholidaybingo2023

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fedtothenight · 7 months

Text

tw for graphic description of suicide and cyber bullying

on october 9th, 2023, an italian call of duty cosplayer going by the name inquisitor committed suicide on live tiktok.

for hours his body lay offscreen as hundreds of people watched the stream, and some ironised that the phone set-up, angled towards a glass door to the outside, with no speaking and music in the background, was him being “mysterious”.

then, a hit against the glass door. another one. another one. a man was seen break in, crouch down off screen, receiving instructions on how to perform cpr from a woman still outside, on the phone with a 111 operator.

the live ended just after paramedics came into view, thanks to the reports of some users who had understood what had been unfolding in front of their eyes.

for a day, conflicting information regarding the outcome of his attempt flooded tiktok. it is now seemingly proven that he is no longer on this earth and that his funerals are today, october 11th 2023. in italy, it is common for funerals to happen within a 48-hour window from passing.

inquisitor was 23 at the time of his death.

weeks prior, inquisitor, who had privated all his accounts before reactivating for this last live, was accused of grooming and pedophilia. screenshots came out of him allegedly flirting with a 17 year old and/or a 15 year old. the cod community rallied around the minor(s): he was, to put it in tiktok terms, ‘cancelled’. he was named a p*dophile and a groomer.

other popular accounts, with thousands of followers, posted ‘call out’ videos about him, spreading the voice. the same accounts, the ‘batman of the fandom defending minors’, barely old teenagers themselves, mocked his live as it was happening — claiming it was for clout.

it had since emerged that the allegations were, allegedly, false. yesterday, multiple other cosplayers and users in the fandom posted screen-recordings of the minor admitting that they had lied about their age to flirt with him—who had a ‘minors dni’ in his bio.

it has since further been alleged, with screenshots, that the minor and their boyfriend orchestrated the call out, with the latter, who claims to be in the us army, egging the minor to ramp up their flirting until it became sexting. it is not proven it ever got to that point. the intentions to ruin someone’s reputation, however, were apparently there.

in italy, which is not the usa, and where high school is compasses ages 13 to 20 for those who do repeat years, it is also culturally accepted for someone in their early twenties to flirt or date someone who is around 18.

this is true irrespective of anyone’s feelings about it.

regardless of all that, regardless of whatever amount of the allegations, it not all, were false, a young man is dead and his death was live-streamed to thousands of people. in his own words to one of his friends, who showed some of his last messages, he committed suicide live on purpose to show what the past few weeks had done to him.

it should have never come to this point. at least please let it be a reminder that mob mentality is deadly, that we should never let go of our empathy, and that all suspected crimes, especially if this serious, should be reported to and dealt with by the proper authorities, not people on the internet.

i won’t stay his name because to the best of my knowledge he only gave it out privately, but: he was 23. he loved star wars and worked in a tattoo shop. he lived in bologna. he liked tortellini. he had a cat named loki and a sister who sometimes joined his lives off-screen. he was loved. all this information he gave freely.

although denial still wants to make me hope he made it out, and that he is okay, and alive and well, because what’s what denial does, my thoughts go out to him, to his family, to his friends.

inquisitor, if you're not here anymore: sit tibi terra levis.

#suicide tw

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gyusfavlibra · 2 years

Text

𝔹𝔼𝕃𝔸𝕋𝔼𝔻 𝕋𝕌𝕋𝕆ℝ | 𝕁𝕆𝕊ℍ𝕌𝔸 ℍ𝕆ℕ𝔾

Pairings: Joshua x gender neutral reader! Friends to lover! College au!

Warnings: Minor language, fluff.

Word Count: +2K

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

Quietness took over the building as each student inside did a variety of things that were intended for school.

Studying, reading, writing.

You sat at your own two seated table. A white lamp brightened the secluded area that you studied in. The chair next to you was empty. Saved for someone specific. Designated for your friend, Joshua Hong, to come in and help you study for your similar upcoming exams.

You were a Junior in college. Finishing up the last class credits you needed to graduate. Which included passing said exams. You were 100% nervous, absolutely terrified. You couldn't lie about that or else you'd grow a large nose..

Especially since you had been staying up almost every night til at least 2 am everyday for the past week studying for all your important tests.

You wanted to make your parents proud. Not even just them. You wanted to make yourself proud. Looking forward to getting high paying yet enjoyable jobs that provided her with the money needed to fend for herself and her future after school.

You told your parents exactly this, which is why they hired Joshua to be your tutor. Which is how they become acquainted in the first place.

You weren't BAD persay, but you weren't the smartest either. Joshua, however, was. Which was one of the very many reasons you began to like him. That and the fact that you found him to be very funny and super handsome.

The crush didn't start not too long after your first few sessions. He was always so understanding, gentle, patient. Unlike a huge percentage of the the attendees on the campus.

But along with the hot smirk and the turning personality thoughts came his tardiness. Consecutive would be a dramatic word to describe it not being the first time. Only the third time in the last two weeks to be exact. But you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt.

You knew it was because of his friends. And you couldn't blame him. If you weren't so worried about you own piled up assignments, you'd probably be with your friends a lot as well. Maybe even at this moment. You could easily ditch this session and do so now.

However, getting heated over that topic would only make you very hypocritical.

Another ten minutes pass of you sitting alone. At this rate, you'd only be able to get work done for a single class. It works. Better than nothing. You mentally thump your head for not just choosing to start on your own. Hoping in general to get done with at least three.

You deeply sighed. Pulling you hard covered text book towards your chest. The sound of the material sliding against the wood making a swoosh sound.

Skipping to the chapter you need to study on, you began reading away. Skimming through the bold text. Using a bright orange highlighter, you colored any quotes or sentences that answered questions on your study guide.

That same routine you followed for the rest of the hour you had left in the library before you felt the sudden want to just finish the work at home.

You stamped the lid onto the neon utensil and packed it back into the pocket you pulled it from.

You pull the history book cover, shut. Sending a miniature wave of air to dash on the papers beside it.

Just as you were about to put your papers away, the longed presence you spent the last hour waiting for, had finally showed up. Out of breath, textbook in hand, and his backpack over his shoulder.

You stared at him with risen eyebrows. "You okay?"

"Y...just give- give me a second."

His limp upper body bent over after slapping the book onto the desk. The smack catching the attention of a staff member. You smiled to apologize. His heavy breathing filling the enclosed area. He slapped his hand on his stomach after letting out a whistle threw his lips.

"Sorry- I'm late. I- had...OH MY GOD."

"You should sit down."

He obliged to your suggestion and sat in the wooden chair behind himself. You slid your water bottle to him where he gave you a thankful look and downed half the water before returning back to normal.

"I had detention. Mr. Kim."

"Ah, I see," you nodded with pursed lips. "Well, uh- I got some work done so, I'm not gonna waste any of your time. I'll just head hom-"

"Home? Why?" he questioned while standing. Assumingly faster than he zoomed to the building.

"Because I'm sure you're busy. And it's already 4. Passed session time."

"So?"

His questioning responses were shaking you to the core. Especially with the middle toned masculine voice he had. Same voice you always looked forward to hearing.

"So...I'm sure you don't wanna sit in here any longer."

"Y/n, if you're here, then I wanna be here."

Those words. Those damn words. You had lost count of how many times your stomach absolutely churned when he spoke like that. Or even said your name right before he said something in such a way. But if you had a dollar for every time you did get butterflies, you'd be in Hawaii, living life. "I don't wanna do this alone."

Joshua sat back down. Pulling open his textbook. When he noticed your figure not joining him yet, he tapped the seat with his yellow pencil before pulling out more papers.

You quietly hide the giggles and smile you were so desperately trying to not have, but this boy, well he made it hard. Very hard. So hard your cheeks actually began to hurt.

"Okay, what class have you already done work for?"

"Uh-" you finally join him. "I did history."

"Cool. Then the hard part is out of the way. So, let's do Math and then English. Let's say 45 minutes each. Deal?"

The boy with shiny mid length brown hair peered his eyes to the other human sitting beside him. Eyebrows risen as he waited for a response. You were so caught in his beautiful figure that it took the clearing of his own throat to gain your attention back to it's rightful place. Not fast enough.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. 30 minutes each. Sounds amazing."

"45 minutes."

"45. Got it."

The boy laughed at your quirkiness, making sure you didn't see that he had found himself adoring it more than he should. Not wanting to expose his ownself.

"Cool."

You two began working together like you had many times before. Thanking the heavens you had almost all the same classes so you could work together on most of them.

The first set of chosen minutes had passed like lightning speed. But, you did work great together so you got more done than expected.

As for the next set of the time, you begun to lose control as to what you should have really been working on. The work. But instead, you're busy watching a video of Joshua at a young age, singing into a plastic karaoke mic. Red and yellow colors matching the rainbow jumpsuit he wore in the film.

The boy felt embarrassed, but everytime he tried to pull it away, you couldn't help but grab his wrist, stopping him from moving the phone. Your grip sending chills down his spine. You enjoyed the little clips of him vocalizing so beautifully.

He's definitely gotten better. It was really improved. You've seen him practice between classes. Along with his whispered humming he does when you work silently.

"God, imagine having such an angelic voice at a young age," you sighed. Sitting upwards to stop yourself from slouching. The chairs weren't so comfortable. "Especially if you've been around instruments all your life."

"Well, thanks to musicals and many TV series. I have that special opportunity."

"Well, you're amazing!"

"Noo, you're just saying that-" he began to fluster. Staring at pencil in hand.

"I'm not. I've met a lot of musical students, but you by far, are my favorite," you smile shyly. Tapping his broad shoulder.

"It's cause most a looked down upon by parents for the music major."

"It seems difficult. But you do so well, I bet when a stranger first hears you, they're shocked when they hear you sing so well."

His cheeks began to turn a bright red. Trying so hard to not beam the smile he so deeply kept down. Like you also had been doing.

"Honestly, now, it makes sense how I don't do so well in school. I'm not as talented. Just good at writing."

Joshua flipped his eyes to now look at your view. Shaking his head. "No, don't compare those. Y/n, writing is also a talent. Poetry, even writing lyrics. And besides, you're already too smart."

"I'm not. If I was, I wouldn't need you to help me with all of this."

"That's your parents and your brain talking. You never needed me."

You stare blankly at the papers on the wooden table. Confused as to what he really was getting to.

"I'm surprised you haven't canceled yet."

"Me?"

"Y/n, you know how may times you've gotten to an answer on your own. Without my help," he spoke softly. "You're really smart. And you know it. I know you do."

"So, why say yes to the tutoring then?" you giggled. Trying to make it seem like his compliments were just reflections of you complimenting his singing.

Joshua's heart began to skip. Losing it's calories for it's very own exercises.

He didn't know how to come out with it in a better approach than this. And if he didn't answer now, who knew when he'd have another opportunity to say what was on his chest. Now or never.

And now is always better.

"Okay, to tell you the truth..."

He began to become hesitant. Your chest started racing as well. But you wanted to hear it. Whether it was a pitiful coming comment or a very beneficial one, you asked, and you wanted to know.

"You can tell me."

One half of his mouth curved into a smirk. Looking down to the floor before looking back up. "I knew the first few times I worked with you, that I didn't need to tutor you. But it felt good to talk to you, so I just kept showing up."

You nodded. Giving him permission to continue.

"After awhile, I got to know you more. How smart you were. How funny and kind your were, and I just couldn't stop seeing you. So, to tell the truth, Y/n. I honestly really like you. And I know it's probably suddenn but I needed to say something."

The words you had longed for, for so long had finally fallen out his mouth and you couldn't at all hide the big ass smile you plastered. Almost built like a bright and large rainbow.

"I just hope you like me. And I didn't totally just embarrass myself."

You giggled. Placing a hand on his cheek, you pulled his face so you could place a kiss on his other cheek.

"I like you too. Why do you always think I stay even after you're late? To stay with you."

"I should've picked up on that," he chuckled. You nodded in agreement before Joshua exchanged a kiss back to your temple as he hugged you.

"Let's finish work so I can't take you out to dinner."

"Really? You don't have to."

"I want to."

••••••••••••••••••

#joshua #joshua hong #joshua imagines #seventeen fanfic #joshua hong fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #joshua fluff #joshua scenarios #seventeen x reader #joshua x reader #seventeen #seventeen x y/n #college au #hong jisoo #jisoo hong

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the-realest-spot-conlon · 4 months

Text

The Best Brothers Aren't Blood Related llll

Here we gooooo

Tw:mental health, ADHD, language

A slow burn series of Jack and Spot exploring newfound relationships, mental health, and high school as teenage brothers.

"Jack I can explain!" Spot said, trying not to let the worry show on his face, but he really didn't want to dissapoint Jack.

"FUCKING FINALLY! I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA HAVE TO FORCE YOU TWO TO TOGETHER!!" Jack shouted energetically.

"Race... and Spot?? I don't see it," Davey said, bringing his finger to his chin as he pondered the idea of Jack's new favorite couple.

"Fuck you David," Spot said sharply, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Yea Davey, fuck you!" Race added on to Spot's comment, and copying his motion as well.

"Oh, yea, now I see it," Davey said, getting a laugh out of his boyfriend next to him. Spot and Race both high-fived at Davey's acceptance, getting more of a rise out of Jack.

The room went silent after that for a solid thirty seconds before Race said, "Well, this is awkward," breaking the silence.

The whole group nodded in unison as they just kind of sat there, like the awkward adolescents they were.

"Well I'm gonna go, and hopefully Davey you'll follow me," Jack said, winking at his boyfriend before exiting to his own room. Spot fake gagged loud enough for the two to hear, only for Jack to say, "Oh please you're probably about to fuck my best friend," as Davey walked out.

Needless to say that left Spot and Race both speechless.

"Why do you have a whiskey bottle on your nightstand," Race inquired, looking at the bottle of Eagle Rare whiskey on Spot's desk.

"It was my dad's before he passed away. He collected whiskey, and that was his favorite," Spot replied, and he luckily seemed pretty chill about it, as if he had come to terms with his father's death.

"Oh yea didn't he die on that trip to Ireland when he went to tour the distillery?" Race asked. Spot's dad had died when Spot was 10, five years ago, when Medda took Spot in. Mr. Conlon was on a vacation to Ireland when his plane crashed, resulting in the death of the father of everyone's favorite Irish kid- Spot.

"Yup, exactly five years and 19 days ago," Spot said, looking off at the bottle.

Race wasn't gonna question why Spot knew the exact amount of days, because Race knew better than anyone that people coped in different ways.

"My mom died when I was seven," Race said, causing a piercing silence to ring through the air. "My dad drank to cope with the pain. Took it out on me,"

"Race I'm so sorry," Spot said. "Does he still do it?"

"No, not anymore. My aunt sent him to rehab and I lived with her for a year, and when he came back it was like he was a new person." Race smiled slightly, thinking about how his father went from abusive to one of the best fathers in the world (in Race's opinion).

"Oh yea, don't you have one of those big-ass Italian families?" Spot asked. Race and Spot had known each other since they were little kids, what with Jack being best friends with Race. "Yea, Jack took me along to dinner at your house when I was ten. Just a few weeks after my dad died," Spot added.

"Oh yea, I remember my grandma got so sad just looking at you. You had puffy eyes, wouldn't talk to anyone-"

"Let's not dwell on the past," Spot joked. Spot hasn't been one to show vulnerability for a while now, he didn't need his past tainting that reputation.

"Let me take you out on a date," Race changed the subject, picking up on Spot's hints. "I'll pick you up at 6:00 tommorow,"

"Sounds great," Spot replied, biting back the biggest grin of his life.

Race's face practically beamed at Spot's acceptance.

"Can't wait," spot said truthfully.

"Me neither, Sean," Race replied. He knew just how much Spot hated his real name.

"You bastard!" Spot said, causing Race to clutch his stomach laughing.

♧----------♧

"So what are you gonna wear?" Jack said as though they were thirteen year old girls talking about a date to Dairy Queen.

"Fuck, I dunno," Spot shrugged, stealing a bite of ice cream from Jack's bowl.

"We you better figure it out. Race is probably gonna take you to this fancy Italian restaurant he loves. I think its called Fibonacci's or something," Jack said, slapping Spot's hand when it reached for more ice cream.

"You mean like the math sequence?" Spot asked, questioning Jack's sources.

"I dunno I'm probably just fucking stupid,"

"I second that," Spot agreed.

"Asshole," Jack mumbled pointedly.

"Dickbag,"

"Love you too, Spotty,"

"Call me that one more time and I'll strangle you,"

How did you guys like it? I tried to add some depth to Spot and Race's characters, but idk if it was any good. Constructive criticism welcome just don't be a bitch about it <333

#92sies #spot conlon #newsies #racetrack higgins #sprace #jack kelly #davey jacobs

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early-byrd · 9 months

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I Don't Know These People.

The feeling of losing friends, drifting apart from people you once were so close to, the thought, “I Don’t Know These People”.

—

I attended a pool party for a friend's birthday. I was hesitant, in part because I don’t like parties, but mostly because I don’t enjoy being shirtless. I did end up going, and with it, I met with some of my old friends I hadn’t seen in a long time.

When I say that, one might think a few weeks, a few months, or if we’re a bit dramatic a few days. Though, by definition, “a long time” is being “far in the past.” And yeah, I hadn’t seen these friends in over 2 years. The last time I saw them was in March of 2020, as I jokingly referred to as “Pre-Plague.”

—

Writer and professor Yiyun Li once said “Things change a lot. Within a blink, a mountain flattens and a river dries up. Nobody knows who he'll become tomorrow.” We live each day changing bit by bit. Physically, of course, through height, weight, or hairstyle. It can also be mental, feeling down one day or feeling enthusiastic another. Only a single day can cause so much change. Imagine two and a half years of nothing but small conversations with little to no substance beyond funny pictures and small talk.

I looked out at the pool full of people I knew and loved. I had grown up with them for 3 years, and yet, I didn’t know them anymore. They all seemed so different, in almost uncanny ways. Some of them had new haircuts, some had gotten more muscular, and some had gotten taller, but more than that, these people had changed in a way I can’t possibly describe.

Like the slow, gradual changing of your hometown, a street light here, a few lanes there. You don’t realize it at the moment, but you know, something, maybe everything, is different.

My friends didn’t change in major ways, but as I thought about it I realized how far we had grown apart. They lived in different areas and went to different schools, of course, we would grow apart and they would change, but it doesn’t feel like I’ve changed.

—

It seems so cliche, like a hero’s journey, going through personal development constantly, but lacking when it comes to recognizing that development. Applying it to other people, however, proves rather easy.

This person went through a bad relationship and came out the other side stronger. That person went through a death in the family and learned to deal with loss.

Even in literature, character change is explored. Bilbo Baggins starts as a very grounded, safe, non-adventuring person, and by the end, he yearns for a new adventure with peril and danger. In James Dashner’s The Maze Runner, Thomas, the main character, starts the story as a fish out of water, struggling to survive in his alien environment. But by the end, he’s the leader of his companions, they look up to him for leadership and courage.

Things like this happen constantly in the real world as well. Countries’ relationships develop constantly, markets dictate how companies interact, and connections are formed and changed as needed.

The thing is, though, those are all obvious changes. When looked at from an outside perspective, they have a rhyme, a rhythm, and a reason for happening.

—

I left that party a little early that evening, partly because I wanted to be home early, but also partly because I felt so out of place. I used to care for these people, and I still do, but a fundamental part of that care is missing and I don’t think I can get it back.

It feels almost ironic to say, “Things have changed, and that's okay.” As if I’m a late 2000s song about moving on. On the other hand, it also feels weird to acknowledge the fact that the world does change, and whether I like it or not, people change along with it. My friend groups won’t always be the same, but for the time being, I should spend a little more time with the people closest to me.

#authors #my writing #writing #creative writing #write #writeblr #writers on tumblr #author #writerscommunity #writer things

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stwritings · 1 year

Text

Funny Seeing You Here

Synopsis

Long time in-patient y/n was looking forward to her upcoming discharge date from the Hawkins Memorial Hospital. That is, until she became acquainted with an unlikely familiar face, Eddie Munson.

Author’s Note

This is a fix it fic following Stranger Things season 4, volume 2. In this fic, we’re going to forget the fact that the Duffer Brothers decided to delete Eddie from the series. :-) These events take place after the battle in the upside down. I’m also choosing to change the ending of season 4 by having the issue with the upside down resolved, therefore, Hawkins is not plagued by the massive earthquake that resulted in new portals being opened.

What To Expect

Slow burn, angst with a happy ending, fluff, smut in later chapters. ♡

Series Warnings

Mentions of mental health struggles, SMUT (in the later chapters, 18+ to read this story), angst with a happy ending, canon-typical violence.

Chapter 12

“Your what now??” Wayne exclaimed, eyes bulging out of his head, a confused expression painted across his face.

“My brother…?” she began. Exhausted from her prior panic attack, y/n forgot for a second that she had never told Wayne about Dustin. In fact, no one in her life knew she had a brother. Given the current state of their relationship, she had always felt it was best if she kept that fact to herself. It happened to work out in her favor that Dustin went to a different elementary school than her and by the time he reached Hawkins High, she had long graduated.

“Oh, you don’t know!” she softly stated, realizing the topic had never been brought up before.

“Do tell…”

By the time she finished explaining the whole story to Wayne, it was past 10pm. Wayne had waved off multiple nurses coming in to inspect why the curfew wasn’t being respected, growing more irritated with each half hour visit. It certainly didn’t help that the most persistent nurse coming around was Margot, who had garnered quite the reputation for being a bit of a… well, to put it lightly, she wasn’t the most patient nurse around. She was known for snapping at patients, y/n having been on the receiving end of her wrath a few times, and her coworkers alike. Wayne didn’t like that, in fact, he and Margot had developed quite the feud over the past few weeks. Wayne wasn’t one to tolerate rudeness, especially towards the patients, and he made Margot well aware of it. While staying (somewhat) professional, they were constantly bickering, Margot often being the one to instigate their conflicts.

Once y/n finished telling him the whole story, they were both quiet for some time. Wayne wanted to choose his next words carefully, understanding more than ever why she had been apprehensive about opening up. His train of thought was abruptly interrupted when Margot came rushing into the room.

“How many times do I have to come in here to tell you two to be quiet!” she yelled, flailing her arms angrily.

“Margot! Would you just… Give us a minute!” Wayne snapped back, losing his temper. “I’m sorry,” he began, pressing his fingers to his temple trying to collect himself. “Just give us a few minutes, please.” His plea was in no way a genuine request, more so a stern demand.

With a huff, Margot crossed her arms and stormed off, this would not be the last he heard from her.

The tension in the room lifted a bit following that interaction, y/n unable to hold back a snicker. She knew Wayne would be paying for that later. Her giggle was infectious, Wayne letting out a roar of laughter.

“Well kid, I’m sorry you had to go through all that crap. But your brother reaching out is a good thing. Maybe you guys can patch things up!” he suggested with a warm smile.

Y/n paused, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah, maybe… What if he hates me?”

“Have you ever gone out of your way to make plans with someone you hate?” he asked, amusement painted on his face. Over time, Wayne had gotten pretty good at deconstructing her anxieties and helping her see how silly they were.

“No… I guess you’re right” she said with a weak laugh.

“Always am,” he winked and stood up, “now, I better get going before little miss attitude comes back around. You get some sleep; I’ll see you in the morning with breakfast.”

“Goodnight, thanks Wayne.”

With a nod and smile, he reluctantly headed towards the front desk, presumably in an attempt to patch things up with Margot. The last thing he needed was another complaint to their boss on her part.

While she normally gets woken up from the sun beaming through her window, this morning’s culprit was the harsh overhead lights shinning above her. Most likely exhausted from the night before, y/n had slept in much later than she usually does. 8 in the morning wasn’t exactly considered late, but to her standards it definitely felt like it. Y/n took the term ‘early riser’ to a whole new level, typically waking up around 6am each day. She barely got the chance to rub her eyes before Wayne came by with her breakfast tray. Despite her state the night before, she was unusually chipper today.

“What’s on the menu?” she asked energetically.

“Woah there, you beat me to it!” said Wayne, obviously startled by her pep. “Today we’ve got scrambled eggs, an orange and water!”

Y/n grabbed the tray from his extended arms and began eating. The eggs were always questionable, but today they weren’t so bad. Nevertheless, she gobbled them down quickly to avoid dwelling on any weird textures or flavours. A technique she adopted early on in her stay here. Wayne continued doing his rounds and upon his return, y/n already had the empty tray waiting for him to collect.

“You trying to win a race, kid?” he joked, noting how quickly she had finished her food.

“Guess I was hungrier than I thought.” She noted. “Last night took a lot out of me.”

“No kidding, glad it hit the spot!”

“Ehhh, I wouldn’t say that” she quipped.

Wayne snorted, knowing exactly what she meant by that. He was no stranger to the food provided here, having the misfortune of trying it a handful of times when he forgot his lunch at home. “How are you feeling today?”

“Honestly, good. It’s weird, I usually feel awful for a few days after having a panic attack.”

“That’s great to hear, when are you seeing your brother?” he asked.

“11am, he’s meeting me here.”

“Have you cleared that with reception yet,” he started, the question rather redundant given that she had just woken up. “I’m not sure that we’re allowing visitors at the moment.”

“Oh, I was hoping we could arrange our walk then and I could sneak away like I usually do.”

Wayne’s eyes widened and he motioned his head towards the hallway, a gentle reminder that this arrangement could easily get them both in trouble if overheard.

“By sneaking away, I mean going to the bathroom!” she said in a less than convincing tone.

“Nice save” Wayne said sarcastically. “But yes, that should be fine.” he concluded in a low tone, nearly whispering.

Y/n giggled. “Perfect, I’ll see you at 11!”

As luck would have it, y/n had a busy morning prior to her meet up with Dustin. Relief washed over her upon reviewing her schedule, knowing that her packed morning would leave her little time to worry and overanalyze the many possible outcomes of seeing her brother.

Her scheduled meet up with Wayne went according to plan, and she was able to scurry down to the lobby of the hospital without any issues, Wayne keeping an eye out for trouble while she was away. Once there, she found a seat near the entrance and kept to herself to avoid any suspicious glances from the staff. She thanked her lucky stars that she changed into her regular clothes instead of her normal inpatient attire, given the many nurses wandering around who could easily identify her.

She anxiously glanced at the clock, keeping her head down the rest of the time to avoid detection, growing more restless as the seconds passed. Despite being early, she worried that her allotted time would run out before she could speak with her estranged brother.

Those thoughts faded away when she spotted a pair of dirty white sneakers planted in front of her. She shot her eyes up, only to be met with her brother grinning wildly.

“Dustin!” she exclaimed; her tone coated in disbelief.

Before she could process what happened next, Dustin had already wrapped his arms around her seated body. A few moments passed before her stiff demeanor softened and she leaned into the hug. She was the first to pull away, giving him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have a lot of time.” she began “How are you?”

“I’m great! Thanks for meeting me, I know it’s been-“

“14 years… I know. I… I didn’t think you remembered me.” She stated, eyes meeting the floor. There was a moment of silence before she continued. “I don’t mean to be abrupt but… Why did you call?”

“I would have sooner if I knew you were here! I should probably start by apologizing, really, but I know you don’t have time for that right now. I always wondered why you left...”

Her eyes started to tear, images of her long-lost childhood flashing back. Her mouth opened in an attempt to speak, but the lump in her throat prevented words from coming out. Dustin seemed to notice and took her silence as an opportunity to get everything off of his chest.

“You know, Mom still talks about you and the ‘good old days’, as she likes to call them. Not very often, but she still does sometimes. Usually when you get a little bit of wine in her.”

They both chuckled simultaneously at the thought, she remembered her mother’s fondness of wine. She never drank much anymore, likely due to y/n’s father often abusing the substance. With him being drunk more times than not, Claudia felt it was best if her daughter had at least one parent that wasn’t inebriated all the time. That didn’t stop her love of wine however, which she was able to rediscover once she met Dustin’s father; a stable man for the most part.

“Does she still drink white?” she asked, a small smile lighting up her face.

“That woman loves her Chardonnay” Dustin retorted meeting her gaze.

After a moment of slightly awkward silence, y/n mustered enough courage to speak.

“So what made you come looking for me? I mean, how did you know where to find me? Or that I was even in Hawkins?” she inquired, her initial plan of asking one question at a time failing from eagerness.

“Well, like I said, Mom doesn’t like to talk about the past much, she never told me why you left, or where you had gone. I stopped asking after a while and accepted the fact that you just weren’t around anymore. It wasn't until my friend mentioned you in conversation that I had to reach out.”

“Your friend?” she asked, perplexed.

Of all the people she knew in Hawkins, she couldn’t pinpoint a potential mutual friend they might have. Their age gape being the main factor, her lack of current contacts being the second. It had been months since she had a visitor, let alone a friend reach out.

“Yeah! Eddie, I mean, our friend now, technically!” he exclaimed excitedly. “I wish I had known you two we’re friends, I would have reached out way earlier!”

Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help the confused look that was now painted across her face. Eddie was her age, and they hadn’t known one another for long. Why was Dustin hanging out with a 20-year-old? And why was Eddie talking to him about her?

“You… Wait why…”

“I know, why am I hanging out with him, we’re in a club together at school, and well… With everything that’s been happening, we grew closer.”

“A club…?”

She couldn’t help her seemingly useless questions, her mind felt like it was on autopilot.

“Hellfire Club! You know, D&D? It’s a-”

“Fantasy game, yeah. I used to play as a kid. I think I left it at mom’s place when I moved away.”

“That was yours???” he exclaimed “Oh you’re so much cooler than I remembered you being.”

“Well you were 7 so, i don't know how credible your accounts of events are” she teased.

“Hey, I’ll have you know, my earliest memory was from the age of 2 when you insisted on making me watch the entire Star Wars series.”

“Okay, those are good movies! Forgive me for trying to educate the youth on amazing cinema!” she retorted in a playful tone.

“I never said that was a bad thing.” he replied with a kind smile.

She returned the smile feeling warmth in her heart. Their interaction was going better than she had hoped. “So, are you still into all of that stuff?”

“What, you mean nerdy stuff?” he asked, amusement in his tone.

“Yeah, or was my attempt at corrupting you into a geeky lifestyle unsuccessful?”

Dustin chuckled, “It’s no wonder Eddie likes you. Yeah, I’m still into all that stuff” he confirmed, his last few words accompanied with air quotes.

She felt her heart skip a beat, replaying Dustin's words in her head. ‘Eddie likes me?’

Her thoughts were racing, Dustin’s admission, whether intentional or not, of Eddie’s feelings had her reeling. Did he really mean that in the way she thought he did? Was she getting ahead of herself in thinking that Eddie felt the same way about her as she did for him? She must have been lost in her thoughts longer than she noticed as she was interrupted by Dustin’s voice calling her back to reality.

“Y/n?” he asked tentatively.

“Yeah, sorry, uh... Yeah Eddie’s great. We just met not long ago. I had no idea you two were friends. I guess we never got on that topic.” She offered.

"Well, now that the cat's out of the bag, we should hangout sometime! Us three! You know, if you want to..." he trailed off not wanting to seem too eager.

"Yeah, i'd like that" she replied, still harping on her brother's previous sentence. Was she reading too much into it? He could have simply meant that in a casual way. The same way you "like" ice cream or cats. She was lost in her thoughts, so much so that time had escaped her. She was brought back to reality when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Wayne marching his was over to her looking less than pleased. Crap.

The angry look on his face, accompanied by his sheer size must have been intimidating. This was evident in the look of terror displayed on Dustin's face. "Y/n......Y/n!" he whispered urgently with fear in his tone.

"It's okay! That's Wayne, he's cool." she responded attempting to reassure him.

"Is he?!" her brother exclaimed.

Before she could reply, Wayne was now hovering over her grinning wildly, a look he had only given her a couple of times previously. She was in big trouble, and she knew it.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but." Rather than finishing his sentence, he gestured towards the clock. She read the time and froze in fear. She was about 15 minutes late to getting back to her unit.

"Oh, shit!!" she exclaimed. "I'm sorry Dustin but i've gotta go!"

She quickly got up from her seat and began retreating to the elevator, Dustin following close behind her before Wayne gently stopped him by placing a hand on his chest and shaking his head, a motion advising him to stop right there.

"Ok, uh, i'll call you!" Dustin exclaimed as she got into the elevator. She gave him one last smile before the doors closed, and slowly turned to face Wayne. Her face contorted in fear and remorse as she braced herself for the lecture of the century.

Chapter 13

After a long awaited new chapter, here it is! Not proofread, i was too excited to post it lol :c

Let me know what you think & if you’re interested in being on my tag list ♡

Tag list - @kik51199 , @ladyapplejackdnd , @motheraiya , @jqfan-oxa , @kaqua , @munsonzzgf , @haleighdriver , @thatlonelyalto , @ghoulsgraveyard , @sxpphicfxiry , @hellbaby237 , @grey-water-colors , @tubble-wubble , @moviefreak1205 , @piperd06 , @thats-s0-ravenn , @thegirlwhohides , @starryeyedkoko , @eddieshands86 , @xhorror-nerdx , @fandomsunited , @girlsvvish , @idkidkknemore , @chloe-6123

#eddie munson series #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things eddie #eddie munson #stranger things 4 #slow burn fic #stranger things #st 4 fix it fic #fluff #angst #funnyseeingyouhere #eddie munson angst #st4 fic #eddie munson fic

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year

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By: Jane A.

Published: Jun 3, 2023

I am speaking as the parent of a young woman who declared a transgender identity completely out of the blue at the age of 17. So many parents feel they cannot speak out for fear of harming the relationship with their child. I am speaking because, as I have sadly discovered over the past few years, this phenomenon is much, much bigger than my family, and we most certainly do need to talk about it and raise awareness of what is being done to our children.

Our daughter has just turned 21 and has been in the transgender bubble for just over three years.

Growing up, she was not particularly “girly” and did not like dolls, for example, but I thought nothing of that because I hated dolls as a kid and I was a bit of a tomboy myself. She loved soccer and handball, and she was a brown belt in taekwondo. She tried so many extra-curricular activities – dance, singing, gymnastics, swimming, and tennis – to name a few.

She used to walk with me every morning when I walked our dogs and go to the gym with me as well. She enjoyed shopping with me and choosing her own clothes. We would go and have our nails painted together. We would go to plays and concerts together. We had such a close and loving relationship. She is very smart and always did really well in school growing up, but she was bullied at school when she was younger. As a result of the bullying and the lack of support from the school, we moved her to a new school when she was 13 years old. That went well for the first two years, and she had a stable friendship group of really lovely girls.

Around the time she turned 15, she switched friendship groups. The new group had a girl who “did not identify as a girl” and that was my first introduction to gender ideology. I felt the new friends had a very negative influence on our daughter. Around the time she changed friendship groups, our daughter started experiencing mental health problems. For three years, these mental health problems continued. We moved through both the public system (called the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service) and private mental health systems in our efforts to find help for our daughter.

We collected diagnoses of anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder and possible borderline personality disorder. We took our daughter to more than 70 medical appointments related to her mental health in that three-year period. We focused on diet, exercise, love, support and psychotherapy. But our daughter’s mental health eventually became much worse.

We found out that she had been cutting herself and binge eating as well. She had always been very conscious of what she ate – in a healthy way – as she had been a vegetarian for several years.

In hindsight, I believe this period was when she started focusing on transgender. She ended up having a four-week admission to the mental health ward of a local private hospital in the winter, as it reached the point that she was refusing to get out of bed and refusing to go to school. When she came out of the hospital after those four weeks, she cut her hair short.

The next few months were extremely traumatic for our family. She barely attended school and became aggressive and verbally abusive toward us and her younger brother. She was lying, stealing and binge eating, and would not do anything that we asked of her. I found out she was smoking marijuana. If we wanted to go out as a family with her younger brother to, say, a soccer match, she would declare she was anxious and suicidal so that I could not go. She became extremely manipulative.

The stress we were under was enormous. Our son was 13 at that time, and the distress of her abusive behaviour caused him to become anorexic. I remember him curling up in a fetal position on the floor and sobbing, begging her to stop her out-of-control behaviour. I guess our son saw that his intake of food was the one thing he could control. We were pretty much shattered as a family. I remember sitting in her general practitioner’s office sobbing and begging for help. It really was a nightmare. I believe it was over this period that she started to become engrossed with online trans sites. I later found a history in her web browser full of trans searches and sites.

Then, that spring, she announced all over social media that she was, in fact, a male and had a new name. She claimed that she had told people at school months before and had been going by her new male name at school for some time. She told us that everyone at school, including the teachers, was supportive. Considering I had been in contact with the school regularly because of her mental health problems and the fact that she had had many absences from school, I was stunned that no one from the school ever told us about her transgender announcement.

She had a scheduled visit to her psychiatrist the week she announced she was trans, and she told her psychiatrist that she was suicidal, so he insisted that we take her to our local public hospital for admission to the adolescent mental health ward. The psychiatric registrar who admitted our daughter to hospital said he thought she had borderline personality disorder.

After an all-night admission that my husband accompanied her with, I went to the hospital to visit her the following day. When I asked to see our daughter, I was told that I had a son. Already above her bed was the male name.

I was aware that two other girls who attended her drama group were saying they were boys, so I was very sceptical of her announcement of trans. She had never displayed any signs of the condition gender dysphoria. My scepticism was dismissed by the staff of the mental health ward. As parents who did not immediately affirm our child’s declaration of transgender, we were shamed and bullied by the medical professionals in that hospital ward. All of our voiced concerns were swept aside, and we were put down by hospital staff in front of our daughter, accused of being bigoted, not inclusive, and transphobic.

We were also told that we must accept that we now had a son or she would kill herself. They said, “Would you rather have a live son or a dead daughter?” They said they wanted to introduce her to a transgender staff member. The very next day was a Saturday, and I was called by the hospital to come and take our daughter out on day leave. I remember thinking at the time that they could not be too concerned about her being suicidal if they sent her home on day leave 24 hours after being admitted.

At a family meeting at the hospital we were ridiculed for “dressing her like a girl” when she was little. They were not one bit interested in her complex mental health history. We were told that she needed an immediate referral to an endocrinologist for hormones. She was 17, and we said no, that we did not agree to the referral and that we were returning to her GP and private psychiatrist. They needed our agreement for that referral. The hospital went ahead with the referral and wrote up her discharge summary, saying we did agree to the referral for hormones.

Our GP recommended we take her to a private psychiatrist in our hometown who specialised in gender. The only trouble was there was a six-month waiting list before we could get in to see him. From the hospital admission onward, our relationship with our daughter deteriorated significantly. She came out of the hospital after five nights and immediately shaved her head. The abuse she directed toward us escalated, and she was pretty much out of control. Her lying, binge eating and manipulative behaviour continued. She had another scheduled three-week hospital admission that spring in the same mental health ward of the same private hospital as she had been in five months earlier, except this time they pretended she was a boy. There was no improvement in her behaviour.

All of our voiced concerns were swept aside, and we were put down by hospital staff in front of our daughter, accused of being bigoted, not inclusive, and transphobic.

She left the hospital on day leave against the wishes of her treating psychiatrist to attend the endocrinologist appointment that had been made as a result of her earlier public hospital admission – the appointment we did not agree to. By this time she had turned 18.

When I went searching, I was absolutely stunned by what I found in the browser history of our daughter’s computer. It was almost unbelievable. YouTube videos of young girls singing the praises of testosterone, showcasing the changes to their bodies, and cheering each other on. Bragging about surgeries and showing off the scars of double mastectomies. It was macabre. I felt like I had landed in the middle of some sort of alien world, some parallel universe. How could anyone be cheering all these young people on to do such harm to themselves? I can honestly say I have never been as disturbed by anything in my entire life.

I found messages from transgender adults, cheering our daughter on and telling her to get rid of her unsupportive family. “Snip snip the mother f...ers” was one phrase I will never forget. That was from a trans adult who is portrayed in Australian media as some sort of hero. All I could see were red flags and grooming.

As a family, we were on the verge of breaking down. We were subject to daily torrents of verbal abuse and she called us the most despicable things. I was told I was a disgusting and pathetic parent, a white-privileged bigot, a boring heterosexual, a transphobe – the abuse just went on and on. It was like someone had put a script in her head because it did not sound like our daughter at all. She would stand with her face so close to mine and unleash her fury.

She was meant to be in her final year of school that year. However, due to missing most of the previous school year, she could not continue with school. We suggested she do a one-year university course that would give her the equivalent of her school leaving certificate. She enrolled in that course, and on the day she was due to start she wouldn’t get out of bed, telling me she had taken pills. I called an ambulance and she was taken to the hospital. I think I was just skin and bone myself at that time. I’d lost so much weight with the constant stress.

A few weeks later, after the usual daily torrent of abuse from her, we had to restrain her younger brother from lunging at her. I told her I wasn’t going to be treated like that any more. She left the house and went up the road to her glitter family, a girl she went to school with whose mother would pretend she was a boy. She told the mother her father had threatened her, so the mother took her to the police station and later that evening the police knocked on our door, and a DVO (domestic violence order) was served on my husband. The police did not even bother to come and talk to us or to find out our side of what had happened or how she had been behaving toward us.

Following the visit by the police we realised we could no longer have her living with us. A friend of ours owned a nearby house that had rooms he rented out to university students for accommodation, and luckily one room was vacant, so we moved her in there and paid 50 per cent of the rent.

At her request, I went to an appointment with her to the endocrinologist in May. I had not seen her since she had moved out and was not aware she was on testosterone. I later found out she had been started on testosterone at the second appointment with the endocrinologist. She’d seen the endocrinologist the previous December and then was given a script for testosterone in March.

No psychiatry, no psychology, no examination of her mental health history. A seriously mentally unwell teenager was given hormones that would make irreversible changes to her body.

My sister, who is a medical practitioner, came to the endocrinologist appointment with us. There was a “multidisciplinary team” of three people at the meeting, the pediatric endocrinologist, a nurse and a social worker. They said, “Oh, we are so pleased to meet you,” yet sat there at the meeting and did not bother to mention that they had already started our daughter on testosterone. I was suspicious. Our daughter’s voice had gone gravelly.

When I asked whether they were aware of her extensive mental health history, they said no, they were not. This was despite her being referred to them by the adolescent mental health ward of the very same hospital in which the endocrinologist had her clinic. The endocrinologist said, “Don’t you just want your daughter to be happy?” I honestly could not believe what I was hearing. Then they said they were referring her to an adult endocrinologist as she was now 18.

The following month we went with her to see a private psychiatrist who specialised in gender. He diagnosed her with complex PTSD, which he said was caused by childhood bullying. He was shocked she had been started on testosterone and said he would not have recommended it. He then told us he was closing his books to anyone under 25 so could not see her again.

By now I had nearly a year of research under my belt. I remember finding Dr Lisa Littman’s research on the new phenomenon of “rapid-onset gender dysphoria” and rejoicing. I remember finding journalist Abigail Shrier’s first article, “When Your Daughter Defies Biology”. I remember finding the parents’ websites 4thWaveNow and Parents of ROGD Kids. I remember being put in contact with another Australian mum, and I ended up speaking with her for hours. My goodness, I was actually not alone in my scepticism. The more I researched, the more gender-critical articles I found, and the more I realised how shocking and widespread this medical scandal actually was.

That September, I accompanied our daughter to an appointment with the adult endocrinologist. I took a stack of those articles I had read to the adult endocrinologist and tried to engage her in a discussion about how concerned we were about our daughter’s mental health and how many people were starting to speak out about this social contagion. I was dismissed by the adult endocrinologist, who told me, “Your daughter is over 18. She can do what she likes.” I remember being in total disbelief. How could a medical practitioner have so little regard for their seriously mentally unwell patient?

We eventually had our daughter accepted into a program through a private hospital. It was a weekly dialectal behavioural therapy class. After the first week of attending the therapy class, she went back to using her own name. Within a few weeks, she stopped taking testosterone. We could see this huge improvement in her. She was coming over once a week for dinner. Our son refused to see her, so he would stay inside, and we would eat out in our back room and watch a movie. She had befriended a lovely girl from Europe who was living in the student accommodation, and she would come around with her and take our dogs for a walk. But eventually the girl had to return to Europe, and we noticed that our daughter started binding her breasts again.

Then she told us she had seen a local plastic surgeon to have her breasts cut off. We suddenly had an uneasy feeling and wondered if she could use our private health cover to do this. We rang our health fund and found out they had issued a quote to a local private hospital the week before for the surgery. We immediately removed our daughter from our private health fund. We wrote to the plastic surgeon, a long letter detailing our daughter’s mental health history and our grave concerns not only for her and her welfare but also for the growing number of young people caught up in what we saw as a social contagion. Our daughter actually gave us permission to speak to the surgeon about her.

I asked him whether he was cutting the breasts off young women 10 years ago. He sheepishly replied, “No.” We made it very clear that we did not support our daughter doing this. He made the comment that we were the first parents to object.

I briefly managed to get our daughter to see another psychiatrist around this time. Knowing that he was gender critical, I hoped for a miracle. After several sessions with him, she refused to see him again. He did diagnose her with attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder and autism spectrum disorder. The autism spectrum diagnosis really made sense.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Looking back, I can see that she was always on the periphery of her friendship groups and that she never really felt like she fitted in or was like other girls. This became more obvious as she went through her teenage years. Yet of all the health professionals I had taken her to over those three years, no one had ever considered ASD.

The pattern is the same, over and over again … Trans suddenly gives them status and credibility, and they become the centre of attention.

Sadly, our daughter became more and more alienated from us. She fell back down the trans rabbit hole, just as we had hopes that she was coming out of it. She refused to see us for Christmas, and in January she told us she never wanted to see or speak to us again. She moved from the student accommodation and blocked all our numbers.

It is now three years since she declared she was transgender, and she has spent that three years on a disability support pension for mental health. She is not working and not studying. She attempted to restart her studies but ultimately withdrew from every course she attempted.

I have come into contact with so many parents like myself, all gravely concerned about the social contagion that our children have been swept up in and the scale of the harm that is being done by irreversible interventions like hormones and surgeries. I have read far too many heartbreaking stories of regret, of young people with maimed and permanently disfigured bodies – bodies that they will never be able to return to how they were.

The pattern is the same, over and over again: children and young adults who are mentally unwell, perhaps traumatised with histories of bullying or sexual assault; children who are most likely same-sex attracted; children who are on the autism spectrum and neurodiverse children; children who are misfits or socially awkward. Trans suddenly gives them status and credibility, and they become the centre of attention.

It is hard to imagine any other medical condition with a serious, life-altering treatment where the diagnosis is solely dependent on the reliability and accuracy of a child’s or young person’s self-report. We were supposed to accept, unquestioningly, the crazy notion that our female child became a boy overnight at the age of 17 and that she needed to alter her body to match this invisible internal identity. It was, to us, an obvious mental health issue.

Our daughter had serious mental health issues over a three-year period prior to her self-diagnosis as being transgender. There were serious red flags waving. These issues, these red flags, were all completely ignored by the medical profession.

She has also had another three years of very poor mental health because, in their rush to affirm transgender to the complete dismissal of all of her comorbidities, the medical profession has failed to treat her appropriately.

Parents understand social contagion among teens. We were teens once as well. Social contagions have always existed. What has changed is that today they are influenced by thousands upon thousands on social media and misinformation on the internet.

There was a cluster of girls in our daughter’s drama group who declared they were transgender. Three young women, all in the same drama class, suddenly becoming transgender? Surely that alone should raise red flags with any credible medical practitioner. Yet instead of seeing this social contagion for what it really is, the medical profession has lost sight of the Hippocratic oath and accepted the self-diagnosis of these young people. It beggars belief.

We all know puberty is an uncomfortable physical and emotional time for adolescents. Yet to reach maturity, we have to go through it. Puberty is not a disease, nor is it optional. It is the only path to our adult selves. To stop this in children is inconceivable. To put a mentally unwell and traumatised teenager on opposite-sex hormones is inconceivable. We are in the midst of an enormous medical scandal.

Postscript: Our daughter’s mental health issues first emerged more than seven years ago. Almost three years into this period, she announced she was trans and was started on testosterone. Now she regrets this and hates the irreversible damage it has done to her. She no longer identifies as trans.

#queer theory #gender ideology #wrong sex hormones #cross sex hormones #sex trait modification #medical transition #desistance #social contagion #mental health issues #medical scandal #medical malpractice #genderwang #religion is a mental illness

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mllemouse · 1 year

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2022 holiday card

hi friends.

I've been feeling like i can approach tumblr from a healthier perspective lately, so

i thought I'd write you my version of like those family newsletters you get in holiday cards to keep everyone in the loop.

Uh, TW for like terrible mental health issues and sexual assault.

I last posted in October 2021, so to cover that bit as well...

that month i set my hair on fire over my stove and had to cut it up to my chest to get rid of all the singed bits. I was sad that my long long hair was gone, so I had my coworker shave me a raddddd undercut

In November 2021 i started seeing a few therapists after spending almost the entire year trying to get started with one and increasingly relying on friends and crisis lines to keep myself here. I settled on one therapist i really liked and still see him weekly.

In December, my coworker began sexually harassing me. It's still an issue and I no longer work with him one on one. Its brought up a lot of past trauma. My mum came to pick me up and bring me home for Christmas, but instead got COVID and had to quarantine in my studio apartment with me for three weeks. I didn't get COVID, but between that and the coworker stuff, i felt pretty traumatized by January. Thank God i got the therapist thing covered in november.

In January one of my coworkers quit, leading to a mass exodus over the course of the year. I'm so proud of my coworkers for pursuing new positions and getting out of this poorly run organization. My visa renewal application also began in January and was approved a few weeks ago, meaning i can stay in the country until 2025! And my employer has agreed to sponsor my green card app, after which I too am outta this place. I've learned a lot about distancing myself from work when the situation is so far from ideal. I also opened up to my closest coworkers about being queer, my history with sexual assault, and what had happened with our coworker in December (which continued into January), and we came up with a safety plan, plus i felt a lot closer to them.

in March i was still really struggling and my therapist recommended medication. I got a wonderful psychiatrist who gently introduced me to the appropriate drugs, not so gently introduced me to the pathological understanding of my mental illnesses. The first week I was on meds my best friend from undergrad came to visit for a week and we saw Tame Impala, which was incredible. Plus did a whole bunch of other fun stuff. I hadn't seen her since like... 2018? Despite the side effects of meds, being upset over my clinical evaluation, and overwhelmed at getting back into like going out in public and doing things, being able to wake up without immediately feeling suicidal was a huge relief.

April I went to Philadelphia TWICE in two weeks. Once to cheer J on in a half marathon and then with my coworker to a conference and sightseeing. I had really wonderful visits and can't believe I had never visited before then!!!

In May, my best friend from grad school and I rode the five boro bike tour. I made a goal at the beginning of the year to ride across the Tappan Zee Bridge and back, which is over 100km (aka a century ride) from my house. This was supposed to be one of my big rides to gear up for the century. This ride was not as fun as 2021, there were so many people and dangerous casual riders on the route, then we spent four and a half hours trying to get home cause the ferries we're overwhelmed. I had fun with my friend but I'm not so sure about next year.

In June i visited J's beach house after a gruelling exhibition schedule through May and June. i had a lovely time until i had a meltdown on the third day. I went to the beach in a binder for the first time and decided to just wear my board shorts instead of taking them off to swim, which was nice. J and our other friend began using they/them pronouns and my nicknames L and LG when they were talking with me in person, and it was super heartwarming and exciting to experience. It made me feel very special.

In July, i had my first appointment for HRT. They prescribed me testosterone right away, but it took around a month to get a response from my insurance, which denied the claim. I was crazy busy at work from August to the end of September and things really fell apart for me. I hired C as my freelancer to help on the exhibition be sure now there was so more staff left, which went really well. However, i stopped taking my meds and all of my good habits fell to the wayside.

In August i went back to Canada to photograph my uncle's wedding WITH COVID. My mum insisted that i travel even though I was sick and then didn't let me stay home for the wedding, because they had asked me to photograph it. It was really uncomfortable, but they were happy i got their wedding photos. Although, i still have not found time to edit and send them. Ugh.

In September i completed a 75 mile (100+ km) ride, meeting my goal of doing a century, but it wasn't to the bridge! i did it alone and it made me super depressed during and after the ride. I'm still evaluating what i want my relationship with cycling to be now, cause long rides by myself aren't really conducive to good feelings for me rn.

when the show at work opened in October, i went to J's parents' house for a Canadian thanksgiving/harvest feast weekend, met their dog, sister, and parents, and had ANOTHER meltdown. They told me they were dating someone--and it was incredibly upsetting, but i didn't know how to bring up my feelings about this. After my month off meds, i was a mess again. After this weekend though, i opened up to many more people because I felt like I needed to extend my support network.

I came out as trans to all my friends and close coworkers (mostly now former coworkers) in the city, let them know I use gender neutral pronouns, that I enjoy my nicknames, and that I was beginning HRT. I went to the pharmacy and got my prescription filled even though I had to pay out of pocket. I started testosterone on October 14th!! I cannot overstate how incredibly important this was to me. It felt like the most meaningful thing I've done for myself in my life. Coming out to people who i knew were safe helped me feel closer to them, and almost everyone was amazingly supportive about hrt.

In October i ALSO officiated my best friends' wedding. It was incredible, and really one of the best days of my life. Everyone in attendance was lovely. My speech and their vows went swimmingly. Everyone had so much fun and enjoyed ourselves into the early hours of the morning. My friends have the most wonderful community of people around them and I'm so glad I'm a part of their lives.

In November I got a new psychiatrist after my old one left the practice. She's ok, and urged me to get a primary care doc to begin keeping track of my blood work, so I'm building momentum for care in the new year. I scheduled an appt with a PCP at a queer-focused clinic in January. after a real scheduling snafu i got a follow up appointment for HRT in mid-December. I ended up missing two weeks of T because of this, which triggered a massive horrible period the day after my birthday. I missed two days of birthday celebrations, but the night out i did have with friends was pretty fun. Idk, i have mixed feelings about it.

things came to a head with J a couple weeks ago where they asked if I had romantic feelings for them, and when i affirmed that, they rejected me before i could say i didn't want to discuss it cause I couldn't handle the rejection in a healthy way. We haven't spoken since and I've been in a pretty bad place despite sticking to meds. However, I've been working through this stuff with my therapist since the incident in October and idk... learning about how fucked up i am is tough. I'm really sad about it all and still figuring out how to move forward.

I also tried to go to Canada for Christmas and couldn't because of the blizzard in buffalo, so I spent the holidays in my house again. at least my mum wasn't here this time.

I've been a little suicidal over the last couple of weeks even though I'm on meds, and only skipped a day recently. I skipped a few days right after the stuff with J happened and ended up going into withdrawal pretty bad, so I learned that lesson. So idk. I'm still trying to muddle through.

To end on a positive note, this morning i noticed that the hair around my belly button, the kind that like makes you the line down the centre of your torso, is getting darker. I feel a little bit scared but also excited. I love a lil bit of tummy fuzz and find it endearing that i can have some for myself. I've also gotten a bit more muscular just from the furniture lifting I do at work, and a few weeks ago I did planks for the first time without any shoulder pain since I injured it in 2012. I've picked a gym in my neighborhood to sign up for when i can get motivated to leave the house and return to strength training. One of the best things about being on T so far has been that it has virtually erased my chronic low body temp and reynauds symptoms, and is supposed to help alleviate my anemia, easy bruising, and PMS/PMDD (which have all been weakened but not yet eliminated). Like all this shit I've been told just sucks and I have to deal with is just disappearing. So eventually i can just be like, a person without symptoms of these conditions?!

Also, Fred and George are sliving. I found shelves on the street for them to climb way up high, and I started feeding the birds and squirrels from the windowsill. They love bouncing around the room and watching the backyard happenings.

I'm not sure I'm hopeful about the future yet cause things are still really hard, but I'm at least learning how to begin living on my own terms.

Fred

George

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