#but i like this new therapist and she seems able to help me!!! so!!! yeah
Text
first therapy session in years with a new therapist let's gooooooooo
#am i shaking and crying ? no. do i want to? kinda like#i did just explain all my trauma and disregulations to a stranger#but i like this new therapist and she seems able to help me!!! so!!! yeah#let's see where this goes
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Great War — Katie McCabe x Reader
Additional info: Story inspired Taylor Swift’s The Great War. I’m in my Katie era, but I’m also planning on writing about other players, especially Alexia, which I have like four ideas to write about. We’ll see. I also have a draft of Ruesha x Katie inspired in Moth to a flame by The Weeknd, but I’m doubting about posting it or not. Maybe in the future I’ll write a Caitlin x Katie fic, but I don't have a clear vision of them yet to properly write about them.
Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, throwing up and therapy, sensitive topics overall, avoid reading if you find them triggering. Angsty Katie.
Word count: 1691
Right after Katie ended her relationship with Caitlin Foord, she met Y/N. After some time, they got into a relationship together. They enjoyed every single second of the magical connection they seemed to have. With the passing of time, Katie became more and more anxious about her relationship with Y/N. She doubted she could be what Y/N deserved, even though her girlfriend took her time every day to remind Katie that she's never been as happy in a relationship as she was with her.
«My knuckles were bruised like violets
Sucker punching walls, cursed you as I sleep-talked»
Two heartbreaks in such a little time, with both her Ireland National Team's member Ruesha and girlfriend of seven years, and her Arsenal's teammate Caitlin Foord, who was her girlfriend during half a year, made the Irishwoman insecure about her ability to love, to trust, to have a happy fairytale ending. Katie knew these thoughts would damage her relationship with Y/N, but she couldn't help but to spend most of her day tracking every single detail that built her relationship to the obsessive point where she felt absolutely sick of herself.
«Spineless in my tomb of silence
Tore your banners down, took the battle underground»
When she reached her limit, she told Y/N about what was going on. Y/N responded well and helped Katie, and it started well. Really well. But after some time, Katie fell back into a cycle of doubt and anxiety, and those sensations kept growing when she noticed any change in Y/N's mood, as she took it too personally. This made her re-experience in her mind those moments of stress while she was with Ruesha or Caitlin.
«And maybe it was ego swinging
Maybe it was her
Flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur»
Y/N tried to understand her, she tried and tried but eventually, she reached her limit.
“I want to help you. I really do. But I can't continue like this. I'm not Ruesha, nor I am Caitlin. I am aware that being in a new relationship it's difficult for you, so maybe we should take things a bit slower. I don't mean to take a break, but maybe I should go back to my flat. We will move on slower than we did before, but I do think it's the only way to work it out.”
«All that bloodshed, crimson clover
Sweet dream was over»
“Yeah, maybe you're right´”, that was Katie's only response. Y/N limited herself to sigh. That night, Katie slept alone in her bed. Her body reacting to the cold sheets and crying herself to sleep.
«My hand was the one you reached for
All throughout the Great War»
Sweet morning messages from Y/N, “Good morning, baby. Do good at training today! Love you ;)”
Surprise visits from Y/N, lovely gifts, usually handmade ones, brought Katie to tears as she felt endlessly loved.
«Always remember
Tears on the letter
I vowed not to cry anymore
If we survived the Great War»
Katie prayed for things to get back as they were during the first months of the relationship. The feeling of her not being a good girlfriend to Y/N haunted her even in her sleep.
«You drew up some good faith treaties
I drew curtains closed, drank my poison all alone»
Y/N suggested going to a therapist together, but Katie was unsure about that. She thought that if she couldn't quite open to her girlfriend about her feelings and thoughts, she wouldn't be able to talk about what was bothering her to a therapist. Such a huge contrast between the two parts of the relationship that drew them even more apart.
«You said I have to trust more freely
But diesel is desire, you were playing with fire
And maybe it's the past that's talkin'
Screamin' from the crypt
Tellin' me to punish you for things you never did
So I justified it»
“No, I'm sorry, but I'm not doing this. I feel uncomfortable talking to a stranger about our issues.”
“I know, baby, I was just suggesting it. Let me explain you why. We are aware of having some problems in our relationship, but we don't really know how to get through it. We've tried and things keep getting worse. Maybe talking to someone who's out of our relationship can make this whole situation clearer for the both of us.”
«All that bloodshed, crimson clover
The bombs were close and
My hand was the one you reached for
All throughout the Great War
Always remember
The burning embers
I vowed not to fight anymore
If we survived the Great War»
Katie took some weeks to meditate Y/N´s idea. She was terrified of being judged by the therapist they would talk to. Even more scared of Y/N realizing she didn't do any good to her. Eventually, she agreed.
“Maybe she's right. People attend therapy sessions. It's normal, Katie. It's normal”, she said to herself.
«It turned into something bigger
Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed»
Katie was not new to getting help from a therapist. She was very open about her mental health in different areas of her life, whether that included football or not. The first time she attended a therapy session was when she was a teenager. It went well, so did the first sessions with Anna, Katie's and Y/N´s psychologist.
Making progress is not a linear process, and making mistakes is a part of the success. Mistakes are a victory in themselves, it means that you're still trying. One day, Katie had an individual session with Anna. Anna felt it was Katie's time to open about her two past relationships; a young adult romance that lasted for more than half a decade and a short but intense romance of one year after a breakup.
It was a slow conversation filled with many pauses from Katie.
“Are you gonna tell Y/N what I'm telling you?”
“No, Katie. This stays between me and you”, said Anna.
As Katie told her her experiences in love, she broke down.
The wall she had built, in order to avoid being hurt and judged, collapsed in that therapy room.
“Don't be afraid to cry. You have nothing to prove to me nor to Y/N. This is about you and your healing process. Y/N will help you and accompany you, but it's crucial for you to work on yourself, especially being a public figure.”
«Your finger on my hair pin triggers»
As Katie arrived home, she unlocked her phone and asked Y/N to come over.
“I've asked Anna, and she told me it was a good initiative and a great way of gaining some independence in our relationship, leaving her out of it for a while. Don't feel obliged to!”
“I am exhausted, baby. Work was something else today, and I’m a little bit irritated because of it, lol. Maybe another time? Love you.”
As Katie was about to spiral, she remembered Anna's advice. She breathed deeply. Y/N was setting her boundaries. She trusted Katie enough to tell her the truth and not to make any excuses. She felt tired from work. Y/N is not mad at her. She didn't do anything wrong. Everything’s okay.
«Soldier down on that icy ground
Looked up at me with honor and truth
Broken and blue, so I called off the troops»
The next day Katie woke up to a text from Y/N.
“Good morning, princess. I had a great sleep, what about you? How did you sleep? I’m up to seeing you today if you feel like it. Love you.”
Still slightly asleep, she smiled.
“I can't wait to see you today, beautiful girl. I had a good sleep, too. Good to have the bed all to myself ;))”
She frowned after sending the text with that joke at the end.
“Breath, Katie, let these useless thoughts pass. Both you and Y/N feel comfortable teasing each other”, said Katie to herself.
“Ha, ha, really funny. We both know you missed having me snoring next to you.”
“How do you know?!?!”
«That was the night I nearly lost you
I really thought I lost you»
As Katie was preparing herself to go out with Y/N to have lunch, she remembered the night where Y/N left her house.
She doesn't freak out to the thought of it, but instead she does an exercise of introspection. She sees herself in her mind, almost throwing up, completely emotionally depending on her girlfriend while pushing her away and bottling up her feelings.
«We can plant a memory garden
Say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair
There's no morning glory, it was war, it wasn't fair
And we will never go back
To that bloodshed, crimson clover
The worst was over»
Now she looks at herself in the mirror. She sees herself, Katie, as the woman who knows that she's loved, and she's deserving of being it. The woman who respects her girlfriend’s boundaries and doesn't freak out at the tiniest change that she perceives. The woman who's going to take her girlfriend out to have a good time having lunch, not worrying about anything but what order she's going to have.
«My hand was the one you reached for
All throughout the Great War
Always remember
We're burned for better
I vowed I would always be yours
'Cause we survived the Great War
I would always be yours
'Cause we survived the Great War
I vowed I would always be yours»
As they arrived home back from the restaurant, Y/N walked towards Katie.
“I’m so proud of you, baby. You did this. You are doing it every day. I’m so excited to see where our relationship leads us to.”
As Katie sobbed, she softly laughed, “It’s nice to cry sometimes. God, I feel so relieved. I’m so proud of myself, too, of us! Thank you for being there for me, Y/N, thank you. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life as your girlfriend.”
“Even when you'll wake up to my snoring?”
“Especially when I'll wake up to your snoring.”
307 notes
·
View notes
Text
Love Diagnosis
Pairing: Adrian Monk x Reader
Summary: Monk has a crush on his new assistant (reader) and talks to his therapist about it
Word Count: 1,544
Notes: She/Her pronouns are used for the reader. Trudy Monk, Leland Stottlemeyer, and Natalie Teeger are mentioned but don't make an appearance. Entire fic is just dialogue between Adrian and Dr. Kroger. Mentioned age gap between Monk and the reader.
Read it on AO3 here
Story:
“You don’t understand, doctor. This isn’t some cute crush. I can’t get her out of my head!”, Monk said frantically from the chair he sat in across from his therapist.
“Adrian”, Dr. Kroger began while taking off his glasses and sitting forward in his chair, “it’s perfectly normal to look forward to seeing someone you like. It seems that you and Y/N have developed a special relationship and it’s only natural for you to think of her. If anything, this is great progress. It means you’re moving on after losing Trudy”.
“No, no, no, no”, said Adrian as he waved his hands about, “I am not moving on from Trudy. She is my wife. Y/N is a parasite who has infected my brain. She’s probably an alien. That’s the only explanation. A very pretty alien, but an alien”.
Dr. Kroger smiled, “Y/N is not an alien. It’s okay to be scared. You and Trudy were together for a long time and you were both very devoted to each other”.
“I can’t be scared because I’m not moving on. How can I be scared to do something I’m not doing?”
“Adrian-“
“It’s like she’s taken me hostage in my own mind. Everywhere I look, she’s all I think about. I walked into a CVS with Natalie today to get more wipes and I saw the shampoo section. Why was my first thought ‘What kind of shampoo does Y/N use? She always smells so nice.’?”
Dr. Kroger sets his glasses on the table next to him, “I’m going to suggest something that may sound a little crazy to you. Have you considered telling her how you feel?”
“…Dr. Kroger”, Monk scoffed, “Are you sure we’re sitting in the right seats? Because where I’m sitting it seems that you may be the one that needs help if you think that is a reasonable solution.”
“So I’m going to take that as a no.”
“Of course, I haven’t talked to her about it!”
“And why is that?”
“….well…”
“Well?”
“…”
“You’re frightened she may not feel the same way as you do.”
“…yes”
“And if she does feel the same way, you don’t want to know because then you’d have to accept the fact that you’re in love with a woman after Trudy’s passing.”
“yes”, Monk grumbled while looking at the floor with sudden interest.
“So you think it’s better to bury your feelings deep inside and only let them out during our sessions”
“Now you’re getting it. I’m so glad we could come to an understanding”, Monk smiled and sat back in his chair, relieved.
“Adrian, these feelings aren’t just going to disappear overnight because you don’t want to face them. You see her almost every day now.”
“This is all Natalie’s fault.”, Adrian furrowed his brows as he spoke, “I wouldn’t have had to hire another assistant if she didn’t need so many days off.”
“Natalie needed the time off to take care of her daughter as a single mother. It’s a miracle she was able to balance work and her child for as long as she did.”
“Yeah, well, she should’ve balanced for longer so I wouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“Tell me, what is it that you like about Y/N?”
“She smells nice.”
“You mentioned that already”
“She’s a good assistant. She’s very clean and doesn’t touch me without asking. I like her hairstyle too, not just the shampoo. Her nails are neat and manicured, so I don’t feel disgusted by the thought of her touching me.”
“Anything else?”
“When she does touch me…her hands are soft.”
Dr. Kroger looked at Adrian with raised eyebrows and interest written across his face.
“Y/N, she has a certain way of talking. She emphasizes certain words in her sentences and talks with her hands.”
At this point, Adrian is staring up at the ceiling and smiling fondly as he pictures Y/N in his mind, “She gets so animated when she’s passionate. And she has so many strong opinions on things. Things I never even give a second thought to. Just the other day, she went on a very passionate rant about what kind of handle she prefers on umbrellas.”
“I would’ve thought you’d have an opinion on that sort of thing.”
“Oh, I do now that I’ve thought about it. I much prefer the curved handles to the straights ones, even if they have grooves for the fingers to sit”, he scoffs and shakes his head, “the fingers are never as comfortable on those as they are on the curved handles and-“
“I think we’re getting off track here. Is there anything you dislike about her?”
“Oh, yes”, Adrian quickly nodded, “She’s a horrible driver and always parks crooked. She’s lucky she has me or she’d anger a lot of other drivers with her parking.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She chews on her mints and I can’t stand the sound. What psychopath chews on those? You’re supposed to let them sit in your mouth.”
“I see.”
“She stands too close to me wherever we go. Like I said she doesn’t touch me without asking but she’s always so close.”
“And that bothers you?”
“Yes, my heart starts to beat very fast and I can’t breathe sometimes. Once I thought I was having a heart attack but she told me I was just having a panic attack and made me do breathing exercises with her.”
“Did they help?”
“Yes, but only for a little bit because she kept standing close to me after that. She was worried I would faint so she stood even closer.”
“And?”
“I’ve never had clammier hands in my life.”
“Did you have these symptoms when you first started to see Trudy?”
“I…I don’t remember. It was all so long ago. Let’s not talk about that.”
“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. Let’s move on from that.”
“Okay.”
“…”
“I had eggs for breakfast this morning but the yolk was a little too runny. That made my skin itch.”
“Let’s not talk about eggs.”
“Okay.”
“If you and Y/N were to enter a romantic relationship-“
“That would never happen.”
“Humor me for a second. If you and Y/N entered a romantic relationship, what do you think it would be like? Truly imagine it for me. What would dating Y/N look like?”
“I…I don’t know. I’m not dating her so how would I know?”
“Just try and imagine it.”
“Okay.”, Adrian sighed quietly as he closed his eyes, “Okay. I’m imagining.”
“Go on.”
“We’d have to spend a lot of time together. That’s what couples do.”
“What would that time spent together look like?”
“I suppose we would hang out at my house. Go to different places around town. Maybe to that coffee shop she likes.”
“Which shop is that?”
“The one on third avenue with the blue walls.”
Adrian’s eyes were still closed but he could hear the smile in Dr. Kroger’s voice, “You remember the kind of things she’s passionate about, little details about her, and even what coffee shop she likes.”
“I’m a detective. It’s my job to remember things about people.”
“Do you know how she takes her coffee?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know how Natalie takes her coffee?”
“No”
“Do you know how Captain Stottlemeyer takes his coffee?”
“No”
“Interesting. Have you ever thought about kissing Y/N?”
Adrian opened his eyes, “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
“I find it very relevant. Have you thought about kissing her?”
Adrian took a long pause before answering, “Yes. Once she stood very close to me, she stands much too close to me, and I…”
“You…?”
“I was looking at her lips and I started to lean in but I pulled away.”
“Did she know you wanted to kiss her?”
“I don’t think so. When she asked why I was staring I lied and told her she had dry lips and needed to put on chapstick. It couldn’t have been further from the truth. Her lips looked very”, he pauses looking for the right word in his mind “soft.”
“Has she ever indicated any interest in you in a romantic sense?”
“I don’t think so.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”, Dr. Kroger sighs, “Adrian, there is only one solution to this dilemma and that is to speak to her about it.”
“That would be highly inappropriate. I’m her employer and several years older than her.”
“While that is true, she has the right to know about this. She spends nearly every day with you.”
“What if she quits? Then, I’d have to find another assistant and I don’t want her to go.”
“That is a risk you’ll just have to take. It is much more likely that she will either tell you she doesn’t feel the same way or that she does. She’s your assistant but she’s your friend too. I’m sure she’d understand.”
“But what if she doesn’t?”
“But what is she does?”
Monk sat in silence with no rebuttal prepared. What could he possibly say to that?
“We’re nearing the end of our time together, Adrian. Next time you see Y/N, politely tell her how you’ve been feeling about her.”
“...”
“Adrian, tell her.”
“Yes, Dr. Kroger.”
“I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
#adrian monk#monk x reader#monk tv#mr monk#mr monk x reader#adrian monk x reader#adrian monk/reader#adrian monk x oc#adrian monk/oc#trudy monk#leland stottlemeyer#natalie teeger#adrian monk x yn#monk 2002
62 notes
·
View notes
Note
I'm very glad to see that your new therapist is working out well for you so far! It makes me think that I probably should find a good one myself, however I don't really know how to go about that. Not locating one, I mean getting into the issues I need to deal with, especially if I don't really know where to begin beyond "I'm emotionally and mentally fucked up and would like to not be". As someone who's seen multiple therapists, even if the others didn't really click for you, do you have any advice about that?
To be honest, not really. It's the same annoying thing as what people say about dating - you just have to keep trying with new ones until you find one that clicks. But not knowing where to begin is a starting point, and that's still progress if you can find a therapist that seems to be helping with trying to start figuring out what the problem is. My first therapist was the best match I could find at the time, with my problem of "I don't know why I'm like this", and she helped me start unwrapping what I even mean by that.
After she helped me through getting diagnosed with ADHD, and the problems caused by being undiagnosed and unmedicated were resolved, I started to feel like she can't help with the ones that remained. I once told her that being in therapy felt like that joke of a man who goes to a therapist on all fours because he thinks he's a dog, and comes out walking upright - he still thinks he's a dog, but the therapist trained him to walk on his hind legs so it doesn't show. She laughed and agreed that this is essentially what therapy is, and that's when I figured that that isn't what I need from therapy.
The second one was the best match I could find at the time - now that I had been trained out of acting insane, it was easier to start untangling what was making me act in unhinged ways in the first place. Going into what I was feeling and what kind of experiences had trained me into having that kind of responses to that kind of situations. That was useful for a while, but after a time I started to feel like she was trying to make me complacent with how I am by reassuring me that there was nothing wrong with me - she tried to validate my feelings by telling me that I'm ok, and I felt invalidated by the way she was denying that there still was something wrong with me, and denying that I'm not ok.
In three years of therapy, I had gained enough clarity about what kind of a problem we're even talking about, that once my last session with my second therapist was done, I looked up a therapist that specialises in one specific problem that I hadn't even been aware of when I started with my first therapist, and which my second therapist reassured me would fix itself on its own once I'm better. Three years of therapy had made me aware enough of my own problems to be able to find a specialist and point a huge crack on the wall, point at it and go "look at that thing. That's not supposed to be there, right?"
And have her go "oh yeah, that's bad. Yikes."
112 notes
·
View notes
Text
You’re Overthinking, Kate
Clint Needs to get Kate a good teacher, Luckily he knows a guy.. You.
Christmas was rousing around, closing in more and more during the winter. While this was a time of celebration for many, for two in particular they weren’t so lucky. Kate Bishop has put herself in a pickle and Clint, being her hero and a stand up guy, threw his arrow into the quiver to help her. The Tracksuit Mafia wasn’t one to let vendetta’s go, and unfortunately, Kate made the list. With her life on the line, Clint made a decision to help her by making a bold decision.
Standing in an Elevator the two silently stood there as it ascended.
“So… this guy..” Kate started, slowly trailing on not really able to form a coherent idea.
“Is he an Avenger?” She said with a gleam to potentially meet another, Clint coldly shook his head. “No, Shield Agent.”
“That’s.. cool too.” She said, a bit disappointed but still somewhat excited. The elevator halts with a swoosh and the door opens after a song ding. They step out to a wood tile floor and exquisite hallways. Clint heads left as Kate looks around at everything. “This is, awesome! They even have those little dove soaps!”
“Hey, focus, please?” Clint says, getting her attention. “Your life literally depends on it..” he mutters. They head to the hall and specifically to door number 195. Clint calmly knocks on the door.
“So, what’s the agent like? Is she like a Spy or a Double agent?”
“No, well something like that..”
“Something?”
“Former Shield Agent, now hired Mercenary.”
“You took me to a hired assassin?!” Kate yells and Clint glares at her to lower her voice. “Mercenary, it’s different.. plus he’s like you.”
“An archer?”
“Annoying.”
The door casually opens to a man in his twenties, dressed in causal wear. His eyes undress Kate up and down and he smiles.
“What can I… do for you?” He asks, his eyes look over and sees Clint, his demeanor changes and he sighs. “Oh, hey Clint.”
“(Y/n), we need your help.”
“Therapists are on the 14th Floor.” (Y/n) replies and prepares to close the door, Clint puts his foot in to keep it from closing.
“I’m serious..”
“So am I.. I doubt Shield wants you talking to me, plus I don’t want to put the girl in any trouble. So will you please take your foot and—“
“We need the Taskmaster.” Clint huffs, (Y/n) halted in his steps and slowly opens the door. He didn’t say much to Clint and simply let them in. Clint follows him and he motions for Kate to follow. They enter a modest studio apartment. One part seemed normal, bedding, Kitchen, small living room, the other half had what seemed to be a training ground, flat surfaces, mats, weights, weapons, all wood. (Y/n) stopped in the middle of the training Ground and turned around to face them.
“So, what do you want?” He said pretty bluntly.
“Tracksuit Mafia. What do you know?” Clint asks first.
“Them? Small town Gang running in New York, went big after the snap. last time I checked Ronin put the sword to them. Why ask?” (Y/n) said.
“They’re the issue.”
“Ah, okay.. but what does she have to do with this?” (Y/n) asked, his eyes turned to Kate, she didn’t really know what to say, until she just blurts something out.
“Is that a Keurig?” She points to his kitchen. Specifically at his Keurig coffee maker. Pristine condition, a Keurig K elite Maker.
“Uh, yeah? has Hazenut, Dark roast, French Vanil—“ (Y/n) trails off and stops talking. “Are you about to ask for some? Absolutely not I’ve known you for 2 minutes.” He said, and Kate puts on a puppy dog eyes bit. “Please?” She asks, Clint watches (Y/n)’s face contort, he was always known to be a stone cold merc. But now his face looks. Conflicted.
Kate sits sipping her coffee, relishing the rich flavor. (Y/n) was staring at her, arms folded.
“Okay so let me get this straight, you’re the one who broke Stane tower shooting an arrow at it?” (Y/n) reiterated the information he’s been told, “Which is why my credit cards are Maxed out.” Kate adds in.
“I didn’t ask— whatever. Point is the Track suits think you’re ronin. Why? You don’t look that threatening.” (Y/n) was confident in his analysis. Kate her coffee down, “I can show you.” She replies, (Y/n) eyes Clint, who waved them off as if to say “Go for it.”
The trio stand on the roof of the Apartment and (Y/n), Kate and Clint were standing in the pure snow, five targets stood across them and he motioned Kate to go first.
“Watch and be amazed.” Kate let five arrows loose and hit bullseyes on each one, Clint gives (Y/n) a look, and he nods in approval. Kate turns to (Y/n).
“Pretty good, not gonna lie. My turn i suppose.” He says and she hands him the arrow and he takes a deep breath.
“So, when did you learn how to shoot?” She asks.
“Just now.” He responds, Kate was obviously confused by the reply. “What did you just—“ (Y/n) with Zero hesitation let loose 5 arrows as well, each one splitting hers as they also hit perfectly dead on. Kate was obviously confused by this.
“How did you just—“
“Photographic Reflexes.” Clint says, “Kid can duplicate any physical move he sees moments later, even copy fighting styles. Basically.” Clint says and (Y/n) finishes for him
“Anything you can do, I can do better~” he says in a sing song voice, mockingly.
“Your archery skills are impressive, I might keep them.” He said. “You’ve got potential though.” He adds in, turning to Clint.
“So, this is why you came to me, to train her.”
“You’re someone I trust…” Clint admits, and (Y/n) turns to Kate.
“Alright, one last test, hand to hand combat.”
Back in the Apartment, Clint stood in the middle of them as (Y/n) didn’t seem particularly worried about fighting her, Kate on the other hand was pretty worried that she’ll get her butt kicked, and she was pretty right.
“Alright.” Clint steps back and (Y/n) looked so aloof and relaxed. Kate moves in with a few martial arts, swift jabs and strong kicks, (Y/n) was playing mostly Defence, dodging or blocking her hits. Simply gathering information until his body calculates hers. He gets all the information he needs, he counters by slamming his foot down, ducking a punch and using her momentum to toss her across the room as she goes sliding across the room, getting up frustrated she moves back in, (Y/n) this time implements the Black Widow style, acrobatic dodges and well placed strikes to the body to weaken her. And with another judo throw she winds up on the ground.
“Fighting someone who keeps changing seems impossible, I know. But you’ll be fine”
(Y/n) says, but Kate was dead silent.
“Uh, you okay?” He asks, she nods.
“You sure? You look, pale.”
“Nah. I’m good.” She replies, he helps her up as Kate tries to play off how much pain she’s in.
“I just need to sit down for a sec that’s all.” Kate tries to walk to the couch like she’s fine but the small limp says a lot. (Y/n) turned to Clint.
“She’s definitely better than most… a little green but who isn’t at her age.”
“You’re only three years older.” Clint flatly points out.
“Hey.. I’m trying to look cool here.” (Y/n) says. “I’ll teach her what I know, after that we’re square, okay?”
“Promise.”
Day 2
Kate this time came on her Own, no Clint around, this time the two can spar without any trouble. (Y/n) kept his eyes locked on her, he didn’t have much trouble doing that. Kate went in with a flurry of stuff kicks, a few land on the body but (Y/n) blocks most and retaliates with a heavy strike to the body, the impact almost sent her flying back. (Y/n) was moreso the aggressor this time, trying to go for an overhead strike, Kate rolls out of the way and back up, each deflecting an attack.
“I know it’s hard! Trying to fight someone who knows your every move!” (Y/n) says mid battle, trying to help her. “Try something else, you gotta have something else.” He said, with a palm strike Kate was stunned, (Y/n) prepares for another judo throw, but as he tosses her, she locks her leg with his, halting his throw, she breaks her arm free and wraps around his waist for a stunningly beautiful German Suplex. (Y/n) hit the ground hard, Kate sits up breathing hard, but proud of her win.
“Did you see that? I—“ Kate turned to (Y/n) who slowly stood up, wobbly.
“Shit are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay?” She grabs his wrist. Keeping him from wobbling, (Y/n) looks at her, his daze and confused expression slowly faded as he looked at the worry in her eyes. Kate sighs with relief.
“I’m good, that just caught me off guard, you’re getting better Bishop.” He said, she smiles, proud of herself. It was silence in the room, until Kate realized they’re holding hands, she pulls them back embarrassed.
“I am so sorry!”
“Nah it’s cool, it’s cool.” (Y/n) says, “So.. uh, good workout.. maybe you wanna.. go get a smoothie?” (Y/n) asked, Kate tilts her head a bit.
“Like.. a date smoothie?” Kate ask, almost sounding hopeful.
“N-no like a, post-workout-after-getting-a-German-suplex smoothie.”
“They make those?” She asks.
“They would if I asked, I mean I’m paying for it, you got your cards taken.”
“You don’t have to keep reminding me.”
“Yeah but, I like to.” He replies. And this got an honest laugh out of Kate, seeing her smile did something to (Y/n). He couldn’t put his finger on it but.. he wanted to see it so much more.
(Hey, so like.. I’ve never watched a single episode of Hawkeye, I just did this from general information and memory so i apologize for the lack of consistency to the MCU but let’s say the Black Widow Taskmaster was Task Manager. Besides that I hope I did justice and more Nat and Wanda coming. I promise I’m working on shit.)
#male reader#kate bishop x reader#reader x marvel#marvel#kate bishop x male reader#kate bishop#Ornii#kate x Male reader
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
Real, Unapologetic, Truthful
Pairing: Tyler Galpin x Fem!Reader (she/her)
Warnings: Angst, mentions of Tyler’s family trauma, hurt/comfort.
Y/N can tell there is something more to Tyler than hid sweet, smiley persona that he shows off. An open conversation leads to her unlocking what’s underneath it all.
Tyler Galpin. What a mystery that boy is… At least that’s how Y/N sees it. For most other people - ones who devote a more appropriate amount of brain capacity to the blonde barista - they see Tyler at surface level, taking in the parts of himself he presents to the world as though they are seeing his entire being. But within the last couple months that these two have known each other, and through a progression from a transactional relationship into a friendship, Y/N has seen slivers of what’s hidden behind the warm smiles. There’s something sadder behind his eyes - sometimes something darker too.
“Hello my favorite barista,” Y/N greets warmly, unwrapping her maroon scarf from around her neck and draping it over her arm.
“Hey Y/N, the usual?” Tyler replies, mirroring her sweet demeanor.
“Oi!” She says, lightly slapping his arm and playfully scoffing, “No ‘Hello my favorite customer’? What the hell?”
Tyler’s face glows a faint pink, as he chuckles, “You know I can’t go picking favorites here. It’ll upset the other customers,” He smirks and turns to make Y/N’s favorite drink.
Y/N rolls her eyes lightheartedly, and watches from her stance at the bar, observing Tyler’s movements as he works away. Her eyes scan his arms and hands before she catches herself staring and then looks around the café, attempting (failing) to be nonchalant.
“Hey I’m almost on break so I can sit down with you in a moment, if you’d like that?” Tyler pushes the drink across smoothly to where Y/N is standing.
“Sure. I’d like that” She pulls out her card and pays for the drink before taking a seat in her typical booth. She looks out the window for a while, admiring the new feel the snow gives to Jericho. Everything is painted in white, giving it a more innocent, serene look. Everyone who knows Jericho knows that some shit really goes down here, but the weather is at least a nice change to the normal gloomy, gray look that it’s known for. After a moment, Y/N’s eyes adjust and she sees how the window reflects the warm lights inside the Weathervane, and her eyes scan it before falling on Tyler, who is walking over with his drink in hand.
“It looks so peaceful when it’s snowing don’t you think,” Y/N states, more talking to the reflection of the boy, knowing that she can be heard from where she is.
“Yeah. Anyone just passing through might even think it’s beautiful, like somewhere you’d wanna settle down,” He slides into the booth, across from the girl. “Sometimes ignorance is bliss,”
“I hear that,” She looks across to the boy finally, and notices his expression looking less cheery than a moment ago, but once he notices her looking towards him, that soft smile comes back. “Ty? Are you alright?”
“Hm? Yeah of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
“You just have seemed a little down recently, like there's something weighing on you. You know it doesn’t make you a burden or anything if you need to just vent,” Y/N moves a hand from the cup to rest atop Tyler's.
His breath seems to get caught in his throat, as though he’s been caught in a lie, and his face mirrors a deer in headlights. Clearing his throat and sighing, he averts his gaze out the window. “Sorry it’s just- I thought if I kept a smile on my face and left all my emotions in my room, no one would be able to tell,”
Y/N’s thumb rubs soothingly on the back of the boy’s hand - covered in small burns and scratches, memories of learning his way around the espresso machines.
“I’ve been seeing my therapist every couple of days, and she’s really been helping me with a lot of my stresses and struggles but… The whole reason I’m there is something I still can’t open up to her about. Everytime she wants to delve into how my mom’s death has affected my life I just… Freeze up,” The shake to his voice is enough to bring Y/N to the verge of tears, but she holds back, to give the boy some support in his clear time of need.
“It’s okay not to be ready Tyler. I know I don’t know the full story, and I would never force you to talk about anything, but everyone who knows you deeply, knows that you have been through so much. And that makes you so strong. The only person who can know when you’re ready… is you,”
Tyler’s trembling hand slips from under yours carefully, and raises to brush a tear from his cheek that he let fall. Typically, he would never let himself openly cry, especially at work, under the curious eyes of passersby, or worse, at the fear of someone he respects walking in to see him in a vulnerable state. Right now, in this moment, Tyler doesn’t feel that anxiety - the stress that causes him to deflect or push it down, all he feels is the warmth emitted from the girl he’s grown accustomed to, and he wants to bask in it.
The way comfort radiates from her like sun rays strongly juxtaposes the wintery scenery that bitterly nibbles at exposed skin once one steps outside whatever shelter they’ve chosen to reside within.
“Thank you. I really mean it. And I’m really sor-“
“-Hey hey, promise me that we won’t apologize for expressing emotion to one another from now on. And that we won’t bottle up anything either. No details are necessary, we don't even have to talk at all. If you just want to let anything out, you know you can always come to me,”
“Sorry- wait shit, I- I- Okay… That sounds nice,” a smile lights up his face, and Y/N can see this one is different. It's not over exaggerated or fidgety. This look, his face, it’s the most genuine thing Y/N has ever experienced from her close friend. A real, unapologetic, truthful smile. And it’s the most beautiful sight to see.
A/N : Thanks for all the love on my last Tyler fic. I’m very recently getting back into writing so please let me know if you enjoy!! Thank youuu again, HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
#tyler galpin fanfic#tyler galpin x reader#tyler galpin x y/n#tyler galpin imagine#tyler galpin#wednesday addams#wednesday imagine#wednesday netflix#wednesday fanfic
244 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tension | episode 3 - Occupational hazard
Series Masterlist
Previous
Pairing: Francisco Morales x female reader
WC: ~6300
Summary: Frankie doesn’t call or text, until he has a back issue again that is. You're a little mad, and he finds a way to apologize.
Disclaimer: Same as the last time basically; I’m not a massage therapist. The thoughts and actions described in this one are, as the title says, unprofessional. I do not mean to sexualize the job massage therapists do. I only mean to oil Frankie up in order to eventually serve you all with some deep-fried filthy smut, like you deserve.
*There are edible massage oils. Google says so.
*Assume they had the whole ‘are you clean? Are you on the pill?’ convo off-screen.
Rating: E. MINORS DNI. 18+
Warnings: SMUT with all capitals. This is porn ma'am. Unprotected P in V, Oral (F receiving), fingering, and a bunch of other goodies.
Occupational hazard
Text her pendejo, just pick up your fucking phone and text. You’ve been thinking about it non-stop. Just be done with it.
What’s the worst that can happen? She thinks you're a creep and she will politely ignore you or tell you to find someone else. Just stop torturing yourself and text the girl.
Frankie repeated the conversation he has been having with himself a few times a day for the past week. A sharp pang hit his gut every time you crossed his mind, he began feeling almost guilty, but then again, maybe you weren’t expecting him to text at all. The bouts of self doubt came and went, where he’d be feeling confident and sure of himself one day, he would somehow manage to convince himself that he had no basis for that feeling the very next.
Why would a sweet, funny, pretty girl like you would actually want him? What business did you have getting involved with someone this damaged? He didn’t want to seem like an over- eager old creep. The thought paralyzed him, made him disregard any notion of you reciprocating his feelings.
When Joel called asking to borrow Frankie’s truck to move his notoriously heavy couch, he found himself insisting on helping him with the move. The nine foot brown leather monstrosity was being shipped off to the junkyard, to the great delight of Joel’s wife, Melissa. She was ecstatic at the thought of finally replacing it, after thirteen years.
The words left his mouth before he had a chance to regret them. “Joel stop being an ass and let me help you, your back is fucked up and Mel will kill you if you try to do it by yourself”
Frankie was making a good enough point for Joel to reluctantly agree, with the promise of feeding him some lunch when they were done.
Melissa was more than happy to cook for whomever got “Jabba the couch” out of her house.
The drizzle intensified as Frankie was driving, he hated the rain with a passion and it filled him with a sense of unease, like it was somehow attacking him personally. He knew however that this had to be done, and it had to be done today, since the new couch was arriving later that afternoon.
Suddenly the thought of you crossed his mind, the inviting treatment room, dimly-lit and smelling of fresh laundry and essential oils. Your warm deft hands on him, the sweetness of your voice and your smile. It filled him with comforting warmth, maybe texting you wasn’t such a far fetched idea after all.
He didn’t let his mind wander further to the swell of your ass and the way that your top seemed to cling to your perfect breasts, otherwise he would be arriving at Joel's with a raging boner.
45 minutes after they started, the men were finally able to get the couch out of the front door. Both were already panting and sweaty and they still had a long way to go. Thankfully the rain subsided and they were able to load it onto the truck faster than anticipated.
“So… how do you like your new massage therapist?” Joel asked with a knowing smile.
“She’s, yeah…she’s great, really helped me” Frankie replied, hanging onto some last modicum of discretion.
“She did now, didn’t she?” Joel cocked his eyebrows.
“Fuck off man, she gave me a massage. Yeah it was really good” Frankie scoffed. He’d say you’re also funny and charming and hot. But he already saw the shit eating grin spread on Joel’s face.
When the truck backed into the junk yard Frankie already noticed the dire state of the muddy ground, that was sure to make their job harder.
The rain picked up again, soaking into their clothes as they attempted to unload the brown behemoth. They pushed it slowly out of the back of the truck, attempting to support its weight as much as possible. The couch was hanging by a thread, half of it still on the truck and the other half held by both men. That was when Joel’s boot slipped. He laid his weight on the couch in an attempt to brace himself, causing it to topple over the edge. Frankie’s instinct to try and stop it from falling over was clearly misguided as he felt a muscle in his back pull, before he leaped backwards, landing flat on his ass in the mud.
The hysterical laughter that ensued was inevitable, and ensured Frankie and Joel that they both were fine.
An hour and a half after they departed both men strolled into Melissa’s aptly named mud-room, soaking and filthy.
Frankie can sure pull this look off. She thought to herself as she took their sight in, immediately bursting into laughter herself.
“My heroes! Looks like Jabba put up a fight. Let’s get you cleaned and fed” she chimed.
*******
Another day passed without any messages from Frankie, you were past feeling disappointed, veering into the indifferent zone. You were still mad at yourself though, waiting for him to throw you a bone like some kind of hookup that never bothered texting after the fact. How pathetic.
You understood that there were some things that were not supposed to come into fruition. You didn’t really know him, there could have been a thousand different reasons for him not to reach out. The sting of unfulfilled potential was bound to wear off eventually.
You were sprawled on the couch after a particularly long day, watching Brooklyn nine-nine for the umpteenth time, still in your work clothes, minus the bra.
The soft *ping* of your phone went unnoticed.
It was three AM when you woke up, delirious and confused, you were greeted with the “are you still watching?” Netflix message. It took a while to register exactly where you are and how you fell asleep. You threw yourself on the bed, vowing to shower in the morning, when your hand landed on your phone that laid discarded on your comforter.
You picked it up to check the time, but your eyes went straight to the notification instead. You blinked twice just to make sure you were not imagining this.
Hey there. How are you?I wanted to ask if you have any appointments available soon, I think I pulled a muscle.ThanksFrancisco.
Really??!
“Hi there”..?! “I pulled a muscle”?!You repeated his message out loud with the most mocking tone you could muster.
You put your phone down, realizing quickly that a three AM response would probably be ill-advised. You could fume about this for a few hours and respond when you were calmer, and in a more reasonable hour.
I’m ok, thank you.
Thursday 18:00.
It took you four hours to come up with this.
You hit the send button and quickly tossed your phone aside, with every intention of ignoring it for at least four hours more.
********
Great, see you then.
He replied back nervously. Is she pissed?
Frankie was talented and accomplished in many fields, texting however, wasn't his forte. He debated whether or not to ask anyone about this, opting to share with Melissa.
After a brief retelling of what happened between you, she concluded with confidence;
"Oh, she's definitely pissed."
"But Mel, What the hell did I do?" He was confused. He had a general feeling, that maybe the flirtation was a bit too much and it creeped you out, maybe you were only treating him because he's friends with Joel, and that you want to keep it professional moving forward.
Melissa however had an entirely different explanation.
"Francisco, sweetie, that's not it. It's what you didn't do. God how do you men even function, when every non-technical detail needs to be explained to you?!"
"Huh?" Was his only response.
"You have a degree in aviation and can do advanced math in your head, but this is beyond your comprehension?"
The face she made was truly bewildered.
"You flirted her face off, gave her a kiss on the cheek, made it purposefully 'hot' as you admitted yourself, and then, you did nothing. Not a call or a text. Just silence"
"Oh" it seemed so painfully obvious when she explained it that way.
"And then, after more than a week passed, you asked to schedule what is essentially a work appointment for her"
"Oh..fuck" Frankie pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his face in embarrassment.
"Yeah, fuck indeed, no wonder she's pissed. Shit men are dumb."
Frankie nodded. Yeah we are.
*******
17:23 the clock glowed. Your five pm canceled, causing the time to crawl even slower, each second stretched like a piece of old gum, now that you had nothing better to do than sit and wait for him.
You plucked your eyebrows and picked at your nails and even watered your lone plant, the one that managed to survive. You named it Harry, the fern who lived.
17:34
You proceeded to eat a banana, then a cookie, then brushed your teeth because said cookie left a strange taste in your mouth.
A part of you wished he'd cancel too. The affect of him has worn off, but you knew that the moment he walks in it will undoubtedly return with a vengeance, punching you harder, hitting you faster.
17:48
You checked yourself in the mirror, for the eleventh time. You were mad, but you were not about to let him catch you looking like crap. Push up bra was back on. And perhaps a tiny bit of tinted lip balm, and maybe some strategically placed perfume.
17:57
*Ding Dong*
Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of the doorbell. You stopped yourself for a moment, closing your eyes and repeating your mantra. He’s just a client.
The motherfucker was wearing a sweater. How dare he.
The thin-knit forest green material hugged him perfectly, extenuating the broadness of his shoulders and the soft definition of his pecks. The white t-shirt peeking from the collar was the final straw, pulling your eyes onto his long neck, bringing out the sun-kissed hue of his skin.
“Hey” He smiled softly, turning his eyes to the floor as he walked in.
“Hi” you replied simply, dryly. Stretching a polite fake smile on your face, trying to ignore how goddamn infuriatingly good he looked. Sweaters were your personal kryptonite.
He’s just a client.
The air was tense when you walked into the treatment room. Frankie’s gut was in knots as you kept quiet, not letting any pleasantries slip past your lips. He understood now that the ball was in his court, Mel made that perfectly clear.
“Can we talk for a moment?” He asked hesitantly.
”Is it treatment-related?” you replied, as calmly as possible.
“Well..I don’t think it is” He took a deep breath before he continued.
“See, I meant to text you but I didn’t want you to think..”
“Frankie, I think it’s best if we talk after.” You stopped him mid sentence. You assumed you knew what this was about, but letting him stew for a bit seemed like a good idea. Maybe your hands on him would help jog his memory as to why he needed to apologize in the first place.
Truth be told, you were afraid that no matter what he said you would not be able to continue after that, so you asked him to wait, not to change anything between the two of you just yet.
“Yeah, we can do that” he replied. Unsure of himself.
“Now, can you tell me which muscle you think you pulled?” This was your attempt to pull on the “therapist” mask, to resume your role as the clinical professional.
“It’s right around here” he pointed to his mid-lower back. You assumed it’s around the T12 vertebrae.
“What happened?” You asked, genuinely curious as to the reason he finally contacted you.
“I helped Joel move a couch to the junkyard and landed on my ass in the mud”
“Ouch” You chuckled at his response. Serves you right.It was damn near impossible to stay mad at him.
Your hands slipped under his sweater as you prodded him through the soft cotton of his tee. It felt so intimate, so incredibly personal, even more than when your oiled palms glided all over his skin. He could feel the ghost of your breath at the back of his neck as you leaned a little closer and it made his skin prickle, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand.
You could smell him, inhaling deeply the soft clean scent of his soap. You bit your tongue, fighting the urge to wrap your arms around him, to cling to his warmth. This was going to be more difficult than you thought.
As he was getting ready, you stared at the door of the treatment room. You couldn't help but imagine him pulling off his sweater and tee with one swift motion, revealing his bare chest, the muscles of his back rippling under his skin, the long arms pulling the fabric, the way his hair would bounce. Every single detail you could think of seemed to spur you on, causing the heat to pull between your thighs.
He’s just a client.
Gone was the indulgent want for you to touch him, it was replaced with a desperate need.
A low huff left his lips as soon as your hands were on him. Finally
However he might have wronged you, your touch felt like forgiveness, a soothing balm on his nerves.
Why did he wait so fucking long? What the hell was stopping him? Was it wrong for him to want this for himself? Was he truly so far beyond redemption that he didn’t even deserve this?
The thoughts that swirled in his mind began to quiet one by one, brushed off by the slide of your hands, melted by the drizzle of hot oil.
“I’m going to warm you up before we take care of that knot” you stated, granting him another delicious slide up his back. You relished every centimeter of skin at your fingertips.
“Mhmmm” he purred back. God I missed that sound.
He shuddered with excitement as he felt the bed dip beneath you. You climbed on and settled on his left. You began pressing into his muscle but the angle wasn’t right, you needed to change the position.
The gentle tap on his thigh encouraged him to spread his legs as you rolled the sheet back off his left leg. He was confused but followed along, he would comply with anything you’d ask of him.
He swallowed thickly as he felt your knee between his thighs.
Now your thumbs rolled into his aching muscle again and again, the knot was easy to find and each swipe of your hands hit it accurately. You could see his face contorted with pain, and you knew it would hurt, he tensed up and grunted as the pads of your fingers dug deeper into him, unwavering ,circling the painful spot over and over again.
“I know it’s painful” you said quietly, attempting to assure him that it will not be long now.
“No good deed goes unpunished” he replied with a slight chuckle that made you smile.
The truth was, he was thankful for the pain, the only thing distracting him from the heavenly heat emanating from your core. He could feel it on his leg and it took everything in his power not to imagine you riding his thigh. The heat crept up his groin slowly, clawing towards his cock, unstoppable and unrelenting. He was afraid that a moment would arrive when the pain was not enough.
If he only knew.. if he had any idea…
You counted his vertebrae and listed the latin names of his back muscles one by one. Trapezius, Deltoid, Teres Major, Latissimus Dorsi…Desperate attempts to think about anything other than the warmth radiating off him, the graze of his thigh against yours.
The knot was almost gone now and you slid the heels of your palms on both sides of his spine one last time.
"Ow!" he yelped. “I think…when you slide your hands like that, I think some pain is radiating..lower?”
He didn’t quite know how to explain the sharp pang in his right butt cheek.
“That’s quite possible actually, that you have some other knot we missed and it can definitely radiate onto your glutes. Can I check?”
“Is that your professional way to ask me for permission to touch my butt?”
“Guilty as charged. It also happens to be the largest muscle in the body… so I have a perfectly good excuse”
“Well, I’m at your mercy, as usual” He turned his head backwards as much as possible and smiled his soft signature smile, banishing any traces of anger or annoyance you might have been holding on to.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.” You smiled back now.
His heart felt lighter at the sound of your voice.
“I’ll repeat the motion and you tell me exactly where you feel the pain”
You slid your hands again and watched his face scrunch up. He pointed his hand on his right buttock.
“I’m going to have to tuck those a bit higher” you pulled at his boxers gently.
“Mhm” he nodded and swallowed thickly. This might be a problem. Shit.
Gently but efficiently you rolled his boxers up, exposing a soft little butt cheek. Tiny pale stretch marks ran across its side. You tried not to stare, but looking at it was a part of the job.
Such a sweet little ass.
Was all you could think of as you ran oiled up fingers up his thigh and onto the tight muscle.
Frankie took deeper breaths now. Doing everything in his power not to clench at your touch.
For a moment he felt a relief as you now focused on his butt cheek and dug your fingers deeper into the painful spot, but then you added oil onto your hands.
And then you began sliding down his hip in a smooth inward motion.
Tips of your fingers brushing so closely to his inner thigh.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Blood rushed towards his cock with every swipe. So close, your hand was so fucking close.
Shit. SHIT.
No no no…shit please not now.
He knew this could happen, at some point it was bound to happen, but this was really fucking bad timing.
He was gone now, no force in nature could stop the tightening in his abdomen and the painful hardness of his cock, which was now pressed fully into the mattress.
It twitched with every swipe of your hands, as the tension in his lower stomach grew, as he attempted to fight the consuming urge to rut his erection against the bed and find some relief.
Waves of shame and arousal crashed into him one after the other, as his mind desperately scrambled for a way to explain or excuse himself.
You progressed down Frankie’s leg, and you felt him tense up, his breaths shorter and quicker.
You could say you were oblivious to the situation, but something inside you knew, or at least suspected, that he might be having that kind of a reaction. Because something inside you knew that your touch was too purposeful to begin with.
You couldn’t say which little demon encouraged your fingers to softly brush against the most sensitive parts they could reach, but the mere thought of him growing harder from your touch made you feral.
What felt like history’s longest fucking foreplay, had you both on the very last edge.
“Turn around please” You used the calmest tone you could pull from your mouth.
Too distracted by the dirtiest thoughts on one hand, and the attempts to calm himself down on the other, Frankie was startled by your request.
FUCK.
“ummm…I…ummmm…” He did not know how to approach this.
“Is everything ok?” You asked, noticing his apprehension.
“Yeah I’m fine, it’s just..umm..fuck” Frankie leaned on his forearms and gave you the most apologetic look, before glancing downwards, pointing to the source of the issue as discreetly as possible.
“Oh..” the message sank in as you gave him an understanding nod.
“Yeah… I’m sorry” That’s it, she’s gonna kick me out, fuck.
“Frankie, it’s ok, really, it’s totally fine, it’s natural, nothing to apologize for” You attempted to reassure him.
“I just, I really don’t want you to think that I’m a creep. You’re just so good..your hands are so amazing..I really didn’t mean for this to happen, do you…do you want me to go? I can go..” He rambled as his face turned bright red.
“I don’t want you to go, and I don’t think you're a creep Frankie. Quite the opposite. I thought that was obvious”
Guess we are doing this now. Oh well.
“Really…What’s the opposite of creep?” He smirked, amused all of a sudden.
“Well…tall, sexy, and a little smug, apparently.” Your heart pounded in your throat as you smirked right back at him.
He chuckled, too pleased with your response to have a quick comeback.
“Turn around Frankie.” Your voice was calmer, more commanding now.
“Ok” Frankie swallowed thickly and turned to lay on his back, still leaning on his forearms. The sheet covering him pulled to the side, revealing the unmistakable tent in his boxers.
You tore your eyes away after only a split second, but it was just enough time to see it.
Well happy birthday and Merry Christmas to me.
The sheer size of him was blatantly visible even through the thin dark material.
Looking in his eyes was far more challenging, you moved closer to him as he pulled himself up to sit on the bed and face you. You felt your blood drain from your face, pulled towards your stomach, laced with equal parts anxiety and arousal.
You stood closer now, almost between his legs, and you laid a careful hand on his chest.
“Do you..do you want to stop?” you asked, averting your eyes from his.
“Fuck no.” he responded, smiling softly “Thought that was obvious”
You smiled back, lifting your eyes at him, meeting his warm gaze.
Keeping his eyes on you, he took both of your hands in his, laying soft gentle kisses on your palms, brushing your fingers against his lips, reverently worshiping the hands that brought him so much pleasure and relief. You could not look away now, as he laid a tender kiss on each knuckle. It was the hottest, most sensual thing you have ever witnessed. His kisses flowed gently up your arm, pulling you closer towards him, until your faces were inches apart. You took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, as he cradled your face in his large palm.
"C'mere" he whispered, leaning in and finally pressing his mouth to yours.
His lips were so soft, warm, pliant and sweet. You allowed him to deepen the kiss, swiping his warm tongue into your mouth. His kiss was deep but unhurried, allowing him to taste you properly. Frankie saw no need to rush this, he wanted to enjoy every second and every inch of your body.
You carded your fingers through the soft waves on the nape of his neck and pulled even closer, flushed against his bare chest.
His arms brushed your sides, fingers reaching under the soft fabric of your tee, hot against your skin, asking for permission. You nodded, not breaking the kiss, as he slowly rolled it up and pulled it off.
Large arms engulfed you fully, pressing you against him, running along your back, to the swell of your ass, and back up towards your neck, like he could not touch you enough.
Frankie pulled the bra straps off your shoulders one by one, relishing the opportunity to undress you slowly, leisurely. He unclasped the back with one deft hand.
“Impressive” you teased
“Beginners luck” he chuckled back, resuming the open mouthed kisses on your neck, cupping your right breast in his hand, enjoying the softness, the weight of it.
When you climbed on the bed, he laid you on your back. You weren't used to this position, could not remember an instance when you were the one laying down.
“Are we really…doing this? I mean, is this ok with you?” Laying on top of you might have not been the best timing for the question, but he needed to make sure.
“Eh…it’s an occupational hazard” You shrugged, before bursting into a giggle.
"What is?" His brows furrowed for a moment, and he looked too adorable not to kiss.
"That thing you've got there…" you cocked your brows, lowering your gaze.
"I'll take that as a compliment" he chuckled. He'd take his cock over a six pack any day.
"You should"
"I will"
"Good"
“Yes, Frankie, this is very ok with me” you said softly, tucking loose waves away from his forehead before pulling his mouth back to yours.
Frankies lips traveled down, he took one pebbled nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around , a perfect mixture of hot and cold, soft and hard.
"This is so fucking ok with me” you mumbled, grinding your clothed pussy on his thigh. You could feel him painfully hard, pressed against you, as you cupped him through his boxers. It felt even bigger than before, and the thought of him opening you up and stretching you out sent a sweet wave of anticipation straight to your core.
"I wanna take care of you, please?" He asked softly.
"Please", you said, practically begging him to touch you.
"Can I…use the oil?" he whispered in your ear, sending goosebumps along your side, pressing soft kisses to your neck and down the slope of your shoulder.
"Sure…it's almond oil” you nodded, pleased beyond belief that this man took all of 5 minutes to figure you out.
It was so intimate, perhaps too intimate, but you trusted Frankie, something about him put you at ease. You knew his body and now it seemed fitting for him to get to know yours in the same way.
He lifted himself up, caging your legs between his knees and gently pulled on the elastic of your pants, as you lifted your pelvis to allow him to slide them down your legs. He reached for the oil on the stand next to the bed. The hot liquid pooled in his hands and he rubbed them together. He laid his large warm palms on your thighs, sliding them downwards, rubbing the soft flesh and spreading the oil, then moving back upwards from your knees to your hips. Frankie was mesmerized by the glow of the slick on your skin. He repeated the motion, more confident now, earning himself a sweet purr from your lips.
“Does that feel good?” he asked hesitantly, requiring a little more encouragement.
“mhm…Yes…” You answered, breathless.
His hands slid back up, tips of his fingers reaching under the hem of your panties, as you flooded with arousal and anticipation. He repeated the motion again, this time brushing his thumbs closer to your inner thighs. A soft little moan left your lips, making him smirk. He continued sliding his hands down and back up, getting closer and closer to your core. Your thighs clenched together and hips bucked slightly, begging for his touch where you needed him most. But Frankie was enjoying himself far too much, at last he was the one doing the teasing and you were the one writhing at his touch.
He ran a careful thumb on your clothed pussy, testing the waters. He kept his eyes on your face, making sure you were comfortable. The slacked jaw, heavy panting and white knuckles from grabbing at the sheet beneath you told him everything he needed to know.
He kept circling your clit above your panties, watching them get progressively more and more soaked. “This is where you want me?..hmmm?” he teased while his fingers ran along your slit, making you impossibly wetter and needier.
“Fuck, Frankie!” you whined.
He chuckled at your impatience.
His hands ran up your inner thighs again, taunting you with every inch of progress towards your throbbing cunt, he brushed the tips of his fingers under the band of your panties “Can I take these off?”
You lifted your hips and allowed him to slide the soaked fabric down your legs.
You laid exposed before him. "Fuck your'e beautiful" he whispered.
He added more oil, before sliding his palms from your breasts, down your belly and onto your thighs again. His hands traveled back up, unable to stop himself from relishing in the addictively soft texture of your body at his fingertips. He spread the oil further, circling your nipples, then brushing along your ribs, down the dip of your belly button, and back up to your clavicles. He marveled at your smooth skin, shiny and golden under the dim lights.
"Spread your legs for me baby” he rasped, you obliged immediately
“Good girl"
With the gentlest touch, he ran two thumbs on the sensitive lips of your cunt, spreading your glistening folds. You whimpered, clenching around nothing.
He oiled his hands again, letting it drip from the tips of his fingers onto your pussy. You shuddered at the sensation of each drop. He gently spread the oil between your folds, mixing it with your arousal. His index prodded your entrance before sliding inside, slowly pumping in and out of your tight wet heat.
Mesmerized, Frankie lowered himself to lay between your legs, and licked a thick stripe up your slit. "Pretty pretty pussy" he murmured, circling your clit with his tongue, then dipping it into your hole, drinking you up.
You couldn't tell exactly what Frankie was doing, but the limited amount of times men have gone down on you, it never felt like this, not even close. Arousal and heat bloomed between your thighs, spreading along your belly, crawling up your limbs and down the tips of your toes. He seemed to be speaking directly to your core, whispering soft nothings, making the filthiest promises and coaxing out every ounce of pleasure.
Your hands laced into his hair, fingers gently tugging at the roots while he ate you out like you were his last meal. There was a generosity to his movements, like he could happily spend a day between your legs.
Your hips bucked at him, asking for more. "You need another finger baby? To get you ready to take my cock?"
All you could do is moan louder. The filth this man spoke so freely drove you insane.
Frankie added his middle finger, sliding it in with ease as you were dripping on his knuckles. The coil in your belly tightened, with each swipe of his tongue on your clit, Frankie could feel you drawing close. He purred, alternating between licking and sucking gently at the perfect spot just under your clit, pushing you over the edge of a cliff into a pool of pleasure. Your body convulsed as you squeezed him tightly between your thighs, he could feel the flutter of your walls on his fingers, and the wave of slick that poured out of you into his awaiting mouth. "Yes baby, yes, give it to me, taste so fucking good" he muttred, drinking everything you could give him.
After you came down from your high Frankie kissed his way up to your lips, the lust drunk look in your eyes told him what you could not.
“Wow” when you finally spoke, that was all you could manage.
“Are you ok? Do you wanna stop?” He asked, softly brushing away loose strands that stuck to your forehead.
You tsked, shaking your head slowly, and proceeded to whisper in his ear “I want you to fuck me Frankie" peppering kisses on his earlobe and behind his ear. Goosebumps erupted across his skin and ran down his back. His cock twitched at the sensation.
“Fuck baby, your’e gonna kill me”
"Since you've already killed me, it only seems fair"
"Well, how can I argue with a pretty girl asking to be fucked so sweetly?
"You better don't"
"Wouldn't dream of it"
You pulled him closer again, kissing him lazily through your post orgasm haze, sneaking a curious finger through the hemline of his boxers. Frankie's breath hitched as he felt you swipe his sensitive tip, leaking with precum and screaming for relief. You tugged on the band, encouraging him to take the fabric off.
Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock. Heavy and thick and perfectly veiny. It was your turn to reach for the oil, bringing your loaded palm to his throbbing length. You stroked lazily at first, as Frankie mumbled curses and prayers, not taking his eyes off your hand wrapped around him, spreading the warm oil all over his shaft, gently running your thumb on the tip. The smooth delicious glide of your oiled hand felt better than he could imagine, drawing him impossibly closer to his release with every stroke.
"Fuck..as much as I thought about this, if you dont stop, I'm gonna cum"
"Really? You thought about this..?"
"Mhm…I also thought about other things"
"Such as?" You asked teasingly, pulling him to lay in between your legs.
"Such as this.." he rasped, notching himself at your entrance.
You canted your hips at the sensation. He sank into your heat with a groan, slowly pushing himself to the hilt.
The delicious stretch made your walls flutter. "shit Frankie, move, please" you begged, whimpering with need.
Your legs locked on his back as he began to slowly buck his hips, gently opening you up on his girth. For all his mass and strength he was surprisingly gentle.
He kissed the column of your neck, nibbling at your chin, before your mouths latched onto each other, breathing each other's air. Frankie’s pace picked up slightly. “Uh…uh…fuck!” you moaned with each thrust, the coil in your belly tightening.
You could hear the obscene squelch of your slick each time he pounded into you. Frankie lifted himself up slightly, eyes entranced and black with lust as he watched his glistening cock slide in between your puffy folds, spurring him to go harder and deeper still.
He hooked his arm around your waist, pulling you up with surprising ease. You straddled his hips, leaning back on one arm to balance yourself, gripping into his shoulder with the other.
He began fucking into you faster, and your hips moved to meet his with every stroke, the angle making his length hit impossibly deep within you. Your bodies moved in sync, shiny with sweat and oil. "Good girl, use my cock, take what you need" He muttered as he felt you approaching your release. You climbed higher and higher, your cunt gripping onto his cock like a vice, until one final stroke pushed you off, made you soar. Pleasure searing through every cell, pouring into every crevice, exploding in thousands of tiny bursts.
Frankie felt your release pulsating on his cock, he fucked into you as deep as he could, gripping your hips with bruising strength, roaring as he flooded your core with ropes of his hot spend.
Frankie collapsed on top of you with a groan, chest heaving, mind blown. Both of you too fucked out and spent to speak, breathing heavily in a synchronized pace.
He nuzzled into your cheek, kissing across your face, until he reached your nose and placed a peck on the tip, before reaching your lips again.
You exchanged lazy kisses, nibbling and licking into each other’s mouths, slowly coming down from your respective highs.
“Holy fuck” you rasped
“Yeah, holy fuck indeed” Frankie replied with a coarse voice.
“No, I mean, holy fuck this bed is sturdy. I never tested it like that before” You teased.
“Also, you blew my brains out, can I make you some tea as a show of my appreciation?”
“Only if you give me one of your sex mugs to drink it from” Frankie chuckled back.
“Sure, I’ll even throw in some cookies to sweeten the deal”
*******
You stood in the kitchen, the dim glow of the pendant light above the counter illuminating your bodies, nude and barefoot, still emanating heat from your previous activities. Frankie snuck an arm around your waist as you poured the boiling water into the mug.
It felt strangely familiar, his warmth engulfing your senses, you could get used to this.
You welcomed the gesture, brushing away the notion that it felt too intimate, too good to be true. You’d never let him know, with your quick wit and your casual demeanor, how nervous you truly were, because this was something special.
Just enjoy it, this, him.
As if he sensed your post-coital nervousness, Frankie asked sheepishly. “So..I've been meaning to ask you, before the…um…crazy sex. Can I maybe take you out to dinner?”
“I’ll think about it” You chuckled with relief, setting the freshly made cup of tea in front of him.
Frankie looked at it slightly confused, it had a picture of an Excel spreadsheet with the green logo on it. After a few seconds he began to laugh, “Freak in the sheets” was written in black across the bottom.
“I’ll take it as a compliment” he smiled at you, that sweet soft smile with the creases around his eyes and the dimple you could not resist.
“You should” you giggled back.
“I will”
“Good”
FIN.
Thank you so much, I also tagged anyone who reblogged part#2, hope it’s ok with you. You will not be automatically tagged in future fics unless you ask me to.
@romanarose @hbc8 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @astroboots @welcometostayingawake @damnyoupedro @kirsteng42 @boysddontcry @miraclesabound @jump-over-my-fence @wildemaven
#massage#frankie catfish morales x you#frankie morales x you#frankie catfish morales x reader#frankie morales/reader#frankie catfish morales#pedro pascal#smut fic
150 notes
·
View notes
Text
scared to live, scared to die
pairing: tk strand/carlos reyes
title: noah kahan - northern attitude
word count: 2.2k
bad things happen bingo: therapy session
AO3
Carlos fidgets in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs, wiping the sweat from his palms on the denim of his jeans. He feels like he’s on trial.
“So, Carlos, how have you been since our last appointment?”
“Good,” he says, a little too quickly. He presses his palms together as if he were praying and sandwiches them between his thighs. His therapist is nice enough but he’s never sure of what to say when it comes to the questions Candice asks. It’s as if there’s a right answer to everything and as Carlos throws a dart–aiming for right–and it falls into the trash can underneath the dart board.
“Tell me more about ‘good’.”
Fuck. That was not the correct answer. Once again, the dart hits home in a scrunched up ball of paper.
“There’s nothing really to say,” he says. “It’s been okay, not good or bad.”
“And your sleep? Are you still having nightmares?”
Carlos shakes his head, prepared to lie, before changing his mind and nodding. “Yeah.”
Last night was one of the worst. It was the same sensation of drowning but the water was thick like molasses and every movement he made to bring himself closer to the surface, closer to finally being able to take a breath, served only to sink him even further. He’d woken up breathing hard and TK woke up not long after, running a hand in circles between his shoulder blades until he could finally breathe again.
He doesn’t know what he would do without TK. These horrors that seem unbearable were made less so by the presence of his fiancé, he always had someone to lean on and that made all the difference. He couldn’t have faced this alone, couldn’t have spent the sleepless nights with only the shadows for company, couldn’t have done it without someone stronger than him by his side.
“You previously mentioned the theme of drowning. Is it much the same?”
Again, he nods.
“And how many hours do you think you’re getting per night?”
He does the math in his head. He went to bed at 10:30pm but he lay awake listening to TK’s soft snoring until the alarm clock at his side of the bed read 12:07am and again, when he woke up from his nightmare it was 5:24am. He couldn’t get back to sleep after that, so he read the news on his phone (as if he needed more things to be depressed about) and got an early start to his day. He made pancakes for breakfast which TK accepted gratefully with a kiss on the cheek.
TK had stopped asking how much sleep Carlos was getting, they both knew that it was too little but he had gently urged Carlos to try and nap after his therapy appointment. It was easier for Carlos to sleep when it was daytime, sunlight filtering through the loft and casting glow to the dust particles that hung in the air.
“About five and a half hours,” Carlos answers after careful deliberation.
Candice sucks her teeth and scribbles something down on her notepad. “That’s not ideal. Do you want to work on some strategies we can take to help you get more sleep?”
With a sigh, Carlos pulls himself up by the bootstraps and makes eye contact with Candice for the first time in this whole session. Her eyes are glacial. “Actually, I was wondering if there was any medication I could try for it?”
“Certainly. There’s a few different options and different medications will do different things. Whether you need something to help you get to sleep or something to help you stay asleep. I’ll email your care coordinator after our session and get her to reach out to you about scheduling a psychiatrist appointment.”
Psychiatrist. What a scary word.
Carlos has been to see a few psychiatrists in his life. He remembers a nice psychiatrist from when he was young. He was eight and her name was Nicole. She worked with him and his parents to diagnose him with autism. She was nice.
He’d seen two psychiatrists in the past couple of weeks since the kidnapping. The first was the one involved with the crisis team which TK had dragged him to go and see. And after five hours sitting in the hospital waiting room, he finally got to see them and tell them everything that had been going on. The sleepless nights and terrors and the lingering fear that followed him wherever he went. Dr Cooper was his name, he wasn’t very helpful in the grand scheme of things but he did prescribe Carlos antidepressants to hopefully alleviate some of his symptoms, for now it was still too early to tell.
Dr Reese was the other psychiatrist, the one that he saw two weeks ago to check in and see how the meds were going for him. She increased his antidepressants and gave him helpful pamphlets about PTSD and a bunch of cards with different hotlines he could call, including one he could text. 1737. He would have to remember that.
If it were up to him, he would like to go back and see Dr Reese but he knew that likely wasn’t going to be the case. The demand for psychiatrists far outweighed the amount available so it would be a few weeks wait at the least before he got in to see anyone.
“That would be great, thank you,” Carlos said, flashing her a careful smile.
Candice adjusts her position, crossing her left ankle over her right and clicking her pen. The sound grated on Carlos’ nerves like he was a christmas tree strung up with lights. The constant hum of something overwhelming him. God, this hour could not go fast enough.
Eventually the hour does go by fast, when Candice starts unpacking his trauma with him and he feels like he’s going to start dramatically weeping but holds it together so much that the only indication that he feels anything is that his hands won’t stop shaking. But he maintains his composure despite the fact that even he can tell that his voice is flat and lifeless as he just gives his therapist the most basic answers to her questions.
“Today’s session has been kind of full-on, make sure to take it easy on yourself and do something you enjoy to emotionally regulate,” Candice says as she hands him a card with his next appointment time on it. Next Monday, 1pm.
Carlos takes the card and tucks it in his wallet, in front of his debit card that he will need to pay for hospital parking. $2 for an hour, you have got to be joking.
His next stop is the pharmacy. He stands in line with his hands in the pockets of TK’s borrowed hoodie and listens to the terrible radio as it is the only sound in the entire building aside from the squeaking of shoes on linoleum and the scratch of pens on paper. The current song playing is something he knows is Taylor Swift but he tries to think of anything else to distract himself.
In his mind he runs over the process of getting his prescription. He will take one of the cards off the counter when the man in front of him moves up in the line and he will write down his name, phone number, and address, and then he will hand it to the pharmacist and she will give him his antidepressants. Paroxetine, 20mg. Hopefully increasing it means that it will start to help because Carlos is at his wit’s end.
He has to go to the pharmacy twenty minutes away from the loft because the closest one was the one that Darryl used to work at and he refused to ever step foot in that place. He didn’t understand how he could have gotten away with stealing morphine for so long to kill vulnerable women. It’s a hassle but he does it anyway, it makes him feel better.
The man in front of him steps further up the line.
Carlos grabs the card he’s had his eyes glued to for the past three minutes and starts filling out his details. He’s completely zoned out from his surroundings until he hears it. Her voice.
The same voice that talked to him sweetly and crooned over his love for TK as she force-fed him cookies and hit him over the head with a shovel and injected him with a lethal amount of morphine. The woman who feigned empathy for him while keeping him zip tied up in her kitchen.
He can still feel the cool blade of the knife up against his throat.
He snaps to attention, pen and card forgotten.
“Have a nice day, lovely,” she says.
It’s as if all the oxygen in the building has ceased to exist, Carlos tries to breathe it in but his lungs just get heavier and heavier. He needs to get out of here, preferably without her seeing him.
Carefully, Carlos sets down the pen, trying not to make a sound. There’s a slight rattle as the chain on the pen shifts but the card is silent as he slides it into his pocket.
He presses a hand over his heart and he can feel it hammering away.
Out.
He needs to get out.
Ignoring everyone else in the line, Carlos turns and stalks out, mission abandoned. His senses are going haywire, brain on the fritz as he tries to escape. He feels like a caged animal clawing at the bars and lunging at caretakers.
Carlos just keeps pressing on his chest, as if the pressure would make it easier to breathe.
The cold air stings his face as he steps outside sans his prescription. He pulls his phone from his pocket and quickly presses on TK’s contact info, holding the phone up to his ear.
Pick up. Please, pick up.
TK picks up on the third ring with a breathless “hey.”
Carlos’ breath hitches as tears burn in his eyes, distorting his vision. He can’t get any words out.
“What’s up?” TK asks, his voice softer.
“TK.” His voice is strained, sharp and wrought with emotion.
“What’s going on, are you okay?”
“I saw her.”
He can hear some shuffling on the other end, maybe TK doing dishes or playing foosball, either way he was interrupting something with his call and that fact alone just made him feel so guilty.
“Saw who, babe?” TK sounds confused but worried. It’s a tone Carlos had seen often in the past few weeks, he’d taken the kidnapping really rough and TK was his rock through all of it. When he was struggling all he needed was his fiancé.
“Trudy.”
“Where are you? I thought you had therapy.”
“I did,” Carlos says. “I’m at the pharmacy.”
“You didn’t see her, babe. She’s in jail, where she belongs.”
“I can still feel her.”
“I know, baby. Do you need me to come?”
“No.” The tears start falling. Carlos wanders down the side of the building, hastily wiping at his eyes with his free hand. They’re hot on his cheeks, a stark contrast to the bitter chill in the air. But Carlos just feels too hot, like he’s burning up a fever. “No, you have to work.”
“I can skive off, no worries.”
“No, don’t worry about it. I feel better already, I think I’m just going to sit in my car for a bit and try again.”
“Okay, if you say so. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”
“Yes please,” Carlos says, his voice breaking. He turns on his heel and marches back up towards the front doors but passess them, his eyes locked on his blue camaro.
He doesn’t mind if people stare at him, crying outside the pharmacy on a monday afternoon, honestly he doesn’t even care if anyone sees him right now. He has a mission: get to his car and then he’s safe.
When he opens the door, he all but flings himself into the driver’s seat. It still smells like incense from TK’s attempt at cleansing the bad vibes left by his car being dumped while he was kidnapped. Carlos worried that the leather would always smell of the inside of a crystal store.
“How are you doing?” TK asks.
“Better. I’m in the car.”
Over the phone, Carlos can almost see TK’s shoulders lose their tense posture. “That’s good.”
“Thank you.” Carlos wipes the remnants of his tears off of his face with the sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing. It is TK’s. Purple with orange bleach marks everywhere, the wet patch left by his tears looks like it is an intentional part of the design.
“I’ll always be here if you need me. Always.”
“How did I get so lucky?”
“Hey, you’ve dealt with me being a disaster on more than one occasion. I think you’re allowed a moment in the pharmacy.”
“It’s not my best moment.”
“That doesn’t matter,” TK says. “‘Til death do us part.”
Carlos barks out a harsh half-laugh that kind of sounds like he’s being strangled. “We’re not even married yet.”
“But we will be, I’m counting down the days.”
“I’m going to go get my meds now,” Carlos says. “Thank you for staying on the phone with me.”
“Anything you need, I’m here.”
Carlos pulled the latch on the inside of his car and pushed the door open, allowing the cold air to rush into the warmer atmosphere of the car. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
#911 lone star#carlos reyes#tk strand#tarlos#911ls fic#max.doc#reyesstrand#idk anyone else who is still active :-(
17 notes
·
View notes
Text
SARAH MCCAMMON, HOST:
Stephanie Foo grew up in California, the only child of immigrants who abused her for years and then abandoned her as a teenager. As an adult, Foo seemed to thrive. She graduated from college, landed a job at "This American Life," became an award-winning radio producer, was dating a lovely man, but she was also struggling. Years of trauma and violent abuse as a child had left her with a diagnosis - complex PTSD, a little-studied condition that Foo was determined to understand. The result is her new memoir, "What My Bones Know." And Stephanie Foo joins us now from New York City. Hello.
STEPHANIE FOO: Hi. Thank you so much for having me today.
MCCAMMON: I want to start with your diagnosis, because listeners have likely heard of post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. But how is complex PTSD different?
FOO: Right. So you can get traditional PTSD from a single traumatic event, like, say, you were hit by a car. Complex PTSD is kind of like if you were hit by that car every week for years. It manifested in my life as anxiety, as depression. The difference between PTSD and complex PTSD is that complex PTSD sort of has the potential to have a constant fear sort of churning underneath the surface. And I think it always had me on edge, hypervigilant, made it really hard for me to trust people - and to sort of bury that with intense workaholism, drinking a lot, partying a lot, that kind of thing.
MCCAMMON: Something you come back to a lot in your memoir is the idea of inherited trauma. So I'm wondering if you could talk about your parents' histories a little bit and your family's immigration from Malaysia and how that shaped your childhood.
FOO: I think my parents being recent immigrants gave them fewer resources in some ways. We didn't have access to a lot of family. And my parents, I think, were pretty alone and isolated in their ability to take care of me and in terms of having other people be able to take care of them and the mental illnesses that they suffered from. My parents came from lines of - where their parents had suffered immense traumas. My grandparents and my great-grandparents suffered through World War II. They suffered from the Malayan Emergency. My grandfather was imprisoned by the British during the Malayan Emergency for five years. And when he got out of prison, he lost all of his teeth somehow, and he never talked about it. You know, there were real consequences to that culturally, in terms of the way that they were raised, but even more so in their literal DNA.
MCCAMMON: Yeah, that was one thing that really struck me. I mean, you did some research into how trauma literally can change our genes and how that gets passed down. I mean, what did you learn about how that works?
FOO: Well, there's a couple of really fascinating studies about how our genes can change by what we endure. There's one really famous one where scientists exposed rats to the smell of cherry blossoms and then shocked them. And so these rats came to associate the smell of cherry blossoms with shocks, with fear. And their offspring and then their offspring would have panic responses every time they smelled cherry blossoms, even if they had never been shocked before. So what happens is the epigenome is sort of a layer on top of our DNA that kind of decides what genes get turned off and on. And experiencing trauma can change that epigenome.
MCCAMMON: I want to talk about your therapist, Dr. Ham. He is basically my favorite person in this book.
FOO: (Laughter).
MCCAMMON: How did you find him? And, in short, how did he help you?
FOO: I found him in a very radio producer-y (ph) way. I found him through listening to a podcast (laughter). He was talking about complex PTSD as, like, being the Incredible Hulk, right? Because the Incredible Hulk was actually abused as a kid. His father was an alcoholic, and now he had a hard time controlling his emotions when he was angry. He would sort of literally not be able to speak well, and he would just focus on surviving. And that is exactly what having complex PTSD is like. But the Hulk is not a villain. The Hulk is a hero. And so I needed to know more about that. And so I went to interview him, and he started interviewing me in the middle of me interviewing him. And eventually, he asked me if he could treat me, and I agreed.
MCCAMMON: And you approached this in a very radio producer-y way.
FOO: Yeah.
MCCAMMON: I mean, you have all of your tapes of your sessions with him, right?
FOO: Correct. And after we got done with a session, I would immediately go to the cafe downstairs, and I would upload all of my audio and transcribe it and put it in a Google doc, as you are very familiar with.
MCCAMMON: All too familiar.
FOO: And then we would edit it. And it was like we were editing my trauma out of the scripts. There was a point at which - after our actual first session, I saw, like, a whole page of me ranting about, like, my husband's job, which seemed completely out of left field. And I commented, what is going on here? Where am I? And he said, ah, you are dissociated because you are triggered. And I was like, what triggered me? Why am I dissociated? And I scrolled up. And right before that rant, I had talked about my mom holding a knife to my neck. And I turned off my emotions and my brain to access that, and I needed to disappear in some way to say that. And I got lost on the way. And so that was so helpful for me to just understand, with true journalistic objectivity, I guess, what was happening in my brain.
MCCAMMON: I'm really curious, though. You know, in writing this book and even now in talking about it, you have to go revisit a lot of those traumas again. You're talking about them right now. You're thinking about them. You're writing about them. I mean, how was that? How is that?
FOO: Yeah, dissociation, baby. That's what allows me to be talking to you and saying these things to you right now. And I think the other thing, too, is that I really did prioritize healing before I focused on writing. So writing itself was not the catharsis. Healing was the catharsis. It made me feel like I just wanted to share what I had learned. It was coming from a place of hope, and I wanted to write something that would help other people feel hopeful to. And I don't think that you ever totally heal from complex PTSD. It's sort of something that you carry with you all the time. But I feel like if the burden, the weight of complex PTSD, is like a pack on my back, then the process of healing has made me stronger. Does that mean, of course, that sometimes the pack gets really, really heavy and I need to sit down and take a break and cry a little bit and figure some new stuff out? Of course. Of course. That's what life is. But now I feel like I can hold the sadness and the anger and the joy all together.
MCCAMMON: Stephanie Foo's memoir is "What My Bones Know." Thank you so much for talking with us.
FOO: Thank you so much for having me. I really appreciate this opportunity to shed some light on complex PTSD.
Copyright © 2022 NPR. All rights reserved. Visit our website terms of use and permissions pages at www.npr.org for further information.
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
x
I feel pretty close to doing it ngl. Today was... horrible. Is. It's only 2pm now. Who knows what else could happen between now and tomorrow.
I've been so on edge, unable to calm myself down. On the verge of a panic attack constantly, then having a small one for like 30+ mins... I got my mom to come up here and spend some time w/ me but she was obviously distracted. We ended up talking while I drew, weighing options.
I need the fluid from my ears gone so my anxiety can finally begin to calm down. I can't go anywhere in the car though without having horrifically bad panic attacks, so I'm terrified of driving anywhere, and seeing how the nearest clinic is 30 mins?? Fuck that.
Wondering where I'm going to spend the winter... or even the next month. I should probably be in a mental institution till they can figure out what tf is wrong with me and get me on the appropriate meds. The therapist yesterday said there's a possibility I have bipolar disorder, and that would explain why I feel so unbearably unstable if so. Again, though, the nearest would be at least a 40+ min drive. Wouldn't fix the ear issue.
I can't stay here in this camper bc it's not an all-season one. It's getting cold out, nearing October and I've barely able to comprehend it.
I can't stay in Virginia cause if I stayed with my sib again, well, they're planning to move to New York soon and they're taking the kittens with them ofc. And they seem much happier without me there. If I stay with my sister, she's busy with a job and 2 kids. I can't have one of my screaming panic attacks in front of them.
So yeah. I feel trapped. In my own head from the muffled hearing, in life since idk where I'm going to be in the next month or two, also just knowing nobody wants me around. I know my mom would be so much happier if I wasn't there, free to be with her husband and go about their daily lives without dealing with a load of baggage like me.
She snapped at me when I mentioned suicide and while I can understand why, it still hurt. She said she had a migraine and needed to leave so I'm alone again. Alone with crippling anxiety and racing thoughts. Alone without a solid ground to stand on. Alone without knowing where I'll end up in a month, knowing I'm unwanted to my whole family even if they reassure me, alone in knowing that if I do end up staying in an institution I'll have basically nothing to do but be completely alone with my thoughts around strangers who are possibly loud and/or aggressive. Alone. Just alone.
And yea, suicide is looking like more and more of a good plan. If I go through with it, I should do it here while I'm surrounded by all these guns. On the other hand, I'd have to go out in the woods where my mom wouldn't find me, at least not till I'm unrecognizable. On the other hand I keep telling myself this is temporary and eventually my hearing will come back, eventually I'll live somewhere where I'm wanted and don't have to worry about suddenly having the rug pulled from under my feet, but come on. I've been telling myself that since my friend left. It's been 3 months and it's only gotten worse. I'm worse off than ever. I need help and idk how to get it here. I'm in counselling, I have a doctor who can give me meds, but it's still somehow not enough. My mind keeps screaming out, demanding my attention, trying to protect me from what, suffocation? I know it's irrational but it's been plaguing my thoughts. And idk if therapy can help. Not in time, at least.
So yeah, I just keep telling myself things will get better, but I'm beginning to think that I'm just a horrible liar.
On something more positive I guess, I called the crisis line my therapist recommended and for once someone was there to talk me through a panic attack. The last time I called while I was in VA, they basically just said idk go to ER I guess?? But no the lady sat with me for like 20+ mins. I was still on the verge of a panic attack (and tbh still am) but idk it was nice. I've always heard panic attacks aren't "serious enough" for crisis lines but she said I could call anytime.
Cause like... the panic attacks I've been having aren't normal. They aren't the kind I'd be able to manage back in the day. They're all-consuming, they make me feel like I'm choking/going insane/passing out all at once, they make me scratch myself till I bleed, they make me scream. Maybe that is just bc my hearing is still muffled (and again idk how tf to deal with that) but yeah....
Having the weight of that looming over me with no end in sight also makes the idea of suicide look very pretty and convenient. It'd hurt, but just for a moment, not like these horrible long nights with racing thoughts, broken sleep full of nightmares, the choking feeling in my throat constant and unforgiving.
What do I still have to live for? Like 5 things idk. 1. guilt bc I'd feel bad about mom finding me since she's so sensitive. 2. OFMD s2, 3. Drawing??, 4. Finishing fics??? Idk., 5. I genuinely cannot find a 5th one and that scares me.
Zen, if you're still alive, congrats. You've done it. Your absence completely and utterly ruined my life. I will never be the same again.
My body is actively trying to kill me. I just wish it'd do it sooner, in one fell swoop, fucking give me a heart attack or something. I'm tired of the constant anxiety, the creeping depression, losing all interest and passion and the little things that make me...
yeah. I think I will. I just don't know what way I will. Or when. If life is worth living, then it better give me a fucking miracle real fucking soon. I can't take this anymore. I really can't. I want to get out, I want to get out, I want to get out. I'm tired, I'm aching, I'm scared, I'm guilty, I'm useless. I need help but there's none. Next therapy appointment isn't till monday and wtf are they going to do?? I need to be in an institution and the nearest one is so far away. I'm trapped. I need help. I need help. I need help. I need help. I need help. I need help.
But at the same time I don't want help. I've been asking for it so much, using people, and for what? I'm still going to go through with it. What's it matter?
Why help someone who's more or less already sealed their fate? Besides, it's not like I'll miss much. The world is getting worse and worse. Rights being taken away left and right. Why bother living?
#irl stuff#vent#tw suicide#suicide#suicidal thoughts#mental health#99% sure the antibiotics are making me have some kinda psychotic breakdown#I literally cannot stop having these racing thoughts#I won't take anymore#if I go to an instiution what'll they put me on?#What if it makes things worse? What if I do have bipolar?#Even then I'd have to go to VA bc that's where I have medicaid#my god I've been costing mom and dad so much money#on more and more prescriptions that don't end up working#delete later
11 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hey there! First off I want to say I *adore* your art, you absolutely 1000% perfectly tap into the vibe and style of late 90's/early 00's 3D models in a way literally no one else does. I think about your art of your fake games' glitches (especially the forum post!!! it's. *perfect.*) all the time :)
And I've noticed how you're always very insightful and kind whenever you answer asks, so thank you for that!
If it's not too intrusive to ask, I was wondering how you went about finding a doctor to get your autism diagnosis? I've been pretty sure for a few years now that I'm on the spectrum, but I've never had a clue how to actually get tested/diagnosed. Especially since I'm an adult female too, and I've heard a ton about how autism is really overlooked/underdiagnosed for people like us.
But seeing that you were able to find someone who avoided all the common pitfalls and was able to actually help you made me want to reach out. I had been wanting to ask you this for a while (as you can probably tell based on what the question was haha) but I was too anxious to actually do it (still am, a bit ><). Again, feel free to ignore this part if it's too personal or you don't want to answer it for any reason!
It feels awkward to end an ask with that, so I'll bookend it with something I think you'll like: have you ever heard of trsrockin.com? It's an old fansite I used to visit religiously as a kid that talked about early Pokemon and Super Mario games and collectibles from them, as well as oddities like glitches from the aforementioned games, forgotten weird one-off SNES games, documenting fake/trick fanmade "cheats" for games, and bootleg merchandise.
It's one of if not the first public place (afaik) that MissingNo. and pals were discovered/talked about, and a little community came together to try and figure out why the glitch happened and what all the effects and variants of it were. Even you've been to trsrockin before and none of this is new info, I thought it would at least be a nice trip down memory lane :)
It's an old site that has since been taken down, and for some reason archive.org can't properly archive the full site/all its links. But luckily someone created a complete mirror of it! You can find it here: http://catfish.it.cx/trsrockin/trsrockin.com/index.html
AHH THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!! ;__; you're too kind... i know i haven't posted too much of my 3d work recently, but trust me, i have a LOT more of those faux-retro aesthetics in store with the game i've been working on... >=) i'm always so so happy to see other people appreciate janky ol' 3d graphics, LMFAO
also!! i've definitely heard of trsrockin eheehee... i was a bit too young to use it when it was in its prime (and also more of a bulbapedia enthusiast), but i've perused some archived pages before! old internet forums & fansites are just the best thing in the world...
ANYWAY: regarding your question! Honestly, I'm not sure if I'm the best person to give advice about this, because I feel like I kind of got my diagnosis by chance... Essentially: I started seeing a new therapist; she suggested I might be on the spectrum, I said, "Yeah maybe IDK"; I got a referral to an evaluator—and then an incredibly expensive diagnosis after a few months of waiting and testing.
My case differs in that I didn't really suspect being on the spectrum myself. Which seems a bit silly, considering I now realize I am... observably autistic. In abundance. But it was genuinely hard to puzzle out, what with all my other problems (particularly, severe misophonia, which can be REALLY hard to differentiate from general sensory sensitivity.) So about specifically seeking out a diagnosis, I unfortunately can't give a good answer. But I'm willing to talk about the rest, on the off-chance it ends up helpful! (Under the cut at least.)
I don't like to be too open about my Issues™ online—but I got a whole lot of them, and they used to be a lot worse than they are now, so I was stuck in that perpetual "adolescent with treatment-resistant depression" purgatory for, like... my entire adolescence! Because no one knew what the hell was wrong with me. I'm barely in adulthood now, but I'm extremely thankful to be broken out of that. Both the 'treatment-resistant depression' diagnoses AND the adolescence. Being told with authority that I, indeed, have an untreated case of mega-autism—and not an irreparably broken brain whose electrical activities zap SSRIs straight out of existence���is definitely relieving. And now I can confidently say shit like 'mega-autism', so like, wins all around.
About getting a diagnosis in general: in my case, I kind of needed one, because it would be not be feasible for me to go to school/work/exist without accommodations of some kind. (The evaluation I had was, in part, just to get a psychological report of any kind, since I desperately needed supporting documentation to request accommodations anywhere.) Otherwise, I'm honestly not sure if I'd bother?
On one hand, an official diagnosis is an incredibly affirming thing to have—especially if you didn't even suspect it before; things start making a lot of sense afterwards, LOL—but on the other hand, it is a tedious and kind of humiliating process. And possibly expensive.
And then, like you mentioned, there's the problem of some doctors being biased or plainly godawful at their job/poorly designed systems ruining everything for everyone. It's probably for incompetency on those ends that a diagnosis managed to elude me for nineteen years straight. (Vividly recalling the time my school had a counselor give me an impromptu autism evaluation, in which she concluded that I "didn't seem to have autism, but would probably get along really well with autistic people." WHATEVER THAT MEANT.) But! It's not impossible to get someone who knows what they're doing! I'd love to say otherwise, but I really did just stumble into a decent doctor... There's a lot of luck involved, and man. I did not get good RNG at first. (← I'M SORRY FOR BEING A GAMER.)
I went into the evaluation doubting I had it, and heavily doubting that I'd be diagnosed, but like... Hold on let me reach across your desk and slide you the answers to the autism test. The trick is to not even try to be normal, I think. Intermittently talk about CRT monitors, and how you like learning ciphers, and Pokemon glitches—or whatever else you're into. But those specifically worked for me! "Don't mask", is what I'm saying. (Really though, I think if you're answering everything to the best of your ability, properly administered tests done by a doctor who doesn't suck should be able to diagnosis you. If they don't, then the problem is something systemic, and far beyond anything I could reasonably give advice about...)
ANYWAY! (x2) I'm honestly not sure if any of this is particularly helpful, but if you decide to pursue it, I wish you luck with getting your diagnosis!! It's definitely a bit of a hellish thing to do—but dammit, if it's worth it to you, then it's definitely worth doing.
YOUR REWARD FOR READING THIS WHOLE POST IS: "Kinesin_walking.gif"
YEEEEEAAAAAAHHHH
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
Quick vent ig, TW: Swearing, Divorce, Sad stuff, Small mention of suicide.
This isn't what I usually would post, but I felt like I needed to get something off my chest without feeling like I'm complaining. Now, I have a great life, probably better then most people. My parents are usually nice to me, even if I feel like my mom doesn't care for me as much as she says she does. Yes, they are getting a divorce, but that isn't because of me. I knew they were most likely going to get a divorce when I was around 7 (seven) years old. I wasn't surprised, I wasn't even all that saddened. But I'm done being my parents therapist. I am sick of being in the middle of their toddler behavior. I know that isn't fair, but if they actually needed help, they would get help. Especially my mom, I'm sick of her venting to me and making almost every comment I make about the divorce or her! It's not fair to her for me feeling this way, but I am sick of it. I'm sick of her being one of the only things bringing down my mental health, of course she isn't all of it, but she's most of it. I don't need a therapist, despite what people say. Because I am very bad off, but I know this. I don't need a therapist to tell me what I already know. And I would just be complaining at that point! Why would I waste a therapist's time with my shit?
And my mom is so jealous for no fucking reason! My dad tells me to not tell my mom anything when I hangout with his co-worker, or if we do stuff together. Let me say it, she is married with a kid!! And she would have no interest in my dad (sorry dad). I don't get why my mom is so jealous of her for no reason! My mom said once that if I was friend's with that co-worker, I would be betraying her. Betraying. You know what? I am friends with her, and I don't care what my mom says anymore about me being friends with her!! I want to hangout with her and her kid. I want to be able to make my own friends without my mom thinking I'm betraying her.
And for some of you who might think my mom is real for being jealous, she really isn't. My dad's co-worker would never get with him, and he doesn't want her either. They are just really good friends, because my dad is friends with almost everyone!
So I sometimes wish I could see and hangout with my dad more? Yeah. But he doesn't make everything about him when I am with him. He tries his best to shield me away from most things, while also not treating me like a kid. I know I have a good life. Shit, most of my friends have worse lives and parents. So I don't know why I'm depressed, or have panic attacks, or mental breakdowns, or dissociate, or how I can no longer seem to fucking cry anymore!!
Sure, I may think my mom loves our dog more then me. I think my mom hates me at times, but that isn't true. But I am sick of this. I don't want to live like this anymore. Sometimes I think of suicide, but I would never do it. Not anymore. It is not worth my dad crying over that.
My parents have had shitty lives, really shitty ones. My dad's mom and dad got divorced (on good terms tho), then his dad's next wife was abusive and didn't care for him, and now his dad has his new wife who also wasn't that nice, but better.
My mom's mom got divorced after she was born, then again after her sister was born, and then her next husband killed himself. So I could say I have it much better then them.
I don't know why I feel like this, I have a much better life then others, but I don't know..
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
I really don’t want to do this but I have to for me and my growth! Breaking up with Aiden was not only violent but my entire world, my life as I knew it, was over! I was ready to leave his authority and demeaning language he used when speaking about me publicly. But our breakup just happened to coincide with the COVID lockdown for which there was some small blessings in the timing. His father booked him a ticket to Cairo as a chance to get away from me and to get an early start on his new job. He believe his flight was one of the last international flights before lockdown. This gave me a guaranteed protection from him for almost a year and boy I needed it. He sent many ugly text and left voicemail that I considered having the police listen to them but never had the courage. I do feel like he would have done physical harm to me, like scared my face and vagina so that nobody else would want me.
With Aiden aside, I had to find a place to live and I was not ever going back to my parent’s house! I burned all of my bridges with friends back home as well, so I found myself homeless at the beginning of the pandemic! Lucky for me, Hank the Yank’s friend had half of a duplex available. Hank was so kind that he covered my rent until I could get my first paycheck, not until the end of August! I got a job at the school where I did my student teaching but with the lockdown and all students being stuck at home, my job’s future seemed in question. Then came the new place in a very ethnic based community, making me the only white woman around. It was pretty scary but I stayed inside all of the time. I tried to do all of my shopping early in the morning when the only activity outside were people going to work. Most of my neighbors were from Mexico to work in the poultry plant near by but a few were definitely in gangs and those boys frightened me! Once I got my first paycheck, I was able to move into a new apartment in a safer neighborhood but that spring and summer were scary.
Living in true isolation for the first time in my life really destroyed part of me. Having lived in such a controlled and sexual environment but now with the lack of direction and purpose coupled with my insatiable sexual lust for male attention; isolation was tough. As many have said, at the time, thank god for Amazon! I got my first programmable vibrator, not to mention the sour dough craze, for a point of reference. Sally and I FaceTime daily which was the only thing keeping me sane. Once school began and learning how to teach virtually, as my first year, ever, as a teacher, that was hard. I did my best but those poor kids and I really struggled the first month of school. We eventually learned a routine and we all started to feel a little more comfortable sharing and having meaningful conversations. What we all saw, behind the student’s faces were their homes and their actual lives! Never before have teachers had that intimate look into other people’s lives, it was voyeurism at its best, if that appeals to you. Appalled, disgusting, funny,sweet, loving, yeah everything, nudity, and of course sexual acts, on occasion. When I met my students for the first time, in person, I just wanted to cry over some, smack a few others, but mostly I was just happy to be in a real classroom, even if we did only meet for 1/2 days with 1/2 of the class and then switch to the other half. Those were some weird times! As restrictions were being lifted, so were my thoughts. I was a long way from where I am now but it was at this point that I started seeing a therapist named Karen. She has been my rock and guiding light through this terrible storm! Slowly, life got easier and as more and more people were able to socialize my spirit lifted again. With Karen’s help, I was first able to overcome my depression but also to help turn my life around and started to develop new life plans and goals, one without the need for men, but one where I make all of the decisions over my body!
It’s been just over four years ago, I am a different woman today. Today I know who I am, what I am, and most importantly what my value is and the strength to not lower my standards. I know there is a man out there who is perfect for me and I for him! Until that day, I celebrate my independence, my life, and my future!
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
hiiiiiiii we havent sent you any asks for some time. mostly because kanra didnt front much
[idk if you can recognize us after all the url changes]
ereyesterday our their of pissed suggested getting into an outpatient psychward and told us to think about it. and silver[headmate] made a post on the tumbler saying that this could be a bad idea because somewhat recently i made a hole in a wall and less than a week ago Lyra messed up a cupboard. as if we're the only ones who on occasion damage stuff when angered. this is literally so mean for no reason.
also. a few months ago shinra had an accident with a knife. and we got a fun new 1 inch long scar and possibly a little bit of nerve damage or something. and we were supposed to get some reminder tetanus shot around a month after that since i had no idea when was my previous tetanus shot. and i uhhhhhhh didn't get it since i'm scared of doctors, and it would probably seem quite weird if i went to a doctor about this now
also im sorta balding but. scared of doctors so cant do anything about that
last sunday i was in some social studies class or some other shit. and the teacher said something about how lgbt people were never oppressed in this country. which is a very bold thing to say as someone living in a country in which like a quarter of the area declared itself a "lgbt free zone" and only calmed down a little when the european onion told them that that's probably illegal. and i decided to argue with the teacher a bit. one of the things she said was that sometimes there's dudes in pup masks on pride parades, which invokes disgust and thus should be banned, and. idk why but i kinda expected teachers to have a bit more common sense than 14 year old twitter users. also i came to school wearing a spiked dog collar on a regular basis. [for reasons unrelated to kink.]
well. good thing i'm failing every single one of my classes lmao. at least i won't be invoking disgust in fragile old ladies
also. i just met a doggy and he was very niceys. very soft and friendly. and polite also.
- toby
HOW COULD I NOT RECOGNIZE U MY BESTIE IN CHRIST <3 u changed ur url a binch of times but ur icon remained the same sdlfndnfkjsnsdf so i was able to keep track!
i however do not understand a single word of that first paragraph. if u want my advice, DO NOT. FUCKING GO. TO A PSYCH WARD!!!!! idfc Who it helped, it hurts a lot more than it helps, theres NO WAY to tell which psych wards are good and which are shit. no really let me go thru them all rn:
REFERRALS: most professionals that work in different offices do not know each other on a personal level and may never hear of their bad stories. a doctor that was the chillest coolest doctor id ever met referred me to a psychiatrist that sucked fucking ass shit. there is no way to know for sure
GOOGLE REVIEWS: im gonna b real i dont trust some of those mfs. you seen the guys that go into psych wards? a lot of mentally ill people r internalizers and just accept whatever happens to them, and even if they arent, society looks down on the mentally ill SO MUCH that they could b told "you deserve this bc ur crazy" and due to all this societal gaslighting, theyd agree
REVIEWS ON OTHER WEBSITES: same thing lol
why is this so important? because you cannot Fucking leave a psych ward. an outpatient ward yeah you can leave, but ive been to both in and outpatient and they excert the same level of bullshit control over their patients. in outpatient, one of the therapist told me "you are not mentally ill" and made me cry lol. she MEANT to mean it in a "you're not mentally ill, you're ~suffering from a mental illness~ uwu dont let ur disorder define you" kinda way, but that concept was introduced in therapy..... two days after she told me this. like hello? and then she tried to spin it as like, it was a problem with Me i.e. My PTSD Was Triggered and not She Is Dog Shit At Timing The Explaining Of Concepts.
this place also invited my abuser into group therapy even after me incessantly telling them "this is my abuser, she will use all this against me" and yeah guess what she did immidiatley after lol
dont go to wards.
WRT THE KNIFE: damn :0 thats insane dude, hopefully the nerve damage will heal but from experience its gonna take like, a few years at minimum lmao. i had a Knife Incident involving my pinky and the nerve damage was so bad that i couldnt hold scissors w my pinky in the scissor loop thing but evenchually it got better but it took like 4 years. if the knife was clean and not rusty ur risk of tetanus is pretty low i THINK, do not quote me on this. if ur scared of doctors, look into if ur pharmacy offers tetanus shots! some pharmacies have vaccinations other than flu and covid (which i need 2 get lol rip) so u might be able to get one THERE and not see A Doctor about it!
u dont need a doctor for the balding. minoxidil my dear boy, its at walmart, its the stuff thats in rogaine. you want "minoxidil 5%" thats whats in rogaine, theres "minoxidil 3%" thats For Girls but idk ive never heard of anyone having a problem w it. IT IS TOXIC TO CATS THOUGH IT IS VERY VERY TOXIC TO CATS IF YOU HAVE A CAT DO NOT LET THEM FUCKING TOUCH YOU OR RUB ON YOU UNTIL IT DRIES ok? :) id google more if i were u but boom. problem solved. i am the doctor now
"dog masks invoke disgust and should be banned" babygirl disgust is subjective and like, someone could use that logic to ban whatever YOU like, or Are. maybe someone is really disgusted by lil old ladies bc the wrinkles look gross as fuck to them. should we quarrantine the grandmas?
also lol at the dig against 14 year old internet puritans and then surprise surprise guess what happened on This Very Blog while this ask was sitting n collecting dust!! i gotta b on my best behavior bc theres a nonzero chance that The Feds will be looking at this blog (did u know u dont report cybercrime to local police and instead theres a form on the fbi's website? Well Now You Know!) and that goes 4 all of u too. bart please be good..... for the love of GOD please be good....... please tell me yall know that simpsons scene
also also yay doggy!! was it a regular dog or a dude in a pup mask? either way very fun n cool!!!
#wasks#4 everyone else: im gonna turn asks back on but no anons for a lil while <3#kanranon#missed u bestie!!!!! i was wondering when ud send another ask#tho ig ur not kanra ur toby sdjnksjdsndf but either way!! a message !!!
4 notes
·
View notes
Note
So you are gonna reassign Mahiru to another therapist due to extremely personal reasons. Any ideas who her new therapist should be?
...So, given what just happen; am I going to get someone else?
*typing on her computer* Yes and the other options are Chiaki and Usami, I'll send the recording to your new therapist so you can continue where you left off and without any personal bais.
Okay... that's good, well if I can't have you then maybe Chiaki...? Actually speaking of that, who has her?
Well she currently has Fuyuhiko Kuzuruyu and Sonia Nevermind, meaning that you and Fuyuhiko have the same therapist. I hope you don't mind that...
No, I kinda get it - hopefully Chiaki can be able to help the both of us instead of picking favorites...
Anyway I was wondering what happen there? Why did you react like that?
Why?
Well yeah, I mean when I spoke of them; you seem pretty upset - did you and those 2 have history with each other?
Sadly so, me and my parents aren't on good terms with them.
And don't worry, this has nothing to do with you... it's mostly something personal with me...
#dr#danganronpa#dtfa#despair to future arc#ds:rw#despair side: re write#sdr2#super danganronpa 2#nagi nanami#mahiru koizumi#anonymous#ds ep 7
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Something of a report... or personal ramblings, whichever.
Life's been... interesting.
Going to try to make this as concise as possible.
The last time I made any kind of report was June 9th. That was the last time I had any writing progress. Since then, it's been very hectic.
Work: Just a constant battle over workload and the national project that's stressing everyone out. Is there a light at the end of the tunnel? Maybe.
Writing: Nothing. I've at least started to go back and read some of my stuff to see where I am. I am hoping I can return to my project next week.
Mental Health: I'm medicated, so that's kept me even-keeled. But I am cognizant of the stress I've been under. Again, some of it is work as I try to argue with the bosses about what projects I want and do not want. So July was stressful. I had a job interview two weeks ago. Was probably the best I've ever done. I thought I gave myself a real shot. Doesn't look like it.
August, though. August. Three people close to me ended up in the hospital. Parent ended up in the psych unit (last time this happened was almost 11 years ago). My therapist remarked how calm I was about the whole thing. I said, "All this shit is amusing." But phone calls from the ER at 3 AM for medical history meant going to work on no sleep.
One of my closest and dearest friends had been in the hospital since third week of July. I found out in August. It was bad. I talked to her twice in August. The second time I just broke down cause I was convinced that was our last talk. I didn't expect her to live much longer. I don't think anyone did. So imagine my surprise when I see the caller ID on the night of September 4th (of all fucking days) and her name on it. I haven't been so scared to answer a phone. But it was her. Sounding much better. She sounds like she'll be home by Thanksgiving. I can only hope.
Her granddaughter is a fucking mess though. I've helped her out financially. Should I have? No. Did I? Yeah. But as someone said to me, "You showed that girl a kindness that no one else probably has." I was able to confirm none of the help was used for crystal meth! Yeah...
Significant other ended up in the hospital with a bad infection for a week. That led to a whole lot of drama at home.
Which has made September pretty weird. Monday, I felt like I was making improvement. Not that my mental wasn't taking a massive beat-down throughout the summer (but I do think I do have a seasonal issue as my previous therapist thought). But I started doing stuff I put on the back-burner because it was just about getting through the day most of the summer. Tuesday, I woke up with a ton of anxiety for no apparent reason.
Now: Still behind on the stuff on the back-burner, but I'm making some progress. I'm trying something new to restructure my life a bit to see if I can maintain that ever elusive consistency.
Things I need to schedule back into my life: Writing, the lesson plan my instructor gave me for something I want to learn, and exercise.
Things I'm trying: A much more rigid structure. Seemed to work at work, even though I already have a reputation as a hard worker.
Therapist and I talked about all of this. We're going to start doing another deep history dive on all of this and how they all interrelate. It's weird. Took over a year just to get through the trauma of my dad's death as a child.
But I'm still here. Whether or not that counts for something, I can look back on the last 3 months and go, "I handled all of that very differently." Did I handle it well? I think so.
Maybe that counts for something.
4 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
yayoflewerer
Yayo Flewerer
pleasantmugzineprofessor
Untitled
mannequen
quen
adora-jia
Daughter of Love
digiitelle
pix / emoticon