#she suggested couples therapy for us the other day and i honestly do not know if she was joking. i hope she was but i suspect she was not | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mooncakesofpan · 2 years

Text

Love On a Wire ch.2

Eddie x Gn!Reader

Summary: With your own feelings for Eddie Munson starts to eat you up, what’s to say you’ll be able to keep lifting him up.

A/n: The reader and they're dad have a good relationship because I need therapy. also hi it been a few days i am indeed alive stardew valley may have taken over my life.

Word count: 1.3K

Warnings: angst, suggestive content (eventually) , Slight unrequited feelings, Slow burn, No pronouns mentioned

Chapter: 2

[previous] | [next]

Stranger things Masterlist | Main Masterlist

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK

Months passed Eddie and this cheerleader I found out was named Chrissy the golden girl of the cheer team had been sneaking around. I wasn't gonna comment on it it wasn't my place but him constantly being absent from things and my own feelings for Eddie started feeling like it was too much to hold on to, on top of the repetitive schedule I had put myself on to spend the least amount of time with Eddie that consisted of work and band practice just to distract my self.

Part of me is living out my dad's dream of being a singer that had been crushed a long time ago but he liked to still produce things for himself so when he heard me originally workshopping the song to maybe come in and record. I walked into the garage, my hands shoved in my jacket. I saw Eddie pull up and hold his hand out for a girl in jeans and a hoodie with some sunglasses. making me sigh, the feeling of having a Chrissy freezone gone, honestly I really don't have an issue with Chrissy, she's a very sweet girl. it just really hurts to see Eddie with someone else and feel like I was too late to say something. With everyone setting up I spoke up,

“So my dad said he’d let us use the recording studio to record black sheep,” I say shrugging, over the past few weeks the band had really fallen in love with the song. and it was sounding really good.

“Seriously!” Jeff said voice filled with disbelief.

“yep my dad hurt me a couple of weeks ago when I workshopping it and then talked to me last night about recoding the song if you guys were down,” I said plugging in the mic.

The thing about my dad was that pretty much no one was allowed in his recording studio, it was essentially his first child which hurt a bit being his actual first child but to each their own. part of me thinks he knew the song meant a lot to me like he knew the real meaning behind it.

”Hell yeah! why would we turn that down,” Gareth said

we would record Friday night. But halfway through the practice, Chrissy had to walk home when she left there was an awkward silence in the air.

“Eddie we talked about, outsiders during practice and you know that if your gonna bring someone you're supposed to talk to the band first,” I said grabbing a dr. pepper from the table, rule number one was corroded coffin practices were members only and any guest had to be talked about beforehand.

“yeah, sorry guys she said she lived not far from here so I offered her a ride,” he said eating some pretzels.

”yeah okay let's just practice some other songs,” I say rolling my eyes and trying to change the subject.

Friday came quick and the band was doing really well recording their respective parts having recorded most of the things that night it was getting late. “Before we lock up Eddie Y/n why don't you two step up to the mics I want both of you to try both Hooks together” my dad had a confident look on his face something in that look said ‘set up’

I sighed as Eddie just sat there with a bit of a surprised look.

“Let's go Eddie boy we don't have all night,” I say smirking at Eddie trying to hide both the butterflies and dread setting in my stomach.

I finally get up and going Eddie got up stumbling to the mic set up.

I started building up to the hook a bit with Eddie's voice flowing out with mine.

I'll send you my love on a wire

Lift you up, every time

Everyone, ooh

Pulls away, ooh

The feeling i felt the first time singing that part of the song with Eddie came back all over again. The things have I've been trying to shove so far back down, just coming all the way back up .

It's a mechanical bull, the number one

You'll take a ride from anyone

Everyone wants a ride, pulls away, ooh, from you

my eyes turned glassy I tried not to let the sound of me feeling like I was gonna cry come threw the lyrics.

“perfect” dad lets out as we finish, “good job kids I’ll let you know when I have everything together,” he says clasping his hands together

I quickly wipe my hand across my face. I saw Eddie in the corner of my eye looking over at me. wiping my face. I waved him off not wanting to draw much attention to the stinging in my eyes

“well kids you better get home it is late and I wanna lock up shop, plus your parents must be worried,” Dad says getting up from the chair.

I waved to everyone leaving closing the door once they were out of sight. my back hit the wall my head tilting back to look at the ceiling

“you know you gotta tell him” my dad's voice caused me to jump. “I can't dad he's got this thing going on with this cheerleader,” I say rubbing my face down my face.

“cheerleader or not I see how he looks at you and I see how you look at him,” you let out a dry laugh

“yeah tell him and ruin everything thank you dad that feels so helpful”

“hey don't get smart with me I'm trying to help you,” he says pointing his finger at me

“ I know I'm sorry” I let out a sigh “I don't wanna seem unsupportive he's my best friend first that comes before whatever the hell I feel for him, and he really likes this girl I don't wanna get in the way of that or make it seem like I want to wedge my self between them okay?”

Dad walks to the back motioning me to join him so we could lock up.

“Whatever you wanna do kiddo I think you should say something,… or you can be a coward and keep yourself in whatever loop this is,” dad said Locking the back door.

“Harsh damn,”

“Well someone gotta tell yah” he was right though I really should say something, I really don't wanna put myself in the way of what Eddie and this girl have.

my dad made quick work putting the song together bringing me in during my shift to go listen to it, the song gave me chills and the combination of Eddie's voice with mine made my heart swell for some reason. I think it's hurting me more than I care to admit that I love him this much and I can't say anything. It feels like I've lost my chance like I should have said it 2 years ago when I fell in love with the dorky guitarist. But just like now I was too scared of the repercussions, what if he hated me what if this ruined the friendship we had all those nights in his van being high and laughing at stupid shit, the times he would come and bother me for discounts on new music or the way he'd try to get me to do stuff for Hellfire despite the fact I really don't play DND anymore.

That night I found myself on the floor listening to the cassette of black sheep tears streaming down my face with the sound of eddies voice blending with mine to accompany my own pathetic sobs.

I really tried for the next few weeks to suck it up I got the rest of the boys a cassette with the song on it. listening to it during practice to see the group's hard work come together. It was truly my favorite thing I've written, but the meaning behind the song was also still eating me, the song about the boy who had been on my mind for such a long time and the distance I still feel between us, and one that's honestly still growing. But he seems in love with Chrissy and who am I to try and split that up I but didn't think any of that would bring me to the day I walked into practice for Corroded Coffin and said,

”I'm quitting the band”

Chapter: 1 | 2 |

Taglist: feel free to reblog and/or ask to be in the taglist

@solarcoffee

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie imagine #eddie angst #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #x gn reader #xreader #x reader #reader insert #fanfic

69 notes · View notes

ginnsbaker · 10 months

Note

Wanda being so determined to find reader because she was worried. Nat actually helping her shows that inside she still cares its like the whole just because im mad at you doesn’t mean I don’t love you thing. Im so glad that happened because its been incredibly heartbreaking that nat seemingly abandoned reader despite the years of friendship and their bond.

Y/n’s mom the development chefs kiss. It was the birthday chapter where she was confronted by reader about her feelings towards wanda and I remember saying how hard it would be to have two people you love so dearly not get alone like that. But I honestly think the mom has reflected a bit, i said it then but a stronger love the kind that puts that light in your eyes always has potential to hurt and if it hurts it usually hurts badly and it’s understandable for her as a mom to want to protect her child from that. Now having seen reader without that light has probably made her think about that more and it shows in the her interactions with wanda and i think those two getting along better will be good for wanda and reader’s relationship long term.

Wanda finding out reader knew was everything i hoped it would be. The way they were scared of hurting her and trying to protect her from themselves and then the way wanda wouldn’t let them close in on themselves and push her away again it was just everything. The sex was softer more intimate than at the start when wanda was just being used and the way reader was using it as reassurance that wanda is here and shes okay and shes not going anywhere was just so soft and definitely needed (I definitely think that when they go to bed this night its one of the few times wanda is the big spoon cos reader needs to place their head on her chest to hear her heartbeat and feel the rise and fall of her chest for that reassurance). Im curious as to what wanda is gonna do/say to pietro because of what he did I imagine its not going to be a pleasant conversation.

SHE DID IT WANDA SUGGESTED PROFESSIONAL HELP FUCKING FINALLY WE HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR THIS DAY FOR 17 CHAPTERS READER THERAPY INCOMING. I hope they have individual therapy as well as couple’s therapy i just think it will help them.

I loved it so much it planted seeds for reader and nat to fix things and obvs wanda and reader then reader’s mom and wanda. All the relationships in this book are to delicately intertwined and affect each other sometimes in small ways sometimes in big ways and i love the way you’ve done that. I can kinda see the light at the end of the tunnel and im so ready for it

Perfection.

-🧃

Wanda and Nat working together and not grumbling about is my guilty pleasure lol

Yeah, I kinda wanted wrap up the thing with R's mom, and like, give the character some ending that sort of suggests an improvement in their attitude and her relationship with R and Wanda

Ohhh Wanda IS the big spoon. I mean, they kinda switch, but R needs all the love and comfort right now.

Re: Wanda and Pietro - she's not going to resent him as much, but they are going to talk about it

It took Wanda long enough to suggest it because she had to see for herself if it helped. I hope that makes sense?

Thank you so much for saying that, almost all the relationships will have some sort of wrap or development because I love them all dearly except for Vision in this story (MCU Vision is my child)

I'll never tire of reading your comments :) And I'm super happy that you find them all satisfying. DO let me know if there's anything I miss or something I could have done better. :*

Once again, thank you!

#🧃 anon #ilgoss asks

2 notes · View notes

ravenousramblings · 2 years

Text

TW: SI

The past couple weeks in EMDR therapy we've been working with a teen part and we've almost got that memory down so today J suggested we check in with Raven because he's not been as present in therapy recently when previously we were working with him a lot. I told J that he's been pretty distant with me lately but is still present most days, sometimes passively, sometimes more actively. He's stuck in a dark place and experiencing a tremendous amount of SI and he's actively sabotaging any attempts to do things that might make our life a little more livable.

We did work with him a little today, mostly he just kept saying he wants to die. Over and over, that's his motivation for everything. Whenever I try to talk to him I try to do the accepting and validating thing, I tell him I hear him, I hear how much pain he's in but our conversation never really progresses beyond that. It's like we're just sitting there looking at each other "I want to die" "yeah, I know" and that's it. Stalemate. We keep on living. I won't let him harm us so we're safe. J said it was almost like he's holding us hostage when he won't let me or others do anything that might help us. I try not to see him in a bad light, I can tell he's just in a lot of pain, but I'm at a loss for what to do to help him beyond this.

At the end of the session J said that she had some ideas but she wanted to consult with someone first so I'm looking forward to next week because honestly yes give me something I want to help him I just don't know what to dooooo.

#raven #kace #i think stormi showed up there at the end #tw si

10 notes · View notes

dreamerinsilico · 1 year

Note

for the end of year writing asks: F P O

What stories are you planning for the future?

*vibrates excitedly*

I've got two Sandman fics that are almost done, both Dream/Hob - a slightly silly, very nerdy, very porny kinkmeme fill and a self-indulgent hurt/comfort thing.

I signed up as a prospective author for a Hannibal 'zine recently, and if accepted, I've got a couple of ideas for that. The one that has the most traction, currently, is about Hannibal trying to exorcise his attachment to Will by more creative means than eating him. (spoiler: it doesn’t work)

Other than that in Hannibal-land, I've got a post-canon longfic that's been sitting for two years that I direly want to get back to and finish, and if and only if I manage that, I've got a Hannibal-Wayward Children series crossover idea I've been percolating for over a year.

(Honestly... I probably ought to just go ahead and publish the little vignette I wrote as kind of a companion piece to the bigger idea. :P It's short, sweet, finished, and actually good. In case anyone following my tumblr actually knows both canons and cares, it's Hannibal's first therapy session with Jack Wolcott.)

What are your pet peeves in other people’s work?

I have several grammatical error pet peeves (lie/lay errors being the foremost, and unfortunately by-far most common, of those), but those just kind of make me sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose, at most. English isn't everyone's first language, and even if it is, the current state of public education in at least my anglophone country leaves much to be desired. Certainly won't ruin a fic for me.

I think the biggest pet peeve otherwise, aside from various "I vehemently disagree with this characterization" sort of things (which I think we all run into at some point), is when a story goes into a lot of depth... or "depth".... about a subject that the author clearly has no clue about, either from practical experience or research. Fics that go into detail about cooking when it's clear the entirety of the author's knowledge of the subject comes from having watched one or two Gordon Ramsay shows. Fics prominently involving characters being college professors where the author knows absolutely nothing about academia from any perspective other than maybe having been a university student at some point. That kind of thing. I'm never going to tell anyone to only write what they know, but like. Either do the research, or handwave it. Don't go into detail and then get every single detail wrong.

Do you believe in outlines? Show us one!

I do believe in outlines, for anything more complex than one or two scenes! First relatively concise one I found that isn't for something I haven't finished yet below the cut (because it's still kinda long) -

This is pretty condensed, because I wrote it both for myself and to share with @stylishanachronism because we were doing a collaboration for a Pillars of Eternity minibang event. It's for I Recall (stylishanachronism's art embedded <3).

The nutshell version of what this fic is exploring is: In the present-day, in terms of the game's timeline, the protagonist is face-to-face with the trapped soul of her lover from a previous life thousands of years ago. 99% of the fic is about that past life, and how the protagonist unwittingly betrayed the love of her life.

Events timeline

Iovara leaves the missionaries; Nephele is torn, but declines to go with her

Nephele thinks on Iovara often, sometimes struggles with the desire to leave and join

Thaos sends Nephele off to infiltrate, which she is simultaneously sick and overjoyed over. General intent to fade into the heretics and go dark with Thaos.

Reunited! Yay!

...and then Thaos personally tracks Nephele down. Whoops.

Shit starts hitting the fan, and Nephele ends up suggesting going to Ossionus due to trusting That Asshole way too much

Iovara is captured by the Inquisition and events play out as we see in the game

Actual scene outline

Establish both directly and indirectly an existing relationship between Iovara and Nephele, and a bit about what that relationship is like. Iovara tells Nephele what she has discovered, and that she intends to leave. They part with mutual regret.

Flashbacks to earlier time with Iovara

Flashbacks to background with Thaos

Nephele is sent to infiltrate the heretics. Flashbacks to angst and indecision in the time since Iovara left. Emphasis on mixed but mostly-optimistic feelings Nephele has about this situation.

Nephele is brought to Iovara and baldly confesses she was sent as a spy/infiltrator. Iovara is surprisingly (to everyone except Nephele) okay with this. They get to be happy for a bit. Nephele’s still not completely sure about this whole atheism thing, but it makes a scary amount of sense and she’s glad to be where she is.

Thaos pops up personally and makes a go at convincing her that the movement is Le Fucked, but he still cares about dear Iovara, and the only way to really salvage things is going to be getting Iovara’s people to go to Ossionus.

The trap is sprung, and they realize it too late. Nephele starts going into “holy fuck this is my fault” mode; Iovara verbally slaps her out of it and tells her to live, and to remember.

Epilogue: modern-day Acantha in Sun-In-Shadow, face to face with Iovara’s spirit. “I remember.”

#my fic #on fanfiction #thanks for memeing me!#mass-convergence #... damn i'm all up in my feelings about iovara again

3 notes · View notes

initiala · 2 years

Note

Do you have any tips/recommendations when it comes to looking for a chiropractor? I know you've mentioned going to one before, and between my desk job and general skeleton weirdness, I'm starting to think a visit would probably be a good idea on my end. Or if you recommend a different kind of professional, like a physical therapist instead, that'd be great to know too. Thanks for any advice!

I don't have that many tips, just because I feel like I got really lucky with my old chiropractor and she was the first one I visited and felt like it was a good fit.

Definitely look at their website, make sure they're actually a chiropractor that will do stuff and not just some "vaccines are bad, try these essential oils while we do bone restructuring". My chiro specifically has on her website that she practices the Gonstead method, which means she took X-rays of all the areas where I was pointing out pain, using different tools to see if I had any disc problems in my spine, and did a lot of palpation when I was both sitting or laying down and moving to make sure things were where they were supposed to be. I feel like that helped me more, because she could pull out an X-ray to make sure we were focusing on the right spots, and it looks like (on the internet, anyway) it's generally regarded as the most effective method for pain management.

There's also six other kinds of chiropractic care but this one's the one I felt worked for me.............and also I haven't experienced any other kind.

Other people have said that a better alternative (their words, not mine) is physiotherapy/physical therapy, because it's helping teach you how to move and flex your body around in a better way than you currently are to improve your quality of life, and also there's more focus on muscles and tendons, whereas chiro focuses on bones.

Here's a couple of good comparison articles about the differences and benefits of each, while not trashing each other.

I honestly can't say which is going to be better for you specifically, because only you know where your pain radiates from. If you feel like you're not able to move as well as you should for a person of your age and health status, then you might need physiotherapy more. If it's more centered on your torso and neck, it might be chiropractic care. And hey, who says it can't be a little of both? (well. your insurance might. but that's them)

I first went to a chiro because I, a full-grown adult, kept getting double-ear-infections, which is not a thing adults should get (I blame the water in Texas) and my mom suggested a chiropractor because it helped some of her coworkers' kids. (idk. I'm not a scientist or a bone specialist or whatever, I just know it worked) And while I was there and getting looked at, I was able to get some ongoing chronic pain issues treated as well. I didn't know it was my hips being slightly displaced that was causing my lower back issues, just like I didn't know that my upper spine had been curved because of all the books I had to carry in my backpack in high school and college, so we were able to start correcting that! And now I'm not like, chugging a bottle of ibuprofen every other day.

1 note · View note

zumpietoo · 2 years

Text

Andd...

Been wanting to do this one for a few days....

Umm....here’s the thing----it’s pretend. The show doesn’t have to “have anything for this ship” because they’re together because the writers say so. The end....

And, even if not....plenty (most) IRL couples meet, get together, fall in love, etc generally as adults with NO shared background, whatsoever. There are also couples who perhaps knew each other as children and fell in love as adults.

Any of it works.

Jizzy is in the past and yes, was beautifully filmed, because that was the narrative at the time.....and, honestly, we also had Slizzy’s mind elsewhere, seemingly still moping after Douchie and in 20/20 retrospect, WAS always using Jug as a placeholder---cuz she’s a shitty person.

So’s Douchie....it’s what the show has for them. Two full bore, admitted assholes who deserve each other. Works for me. The bird, BTW, is not why they’re together----it’s merely a memory alluding to how Slizzy isn’t the literal worst. She is and so’s Douchie....but the writers tried.

Just because we aren’t shown them discussing this shit (and they have and did a bit----Slizzy had confessed to cold blooded murder and Douchie was cool with it), doesn’t mean they don’t.....because, dude, that’s boring.

And isn’t something they did a whole with Jizzy, either....I get YOU think navel contemplation makes for awesomely amazingly fantastic teevee, but no and most peeps don’t. Especially on a mystery show.

Also, you now legit whimpering about how a ship is doomed because you don’t dig their backstory.

Oh and they’re now seemingly 26. Learn to fucking math, moron.

Umm....

A) “Long run”??? It was the end of last ep. Apparently it meant a lot to Slizzy herself

B) So you’re legit admitting now Slizzy IS a psycho killer? Plus the implication here is it was while Hal was grooming her, so your point fails, anyway. And if you ARE admitting she’s a psycho killer, then Jug doesn’t deserve to deal with that violent mess, either.

C) Douchie doesn’t remotely act that way----if you think he does, then you think Jug did. Plus, again, if you DO think she’s a psycho killer, then she needs neither dude and should be back in therapy. Or prison

D) Oh sweet jeebus. Not the same words, actually, Douchie’s was (sorry) moar effective, cuz he said he saw that she fought and had never stopped fighting against it.

E) Vermin’s also a cold blooded, murderous sociopath. Soooo....nope. And pretty sure Douchie got that Slizzy (like himself) had just fully fessed to being a stone cold killah

F) An “OUTLET”???? For being a psychopathic killer? Ummmmm.....and no. In fact, Locky, do you even watch the show?

Plus, again, all y’all ever do is make the case for why, yes, theoretically, Jug IS better for Slizzy (he’s a better person, so obviously)---but fully negate how Slizzy is everrrr remotely good for HIM (and since she sent him spiraling down a deep path of darkness, she isn’t)

These are dummmmm additions and I’m a dummmm bitch. Douchie does NOT idealize Slizzy.....actually, that was Jug.....even as she cheated on him and stole credit for HIS work and ideas. Oh and you guys....

She didn’t “try and confront Douchie”....but yes, she does idealize him....and is with him because she thinks the Barfie Dreemhouse will cleanse her. Actually, they aren’t and they do work. They’re both violent, elitist fascists....so yeah, it kinda does.

Plus didn’t you use to insist Jizzy worked because “opposites attract”???

I love the concept that “something pretend didn’t work in a pretend story where OFC it works, because it’s pretend”-----from the moron still writing a weird fantasy Cape Cod world as an uber budget Judith Krantz, whose writing skills remain arrested in middle school.

We’ve been given to know, frankly, all along....that Slizzy’s basically repressed the bulk of her childhood. She’s NEVER actually raised a memory of her own thru the series run. It’s always from her diary, somebody else, etc.....and generally, we’re told she’s fully forgotten them. To the point of peeps suggesting she had brain damage/memory loss. It’s part of why I thought they were gonna go fullbore Michelle Remembers with The Farm storyline.

There was no reason to show one post time jump, we’ve seen Slizzy presenting herself and are meant to think this has always been her “falling in love”

Oh good lord, fucking enough about Paulie

They didn’t

Didn’t have to be the case, dude.

Nope, again, you watch a different show and want your fanfic.

Dude, the writers have never shown anybody’s bond. Even for OG Jizzy, what we had was that SH had nice chemistry (and turns out sex was the primary driver of their IRL relationship, anyway) and everybody wanted poor Jug to be happy. In reality, again, we also always had, excepting the finale, Slizzy weighing her options.

That you ignored it is not my problem (to quote your kween).

Plus here’s the thing......you don’t have to like Barfie, I don’t.....but it’s still canon and likely what you’re gonna be stuck with. At least for quite awhile....and even then #nojizzy4u

No, you just don’t like the show.....at which point, don’t watch. And while I agree Barfie IS grody, Barfies don’t feel that way.

And Jizzy’s done....likely 4evah.....because your kween can’t control herself. Time to suck it up

2 notes · View notes

hospitalterrorizer · 9 months

Text

diary7

i got bored and used mouthwash is how my day is going.

not, like, in a stupid way. i just literally washed my mouth with it. i also just did the last workouts of the day, 36 hip thrusts and 30 squats (on top of my earlier in the morning 30 squats + leg lifts and other stuff i do on my back (not euphemistic)) now i am relaxing by listening to usurp synapse, who i was listening to earlier and i felt like i uncovered some kind of fact in how they structure their songs and went on to make another obscenely short song, my second one of the day.

i did get to record today, i've nailed down a song i didn't think i'd ever even get to honestly, re-wrote the lyrics to it too. i also, like i mentioned earlier, made two obscenely short songs. one is an 8 second long song with a 12 second long intro which i think i'm going to use as an intro for the album i'm working on, the other song is 23 seconds. idk where i'll fit it in but it's so short that it can basically go anywhere, as long as i can make it fit in the album emotionally/pacing wise.

tomorrow idk what i'm gonna do, i think what i'll do is leave the song i basically nailed down today, come back to it in a couple days or so, so that way i can come back with a clear head/ without obsession, and instead tomorrow i'll do a new song, maybe the new short one w/o vocals, and another shorter one, with more lyrical content though, and if my voice is up to it / i get them both handled well, i might go try another screamy song. i need to figure out some songs that don't require that though, i might try one of the longer (longer is so relative here, the longest song that's for sure on the album is going to be like 3 minutes. so longer meaning 2 minutes-ish) songs out that's less screamy and more freaked out androgyne stuff.

otherwise, today i prepared dinner for 4 nights tonight, i made miso butter chicken tonight, tomorrow or the next day, or maybe even the day after, idk what i'm gonna do with this other filleted chicken breast i have, maybe pan fry it after putting it in flour, idk what to do for sauce, it's already seasoned. the other 2 nights, i'm marinading stir fry. when i cut the chicken up, i always call it mr. chicken. tonight he was still kind of not totally thawed so the butchering was so cold it hurt my hands but this brand of chicken is honestly much easier to handle than i thought it'd be. idk why the other one feels like, denser, or something. what are they doing with these chickens. freaky stuff.

my mom texted me today to let me know that she is officially on the autism spectrum and i told her about how since highschool i've wondered if i'm autistic. i used to care a lot more about diagnoses then, i think i wanted to be told that i had everything wrong with me and that i was totally sick because if i were, i guess it made me more desirable, in a way, at least i felt like that. like if i were hopeless someone would really have to kill me. now i don't want any diagnosis and i hate psychiatry mostly but when my mom or really most other people talk about it helping them i'm just happy that they feel better in their life anyway they can, cuz everything is so miserable anyways. sometimes it does seem to confer a kind of condescension, some people begin speaking on behalf of their experts, outsourcing a sector of thought to an expert who sort of speaks through them in suggestions, like, you should get that checked out, maybe you need x, and whatever else. but it's easy enough to ignore people telling you (you generally, not a specific you, not pointed back at myself) why therapy is incredible and you should try it.

i don't even always hate therapists. i know some people would say i'm weak for that but they're just people caught up in a fundamentally fucked way of seeing people and trying to make that positive or helpful. they're losing so severely it's hard to not be sad for them.

a fairly light day i guess, or productive w/ music.

i found my gf's bone necklace, it has coyote bones on a chain. it wasn't really lost but i felt like i could lose it, it was under some books, i figured i'd need to find it sooner rather than later because i imagine she'd want to wear it.

she also didn't finish dinner tonight which she usually doesn't, so it's leftovers for me tomorrow cuz she doesn't eat leftovers. but that makes me worry about what she'll eat, i dunno. i can do ramen i guess but she'd feel ill over that probably.

bluhhhh

i really want to re-mix the stupid stupid short song, i need it to be a little more legible.

oh all my soreness is gone and i'm still all sorry for myself because i feel like i am still falling short of completing everything.

tomorrow i need to find a bunch of photos of maggots, grubs, caterpillars, and maybe a chrysalis or two to agglomerate into something for cover art.

i think i need to figure out the kick drums but the song sounds better now.

uhhhhhhhhhh whatever. i think this enough for today.

1 note · View note

etiennepaddywrites · 1 year

Text

The Curse by Etienne Paddy: Chapter Two

Later that week, I accompanied three of my friends to St. Stephen’s village for some shopping the afternoon they arrived back at school. After a long day of retail therapy in the quaint tudor-esque shops, we settled in The Powdered Newt, the local pub, to feast and play catch-up. That being said, I did not have much of an appetite for eating or merriment in the wake of my sudden singledom.

I clocked the group of Kiltrasners across the room, with the addition of two girls. One white blonde, weapons-grade beauty was nestled under Rafael’s arm, purring into his ear, and a pixie-faced redhead was draped over Asp.

As far as I was aware, Rafael had been linked romantically with Anousheh Fatemi for the past six months or so, who was still in Iran for the break. I imagined she wouldn’t be too happy with the scene unfolding before me. I wrinkled my nose and turned away.

“Honestly, I’m gonna boke,” said Irena, delicately as ever in her thick Northern Irish accent. As I looked at her she gestured towards the group with her fork, mimicking a gagging noise. Janie and Henry, our other companions, also followed her motion.

“Isn’t Rafael seeing someone?” Janie asked, brushing her blonde hair out of her round, pink face. “Why’s Delphine Draxton clung to him like a limpet?”

I tried not to roll my eyes at Janie’s innocence in the face of such flagrant infidelity.

“Delphine Draxton’s done quite a lot of clinging to boys this year, so I’ve heard” Irena sniggered. Janie looked scandalised, where Henry scrunched his nose in distaste. “Irena, please.”

Irena often carried herself with the decorum of a streaker pelting through a funeral service.

“Where do you guys think he and Ariadne have been all this time?” Henry asked in a hushed tone, peering at us through his tight brown curls. I braced myself for Irena’s standard inappropriate comment but she remained silent, her pale blue eyes searching each of ours with raised eyebrows, waiting for our suggestions.

“Who knows— they’re Duclairs. For all we know they may have just been on a long, expensive family holiday,” Janie offered, always prepared to cast anyone the benefit of the doubt.

Irena scoffed loudly. “Don’t be a dope, Janes. They’ve obviously joined the Reapers — everyone’s been saying it.”

“You don’t know that” Janie pointed out stubbornly, her cheeks flushing. “The Duclairs basically fund the school, they can take time off whenever they want. That makes far more sense than kids joining the Reapers.”

Irena gave us a look of don’t be so sure, and I ruminated on it for a moment, my finger tracing the rim of my forgotten drink. I was inclined to agree with Janie. Rafael was only sixteen, like us, and Ariadne, his cousin, was a year older. Far too young to join the terrorist group, even if their uncle was — unofficially — at the helm of it all.

Irena shamelessly ogled the group across the room before raising an eyebrow at us. “Well if one of us could get his kit off, we’d know for sure.”

Even after years of Irena’s lewdness, we still awkwardly avoided each others’ eyes.

“You know they say they all have those marks on their chests—” she expanded with a giggle, tracing a circle over her left breast. “I, for one, would happily volunteer.”

We all sighed in weary unison and the conversation then moved on to all the boys Irena thought were ‘rides’ this year. After ten more minutes of pushing my food around my plate and listening to the various positions Irena would like to practice with a burly Longfield boy in our year, I decided to excuse myself. I wasn’t in the mood to hear about Irena’s romantic endeavours, imagined or otherwise.

“Aw Fleur, it’ll get easier,” Janie said kindly.

“Edward didn’t deserve you. He was an absolute snooze,” Irena chimed in, helping me hoop my scarf around my neck and giving it a little pat when she was done. I crinkled my nose. She’d kept that assessment quiet over the past couple of months.

I said my goodbyes and left, making my way over to a low wall opposite the building, savouring the smell of peat fire smoke as it bloomed out of the pub’s wonky old chimney. I leaned against the jagged stone, taking a minute to myself before I made the journey back up to school.

The creak of hinges drew my attention to the rickety wooden door where Rafael was shrugging on a black cloak just beyond the threshold. He slid a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket with long, thin fingers, throwing a glance over at me. I quickly looked away, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

He was obviously a complete tool, but he’d grown up to be devastatingly good-looking. The last summer holiday had been kind to him, his boyish youth having become sculpted and refined. Here he stood, willowy and toned, with ear-length hair so dark it swallowed the light, falling effortlessly in loose curls over heavy black eyebrows. It was no wonder he had a harem.

I realized then that I was staring at him and quickly moved to redirect my gaze. Not, however, before he’d noticed.

To my utter horror, he sauntered over to me. I didn’t know what to do with my face in case this was one of those situations where you think someone was waving at you, only to wave back and realize you were entirely mistaken. He stopped next to me, leaving a little room. Leaning back against the wall, he took a drag on his freshly-lit cigarette, his golden signet ring glinting in the sunlight.

“Everwood” he greeted me smoothly whilst I gawped at him, mute. “Sorry about Verner earlier. He’s become a bit of a dolt of late, hasn’t he?” His musical voice was so beautifully modulated that all I could think of was how I longed to hear him speak again. “Or a colossal twit, was it?” He chuckled as he brought his cigarette to his lips. “It was a pleasure to see a glimpse of that forked tongue of yours again. More’s the pity it’s so seldom.”

“What’s it to you? We haven’t spoken in years,” I pointed out bitterly, finally finding my voice.

“Now, now, play fair,” he chided me.

“By all means, correct me.”

“It’s been a fractious time.”

“You mean your uncle?”

“No, the weather,” he said, sliding me a contemptuous look.

Being from an elite, ancient family, any whiff that Rafael had anything to do with someone as inferior as a halfling would indeed cause an uproar.

I did understand that, but I couldn’t forgive it.

“And the change in weather means you’ve decided to acknowledge me after so long?” I snipped as I pulled my cloak tighter around me and filled my lungs with the cold, January air.

After burying our friendship in the garden of our youth, I couldn’t believe his shameless impudence in unearthing this familiarity as if things had never changed.

Standing here with him now, I could still feel the lump that’d been lodged in my throat as I’d torn up the aeditrium’s stone staircases three years ago. I’d been struggling to fend off the oncoming tears after a run-in with a group of Kiltrasners when I’d heard a voice out of nowhere.

I stopped and listened, before realising that I hadn’t actually heard anything with my ears.

It was a strange sensation, and even stranger to process the connotations of what was indisputable: Someone’s voice was in my head.

I heard the cry again and stopped, trying to discern where the voice had come from. I deliberated for a moment before closing my eyes and succumbing to the peculiar feeling. I didn’t know how, but my body just knew what to do. After a deep breath, I let my consciousness peter out of my body, rooting around for the source of this voice. I found that its shaking wrath was like breadcrumbs in the air, leading me directly to its master.

It was my first true encounter with him. We’d shared a few classes at this point but had never spoken beyond pass the book, although hisnoble lineage and pleasing face had always made him a person of note to me. Upon pinpointing his mind, I couldn’t restrain my curiosity. Working actively against my better judgement, I decided to probe.

Who’s there? GET OUT OF MY HEAD, Rafael bellowed, as soon as I’d entered, the words reverberating around his mind like a scream in a tunnel.

I recoiled in shock, before collecting myself and shouldering in once more. How did you know I was here? I asked obstinately, determined to work out how he’d identified an intruder. It would be just typical for me to discover this rare new skill only to find I was useless at it. All my other abilities had required such hard work to be considered noteworthy in this world, after all.

Because I’m not stupid.

An unseen force began to scoot me out. Nevertheless, I clung on.

Training? I asked, groping for answers — willingly surrendered, or otherwise. Training would make sense. A powerful family like the Duclairs wouldn’t risk enemies infiltrating their minds or those of their children, no matter how unlikely that would be given that telepaths were a dead breed if the media was anything to go by. Which, I supposed, it wasn’t.

The very mention of the word ‘training’ swung open a door in his mind that confirmed my theory. A hazy vision of a young Rafael next to his older brother Sacha, being instructed by a private tutor in blocking telepathic invasion. A Professor Demonstras. Rafael didn’t like him. Sacha loved to wind him up.

I flinched as the door slammed shut on Sacha’s face.

If you won’t leave, I’ll eject you, he warned, and I didn’t doubt it. I did wonder, however, how I’d managed to gain entry in the first place considering his obvious extensive coaching.

Where are you? I asked, blinking back to my own consciousness before trying a few doors around me.

In here, his voice carried through the ether, and a door materialised at the end of the corridor, embedded in the stone wall that encased the Bell Tower. I gasped, eliminating the distance with a few strides before closing my fingers around the door handle.

The exertion of mind-hopping had my head thumping and a prickle gathering in the corner of my eye. I daubed at it with my forefinger and brought my hand back before me, the tip of my finger now glistening red.

I smeared the blood on my black habit and entered the room. My mouth swung open as I glanced around in awe. The gothic windows looking over the grounds reached up to a vast ceiling adorned with cobwebs. The room itself was enormous, allowing for the bells in the room above, the mouth of each presumably the size of a small boat judging by the width and depth of the space. Not only that, the room itself was filled with forgotten oddities and an eclectic assortment of shabby furniture.

I could see the residue of magic clouding the room in the light from the window, like dust in an attic. There were boxes of trinkets thrumming with mystical properties, mounds of clothes and hundreds upon hundreds of books. It was like a hoarder’s trove.

“It’s you,” Rafael breathed in surprise. I ignored him, instead reaching to touch a little silver box on the table next to me which emitted a squeak and shot off the edge. He sneered. “Pick up your jaw, it’s only a load of old rubbish.”

I was shocked by his lack of amazement. I still harboured a childlike wonder where magic was concerned. Where everyone around me considered these incredible things par for the course, I wanted to rifle through everything, to learn more about this captivating world I was so lucky to be a part of. But a Duclair? I suppose his lack of interest wasn’t actually shocking at all.

“Are you okay?” I asked, turning my attention to him, which he promptly swatted away like a meddlesome fly.

“Why are you here?” he deflected imperiously.

I processed his words, remembering the heated call with my father in the phone room and the vicious glee on Woodrow Kilbrook’s face as he’d eaten up my humiliation and left no crumbs. I bit my lip, the degradation washing over me afresh.

Rafael’s face changed dramatically. He clearly hadn’t meant to incite a breakdown, yet here I was, eyes watering and lip a-quiver.

“I— I—” he stammered, his shoulders tumbling out of their aggressive stance as he floated awkwardly over to me. “I’m sorry.”

“False etiquette doesn’t suit you” I managed, focusing on the floor as I schooled my twitching face back to neutrality.

“I am,” he said with sincerity, stiffly putting a hand on my arm— although I imagine he’d meant to be comforting. At this age, Rafael hadn’t quite developed his intoxicating hold over women and his touch lacked the self-assuredness that would soon inform his every movement. Too soon, arguably.

We stood there for a moment, standoffishly regarding one another, both unsure of how to proceed. I was aware of the things he and his friends said about me behind my back, which made me wonder why he was bothering to feign kindness now.

“You know that’s rare?” he offered. “Your ability?”

“A magical halfling?” I snipped. “Yes, I’m painfully aware, thank you.”

There were only a handful of halflings in the entire world. According to everything known about magic and DNA, it shouldn’t be possible to have magical halflings at all— all other children born to inter-magical parents possessed no abilities whatsoever. You’d think I’d have been revered as a medical marvel, but halflings had always been scorned, even before the birth crisis. Our teeth were less sharp, our movements more sluggish, our senses less refined… We were considered a blight on the race.

Rafael frowned at me. “No, I meant the telepathy — even amongst magiceans, it’s very rare. Does anyone know you can do it?”

“No” I admitted. “I didn’t until just now.”

“That’s quite remarkable for a —”

He caught himself before he uttered the slur dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“Fleur?” Rafael asked as I snapped back to the present, breaking forth out of my reverie and back to The Powdered Newt. The wafts of cigarette smoke and the crisp chill of the day settled once more upon my senses. I nodded, inviting him to continue.

“We’re not children any more” he reiterated, giving me an icy look.

“Sorry?”

“You’re a halfling, your father a race traitor, no less—”

“We were friends,” I said, and he flinched backwards slightly, as if I’d sworn at him. The corners of my mouth began to twitch, threatening to tug downwards. “Why does any of that matter? No one ever knew!”

“We could never be friends” he asserted with a scowl, twisting that final word over his tongue like it had a bad taste.

“Oh, well thank the gods you sought me out to make that clear.”

“I just thought I’d check on you. Don’t read into it” he said brusquely, casting away his cigarette butt.

I suddenly felt a burning desire to strike him. “I don’t know why you scorned me all of a sudden. I’m just as bright as you” I snapped. “All this talk about halflings being less magical is rubbish and you knowit.”

“Even so,” he said, refusing to meet my eyes, “but facing a birth dearth? Half-br—halflings shouldn’t be allowed in magical circles— race treachery cannot be condoned. It sets a bad precedent and it won’t help the crisis.” He took a step towards me, lowering his voice. “You might be able to navigate your obvious physical drawbacks,” he said, pulling his wand out of his pocket and spinning it around his fingers with impossible speed to embellish his point, before snapping it to a stop, “but no amount of practice will ever have a magical child quicken your womb. And now, that’s what really matters.”

Anger flared in my chest. “You didn’t seem to mind me being here when we were helping each other with our homework.” I hissed. “Last I checked, my womb didn’t even come into it.”

The look of utter insult that flashed across his face was interrupted by the Kiltrasner rabble bursting out of the pub. Asp stopped to assess our proximity. “Raf, is that mule bothering you?” he called over. Rafael recoiled from me.

All I did was frown and curl my mouth, but it was enough. “What was that, Never-Would?” Asp fired at me. “Nothing smart to say today?” The lanky boy stalked over to us as Rafael slowly backed away from me towards his friends.

Hot tears began to pool in my eyes as I put my hands up to bat Asp away, but he was too quick. “Just you wait you little half-breed”hespat, grabbing my upper arm as I shrank away from him, afraid. “Once the New Order is underway we’ll be a supreme race once more. Our lands will be reclaimed and you’ll be cast out of this world where you belong,back to that Unspirited dung heap you hail from. I, for one, hope they slit your throat at some altar, like they used to. Either way, enjoy your days here, for they’re numbered.”

He shoved my arm back and I massaged where his fingers had gripped me. Each sore spot was like a button pressed, and fury began to swell within me. I wished I could slap him. I wished I could muster the courage to punch him right between the eyes. “Any success you’ve had has been 99% perspiration and don’t you forget it.” He held a finger up to my face. “True magiceans do not sweat.”

“Don’t play with your food, Vern,” Rafael lectured in a bored tone. “It’s so bloody common.”

Asp scowled, but quickly directed his vexation at me. “You should know better than to approach him. Do you need a reminder of your place here?” He spat at my feet.

“And yet you’ll have me linger” Rafael stated impatiently, turning on his heel. “Get a fucking move on.”

“Mark my words mule” Asp warned as he began to back away. “You can’t hear it now,” he raised his hand to his ear and twitched his fingers menacingly, imitating raindrops falling from the sky, “but the thunder is coming.”

I clenched my teeth, trying to govern my swimming eyes. I waited until the boys were over the hill and out of sight before I let the tears escape.

#yafantasy #yaromance #yafiction #writersoftumblr #regulusblack inspired #regulusblack #ex-fanfiction

0 notes

bylightofdawn · 1 year

Text

Today was... a day. A very long, agonizing day. Started with driving to another town to visit my GP. Talked to him about wanting to try and figure out if I DO have ADD or not and also about a new sleep med since my sleep schedule is fucked.

Because that vertebra in my neck was out and I couldn't pull my head back so it was forcing my head forward in a weird posture this caused all the supporting muscles to start spasming so the pain just escalated from there. But because I was driving I couldn't take any kind of muscle relaxer. So by the time I got to my chiropractor and they put me on the table face down, it shoved my head back into a regular alignment which then caused all those muscles to go into a nuclear meltdown. I don't think the chick who was checking me in quite understood how much pain I was in but by the time she'd gotten to the massager I was fucking CRYING from her pushing my shoulders down with her body weight and it just fucking sucked big donkey balls.

My chiropractor came in and suggested I do combo therapy cause there was no way she was going to adjust me when my muscles were that tight and spasmodic. That's an extra 25 bucks which...sucks but at point I was trying to not bawl like a child in the office and it did definitely help a lot. I have a TENS unit but that ultrasound machine is like a new level. I've seen them online for a couple hundred bucks and if I didn't live alone and had someone who could help me reach my back I might seriously consider buying one but for now I'll make due with my TENS unit.

Thankfully, my chiropractor was able to adjust my neck but fuck me I am still so sore and in so much pain, it's not even funny. I am SO GLAD I requested the entire day off because of my doctor's appointment, I don't think I could have worked even after getting adjusted. Tomorrow is my regular day off and I really need to just suck it up and make up the hours but NGL? I'm still super sore and in a lot of pain so I don't know if that's going to happen. I think I'm going to work half a day and see how I feel then. I could always make up the other 4 hours on Sunday.

I'd prolly fucked up my sleep schedule even further because I came home around 4 and slept for four hours. But I was just so wiped out from the pain and the lack of sleep last night.

I caught this week's episode of Mandalorian however and I need to watch the Bad Batch because people are freaking out over Crosshair on twitter so I think I'm going to do that. I'd like to write a little more but that might be too optimistic on my part.

I deal with chronic pain all the time but holy fuckballs I don't think I've screwed up my neck that badly in years. I couldn't think clearly, couldn't <I>talk</I> because my mind kept blanking on words and I know I was a fucking zombie all day long. Bruh, that fucked me all up.

And I think it kinda concerned my doctor because he wants to see me again in 2 weeks. :/ We did switch my muscle relaxer to zanaflex which I have been on in the past so I guess we'll see how that goes. I haven't picked it up from the pharmacy yet and will try and do that tomorrow.

One good thing that happened was I found out the Game Stop in seguin has the Tobirama funko pop I was wanting and I bought that. Annnnd I might have bought the bad batch set cause it was on clearance as well. I thought about getting the Hashirama but meeeh. I don't like him nearly as much as Tobirama. My three Naruto blorbo were Tobirama, Shisui and Iruka. I might actually perish if Shisui got some love from the US market. There's some REALLY gorgeous and outrageously expensive status out of Japan which I'm not spending my money on. Though NGL I am honestly shocked and disappointed Iruka hasn't gotten his own funko pop yet. Like WTF, I know he's just the most mid ninja ever who is completely overshadowed by everyone else with their stupidly overpowered abilities but STILL. SMH

Okay, time to watch TBB and pass the fuck out time now.

#life of el #haha fml #this somehow turned into a post where I ranted about my favorite naruto blurbos and the criminal lack of funko pops they have not received.#Considering last week I was bitching about Fenn Rau not getting one I think I need to accept my niche tastes will not be satisfied

0 notes

maemelany · 3 years

Text

Fixing the Broken (Part 3)

Summary: People say that time heals all wounds. In your case, time made it worse.

You’ve been married to Chris for five years, but his absence spoke louder than his words. After 5 years of trying, you’ve decided that you’ve had enough, and you left him. But Chris doesn’t want to let you go; he doesn’t want to give up on your marriage.

Would he be able to fix what you consider irretrievably broken?

Warnings: Angst, tiny tiny mentions of sex

Word Count: 2.6 k

Pairing : Chris Evans x Reader

A/N: I hope you like this one. I can’t wait for your reactions about this one. I can only imagine what @fallenoutofrose will have to say about Chris’s behavior in this part 😂

Enjoy and let me know if you want me to add you to the tag list

Love x Mae ❤️

Masterlist

Prologue , Part 1 , Part 2 Part 4

“It is better to hope than despair.”

-Lailah Gifty Akita,

You finally knocked. After standing in front of that door for what felt like an eternity now, you finally knocked. Your legs felt like jelly, and your heart was pounding in your chest. You were feeling more anxious than the day of your wedding, and the irony of the situation made you almost laugh. Almost, but not quite. You were about to when Lisa opened the door.

She was as radiant as ever, a big, warm smile on her face. Honestly, it surprised you. You knew that she knew. Now that Chris was back, there was no way Lisa wouldn’t know what was going on. That man told everything to his mother.

Lisa let you in, and you followed her into the living room. The house felt like a second home to you. Actually, it felt more like home than your place with Chris sometimes. There was always something happening here. When you left your house, you almost came here. But you felt like it was unfair to Chris. Lisa was his mom, and her house was his safe place, not yours.

“Chris told me everything. How are you holding up honey, are you okay?” Lisa asked you

Her kindness broke your last defence. Her genuine, motherly concern about you made you feel guilty that you didn’t come to her sooner. Lisa had always been so kind to you, taking you in as her own daughter from the moment Chris introduced you as his girlfriend. Your lips started to shiver as you were trying your best to hold the tears back.

“Oh, honey… please don’t cry.”

She took you in her arms, and you broke into tears. It may have lasted five minutes or an hour; you weren’t sure. These days you were crying so much it was just the new normal.

Your best friend had been a great support to you, but she had to. She was your best friend. Chris’s mom was supposed to be on his side, defending her son’s best interest. Not yours.

“Why didn’t you tell me things were that bad, Y/N?” Lisa asked you

You looked away. Somehow ashamed that you thought Lisa would reject you.

“I … I don’t know. Chris is your son, and…”

“And you’re my daughter. Y/N, you’re family. We all love you!” Lisa said, taking your hands into hers. “Plus, I bet some even love you more than Chris,” Lisa joked.

You laughed, feeling a little bit more at ease now. “I’m sorry…” you whispered.

“Don’t be. I am sorry we didn’t see anything,” Lisa said

You shook your head. It wasn’t their fault. They weren’t responsible, Chris and you were. It was your marriage, after all.

Lisa asked for your version of the story, and you could tell she was trying to be as partial as possible. You hated that you had to put her in that situation. She cringed when you told her Chris didn’t notice you were gone until he went to Carly’s place.

“That boy…” she said, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, a sad expression on her face.

“It’s not your fault Lisa. Actually, it’s not even Chris’s fault. I can’t force him to stay married to me,” You said

“You think he feels… forced to be with you?”

You shrugged. “I mean… why else would he be as far away from me as he possibly could?”

Lisa watched you closely. You could tell she wanted to say something but was refraining herself.

“You two should talk. Maybe you could solve this…” Lisa said

“I don’t think us talking would do any good. We tried that yesterday; you should have seen how shi… messy it was”

Lisa tried to hide her smile when you stopped yourself from swearing. “If talking to each other doesn’t work, maybe you should try talking to someone else…” Lisa suggested

You frowned. You didn’t see how Chris and you talking to Lisa would help. Yes, Lisa was a wise woman, but as she said herself, she was your mother both. Knowing Chris, he would take it personally if his mother called his shit out about his marriage. You still remembered what happened the last time Lisa agreed with you instead of Chris. He was salty for days.

“I love you, Lisa, but I don’t think talking to you would fix this,” you gently said

Lisa laughed. “I wasn’t talking about me, honey. I meant a therapist.”

“A therapist? Like couples therapy, you want us to go to couples therapy?” you asked.

Lisa nodded. You never thought about that.

“I thought couples therapy was supposed to happen before couples decide they want a divorce.”

“Not necessarily. It could help you express your feelings in a safe place. And, you decided you wanted a divorce, honey. I don’t think Chris agrees with you.”

You frowned. If Lisa thought the warm smile would help you accept the subtle criticism easier, she was wrong. You were even worse than Chris when it came to being right.

You loved being right and hated being told that you could have done something wrong, especially in that very particular situation. You were right. You had to be right. It would kill you to realize you were wrong and left the man you loved for nothing.

“Do you think I went too far…” You said, the tears resurfacing

“Oh no,” Lisa immediately told you. “You did what was right for you, and that’s the most important. I can’t even imagine how you must have felt, alone in that big house.”

A huge weight lifted off your shoulders. Secretly you thought people didn’t understand you. You were married to Chris Evans, living what they thought should be a fairy tale.

Even though you and Chris were what people called a private couple, he would sometimes tell things about you or express his love for you when he was being interviewed. When those things happened, your friends would always send you messages, reminding you how lucky you were.

They didn’t know how far they were from the truth. Most of the time, you were alone in your bed when you were reading their messages. Alone and lonely.

People think they know things about your life, your marriage, but they don’t. They would have to walk in your shoes, feel what you daily felt to actually understand.

When you left Lisa’s house, she had convinced you. She made you realize that even though things between You and Chris were pretty bad, your relationship was worth saving, or at least you owed it to Chis and yourself to try. Even if therapy didn’t work, you still owed it to yourself and Chris to end things the most peacefully possible. Before being your husband, he was your friend. You needed at least that friendship to be saved.

Instead of going back to your best friend’s place, you went home. It wasn’t even a conscious decision. You started driving and found yourself taking the way home. Instead of turning back, you continued. You realized waiting wouldn’t help. You’d waited so much already, now was the time to act.

As you opened your front door, you felt submerged with that particular sent. You were home. Despite what you told Chris yesterday, this house was your home. You chose almost every piece of furniture.

Chris was more than happy to leave it to you; he didn’t understand why you needed so many pillows on the bed or a particular shade of beige for the dining chairs. Instead of explaining everything, you would just ask for his opinion when it was absolutely necessary. Plus, it was hard to decorate a house via FaceTime.

Thinking of it now, decorating this house helped you manage your loneliness for some time. You were proud of every single room, from your bedroom to the laundry room.

You found Chris and Dodger sleeping on the sofa. You weren’t surprised. The couch was probably Chris’ favorite spot in the whole house. You had your office, and he had this sofa.

You were tempted to lay next to them. They felt like home. But you didn’t want to wake Chris up. If there was one thing Chris was lacking, it was sleep. You also noticed the dark circles under his eyes yesterday, and the current situation was not helping his sleep deprivation.

When you noticed a few takeout boxes in the room, you knew exactly how to occupy yourself. Chris used to love your cooking. Your skills were definitely better than his, but as your husband liked to say, one cannot be good at everything. You smiled when you remembered how you would tease him about his horrible cooking skills, and he would remind you how messy you were.

Even now, after thirty minutes of cooking, the countertop looked more like a war zone than a kitchen island.

“It smells good.”

You jumped. You didn’t see Chris coming, and now you had tomato sauce all over your blouse.

“Chris! You scared me!” you said, looking at him.

He was leaning against the opposite wall, observing you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

You looked at him with more attention. He looked less tired. You wanted to say something, but Dodger was all over you before you could open your mouth.

“Hey, baby. I missed you so much,” you said to your dog.

Dodger started to bark. The high pitch he usually reserved to Chris when he was coming back home after long periods of absence.

It broke your heart.

“He missed you,” Chris finally said

You didn’t know what to reply. You didn’t want to say something that would create a hostile environment for the rest of the evening.

“I need to change myself,” you said, showing your now stained blouse.

You were gone before Chris could even blink. Once in your bedroom, you found everything exactly as you left it. You rolled your eyes, mentally asking yourself how Chris could be so organized. And then you realized he wasn’t that organized. It wasn’t just the bedroom that was exactly as you left it. The walking closet and the bathroom were too.

Chris wasn’t sleeping in your room, and you wondered why.

When you went downstairs, you found him making the table.

“I thought I’d made myself useful,” Chris said when he saw you.

You smiled. That was the kind of evening you used to dream about. You and your husband casually sharing dinner together.

Chris was very attentive, serving you wine, asking you if you needed anything. You wished you could be so relaxed. You wished you weren’t about to drop a massive bomb on him.

“Why aren’t you sleeping in our bedroom?”

Your question surprised you both.

“I… I don’t know. It doesn’t seem… right.”

You looked at each other, your eyes saying more than a thousand words. Again, you were reminded how easy it would be to just give in, to just come back. But it would be a temporary relief, one you would only enjoy until he’d decide to leave again.

It took you the whole dinner, and filling the dishwasher, and watching the first part of a show to gather enough courage and tell Chris you two needed to see a therapist.

It happened before he was about to kiss you. You could feel it in his eyes, the way they became darker, and the way his body leaned closer to yours. You could feel your heart beating faster and the room suddenly feeling hotter than before.

You wanted to give in, you missed his touch, you missed his kisses. You missed sex with your husband. But you knew it would make things more difficult. Sex had never been a problem in your relationship. Actually, it made you forget about the problems. You couldn’t remember how many times you were on the verge of telling Chris you weren’t happy with the situation and totally forgot about it the minute his hands were on you.

“No,” you said, standing up.

You started walking around the room, trying to compose yourself. It was frustrating how all your perfect, well-prepared plans got ruined the second you were around Chris.

“Y/N,” Chris whispered.

“No, we are not having sex!” you half screamed.

You needed to convince not only Chris but yourself that you were not having sex tonight. But looking at him, looking at him, looking at you made things very hard, literally and figuratively speaking.

“We’re going to therapy,” you quickly said

Chris blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

You cleared your throat. “I said, we are going to therapy.”

You could tell he was surprised. You didn’t know if it was good or bad.

“Y/N… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

It was your turn to be surprised. You opened your mouth but closed it immediately after. You wanted Chris to explain himself before jumping to conclusions.

“With how public we are and…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you said, anger quickly possessing your whole body.

“Y/N…”

“You’re worried about your reputation? Do you even want us to be together, Chris?” you asked him.

“I’m not worried about my reputation. I’m worried about… our privacy.”

“Chris, therapists have a duty of confidentiality,” You said, raising your voice.

“Well, you won’t believe how many people would break it given the right sum,” he screamed back.

You wanted to scream, anything that would release the frustration you were feeling inside.

“Do you even want to fix this?” you ask, as calmly as you were able to

Chris huffed. “I was begging you to come home with me yesterday. Of course, I want to fix this.”

You crossed your arms. “me coming home right now would not fix things; it would bring us back to this,” you said, throwing your hands up.

“And this is so bad, right?” Chris asked, bitterness in his voice.

“No, this is perfect. This is what I want permanently. It will kill me to come back to this if this is not forever.”

The room went silent. So many emotions went through Chris’s eyes, and you were trying to decode them all.

Chris finally drew a long breath. “I am not going to couples therapy.”

His words stung more than you could have imagined. They also unleashed the silent anger that was rising inside of you since the beginning of that conversation.

But instead of screaming and crying and pleading with Chris, you reached for your handbag. You were done trying to negotiate with him. You were done trying to spare his feelings.

You removed the divorce papers that had been sitting in your bag for days now. You threw them on the coffee table near Chris and waited for him to look at them.

You could see him become very pale, and if you weren’t that angry, you would be worried.

“Are they…” He started

“Yes. Divorce papers. We go to therapy, or you sign them. It’s your choice.”

Chris was startled. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m more than serious. I have a pen if you want to sign now.”

You looked serene, but inside, your heart was dropping lower with every second Chris wasn’t doing anything. You knew you were forcing his hand, but he left you no other choice.

“So, what is it going to be, Chris?”

Chris took the divorce agreement into his hands, and you held your breath. Your heart started beating again when he tore them in half.

He gave you a deadly stare, but at this point, you didn’t care anymore. He could be angry, scream at you, even hate you, as long as it meant you were doing something to try to fix things, you could take it all.

“Text me when you find a therapist you can trust,” you said before taking your bag to leave.

If he thought you’d be the only one sweating for this, he couldn’t be more wrong. It takes two to tango. It was about damn time for Chris to act. Because you were sure that this time feeling sorry or even good sex wouldn’t fix things.

Tag List (tell me in the comments if you want to be tagged)

@90girlgolden @jennamarieee623 @spookyparadise69 @coffeebooksandfandom @calirindo @jessyballet @janeyboo @killerstvles @patzammit @inlovewith3 @katelyneann @evatia @breezykpop @n3ssm0nique @mary-on08 @anthonyjanthony666 @dangerouslovefanfic @positionsfyou @killerstvles @ragamuffin285 @sohoseb

#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #chris evans imagine #chris evans series #chris evans angst #chris evans fandom #chris evans fluff #chris evans smut #smut #series #agnst #marvel #fluff #angst #fixingthebroken #part 3

701 notes · View notes

chromatic-fate · 3 years

Text

I Dream of What Ifs

Hello, everyone!

I am a big fan of @thedeerus Persona 5 AU’s and I decided to make a one-shot of their Murder Boyfriend AU! If you don’t know @thedeerus , please go check them out, they make some cool ass shit (and please send them some couples therapy their way their wife is trying kill them--)

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Goro got nightmares, it was a nightly occurrence for him and Akira. It was one of the reasons they slept together every night. But tonight they had to sleep alone.

It was the night before Goro, Akria, and the Phantom Thieves stole Sae Niijima’s Treasure, and Takamaki had suggested a big sleepover at her apartment. The Detective Duo tried to refuse, but Suzui, the little shit, made it mandatory under the pretense that “it would be a great way to build team trust before the end of our arrangement.” Bitch.

Goro lied on his futon, losing a staring contest with the ceiling as he tried his best to fight off the impending sleep. He had run through each detailed step for tomorrows plan at least ten times now, and came up with a few more scenarios that he quickly made plan for as well, but he could feel the tiredness slowly seep into his bones.

A sudden whimper from his right made Goro turn his head towards the sound. Akira, who lay right next to him on the living room floor, had an expression of deep pain and worry. His brows were knitted together, his eyes squeezed tight as if waiting for a hard blow, and his breathing heavier than normal.

Goro let out a quiet sigh before gently grabbing Akira’s hand and slowly rubbing circles with his thumb. Eventually, Akira’s breathing evened out and his face began to relax, making the brunette smile fondly at him.

Goro released his hand from Akira’s before getting up from his futon and heading to the kitchen. Goro needed the sleep, he knew he did, it was a big day for everyone tomorrow, but it was hard to sleep with the nightmares. Goro grabbed a glass from one of the cabinets and filled it with water.

As the brunette drank his glass, his thought of ways he could mitigate the nightmares while here. He knew that physical contact with Akira helped both their nightmares, so maybe he could hold Akira’s hand and cover them up with something? No, their futons were far enough apart that it would look suspicious, and there was no way that either of them were going to get up before any of the thieves.

“Akechi?” A quiet, but still very sudden, voice said from behind him.

Goro quickly lowered his glass and spun to the voice, his mind on high alert now. At the entrance of the kitchen stood Suzui, but something was off about her; her dark brown eyes seemed dim, and her body posture was small and fearful.

“Ah, Suzui, what are you doing up this late?” Goro asked, quickly trying to hide his alertness.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Suzui quickly put up a smile, but Goro could tell it was fake.

The brunette gave a practiced chuckle and set his glass down in the sink as Suzui want to grab one herself. She quietly filled the glass with water and slowly drank from the it, her fake smile slowly fading as well as she stared off into space.

A though crossed Goro’s mind as he stared at the leader of the Phantom Thieves right next to him. Suzui is acting off, she must be shaken by something. Most likely a bad nightmare. Goro internally smirked.

“Are you alright? You seem a little distracted.” The boy asked gently. He had to be careful here, on wrong move and Suzui would shut him down.

The girl snapped her head to the detective. She stared at him for a good few minutes, a contemplative look in her eyes. Looks like she thinking over his over. Eventually, she let out a quiet sigh and gently set her glass on the counter.

“Do you ever wonder…what it might be like…if things were just a little different?” Suzui asked.

“What do you mean?” Goro responded, trying to get more out of the girl.

There was a quiet pause before Suzui continued. “The reason I started the Phantom Thieves was to stop Kamoshida from hurting me, Ann, and the other volleyball players, but I only managed to gain that courage because I had access to the Metaverse…” She paused again, turning her head to look away from him. “And I was only able to awaken Medea because Ann was going to die…”

“I’m sorry that you were put into that situation.” Goro tried to comfort.

Suzui stayed silent for a little while, leaving a tense atmosphere between them, so tense that Goro visibly tense for a few milliseconds, before she spoke up again.

“But, after everything that’s happened with Okumura and now Sae, I can’t help but go to all these ‘what if’s. What if I never got that app? What if I never summoned Medea? What if I never went to the Metaverse? What if I never went to Shujin?” Suzui hugged her arms as her voice became weaker. “Would I still stand up to Kamoshida? Would I have still met all my friends? Would the Phantom Thieves still exist? Would Ann still be alive?” Suzui began to tremble slightly, as she practically whispered the next question. “Would I still…be alive?”

Goro stared at the girl before him, his sudden alertness now completely gone, shock now taking its place. He honestly didn’t know how to respond to something like this. Sure, he and Akira would give contemplative “what if” scenarios to each other from time to time, but they rarely went this deep.

“Sometimes…I dream about those ‘what if’s.” Suzui continued. “The most common one is…not one I like talking about.”

“It might help if you do.” Goro offered, seeing a point where he could hit gold.

Suzui stayed silent for little bit, a contemplative look on her face again, before she let out another sigh.

“It’s what might have happened if Ann and I never went to the Metaverse…” The girl began, her eyes dim more as she remembers the dream. “I’m standing on the school roof, on the other side of the fence…I don’t know what happened to make me do this, or I don’t want to remember, but…I jump…” Suzui pauses for a minute, building the courage to continue. “I’m still alive, but…I’m on a medical caot…Ann is crying above me, asking me why…I don’t know what I say to her, but it’s related to Kamoshida…And then I pass out…But the strangest thing about the dream isn’t that I remember all of it, or that I can still feel the pain from the fall, but…” Suzui gives a brief glance at Akira through the kitchen window, who is still sleeping soundly on his futon, and Goro finds his action strange until he hears Suzui’s next sentence. “It’s that Kurusu is there, watching from the crowd, next to Ryuji…”

Goro’s open hands turn into fists. What? Why would Akira be there? Akira went to Kosei with Goro, why would Akira be in Suzui’s dream attending Shujin? Why would he be in Suzui’s dream at all? It made his blood boil.

Goro shook his head and crossed his arms to rid his irrational and angry thoughts, before slipping his Detective Prince mask back on. He couldn’t blow their cover, not when they’re so close to the end.

“I see…I’m sorry for all the stress that’s been put upon you lately, Suzui. And I’m glad that you are here.” Goro says with his fake, honey coated, consoling voice he uses for victims who have lost someone to one of his mental shutdowns.

Suzui turns to him with a weak, but genuine smile and gives him a nod.

“Thank you, Akechi…That means a lot right now…” Suzui said.

“Did talking about it help?” Goro asked.

Suzui nodded again and finished her glass of water before putting it in the sink next to Goro’s.

“It did. Thank you for listening to me. I think I’m going to go back to bed now. Goodnight.” Suzui finished off before walking back out of the kitchen and into Ann’s room where the girls slept.

Goro stood in the kitchen for while longer, his thoughts still stuck on that line about Akira being amongst the students of Shujin in Suzui’s dream. Such a concept was unthinkable to Goro, impossible even, and just the passing thought of it made his blood boil with rage. He tried using this chance to see what made Suzui tick, what shook her the most, and instead he was the one getting affected by the mere mention of Akira attending Shujin of all places.

Goro stayed in the kitchen until he was calm enough to leave, before heading back to his futon. He was still angry, but not enough that it would control him. The brunette sighed as he slipped back under the covers. He wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, was he?

112 notes · View notes

lululawrence · 3 years

Note

Can u please be nicer on ao3? Maybe you should try answering people's comments

when i read the first line i was honestly flabbergasted and wracking my brain trying to figure out when in the world i wasn't nice on ao3 ever. because i honestly truly try to be nice to everyone always, even when i'm angry or frustrated or people are going after those i love and want to protect. if there was a time i WASN'T nice on ao3, i wondered if it was maybe because my comment had been misunderstood or someone saw me razzing an author i'm good friends with and they didn't get that we are close and i said what i did with so much love and appreciation, you know? like what??? did i do???

but then i read your second line. and please forgive me if i come off as rude in my response to this, because honestly i'm in a pretty bad spot mentally and emotionally in general right now, but PARTICULARLY today, and this ask triggered an anxiety response in me. so. i'm trying really hard to word this in a way to educate without being condescending or mean, but i might not succeed.

firstly, thank you for your comments i'm assuming you've left. i'm also assuming they were nice comments, in which case extra thanks. i'm sure i'll send you effusive responses on ao3 when the time comes.

secondly, please understand that sending an ask like this, on anonymous no less, is incredibly entitled. writing is not my profession, i receive no compensation for my works that i post for free online, and as a part of that it is not required of me to respond. i do my very best to reply to every comment i receive, but it is not always in a timely manner, because i have other priorities in my life. all of which leads us to my third point, which is:

writers do not owe you a reply to your comments. end of. there are no other qualifications or quantifying modifiers to be added to the statement. is it nice to be acknowledged and know your comment was seen? sure. but do they OWE you one? hell no.

in fact, i'd like to offer you a suggestion. a way of tweaking your thinking about the comments you leave on fics. instead of looking at comments you leave as being something that deserves a reply from the author, think of your comments as your way of paying the author for the gift of their time and talents that they have shared with you by posting their fic. that's how i think of the comments i leave for authors. i'm giving them my thanks for the words they've shared! i want to help THEM feel as amazing as they have made ME feel when i read their fic. in fact, my hope isn't necessarily a response from them, but instead my hope is THE GIFT OF THEM SHARING MORE FIC WITH ME. i'm a selfish bitch in that way and i always want all the fic to read. i never want that well to go dry. one way i can ensure that doesn't happen is by supporting authors and being kind to them and spreading all the love and excitement i can about their writing in the hopes that my words will inspire them to share more.

because whether they reply or not, i GUARANTEE they are seeing your comments. i PROMISE they are. and for all you know, your comment might be the one that keeps them writing even when their words aren't coming easily or when they are tempted to give up.

but, again, please remember that no matter what, these authors (including me) don't actually owe you anything.

the rest of this is going under a cut, because honestly my reply is already far too long and i have a LOT more to say now that you've gotten me started.

now, all of this in mind, i'll explain to you why i'm not great with keeping up with comments made on my fics the last couple of years. i don't owe you this explanation any more than i owe you a response to your comments, and i'm honestly not sure you deserve this explanation either, but i'll still offer it anyway. it'll help me feel better knowing i at least put this out there, whether you care or not, mainly because if i don't do that it will cause me greater anxiety having you possibly think i am not responding to people because i feel all high and mighty or that i think i'm better than the comments or whatever the fuck kind of motivation you're attributing to me to see my lack of a response as something "not nice" towards the commenters.

i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i put out a lot of fic. like a lot. a lot of words and shit. i love writing, it's often my therapy and a way for me to help keep my anxiety and depression and ptsd at bay.

now, more personal shit for you, i've got three kids ages 9 and under. the oldest has adhd which we have yet to find a med for that helps to the extent she needs without side effects that aren't healthy for her to continue with, she also has anxiety, AND she's extremely gifted and starting a new program at a new school, all in the midst of a pandemic. and all of those situations exacerbate her anxiety! huzzah! she's also dealing with the beginning of her tween growing up shit, which is great fun because it means where she used to be pretty damn understanding of her younger brother, she is finding it much more difficult to. because the second oldest? he's autistic with some pretty significant gross motor, speech, and socialization delays that have only been exacerbated because of the previously mentioned pandemic. PLUS he transitioned from his special needs preschool to a fully integrated elementary school for kindergarten last year and then had to deal with all the ups and downs of the switch from e-learning to hybrid to all in schooling when everything in him screams for a normal schedule he can rely on to keep his own anxieties and fears and struggles at their minimum. and that youngest child? he was born in january of last year. he STILL barely leaves the house and has only met other children in close range a couple of times because, once again, pandemic!

add onto all of this my own mental health issues, the fact that my husband ALSO battles major clinical depression, adhd, and anxiety, AND we live with my parents who have their own health issues, both mental and physical. i run the home for our house of seven. i keep this place functioning, fed, clothed, clean, and everywhere we need to be for all of our five million appointments every. fucking. day. there is a REASON i've been borderline burnt out for the last fucking year and a half.

now, for fun, i have fandom shit. i love it here, even if it is a dumpster fire on the best of days, and getting to be a part of the writing community is so very lovely. i adore it. honestly, it's because of those friendships i've built with other writers that i have been able to keep writing and have found just how helpful it can be for my mental health. but i'm REALLY. INCREDIBLY. BUSY. i hardly have time to get on tumblr for just a quick swipe through my dash most days. i put off asks so long i forget i have them. i don't have the mental and emotional capacity to talk to people on here or interact fully a lot of the time. but i do my best to do so and be kind while i'm at it even when i don't want to be.

then, on top of that? i also run fic fests like @wordplayfics and help friends run their own. because not only am i a writer, i'm a reader. i LOVE fic. fic has saved me soooooo many times over the past seven years that i've been here. i want to do what i can to support other writers the best way i can, which is to provide a space for them to create their works that welcomes and helps promote them, but also by doing my monthly fic lists and pocast highlighting what i've been able to read, reblogging their fic posts, and then commenting and kudosing their fics too.

sometimes i get really fucking down on myself because i'm so behind on replying to comments, but my brain is very much a "if you start this, you have to finish it" kind of a brain, and i feel even WORSE sometimes if i reply to comments on some fics and not all of them. but i do my best and reply when i can. i was actually really fucking proud of myself because i had a couple days to myself in june, and i spent hours replying to comments on 20 of my fics. when you have almost 150 fics (i think? i don't even know how many fics i've posted by now), that is only scratching the surface. but i tried and i was so so happy i did that many fics at once. it's exhausting, though, and takes a lot of spoons for me to reply to them in mass like that plus time consuming. so i tried to be happy with those 20 fics and the comments i responded to there and told myself that when i ha a moment to breathe, i'd go and work on replying to some more.

but see, that again causes anxiety and guilt. because i haven't replied to all of them. and that anxiety and guilt can cause me to put it off further OR to put off important things like feeding my children or getting sleep in order to finish it, so i have to make myself put things into perspective and ensure i'm doing the important things, like taking care of myself and my family, first.

and then, i have a moment where i CAN go ahead and reply to comments... but i also have MANY fics that are on deadline and i actually have a schedule. a SCHEDULE. for when i'm going to focus on which fics. i can spell it out for you if you really want. i made it back in APRIL to make sure i didn't sign up for too many fic fests because there are so many going on right now that i want to participate in, but i know i can't do all of them so i had to pick and choose. and when you are SO overscheduled and busy that back in APRIL you had to figure out what fics you would focus on at what time to ensure you got everything written when you wanted to through THE END OF THE YEAR, more choices have to be made.

for example. my writing time and time for myself came down to only one evening a week for ALL fandom things i'm doing and a part of right now once the kids were out of school for the summer. it quickly became apparent that for my own self care i needed more time, so i worked with my husband to find two other days i could carve out at least 30-60 minutes to myself to write every week. and i did. but if i'm already only getting that much time and have committed to those fics and fests and things that you're running etc, you have to choose am i going to use this time to try to squeeze in some comment replies? or am i going to write? and i choose to write. simple as that.

so yeah. see it as selfish if you want. see it as mean. you can honestly see it as whatever the fuck you want, but for me? i know that as soon as i possibly can and i can breathe freely for once and not feel like i am constantly drowning in my day to day life and am doing pretty well when it comes to my fic deadlines and getting started on those christmas cards i'm once again going to be making by hand for everyone on tumblr who chooses to sign up for one this year out of the KINDNESS of my heart and the love i really do feel for so many of you, then i promise i'll be on ao3 catching up and commenting. my friends laugh and make fun of me for it sometimes, because they will sometimes get 10-12 replies to their comments in a single day. they know that's how i work. i WILL reply to every single comment i get, no matter how old it is. but for the love of all that is holy, do NOT add to the anxiety and guilt i already feel over it. the only place that will get you is the ask/comment getting deleted if it's a good day, a fucking long rant like this one if it's not, and a block if it's a REALLY bad day.

if you're asking me to be nice on ao3, then i ask in return that you also be nice by not demanding things of people that they are not in any way obligated to give.

#long post #rant #i almost deleted this #but you sent it on just the right day and instead i let loose #this is unedited and unbetaed lmao but ENJOY #or don't #whatever #writing stuff #i should tag it #writing SHIT #but that's not really a tag i keep cause who wants to keep track of the negatives #not me

193 notes · View notes

wyn-n-tonic · 3 years

Text

So, to preface this, I just want to say that this is going to be US based as US based mental healthcare is what I have most experience with utilizing as I've lived here most of my life and I work in mental healthcare as well. I'm sorry I can't give information about other countries but I don't want to give inaccurate information.

Mental healthcare is hard. It is demonized and stigmatized and figuring out where to start is difficult. And even when we find resources, even when we do find that starting point, taking that first jump to ask for help is hard. Asking for help is hard especially if we've spent years being told to toughen up or that other people have it worse or, my personal favorite, it's all in our heads. Of course it's all in our heads, it's in the name!

Our brains can get sick just like any other part of our body and it's nothing to be ashamed of but people make it a shameful thing so... where do we start?

First of all, we need to talk about the difference between a psychiatrist and a psychologist/therapist. A psychiatrist is a medical doctor who specializes in mental healthcare and the diagnoses and treatment, including writing prescriptions, of mental illnesses/disorders. A psychologist/therapist is a counsellor who has been trained in talk therapy to help you manage mental health symptoms and improve how you handle stress as well as help you process trauma. There are some states where psychologists can now write prescriptions for medications and you don't need to see a psychiatrist. I don't know have a full list of those states so I suggest you looking up that information for yourself but I will always advocate for seeking out a trained medical professional for medication first and foremost.

With all that being said... let's get to finding a professional for ourselves.

Psychology Today is a great resource and I wish I could tell you how much I utilize this magazine/website in my every day life at work but you would get bored and hate me. But I love them SO MUCH.

They have separate searches for what you're looking for including Psychiatrists and Therapists. They also have searches for telehealth, treatment centers and support groups and while those are not the ones I'll be focusing on they are also super duper helpful.

So, you go into those searches and you input your zipcode and hit search and it brings up the results. But what's really cool and makes this better than just Googling professionals in your area is the way you get to tailor the search results for yourself and it looks like this:

This helps you find somebody you are comfortable working with because if you are not comfortable working with somebody, you will not make progress in your mental healthcare and that is unfair to you.

You can choose what kind of issues you want your therapist to specialize in handling (the list is extensive, I won't be including it here for brevity purposes). You can choose what insurances they take if you are one of the fortunate people in this country to have health insurance and therapy is covered by said insurance. You can choose the gender of the therapist (male, female and nonbinary are options). You can choose the type of therapy they are specialized in administering (CBT, DBT and EMDR are three very popular and common types but they are not the only types nor do they work for everybody). You can choose their age range. And my favorite: Price range. Because price is a big factor in why a lot of us don't seek out mental health help. They have four options, it looks like this:

I always choose less than $90 and that sliding scale option. That means it's based on your income level. Do not ever feel ashamed of clicking the sliding scale option. You can also look for places who have interns working for them. They're in their last semester of training before they start the licensing process and they're usually a lot cheaper. For example: I started with my therapist when she was an intern and she was 20$ per session for me on a sliding scale.

Then there's the more tab where you really get to narrow your search down between ethnicity served, sexuality, language spoken and the faith of the therapist. It looks like this:

Because, again, if we're not comfortable with who we're working with, then we're not going to do very well in our healing. Not only do we want professionals who know what they're doing, we want professionals who empathize and sympathize with us as well, who might have experience with what we've gone through ourselves. Tailoring the search results and finding a professional who meets you where you are is so important.

Then comes the really hard part of actually making phone calls but, honestly, email works great too if you have anxiety about talking on the phone. I reached out to a few therapeutic practices and just put myself on a couple of waitlists. It cost nothing and they move super fast. When you come off a waitlist and find a therapist you're comfortable working with, just politely email the other organizations and let them know so they can move somebody else up on their list. I have never experienced a professional being mad nor have I ever been mad at somebody taking themselves off the waitlist. Mental health professionals want you to get the help you need and the help you're comfortable with and if you found somebody before somebody else can help you, that is fantastic and we will genuinely wish you the best. Because we want the best for you.

This is not an exhaustive guide by any means but I hope it's helpful. Please feel free to reblog, please feel free to add on some other resources you know of. If you have already made or you decide to make a similar post for another country, please let me know and I'll be super happy to reblog it because Tumblr isn't an American only space and mental healthcare is not an American only need.

#mental health #mental health help #therapy #long post #tw: mental health #mental illness #tw: mental illness

61 notes · View notes

avengersassemble-fics · 3 years

Text

Stark Legacy

part 01/?? "the only person"

master list

word count 4.3k

an: :3 welcome to a new fic bc idk how to control myself

WARNING: this part does depict alcohol usage, and mentions of other substances a character uses to cope (though nothing is explicitly mentioned).

“An unemployment and housing crisis skyrockets to higher levels as people still struggle to adjust and accommodate the population we had years ago. Streets are littered with people seeking hope-”

“According to world economists, the surge in loan denials is leading to an unprecedented end, leaving the experts scrambling for a way to get the economy back on track, also claiming that the Global Repatriation Council may be asking for too much-”

“Protests break out across Switzerland as support for the group known as the Flag Smashers rises, with the Global Repatriation Council denying any comment on the matter, as well as refusing to comment on the rumours that the newly titled Captain America is investigating the matter-”

“What can we expect from Stark Industries now that Tony Stark is no longer with us? Pepper Potts, while having led the company in a positive direction prior to the Blip, has had no new developments over the last six months. With these newfound challenges the world is facing we’re left to wonder.. Who is going to step up as the ingenious mind behind new innovation? Will the youngest Stark continue on in the steps of father and brother, or are we seeing the end of the Stark Legacy?”

Click.

Silence filled the blue colored cottage that was tucked away at the end of the street in Ransdorp. Though dim and lifeless inside the cottage, outside the sun shined while birds chirped away happily and the sound of children playing echoed through the air. But inside the cottage, all alone, someone stood and tossed a television remote back onto the couch that was once occupied. They shed the blanket that had been wrapped around their shoulders all night while listening to all the different news reports, and entering a small bedroom and dressed in the dark. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and after shuffling through the cottage to grab a few things, the back doors were pushed and locked open, and a breeze blew through the house.

You squinted as you put a sun hat on and oversized sunglasses, overlooking the green oasis you had worked on every day for the last six months. Pushing away the thoughts of what the news had been saying, you stepped down onto the wooden patio that lined the back door and carried a hefty packed bag with you to the garden you had planted. You set the bag down and kneeled into the soft grass, and got to work on picking on fresh vegetables to use for your dinner later. Lucky for you, the soil was perfect here.

So… How have the last six months been for you?

Well the garden was a distraction your neighbor had suggested after finally catching you one day while throwing out a bag full of alcohol bottles you had consumed. You could see her take a second glance over your disheveled appearance, but she ignored it for the most part (which thankfully she did, you were a little sick of people telling you how to feel at the time). Naturally, instead of working through your problems, you distracted yourself from them.

But in all honesty… It’s been hard. Maybe it was selfish of you to think so, but you felt like you had been dealt one of the shittiest hands from the universe. The pressure from the world after… After Tony’s death was suffocating. As more paparazzi followed you around, the worse that anxiety had gotten. With that newfound attention, you had also been summoned by the United States government to attest for your time as a HYDRA agent. Lucky for you, in some way, they dropped any serious charges due to your restraint under the program, but sentenced you to weekly therapy sessions (since SHIELD had denied to disclose your mental capabilities). To your knowledge, Bucky Barnes had been offered a similar deal. The therapy lasted all of a month before you… Negotiated your way out of it, and returned to this safe place.

You drowned yourself in drinks and other activities after leaving New York, which in turn made your black-out episodes reappear, which had become evident as the photographed wall in your second bedroom started to be crossed out fast. You couldn’t help but twitch at the thought, and steered clear of that subject. But as of five months ago, you were all but cut off from all things Avengers.

Everyone had gone their own separate ways for the most part. Wanda was off the radar, Sam had gone and gotten a contract with the Air Force, Clint got his family back, Rhodey was some top notch Air Force guy (you didn’t really know what he was up to nowadays), Thor was gone offworld, Scott was making up for lost time with his family, and Bucky… Well, you didn’t know much about that situation either. Sam had tried to reach out after everything, but in one of your drunken states you threw your phone in the Weersloot river. You didn’t need a reminder of that day, or those few weeks even.

You never played the message Happy had given you from Tony. You never had the courage to do so, and you had it tucked away in your room safe and sound. Honestly? You were starting to think you never would be ready to hear what Tony had to say to you before he died. You just couldn’t bear to hear it, never would… Because if he even mentioned someone’s name you didn’t know how you would react.

When you started to think about Steve, you picked up a drink to take your mind off it. You had yet to come to terms with him leaving, because it still hurt like the day it happened.

Losing Tony was the worst thing that could’ve happened in your eyes. He was your family, though Pepper and Morgan had become your family too, Tony was the last piece of your family you could hold onto. The last shred to the past you fought so hard to remember and cherish, and now him and that part of you was gone. He was your everything. He always would be.

But Steve? Losing Steve wasn’t something you had ever even considered. While Tony was your soul, Steve was your heart. Despite everything you two had been through, the feelings hurt and the years it took to make it back together, Steve always had your heart. He was the man you wanted to fall asleep with and wake up to. He was the man you talked about growing old with, what life would be like if he gave up the Captain America mantle, he was supposed to be your future...

And then he stayed in the past, and left you here confused. Hurt. Alone.

You lost the two people you had left in the world. Your heart and your soul. And it was the most devastating blow you had ever felt… Everyday you wondered how someone comes back from something like that, if it was even possible.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a hefty softball landed in a thud in your garden and smushed one of your little tomatoes. You blinked at the sight before grabbing the ball and looking up to see the familiar short boy next door pulling himself up on the fence that separated your yard from his, and you grabbed a rag from your bag and wiped the softball off.

“Je vernielt in zijn eentje mijn tuin, weet je,” (You’re single-handedly ruining my garden, you know) you said to the boy and looked up at him through your sunglasses.

“Vergeef mij,” (Forgive me) he said and rested his head on his hands to watch you finish wiping his ball off. “Mijn vader wilde niet met mij spelen” (My dad wouldn’t play with me).

You stopped wiping for a moment and could see the sad look in the kids face. You smiled softly and stood, making your way over to the fence and handing him his ball back, though his expression didn’t change.

“Vraag het me de volgende keer dat je wilt spelen, oké?” (Next time you want to play, come ask me, okay?) You told him, and the smile reappeared on his face and he gave you a nod. You ruffled his hair as he jumped back off the fence and played once again. You went back to your bag, now full with vegetables, and picked it up to head back inside. You had a sweet pasta recipe to try tonight, and you think what you selected should work great-

You stopped in your tracks right before the back door. You lowered your sunglasses and lowered your gaze to the ground as you tried to focus on the sound in the air, the shift in the environment. You may have been slightly hungover but the presence was not hard to miss. You straightened your stance and gripped your sunglasses in your fist.

“Sam?” You called out. At first there wasn’t any rustling, but after a few moments you heard your back gate unlock and creak open, and that’s when you could hear the extra set of footsteps. You slowly turned around to face who had finally tracked you down, and were met with Sam Wilson… And Bucky Barnes in tow.

“What are you doing here?” You more so asked Sam. The pair glanced at one another and Bucky nodded his head at his partner in crime (God, you could just tell they were up to something) and Sam shoved his hands into the jacket he had been wearing.

“We came to see you, check in on how you’re doing,” Sam said. You chuckled a bit, and shook your head.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” you called him out. “What are you really doing here?”

“We need your help,” Bucky said. You bit your tongue and looked them over, maybe just a little curious as to what was going on. Just a little. “We stumbled onto something that I think you may have some information on.”

You hummed to yourself for a moment, thinking it over. Truthfully, the last thing you needed was whatever this was. So you shook your head and shrugged your shoulders. “I’m afraid I can’t help, but thanks for thinking of me.”

You turned your back on them and stepped up a couple steps into your house, and was all but ready to close the door to the world and close yourself off from Sam and Bucky, but Bucky took a step forward.

“There’s more super soldiers out there,” Bucky said in a serious tone. You stopped in your tracks, gripping onto your door for a few moments before looking back out to the pair. Bucky was watching you intently, in a stare you had only seen on him once before (which you didn’t want to recount at the moment). There was movement near the fence, and your eyes darted there to see the neighbor boy peeping his head over to see what was going on. When his gaze met yours, and you gave him “the look” he disappeared just as quickly as he appeared, and you looked back at the pair standing in your yard and against all better judgement, motioned your head behind you. Understanding your cue, Sam led the way inside, and you shut the door quickly behind Bucky.

You moved around the burly super soldier and brushed past Sam to set your bag of veggies in your kitchen. You had to take a moment to compose yourself before facing the duo who had been watching you intently. “Okay.. Go on. What do you mean there’s more super soldiers?”

Sam grabbed something from his pocket, a phone it looked like, and pulled something up before handing you the device. You hesitantly took it and looked down at the phone, where a video began playing of the recent Gasel Bank heist. You watched as someone got beaten to the ground, but what was astonishing was the sheer strength the masked person showed. Captivated, you carried the device into the living room and plopped down into the cushions of your sofa and watched more footage, this time up close from what you could guess were Dumb and Dumber who moved to hover over you.

“We were hoping you might know something,” Sam said. You handed his phone back to him which he graciously accepted, and you tapped your fingers together in thought before looking over at Bucky.

“What makes you think I know anything?” You asked. Bucky seemed to huff in annoyance at your questioning him, in all honesty you just wanted to hear him say it.

“You and I both know what went into the replication of that serum, your program especially,” Bucky said. You felt a lump form at the back of your throat and you casted your eyes downward. “You were still there after me… Did they perfect Stark’s serum?”

You looked back up at his question, and you held his gaze for a moment. You couldn’t believe this was how your day was turning, and you were pissed that he of all people were bringing up your past, like you volunteered for any of that shit. You lightly bounced your leg as you fought to remember what you had known.

“HYDRA had been unsuccessful in using my father’s formula of the serum again, even after you managed to escape their hold,” you started. You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat and leaned back into the couch, averting your gaze from Bucky to the floor as you searched your memory. “They brought in a scientist, but it wasn’t my op, and it was on a need to know basis. The only reason we knew they started the research again was they started taking people from the Phantom program to test the serum on.”

“Phantom program?” Sam asked.

“That’s what they called us,” you mumbled. “All of us were deemed dead so… It was only fitting.”

“Did the scientist perfect the serum?” Bucky asked. You shrugged your shoulders and met his look again.

“Didn’t think so,” you answered honestly. “So if there’s serum still out there, he has to be your guy. Though I can say I didn’t see any kind of sign of that activity when working with SHIELD.”

“But it’s a start,” Sam nodded and Bucky looked his way. The two started sharing odd glances, and you watched in confusion. Sam suddenly looked your way and motioned around. “Think you could spare some time and do this mission with us?”

“Sam-” Bucky began to say as a warning, but you chuckled a bit which made him stop.

“I don’t do this anymore,” you told them as you motioned between them.

“Come on (Y/N),” Sam tried to reason as you stood up and walked your way back into the kitchen and opened up a cabinet in search of tonight’s bottle of wine to go with dinner. “I get that you’re going through it, I really do, but-”

Just as you managed to select the perfect medium-bodied red wine, Sam had come up beside you and took the bottle out of your hand. “This isn’t going to help you.”

“Yeah Sam and what is?” You asked while crossing your arms. “Because right now the only thing that would help me out is to see my brother again but guess what! It’s not going to fucking happen! It’s just me, here, and all by myself. All by myself…”

Your words trailed off as a heaviness grew in your chest. The atmosphere in the room was a lot more stuffy, and you would rather curl up and disappear then let Sam (and Bucky) see you cry. But here you fucking were, with Sam seeing the tears build up in your eyes and the look he gave you, you wanted to be mad but the only thing that you could seem to feel was just sad. You blinked back the feeling and took a glance back at Bucky, who stood in your living room and averted his gaze. You looked back at Sam, and put on the best front you could.

“You’re welcome to stay for the night, someone can take the bed in my room and someone can take the couch, but tomorrow? We go our separate ways again,” you said in a low tone. Sam’s look at you was… Disappointment. Before the sentiment could settle on your already guilty conscience you turned around and grabbed your keys and a peacoat and stopped at the front door. “Help yourselves to whatever you need.”

With that, you pulled the door open and just as swiftly shut behind you. The cottage walls shook for a moment before settling to a silence inside. Sam looked down at the bottle in his hand and set it back onto the counter before looking Bucky’s way, who still looked annoyed.

“What?” Bucky defensively asked when he noticed Sam’s stare. Sam shook his head at him and pushed the wine bottle to the back of the counter.

“You pushed that too hard,” Sam said, to which Bucky scoffed.

“Me? You’re the one who asked her to join us which, by the way, where did that come from?” Bucky questioned as Sam came back to the living room and sat down on the couch. Sam leaned forward with his arms on his legs and rubbed his hands together.

“Take a look around Robo-cop,” Sam emphasized and Bucky let out an annoyed sigh. “You’re seeing what I’m seeing, right?”

Bucky looked around at your surroundings. He wouldn’t peg it as chaotic, but he also couldn’t pin it as put together. There were personal touches here and there, but it didn’t feel like you belonged here. Bucky wasn’t blind to what was going on here, but he also didn’t see how that pertained to what Sam was suggesting.

“Sam, we came for some information, we got it, so why don’t you tell me what you’re trying to say,” Bucky replied. Sam rolled his eyes and leaned back into the cushions.

“We let her come here, by herself, even knowing how devastated she was after Tony died,” Sam explained. Bucky’s eyes darted to the floor at the memory of him following you out to that shed the day of Tony’s funeral, and the empty expression your eyes held. “Hell, we don’t even know how she felt about Steve. We should’ve been here for this. And that makes us shitty friends.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say we’re friends-”

“Oh I’m sorry, who's the one that said she owed you a favor?” Sam asked and Bucky shrugged his shoulders.

“I did, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Nah ah,” Sam cut him off and Bucky rolled his eyes. “If you two owe one another favors, then your friends.”

“That’s sound logic, Sam,” Bucky sarcastically said.

You tossed your glass bottle of whatever the hell it was you drank earlier into a trash can on your way back home. You pulled your keys out of your jacket pocket and jingled them around until you found your house key and hipped quietly. Your cottage was just in view and all the lights were out. You grumbled to yourself as you neared, forced to remember what had happened earlier in the day (and boy did you work hard to forget that Sam and bucky were at your lace haha). You stumbled up the two steps to your door and used the wall to steady yourself, before quietly shoving your key into the door and pushed the door open.

It took a second to adjust to the environment, but the whole cottage was pitch black, besides whatever light from the moon managed to filter in. You carefully walked around the couch and glanced down at who occupied it, and when you saw Sam peacefully asleep you then looked at the door to your room and shuddered at the fact Bucky must’ve taken residence in there. You huffed a bit, and pulled a spare blanket out of a basket and moved to the back door. When you finally got outside and shut the door to not disturb your guest you tossed your blanket onto the patio sofa you had and kicked your shoes off.

After shedding yourself of your peacoat and plopping down on the hard cushions, you inwardly cursed the two men inside. You were doing just fine before their arrival, you had a schedule of self loathing and drinking then sleeping that they were interrupting. You just weren’t looking forward to the repercussions of tonight’s sleep. You laid back across the sofa and looked up at the sky, though nothing was there anymore. Or at least there wasn’t anything you could see.

Let’s be honest here. The reason you had turned to drinking was because of the fuzzy feeling you got after awhile. Your mind got to drift to something else besides the memories of your past, like… what to drink next, or in this case, is that a star or an airplane? It made the moment more simple, it made you forget who you were until you woke up again. That didn’t mean you didn’t resent yourself for your actions, but you just added that to the list of reasons why your endgame was the best resolution. You just weren’t ready to tell anyone what that endgame was.

Your gate creaked and you tilted your head to look in that direction. You could barely make out the figure as they neared, Bucky’s face became more clear. You looked back up to the sky and shook your head a bit to yourself. Bucky came to a stop close to you, and sighed a bit.

“You should go inside,” He said quietly.

“You should just leave me alone,” you quipped back to him. Though you couldn’t see it, Bucky rolled his eyes at your drunken response. You suddenly felt a lot more sober, and you turned your head to face him. “You had no right, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked and you huffed.

“You had no right to bring up the Phantom program. I didn’t tell anyone about that, not even Tony,” you admitted to him. Bucky bit his tongue and looked up at the sky for a moment to collect himself. “I didn’t want anyone to go digging into the extent of that.”

“I didn’t know,” Bucky admitted. You blinked at him as he caught your gaze again. “Look… I’m sorry.”

You fell silent before letting out a small sigh and adjusting yourself to be a little more comfortable, your head finally starting to feel dizzy again. But Bucky wasn’t ready to settle this, he shifted his weight and turned to face you.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Bucky asked. Your eyes fluttered back open and you looked over at him. He had taken a step closer, and hovered over you, and you raised a brow.

“What are you talking about?” You asked him this time.

“The drinking,” Bucky pointed out. You huffed and turned your head in the opposite direction into the cushions, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “It’s not going to help you know.”

“Yeah and how would you know?” You asked and looked back at him. Bucky leaned down to get in your face, and you tried to move back from him.

“Because I’m probably the only person who really knows what’s going on in your head.”

You bit your tongue, and Bucky backed off. In a bit of a daze, you plopped back down onto the cushions and pulled the blanket you brought out up to your chin. Bucky rolled his eyes at you shutting him down, and he moved to the door to go inside. The sooner the morning came and Sam and he could leave, the better for him.

“I never blamed you, you know,” you said in a light voice. Bucky stopped in his tracks and looked over at you. Your eyes were closed, and you were breathing evenly. Bucky retracted his hand from the door knob and took a couple steps closer. He needed to hear that again.

“What did you say?” He asked. You stirred a bit, but didn’t answer him. Carefully, Bucky used his gloved hand to touch your shoulder, and give you a small shake. When you still didn’t say anything, Bucky sighed and looked between the door and you and cursed in his head.

Bucky carefully slid an arm under your shoulders, and then hooked his other under your legs. He hoisted you up into his arms and into his chest, and your head rolled into his arm. Bucky shook his head at it and carefully brought you back inside, and past the couch, and pushed your room door open with his foot. Bucky sat himself on the edge of your bed and balanced you in his lap with one arm, and pulled your blankets open with a free hand. When he finally got you into your own bed, he took the blanket you had outside from you and tossed it onto his shoulder, and pulled the blankets on the bed onto you. Bucky stood from your bed, and before leaving the room he took a final glance at you as you stirred just slightly.

Bucky closed your door, and walked back towards the couch and settled himself onto the floor. As his back met the floor, he couldn’t help but wonder if you meant what you said, about not blaming him for what happened. One thing he did know was he meant what he said. Bucky stared at the door to the second room in the house, and he shook his head.

If there was one person he truly wanted to make amends with, it was you. After all, you were on his list of names.

- - - - - - - - - -

taglist // message me to be added or feel free to add yourself!!

@elliee1497 @iizabxlla@bulbasor-charmander-2020@littlemoistcarrot@dottirose@meraki–mei@littledaph@fckdusername@bisexuwhale9669@mottergirl99@vxidnik@anabutnotpro@ilovesupersoldiers @incorrect-artist@caseymcflurry@robindoesntloveme@cherryara@fightforspring@annetries@petlaufeyson@weasleyisourjedi@loganrwebb@marinettepotterandplagg @snarky–starky@emotionalcal@feelmyroarrrr @chewymoustachio@cass4nova @holy-rosewater@natdrunk @botchedzucchini@booksarebae2000 @chelseaxaz@stealapizzamyheart@iamninaanna @xoxonotme @chrisevansiseverything @stupid-simp33 @ladydmalfoy @iamninaanna @vamptori

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x stark!reader #Bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fic #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x stark!reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson fic #bucky barnes #sam wilson #tfatws fic #stark legacy

195 notes · View notes