i say “i’m seeing a therapist” and he takes a step backwards. why he wants to know. what happened. what made me like this, basically. what was the final step that pushed me safely into the side of scary people like them.
there’s a lot i think about. like how my illnesses effect me outside of the actual symptoms. like beyond the weight there’s a second river to drown in.
i mean we don’t talk about having to stare at employment papers where they ask you to self-identify your problems. that little bead of sweat that forms when you worry - what if i don’t tell them and i need help? what if i tell them and they think i’m a risk factor? what if they won’t give me the job?
we don’t talk about the way some people act when they find out. the ones who are rude about it are one thing. but then there’s those people you thought were your friends who act like you just told them you’re infectious. who become weird and distant and suspicious like a switch flipped. like if they get to close to you, you’ll give it to them.
we learn to be okay with things we overhear on the bus but we never get used to it coming out of the mouth of the people we love. we carry this secret with us like a rotted fruit, clutching it to our bodies. we’re ashamed of our scars in front of our boss. we don’t talk about our panic attacks during lunch breaks. when the cop pulls you over “i’m disassociating” isn’t an excuse we can open the page on. when you watch people make these ranting posts about how real friends always text back, how if someone loves you, they’ll find the time to spend. success stories make other people cry with inspiration while some part of your brain is saying you can’t do that, you’re not like them. things are uglier at the bottom. you can’t explain why you can’t just make friends. you can’t write because you’re depressed but when you’re depressed you write best. you can’t eat today and no don’t ask why please. nevermind taking the train. never mind trying to be happy. never mind reading books and watching movies and wondering where exactly are people like you in hero stories. i watch a video where a man tells me that being depressed is just a mindset. when i wear all black someone remarks i look particularly emo today. it’s 2017 does anyone say emo anymore, i ask her, and she laughs, “you just look like one of those fake-depressed girls.” okay.
i don’t tell him my therapist is actually why things don’t happen anymore. why i’m getting a handle on it. my tongue feels swollen. i feel embarrassed talking about it. in the highest twist of irony, i think of how many people know my problems anonymously on the internet. i almost spill out all my troubles onto him. instead i tell him it’s just a precaution. that i think everyone should really see a therapist, they’re brain mechanics and we all need a tune-up now and then. he relaxes.
“Is Bruce in here?” Tim figured he might be— Bruce spent a lot of time in the children’s wing of Wayne Enterprises. There were a dozen or so kids in daycare most weekdays, and Bruce liked to hang out.
Tim liked to hang out too. They had nice snacks, and he’d known most of the kids since they were toddlers. And sometimes naps were mandatory.
“Conference call,” Damian told him. (For someone who claimed to hate naps, snackfood, kids, and humanity in general, Damian also spent a lot of time in the children’s wing.) “I don’t know where.”
He went back to what he was doing, which was arranging a set of pewter soldiers into a complex model of a battlefield, presumably for the benefit of the preschooler sitting next to him.
“The Battle of Issus, 333 BC.”
“Right, obviously.” Tim decided he was curious, so he settled down on the mats to watch. Damian finished his model; he pulled a marker from the art table and used it as a pointer.
“Okay. This is the Macedonian army, outnumbered but in the better tactical position, south of the Pinarus River. Their leader is Alexander the Great. And this—” He pointed to his enemy line. “—is the Achaemenid Empire. They’re about to lose.”
Damian tapped his marker on the Macedonian right. “This is the companion calvary, Alexander’s elite force, and they—” he cut off when he noticed his pupil digging in the toy bin, clearly distracted. The kid came up with a battered Transformer, which he set behind Damian’s lines.
“Elliot. Alexander did not have robots.”
“But,” said Tim, rummaging through the box himself, “did he have wizards?” He pulled a bearded magician out of the tub and held it up for Damian to see.
“You know he didn’t.”
Tim passed the wizard to Elliot. “But what if he did?”
“How would that go?”
“Abracadabra, Alexander!” Elliot yelled, gleefully smashing through Damian’s entire left flank.
“Damn it, Drake.” Damian sighed in frustration— not quite the rise Tim was hoping for, but still something. He dropped Elliot’s discarded robot back into the box.
“I don’t know what you were expecting,” Tim told him. “Elliot’s four. He’s too young for— what is this— military history?”
“He was doing fine before you showed up.” Damian started to re-erect his soldiers, but he gave it up after Elliot came in for a second pass. “Which is typical, isn’t it?”
“Thank you.” Damian crossed his arms. “Fine. I’ll bite. When is he supposed to learn this kind of thing?”
“High school? Maybe never.”
“That can’t be right.”
“Have I ever lied to you?”
“Frequently.” Damian rolled his eyes. “I’m getting a second opinion.”
Damian checked the room for potential allies. “Thomas?” he called over his shoulder, “You learned military strategy as a kid, right?”
Duke looked up from the book he was reading to a pair of kindergardeners. “Just you, man.”
“Told you.” Tim fished a bag of plastic ninja from the toy box and arranged them pointedly into a row. “How are you still surprised by this kind of thing?”
Damian glared at him. “Okay, first of all? I’m not a— hold on a second. Elliot!”
Elliot froze with a large, plastic dinosaur held aloft over the battlefield. He drew it sheepishly back to his chest. “Sorry.”
“Not in the calvary wing,” Damian told him. “You’ll scare the horses.”
“Here?” Elliot pointed to the front of the phalanx.
“Aim for his center.” Damian turned back to Tim. “Anyway. Why are you still talking to me? I thought we had an agreement about unnecessary contact.”
I’m so in love DON’T TOUCH ME. Here are a few more headcanons because I have no self control.
Prince Adam physically kills me like just imagine this cinnamon roll, who’s so starved for affection from the person he loves because he spent so long as The Beast, that he literally shudders whenever you touch him.
A good sort of shudder as it reminds him that he earned your love and has gained your trust in the best ways possible.
The feeling of bare fingertips trailing on his skin. A sort of intimate affection he hadn’t actually gotten since his mother passed away.
Your hands brushing through his hair. It’s silky between your fingertips and leaves you feeling warm. Adam shuts his eyes and enjoys the feeling.
Imagine putting flowers in your hair and he absolutely lets you. Adam actually enjoys this a lot more than you thought.
You always choose colors that’ll make his eyes pop even more.
The gentlest and pure sort of love. Holding hands with one another and just generally enjoying one another’s company. Bonus points if one of you is reading to the other. You love to hear him read. He’s got a lovely voice.
If the two of you aren’t holding hands, he’ll wrap his pinkie finger around yours and pull your hand into an embrace.
Probably a bit protective too. Say, you’re out at an event together and he has the underlying feeling that someone he doesn’t like seems fixated on you, he’ll wrap his arm around your waist and keep you close to him.
Presses his lips to your hairline constantly through the night whenever he catches eyes with them to assure that they know you’re there with him.
PROT ECTIVE ADAM SHHH.
Adam trying to give you a kiss to the cheek after eating and he happens to have soup on his face from not using a spoon. He tries, but ultimately fails when you throw napkins at him from across the table.
Even sitting next to one another, and with a small smile, he bumps his knee against yours and convinces you with a rather sincere grin to lean against him.
Those exceedingly late nights where he finds himself unable to sleep and curls into a small ball, coaxing you to hold him because that’s all he needs right now. The assurance that you and your love are not going to leave him. Usually happens after a nightmare.
Even those nights where the two of you can’t sleep and you end up reading by the fireplace, snuggled next to each other.
Sort of funny though, he’ll seem more invested in your book than in his sometimes.
The small smile he gives you before he leaves you with a wisp of a kiss on your lips. Barely a touch, and his lips are still curled into a smile as he pulls away. Adam’s fingers trace under your eye, above your cheek. A tender stroke.
Even when he kisses the back of your hand, you can feel all of the emotion he pours into it.
Uhm, don’t get me started on forehead kisses okay. But, just imagine him cupping both sides of your face, looking at you with those beautiful blue eyes and craning his head down and kissing the middle of your forehead. His lips linger. Things are all right now and are only going to get better.
Y’all, I hoped you like these! Thank you for reading, and as always, Reblogs and likes are really appreciated! Thank you!!! -Em.