#I need to process this in therapy but something bigger always comes up

[teardropsonsmyguitar]

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[em-dash-press]

Why Creative Writing Might Make You Anxious (Even If You Love It)

When I sit down to write, sometimes I get so anxious that my stomach gets queasy. It can happen even when I’m wondering if I’ll have time to write today.

Anxiety affects even the best writers, so let’s talk about why your favorite hobby might also put you on edge.

Your Stories Involve Topics You Care About

Great stories always have centralized themes. Your theme drives your plot, informs your character’s choices, and draws readers in.

They’re essential, but they can also be deeply meaningful. You might feel the weight of being a voice on the topic, even if you’re talking about it through a goofy or unrealistic story.

Solution: Remember that you’re continuing a conversation, not presenting yourself as the all-knowing leader on any given theme. Give your perspective and thoughts on the theme through your work. Your unique take is why your readers will pick up your work.

Your Work Relates to Your Past or Present

Inspiration comes from anywhere. You might get an idea while walking the dog, but you can also think of stories when reflecting on your past or present.

Sometimes that means opening up parts of our history that wounded us. They might still feel like pressing on a bruise, even if you’re only writing a story for yourself.

Solution: Be gentle with yourself if you’re writing about a deeply personal topic, event, subject, or period in your life. Recognize that your anxiety is likely your brain trying to protect you, not sabotage you. If you can’t let it wash over you and continue your writing, consider starting therapy before writing your short story or novel. OpenPath is a great affordable option, along with sliding-scale therapists in your town. You might need to process that sensitive subject before you can write about it.

Your Story Feels Complicated

Longer stories can be overwhelming, even if they’re stories we desperately want to finish. They might involve more plotlines than you’re used to handling or a bigger cast of characters you need to develop.

We grow as writers by taking on new creative challenges. A few things I want to remind you if you feel like this is the source of your creative writing anxiety:

There’s no rush to finish a story. Ever.

Give yourself extra time when you’re trying something new. You wouldn’t expect a new runner to finish a marathon in 2 hours.

Take breaks to reset your energy, especially when you feel frustrated or anxious.

It’s okay to not finish a story.

Read that one again.

It really is okay to not finish a story.

You might come back to it in a year or two or three when your plot management or character development skills are better. It’s never a mark of failure to leave a draft in a to-be-finished folder.

Solution: Read through the bullet points above. Be gentle with yourself. Practice in shorter story forms, even with the same characters. You always have the judgment-free choice to finish a story or delete it entirely.

You Don’t Have a Plot Outline

Free writing is great. It’s a completely valid way to write short stories and novels. Some people excel at it. Others need an outline.

You might feel anxious about your current writing sessions because you don’t know where your story is going or how it will end. It’s a normal thing to experience and doesn’t make you any less of a writer—even if creating a plot outline changes your writing method temporarily.

Solution: Acknowledge that it’s okay to change your writing process sometimes. Every story needs a different support structure. Write your story idea in a single sentence, then expand on it in a paragraph. You can transform that into a bullet-point list or outline that makes writing the story more manageable.

You Haven’t Been Writing For a While

Some writers dream of having the time to write every day. Others like to write, but wouldn’t want to spend hours every day with their latest draft.

No matter what you prefer, sometimes returning to the craft of writing can spark anxiety if it’s been a while since your last creative venture. Whether it’s motivated by guilt, embarrassment, or shame, you’re not alone. It’s a typical form of creative anxiety and it’s something you can absolutely handle.

Solution: Give yourself some slack. Writing routines always change. Sometimes life draws us away from our creative writing for months or years at a time. You’re still a writer. Whatever your story becomes will be valid.

You Have a Loud Inner Critic

We’ve all been there. You’re trying to write but your inner critic is holding you back. You might want to jump into editing so you only continue with a perfect draft. Maybe you’re constantly polishing your world-building or character details.

The pressure naturally translates into anxiety. It’s okay to step away from your work if this anxiety makes you uncomfortable. You can always return when your inner critic is distracted or you feel more naturally confident.

Solution: Ask that inner critic to take a backseat. They’ll give you a powerful advantage when you move from the writing phase into the editing phases. Linework and structural editing can always happen later. But to reach that point, you need a draft. Preferably, your worst draft possible. Go wild with your writing—that’s what a first draft is for.

-----

It’s okay to love creative writing and also feel anxious about it. I think the only time anxiety didn’t affect my writing was when I was a kid and had never received criticism, constructive or otherwise.

Be gentle with yourself as you reflect on your anxiety triggers and potential solutions. You’re in the for the long run. Sustainable help will be your best source of help.

[hollywoodxwhore]

Ours - Epilogue

Synopsis: Presley and Colson fell in love accidentally, but they were meant to be. Now that all the obstacles have been removed, they're moving in together in LA. Now, they have all the time in the world for Colson to teach Presley all of the things he knows. This fic is the sequel to Mine, which can be found in my masterlist!

Warnings/Content: mentions of mental illness (PTSD, anxiety), mentions of therapy, short & sweet with fluff

I can't believe I'm wrapping up the second part of this story. It's wild to me how much y'all loved this and even more wild that I've decided to write a third part! You might be able to guess the title after reading the epilogue. Thank you all so very much for your support!

Colson

Three Months Later 

Presley received a diagnosis of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD.

I should’ve seen it coming. All the signs were there. At least now we have a name for what’s happening, as well as a treatment plan. 

Couples therapy once a week. Individual cognitive behavior therapy twice a week. Medication for panic attacks as needed as well as a daily anxiety pill. I find myself feeling very thankful for our financial situation. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to get help for people who don’t make much money. That’s why there's such a mental health crisis in our country. As mad as it makes me, I’m relieved that I can provide support for my wife.

At our first couples therapy session, we both cried. A lot. Presley admitted that she blames herself for the choice I almost made. She can’t let go of the fact that if Cash hadn’t shown up, I would’ve gone through with it. The therapist told her that if we always live in a world of what-ifs, then we can never live in the present. It’s something we’ve been working on ever since.

We’re closer than ever after what happened. We’re so good at talking things out and taking care of each other. We’re at the point where I can leave the house without Pres if I need to as long as I give her a heads up. It’s not like she’s “healed” yet. Healing is a long process but I’m confident we can get there.

The boys and I are going on tour finally. We delayed it because of everything that happened, but when we finally put tickets on sale, everything sold out fast. Somehow, the whole Megan situation brought us more fans. I’m not complaining. We’ve even added a couple of dates at bigger places and those are almost sold out, too. It’s crazy and surreal and I’m so proud of us.

Presley is going to come on tour with us, and this time, she’ll be around for the whole tour. I loved touring with Pres. I loved coming backstage to find her there, to catch her in my arms. It means so much to look out and see her smiling back at me, singing all my songs. It fills my heart with so much love that I don’t even know what to do with it. 

We leave tomorrow. I’ve been packing all day and Presley is due home any time. She went out for lunch with Olivia. Once a week, she’s encouraged to leave the house without me. She’s been following the plan religiously and doing such a good job, but I do miss her. I can’t wait to see her, to hold her. I can’t wait to have her on tour with me. 

Just as I zip up my suitcase, I hear the front door open and I smile, eager to see my girl. I rush out of my room and jog down the stairs, but I stop in my tracks when I see my wife. Something is off. 

She stands stiffly in the doorway holding an envelope with something inside of it. My brow furrows as I glance at the envelope and then up at her face. She looks worried but also…happy? Her eyes are especially bright today. 

“Pres?” I question, walking closer. I place my hands on her waist. 

“Hey, babe,” she says quietly. Her voice shakes a little.

I frown at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I…um…” She bites her lip and then hands me the envelope. “Just open it.”

Confused, I take a step back from her so I have room to reach into the envelope. My brow furrows when I pull out…a Covid test? “Shit, baby,” I say, stomach dropping. “You have Covid?”

She shakes her head, face screwing up in confusion. “What? What are you talking about?” 

“This is a positive Covid te–” I stop in my tracks when I realize what a fucking dumbass I am. I look at the test again, my eyes going so huge it must look comical. This is not a Covid test. No, it’s got a pink cap and a screen with a plus sign. I lift my eyes to Presley, my own dangerously close to shedding tears. “Presley…” I breathe.

Presley lets out a little laugh as her own eyes fill with tears. “Yeah.”

“Is this…this is real?” I ask, bouncing on my toes. “Are you sure?”

Presley giggles and the tears finally spill down her cheeks. “This is one of three tests I took. All positive,” she says. She takes it from my hand and sets it on a little table by our front door. Then, her jade eyes find mine again. “Colson,” she says, then takes a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

Time stands still. My heart suddenly feels too big for my chest, like it’s going to explode out of me. My palms tingle and elation builds in my stomach. “R-really?” I ask quietly. 

Presley nods, lip quivering, but she smiles. “We’re having a baby, Colson. You’re going to be a dad.”

It’s those words that finally break me out of my trance. I lunge forward and heave my girl into my arms. She shrieks as I lift her up, her legs surrounding my waist. I laugh and kiss her hard, rocking her in my arms. My tears spill out, too. A baby. I’m going to be a dad. We’re going to be parents.

“I know we’re going on tour and it’s not the best time,” she says breathlessly against my lips.

I shake my head. “It’s the perfect time,” I say, because I don’t care what’s happening in our lives. We’re having a baby. I laugh again and kiss her lips, holding the back of her head while my other arm holds her up. 

“So you’re happy?” she asks.

“God, Pres,” I laugh. “I’m fucking ecstatic. This is the best day of my life!”

Presley laughs tearfully and nods. “Mine, too.”

“I love you,” I say, kissing her again. “So much.” When I pull back from the kiss, I glance down between us. I set Presley on her feet and sink to my knees. My hands go to her belly, still flat and toned, but soon enough, it’ll be perfectly round, carrying our child. I smile to myself and press a kiss to her belly. Presley runs her hands through my hair and looks at me lovingly.

I take a shaky breath and look at her stomach. “Little bean,” I say softly, “this world is yours.”

Taglist: @triplexdoublex@jaxbreaker@mgklove99xx@jinx-on-mars-19xx@iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker@anonymousme86@whiteleoqueen@feroniakutenpuu@hxllywoodwhxree

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hello. I am INFJ, 18. I realized that for at least the last 2-3 years I have been striving for self-improvement with negative motivation. There were moments when I realized that there was something that was preventing me from moving on, but I probably unconsciously avoided trying to figure out what it was and working with it in the future.

As I realized in the end, the common reason was my extremely negative self-esteem and lack of understanding of who I am. I just came across this and I'm afraid that I'll start avoiding working with it again, because it's still not positively motivated and I'm drawn to close my eyes to it so as not to waste effort on something that I don't see the point in. But some part of me still considers this an important problem that needs to be solved in order to improve the quality of life, so I can continue to live the way I live and in the end I definitely would not want to regret it.

I would like to ask you, where can I start? Should I figure out the moments when I am driven by negative motivation and what exactly it is? That is, should I first see all the real negativity of what is happening? And what if I see it, but it's not enough? Should I just force myself?

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

If your negative self-esteem is as extreme as you say, the issue probably runs quite deep psychologically, in which case, it is best to get professional help. It might not be something you can tackle entirely on your own.

Where can you start? Perhaps you can try to figure out the reasons why you have such low self-esteem and correct some of the faulty beliefs you have about yourself and any unrealistic standards that you use to evaluate yourself. A therapist would speed up the process by asking you the right questions and getting you to explore the areas that you might not realize are important to explore. If you don't have access to therapy, you might want to take a look at the books I've recommended about self-esteem and self-compassion on the resources page.

You seem to think in terms of "what if". Speculating about the future might be a symptom of the problem. The way you do it seems to indicate some underlying perfectionistic tendencies. If you are INFJ, it is likely that you hold yourself to unrealistic ideals, and then using unrealistic ideals to extrapolate future success results in generally unrealistic thinking all around. Where does that leave you? Lost in your own head.

Yes, one aspect of self-improvement is caring about your future self. But that shouldn't come before caring for your current self. By not correcting how you behave toward yourself in the present, your ideas about the future will always be distorted. Therefore, focus on what you can do today to be kinder and more compassionate to yourself. Learn good techniques and practice on a daily basis. It might be a good idea to put off thinking about striving for some bigger future goal until your self-esteem is in a better place.

[swenvs3000f24]

My Relationship with Nature: A Lifelong Journey

Nature has always played a large role in my life. I have lived on a farm since I could remember, where the seasons of the year shaped my everyday experiences. The wide-open fields, the rustling of the trees, and the constant presence of animals made me deeply aware of my connection to the natural world from a young age. My summers spent at camp, far up North, were an extension of this. I would sleep in a small cabin, spending all hours of the day outside, immersed in the sights, sounds, and smells of pure nature. These experiences provided me with a profound sense of place, where nature became more than just a backdrop, it became a sanctuary.

Over time, this relationship has evolved. In adolescence, I realized that nature offered me a safe space to regulate my emotions and gather my thoughts. Being in nature provided a kind of therapy that I couldn’t find elsewhere. The sounds of birds, the rustling leaves, and the fresh, earthy smells allowed me to escape from the chaos of daily life and tune into something bigger than myself. As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to understand this feeling more deeply, recognizing it as part of the broader concept of “a sense of place” as described in our textbook.

My family’s lifestyle has also reinforced this connection. We live off the land in many ways, growing vegetables in our very large garden, harvesting fruits from our trees, including grapes from our vineyard, and preserving our bounty for the winter months. We can our fruits and store them in the cellar, ensuring we have a healthy, non-processed diet throughout the year. We raise animals for meat and collect fresh eggs from our chickens, which provides us with everything we need to live off the farm. This way of life has kept me grounded in nature, reinforcing the idea that we are not separate from the environment but deeply intertwined with it.

This "sense of place" is not just a geographical location but an emotional and psychological connection to the environment. For me, this sense of place was first nurtured by my family, particularly my parents, who taught me to appreciate the land we lived on. Whether it was helping in the garden or going for long walks in the woods, they instilled in me a deep respect for nature. But it was also the camp counselors and fellow campers who helped shape my understanding. They encouraged me to explore, to ask questions, and to observe the world around me closely. Their guidance helped me see the environment not just as something to enjoy, but as something to protect and cherish.

As I reflect on how this relationship with nature has grown, I realize that it’s more than just personal; it has taken on a larger significance through my education as a biological science student here at Guelph University. Learning about the role of environmental interpretation in conservation and sustainability has deepened my appreciation. I now understand that the feelings of calm and reflection I experience in nature are not just random, they are part of a larger interpretive experience that connects us as humans to the land, its history, and its future.

I’m beginning to see that environmental interpretation is essential for conservation efforts. It’s not enough to simply enjoy nature; we must actively work to understand and protect it. This realization is empowering, as it aligns with the deep emotional connection I’ve always felt towards the natural world. My sense of place has evolved from being purely personal to being something that fuels my desire to contribute to the sustainability of the planet. My relationship with nature has been a constant throughout my life, but its meaning has deepened over time. What started as a personal refuge has now become a source of motivation for environmental stewardship.

[yoonyia]

I have so many genetic traits I think antons key would give them

like how they grow like preteens and therefore always has the proportions of a juvenile

heads and hands and feet always bigger then they should be

I took this as they have permanent neoteny so whenever I imagine anyone saying bean is a big man my brain is just imaging this 2m tall dude with big ol child eyes

I'm sorry it just makes sense

the idea that they can never really grow up

they're stuck looking kidlike forever

it makes sense genetically too because they litterally stuck in the growth spurt stage and can't even their body out

also I feel like it would be really uncomfortable

I know this is a given but just think

people say that puberty is uncomfortable because your body and chemistry is changing and all that

imagine that but forever

bean probably has some serious body dysmorphia

also im seriously wondering what the "key" did

like I get that it allowed for heightened intelligence and as a payment it makes the people grow and grow and stop when they die

but how did it do that

it's not hormones, estrogen therapy didn't work and they said his body is creating the appropriate amount of estrogen

and I seriously doubt that his body is creating a shit ton of testosterone

because that wouldent cause the growth or the intelligence

I know that if antons key was realistic it would have been studied already so there's no reason for me to think about it but my genetic modification neurons are going insane

its not possible in nature so it has to be something that's principal

does the body produce a completely different strand of hormones?

is it neurological thing where the body disregards some demands that the chemicals are asking for?

is it hyper sensitive to external information? no heightened senses but like he can get more information out of his normal senses? he thinks faster? does antons key give people a higher iq? or is it something entirely different

what even causes beans photographic memory

these aren't related traits at all

volescu didn't change just one thing it was a series of stuff and I can't really figure out what

I still wonder how bean is fertile or compatible with other humans

these are too many changes to not effect the reproductive system

is it like hyperfixation but the brain can choose the item on purpose and can regulate it?

it's not that either because bean said he could come to a conclusion without even having to think about it

WHAT IS IT

is it unconscious processing? like what your brain does in your sleep but when you're awake so he can kinda think 2 things at once?

what is the thing that makes him smarter

the trait

we just know his test scores are the highest ever

hmmmmmm

also mildly related, ender and bean would both hate mirrors

will avoid them at all costs unless it's on purpose to analyze their own appearance

bean because he needs to monitor his growth

ender because he's litterally the face of genocide

and he's kinda just sick of his face being everywhere

but also because whenever he looks in the mirror he sees peter

he definitely has psychosis of some sort the mind game will mess with his brain forever

the battle school architecture also perplexes me

it's basically a donut

how does that even work

I get that it's it pulling inwards to the center where the battle rooms are

but the gravity inside the battle room is also artificial because of the hook

also also the jewels have always kinda looked like those jaw expanders you put in your mouth to make your jaw wider but for your ears

cause of the scene where ender rips it out and it's described as having wires and metal that looks like it was a part of something that was dragged away

I saw someone draw it as a litteral jewel and was so confused

like an earring jewel

it's described as an ear piece so majority of the piece itself probably rests on the outside ridge of the ear

or behind the ear

like how some hearing aids look like

also the colony ships really mess with my head

what the hell do they look like

they're described as what I can most closely compare to the ship from WALLE

is that just me?

i really need to study scifi architecture it's so interesting

also what the fuck does an ansible look like

like what does it need to have

is it just a big metal desk with a monitor

WHAT IS THE ALIEN TECH MADE UP OF

JUST NORMAL METALS?????

I'm sorry to be so picky about the world building I'm just a fanatic when it comes to tiny detail and the world feeling like it's actually lived in and has a history and character

I need the setting or object to have identifiable stereotypes

I need it to be nuanced enough that others can make incorrect generalized statements about it

because it means that the second you remove the nuances then it's not the same thing anymore

meaning it had nuance in the first place

just a rule of thumb I follow

orson scott card does such a good job on writing his world building like it's a history book

and knowing that his work usually references history books and other pieces of literary media it makes sense

but I really wish I could get real politics

real warfare

get me into the small minute details of policies

what goes through people's head when making a decisions above "what would the others react to this" and more "what exactly is the thing I am doing and what consequences will occur"

I feel like alai and bean and petra and even to a certain extent peter are all asking the wrong questions in the context

and it makes sense to make it simple for the audience

but I feel like it went too simple

I need alai to sit down and panic about what his actions caused and will cause

I need them to explain what a caliphate even is

I dont even think orson scott wrote alai as a caliph

it's a very western interpretation

the caliph isn't just a religious leader but also a central person in the politics

nothing can be organized without it getting to caliph and the caliph cannot make a decision alone

also caliph is the successor to the prophet Muhammad and I think everyone forgot about that

and also how unpopular and unstable the ideal of a caliphate system was

that's the same in modern situations but I feel like orson scott card interpreted the idea of a caliph as a king or Ruler of some sort when it was slightly different then that

but I dont know much either so who cares

religion and politics molding together is such a fun system tho

glad I put it in my humanities series

also I feel like what bean has isn't actually giantisim

it isn't described like giantisim, especially not in its nuances

but I would have to read more into it to know for sure

[eyessocurious38]

Spider-Man ATSV Thoughts (spoilers)

Okay soooo

I watched Across the Spider Verse a second time (because it’s a beautiful artistic masterpiece and I am Miguel trash honestly. )

There were so many things I wanted to analyze and look at for a theory I’m planning to post but damn every scene has sooooo much detail and we’re too fast, my brain couldn’t process fast enough lol.

At least from what I can recollect and some thoughts I had:

1. I’m definitely looking forward to analyzing that entire Gwen opening when I have the power to use the pause button. There is so MANY scenes that are layered with details (a lot of foreshadowing scenes that will take place in the film and some characters like Spot, Hobie, our queen Gwen, and Mr. O’Hater appear too.). The one that caught my eye was the Miguel (of course) part which that was interesting if it was intentional. It showed what looked like him watching Uncle Aaron’s death and that itself seems to foreshadow?? His apathy towards the Spider-Man canon deaths of Uncle Bens. And since the dude has those computers that can basically spy on every universe (or past events that have occurred and not live or current ones) it makes sense. But like how do they do that? I hope they explain more how they were able to do all this tech and stuff) I’m gonna watch it one more time with another friend next week I hope to get more details again. Otherwise imma wait until then.

2. I did noticed the different spider folks in the spider society scenes so that was cools. Didn’t have to strain my eyes too much.

3. I could hear things that I didn’t hear before when I first watched the movie. Lol. But maybe I just need subtitles.

4. Honestly idk where this came from, but now I’m kinda seeing how reckless it is for the spider parents, Jessica and Peter B, to still be doing spiderman stuff with no children safety in mind (pregnant or bringing their kid along, plot armoire I guess but stilll). Weird this feeling is coming up after the second viewing, I guess I’m just anxious if something will happen to either character(s) in the next film. They have a lot to lose and for them to risk their kids like that is kinda irresponsible imo.

5. Babygirl Miguel please your hot and brooding but stop bullying miles. They both have good points, Miguel I get he’s tryna see the bigger picture of things and is tryna redeem himself from the Shit show he caused for his variants dimension, but he’s still very traumatized and is acting like a victim of circumstance and hot tempered jerk like bro that’s a kid ur tryna fight which I hope in the next film they can go more into details, get this man a therapy appointment, maybe prove that his canon model isn’t always accurate, and reconcile. Miles I get he can save his father now that he knows and being Spider-Man means you should try to help and not accept things the way they are. This is very layered honestly it can also apply for lots of themes they express too in this film (generational trauma comes to mind). But I’m worried since they do keep showing the whole “you can’t save everyone as Spider-Man” thing and Miles wants everything, he thinks he can do it. (In the beginning of the film they show this with Miles trying to have a normal life and being Spider-Man, tho he struggles to keep a balance to it. And he’s only a couple years in, he’s still too young but I understand where his heart is at). So maybe miles isn’t gonna be entirely in the right either. But hopefully this will be expanded on more in the next film. Maybe both characters will have a slight change in their current views and see why the other is also valid.

6. Spot’s voice is so cute? Or just funny and light hearted? Almost makes me feel bad for the guy. and I could see more stuff in his flashbacks that I couldn’t recognize on the first watching because I couldn’t process what I saw. But cools. I have a bigger theory about him and his powers and how it could effect the canon model. But my brain is hella tired rn to go into it. Basically if his powers could somehow change the canon model or make divergences that won’t cause calamity’s or could cause more. But another day for that.

7. U know I wonder if Earth 42’s Rio Morales noticed that our Miles wasn’t her son right away? Like did she think her kid was going a lil crazy that night or what? Anyways another thought came to mind was Miguel’s previous situation, like if his variant family knew that he wasn’t theirs based off how he acted or habits.

8. I’m curious what they’re gonna do for part 2. How’s Earth 42 Miles and Aaron gonna act with our miles? I have a feeling they could just make him the next film’s other villain, but maybe he could have a change of heart and be Spider-Man even without the traditional powers. I guess that’s gonna depend on how he reacts, if he finds out that he was supposed to be Spider-Man but our miles took that from him (unintentionally). But he acted so careless when miles was saying our dad but to him it wasn’t HIS dad. So he might still be bad guy, ughhhhhhh I don’t wanna waittttt. I need answersss

Anyways aside from that, new movie is visually stunning, full of great layered moments, music is nice, Indian Spider-Man is my fave character and Miguel only for selfish reasons Gwen’s world is honestly the best looking, Gwen is Trans 🏳️‍⚧️, and more. Really I can’t wait for the next film!

Now onto those theory drafts.

[sjwenvs3000f24]

My Relationship with Nature: A Lifelong Journey

Nature has always played a large role in my life. I have lived on a farm since I could remember, where the seasons of the year shaped my everyday experiences. The wide-open fields, the rustling of the trees, and the constant presence of animals made me deeply aware of my connection to the natural world from a young age. My summers spent at camp, far up North, were an extension of this. I would sleep in a small cabin, spending all hours of the day outside, immersed in the sights, sounds, and smells of pure nature. These experiences provided me with a profound sense of place, where nature became more than just a backdrop, it became a sanctuary.

Over time, this relationship has evolved. In adolescence, I realized that nature offered me a safe space to regulate my emotions and gather my thoughts. Being in nature provided a kind of therapy that I couldn’t find elsewhere. The sounds of birds, the rustling leaves, and the fresh, earthy smells allowed me to escape from the chaos of daily life and tune into something bigger than myself. As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to understand this feeling more deeply, recognizing it as part of the broader concept of “a sense of place” as described in our textbook.

My family’s lifestyle has also reinforced this connection. We live off the land in many ways, growing vegetables in our very large garden, harvesting fruits from our trees, including grapes from our vineyard, and preserving our bounty for the winter months. We can our fruits and store them in the cellar, ensuring we have a healthy, non-processed diet throughout the year. We raise animals for meat and collect fresh eggs from our chickens, which provides us with everything we need to live off the farm. This way of life has kept me grounded in nature, reinforcing the idea that we are not separate from the environment but deeply intertwined with it.

This "sense of place" is not just a geographical location but an emotional and psychological connection to the environment. For me, this sense of place was first nurtured by my family, particularly my parents, who taught me to appreciate the land we lived on. Whether it was helping in the garden or going for long walks in the woods, they instilled in me a deep respect for nature. But it was also the camp counselors and fellow campers who helped shape my understanding. They encouraged me to explore, to ask questions, and to observe the world around me closely. Their guidance helped me see the environment not just as something to enjoy, but as something to protect and cherish.

As I reflect on how this relationship with nature has grown, I realize that it’s more than just personal; it has taken on a larger significance through my education as a biological science student here at Guelph University. Learning about the role of environmental interpretation in conservation and sustainability has deepened my appreciation. I now understand that the feelings of calm and reflection I experience in nature are not just random, they are part of a larger interpretive experience that connects us as humans to the land, its history, and its future.

I’m beginning to see that environmental interpretation is essential for conservation efforts. It’s not enough to simply enjoy nature; we must actively work to understand and protect it. This realization is empowering, as it aligns with the deep emotional connection I’ve always felt towards the natural world. My sense of place has evolved from being purely personal to being something that fuels my desire to contribute to the sustainability of the planet. My relationship with nature has been a constant throughout my life, but its meaning has deepened over time. What started as a personal refuge has now become a source of motivation for environmental stewardship.

[insidemythought]

If you’ve invested this much time into the page, you deserve to know me. The real me. The truth is that I’m not normal. I’ve never been normal. There are pieces of me that hate that while simultaneously there are pieces that love it. It turns out - also not normal, to have such a dichotomy inside yourself. So what’s so abnormal about me? 

Besides being a first-generation vietnamese-chinese-french-english-german-irsh-canadian-american growing up in a village (literally) that was full of white people, nothing. My childhood was like most except for the part when I was kidnapped, physcially, & emotionally abused - all by my mother. The thing is that, I don’t particularly open up about this. It’s not because it's not processed it's because I’m just not sure how to tell my story without demonizing my mom. The truth is that I understand her and I’ve forgiven her for as much as I can at this given moment. Honestly, we have a good relationship and we both love each other a lot. 

My dad & I also have a good relationship, he taught me how to be emotionally mature. Perhaps, too mature. Looking back, I think I was processing a lot of feelings that were way beyond my responsibility as a little girl. But my parent’s had a deeply karmic relationship and a hard divorce, like way beyond the average divorce it essentially lasted 8 years fights for custody of me. He was a Mormon church man, still is, he needed to throw himself into something bigger than himself. 

Both of my parents have addictive tendencies, my dad found his worth through the church and my mom well she always had the desire to be seen. After feeling invisible to her parents, who abandoned her during the Vietnam War she was left feeling worthless. So she’s been proving herself ever since. I have this code too, the need to prove myself. She equated being famous to being seen and worthy of love. 

Because of the trauma I ended up in therapy trying to keep the waves of depression, anxiety and dissociation at bay since I was 7. This gave me so much insight about myself, about other people and how the power of a conversation could change someone’s life. I knew from a young age that I was meant to help people. I thought I was going to become a psychologist but I dropped out of college because well life had other plans for me. In my credentials, you can hear about more about my career there. 

After such a traumatic childhood, I just wanted to feel powerful. Ironically, I lost myself for a while but I didn’t see myself as lost. I thought I was having fun and being free. What I hadn’t realized was that I had a pattern of running away, from any pain, the memories, and my identity to them. I ran away physically, moving across the country, or traveling. I ran away from them emotionally, finding a bunch of empty situationships. I ran away from them mentally, overworking and partying. Only waiting for the after party’s after parties to finally have those conversations that really light my soul up, about where did we come from, where are we going, why are we here and why do you think that bad things happen to good people, and why do some times good people do bad things. Those same late-night conversations that brought myself and other lost soul’s connection were also a dangerous, there I found myself being raped by a man I was seeing, this later became one of my most powerful moments of my life.

I would by pass a lot of red flags in people, situations and things that frankly, I just couldn’t see. However, one day all of them came knocking on my door like the cops looking for a thief. Which is a great metaphor because they did steal from me. But I hadn’t realized back then that I had opened the door, and welcomed them with open arms with milk and cookies. 

Anyway, I was my healing journey wasn’t some fluffy rainbows and butterflies. It’s been heavy, dense and dark. I have alchemized a lot and I still do - daily. But this is the work. At times, I wonder why I chose the path of consciousness when I was perfectly happy being a successful party girl. However, like I said I’ve never been normal and an average life isn’t for me. I didn’t come here to become another static, to lose myself in a job during the week and lose myself in the bottom of the bottle on the weekends. 

I came here to change the world. 

By changing myself.

May my life be a reflection of my internal alchemy. 

At the end of the day, when you start healing and you start feeling what its like to be free, you can’t help but want to empower other people to do the same to break the shackles of their conditioning, of their DNA. 

I’ve dedicated my life to supporting spiritual baddies in becoming the woman of their dreams so that they also can live a liberated life. 

I invite you to join me, to walk this path with me, and to rediscover yourself in the proces

[wheelsup]

okay but can you imagine spencer washing your hair for you?

like, i never (ever) let anyone (at all) touch my hair, but i feel like he'd be really gentle about it, and there is just something so soft and tender to me about the idea of washing someone's hair for them 🥺

that’s my dream <3 ik you didnt specifically ask for a blurb but i think about this very often. i wrote two versions of this, but this one (with two bickering best friends who are v much in love) won my heart. 

wc: 1.6k   contains: friends (to crushes, maybe ;) ), injured reader. gn!reader

-

“Spence, I promise you that I can do it by myself,” you huffed, attempting to yank off your tank top as you walked toward the hotel bathroom, using only one arm while trying to keep the other as still as possible.

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if you didn’t sound like you were going to cry,” he snickered, following hot on your trail as you tried to escape his hovering. 

“You’re being dramatic.” 

“Oh really? Lift your arm up, then.” He leaned his hip against the marble counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for you to do it. One obnoxiously smug eyebrow arched on his forehead.

Sometime during the case, you’d gotten into a brief tousle with a suspect, who just had to run away when approached. If Morgan had been there, you wouldn’t have even batted a lash, but he wasn’t. So not only had you detained him by yourself, you also wound up with a minor pulled muscle in your shoulder. 

You shot him a sarcastic smile, toothless and irritated, and raised your right arm into the air. He let out an airy scoff. 

“Other one, smart ass.”

Your arm dropped down to your side, your smile falling with it as you turned sharply towards the shower. 

“Look, I’m disgusting right now. So either I suck it up and shower, or you’re going to smell me until the day we solve this case.”

Spencer’s nose crinkled at the gross truth. He wasn’t ungentlemanly enough to tell you, but sharing a bed with a coworker was quite a quick way to discover if they were in need of a shower or not. Your shoulder might be out of service, but both of you could agree that hygiene was a bigger priority. 

“You can’t even move. Just… just let me help you.”

You snorted. “Nice try, Reid. I’m not letting you shower with me.”

He rolled his eyes at your use of his last name. You only called him that when you were annoyed with him. He pushed off the counter and turned to the wall, hitting the light switch and earning a shriek from you as the room suddenly went dark. 

“I won’t look,” he shrugged, amusing no one but himself. 

“You’re a clown, you know that?” you muttered under your breath, drawing back the shower curtain and fumbling around, searching for the knobs in pitch black. “Absolutely fucking theatrical.” 

You found them moments later and ran the water, testing the temperature on the back of your hand. By the time it went from cold to warm, you noticed that he still hadn’t moved. From the sliver of light peeking under the door, you could make out just his silhouette in the corner, perched on the vanity. 

He was being stubborn about this. That, and the comforting fact that you couldn’t see a single thing –– thankfully, not even his face –– wore you down.

“Close your eyes,” you murmured. 

“It’s already pitch black in here ––”

“Close your eyes, Reid.”

Sighing through his nose, he did just that. To make sure you knew it, and also maybe just to be annoying, he made a show of getting off the counter and turning himself around to face the wall. You peeled out of your clothes as quickly as you could. In the process, you caught the long shower curtain under the heel of your foot and, as you stumbled over it, accidentally dragged it along, sending the metal curtain hooks screeching as they slid along the bar.  

The second you found your ground, you immediately shot daggers into the back of Spencer’s head, waiting for him to make a joke. As if he could feel them, he bit back his quip. Not without letting a barely contained cackle slip under his breath. 

“Okay,” you warned, stepping into the shower. Grabbing the end of the shower curtain, you pulled it tightly over your body to cover yourself as you poked your chin out to talk to him. “I’m in.”

Spencer turned and approached the shower, eyes still shut with his hands out in front of him, feeling the walls for guidance. He was still mocking you for making him close his eyes. You raised your brows; he must’ve thought he was quite funny. 

“You look like Velma when she loses her glasses.”

That knocked the funny bone right out of him. His hands dropped to his sides.

“Just get your hair wet and hand me the shampoo.” 

You drew the curtain shut again as you dipped your head under the shower stream, coming back moments later with sopping wet hair and a little bottle of complimentary hotel shampoo. 

He let you sit on the floor of the bathtub, just slightly removed from the spray of the water. Your back was to him, as he kneeled down on the tile floor, just outside of the bathtub so he didn’t have to get wet. You bent your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them.

Spencer first pushed up the sleeves of his sweater as far as he could before deciding to remove it altogether for the sake of protecting the wool against stray water. The cuffs of his work shirt were unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows as he got to work.

Taking a healthy quarter-sized amount of shampoo into his palm, he lathered it between his hands before running soapy fingers through your scalp. The pads of his fingertips softly dug in as he carefully massaged the shampoo in.

When he started working his fingers in patterns, putting pressure near your temples and increasing it as he dragged them up the curve of your scalp, you let your eyes close. He was getting rid of a headache you didn’t even realize you had. 

The tension you’d been carrying in your shoulders eased a little, and it made him think about how much you probably needed this. One of his hands came down to massage the muscle between your neck and your good shoulder, knowing it was best to just let the hot water do its magic on the bad one. 

When the shampoo had been sufficiently lathered, he stood up and detached the shower head, bringing it down to you so you didn’t have to move. You leaned your head back for him as he carefully rinsed the soap out.

You weren’t going to ask, but thank God Spencer told you to hand him the conditioner next. This, he slathered all over the ends of your hair, making sure all of it was sufficiently covered in conditioner before loosely twisting it into a low, makeshift pony for you. 

“Mm. I was about to ask how you’re so good at haircare,” you chuckled lowly to yourself, in a half-sleepy voice with your forehead resting on your knees. Dangerously close to falling asleep. “Then I remembered what you used to look like.”

You had a lazy smile on your face just thinking about the days where Spencer’s hair used to be down to his shoulders. He looked so pretty like that (not that he didn’t look pretty now, too), you always wondered why he got rid of it. 

“Remember when I got shot in the knee?” he hummed, returning to work your shoulder. He adorned a tiny smile of his own as he started to reminisce. “You came by my house at least once a week. Brought me meals, watched movies with me. Helped distract me from the pain. Even drove me to my physical therapy appointments.” 

You mm-hmm’d that you remembered.

“You pretty much did everything shy of helping me bathe. Though, I feel like you would’ve helped with that, too, if I asked.”

You both laughed at that. You hadn’t really noticed the parallels of your situation, being injured and needing his help for once. He was happy to repay the favor. 

“I’ll, uh. Let you wash your body yourself,” he said, coming out of his daydream for a moment. He rinsed his hands off and got up, patting down his wet hands on his trousers. With one nod from you to confirm that you’d be able to do it, he quickly exited the bathroom to give you privacy. 

You emerged seventeen minutes later, clad in pajamas with towel-dried hair. Spencer was still awake as you crawled onto the bed beside him, more than ready for bed after that. He looked to the side to ask you how the rest of your shower was, and before he could get it out, you shuffled up next to him, winding one arm around his and resting your head on his chest.

“I take it you had a good shower?” he laughed. This was one of his “I told you so” moments, and for once, you didn’t mind it. 

“Mhm,” you smiled, chuckling behind it as you shut your eyes. You were falling asleep fast. “Spence, the scalp massage…” 

“Was good, right?” he boasted, inflating his own ego a bit. 

You nodded against his shoulder, not caring if you helped blow up his ego another two sizes. Burrowing deeper into the covers, nestling tighter against Spencer, you got one more quip in before falling asleep. “S’good that I think I have a crush on you now.” 

Joke or not, he pulled the blanket higher until it reached your chin, holding you with both arms and kissing the top of your head before falling asleep himself.

*

*

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[oh-ranpo]

stay, don’t go.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader warnings: angsty angst an: I don’t know, I just wrote it lmao word count: 2.4k+

“And if he was wrong about you, he was wrong about me!”

You kept hearing those words replaying over and over in your head. You knew that he had been upset about Sam giving up the shield, but you were surprised at how you hadn’t seen these particular emotions coming. There were a lot of things that Bucky worried about, but this burden of a thought broke your heart even more than usual. It was the most transparent he had been in months, and you hadn’t even been the one he was opening up to. Not that it mattered all that much, but now, you were struggling to find a way to help with the newly re-opened wound.

After the therapy session with Sam, Bucky had withdrawn into himself even more. Even though you had been waiting right outside the door, it was almost as if he didn’t see you at all when he walked through it. You had reached for his hand, and he had let you take his, but he didn’t say a word to you. 

He’s had a rough day, you had told yourself. Getting arrested on top of everything else he was dealing with had to be a lot. He just needed some time to process it all. 

Only, now, it was five hours later and he still hadn’t said a thing. You managed to get some hums in response to your prompting, and a shrug here and there, but no actual words fell from his lips. The anger from earlier in the day had dissipated, and now his shoulders drooped as he seemed to be carrying the world on his shoulders. Not that this was anything new to you either. It was a look you had long grown used to, but after hearing his outburst at therapy, you had a better idea than usual as to what was causing his pain this time.

Bucky had taken a spot in one of the chairs in the corner of your shared hotel room, and his blue eyes were fixed on the wall in front of him as he seemed to be attempting to stare a hole through it. You could practically hear the gears in his head turning, and you were sure that if you could read his thoughts, you wouldn’t be able to handle the emotional turmoil that lay inside. When you couldn’t get him to talk, you decided to order some food - something that you knew he liked - and then sat down in the chair next to him. 

“Food should be here soon,” you told him, as if he couldn’t hear you placing the delivery order just five minutes prior from the other side of the room. This time, Bucky didn’t even bother acknowledging what you had said as his hand came up to rest under his chin. He was still staring at the same spot on the wall, and his eyes were squinting slightly as he seemed to be deep in thought.

You sighed as you glanced down at your watch and saw that it was getting later in the evening, and you wondered what Sam was up to. The three of you had parted ways after the police station, and Sam had barely said anything to you or Bucky when you left. You could make out some of their conversation through the door during therapy, but really the only part you had heard clearly were Bucky’s words. And it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the ‘he’ Bucky had been referring to was Steve. This was what his whole trip had been about in the first place.

You knew that you couldn’t go the whole night without addressing the elephant in the room, but you also knew how Bucky was when it came to opening up. Even with you. You knew that, besides Sam, you were one of the only people that he trusted since Steve passed away, and you didn’t take that lightly. You really only pressed when you knew that it would be good for him to talk about something, and this was one of those times.

“Bucky?” You started again, using his name this time in an attempt to draw his attention away from the wall. He didn’t look over at you at first, but slowly, as you waited patiently, they started to trail over in your direction. When his eyes finally met yours, you gave him a small, sad smile as you leaned against the arm of the chair closest to him. “About what you said to Sam today…” 

You didn’t get a chance to finish your thought before Bucky was swiftly moving out of his seat. The movement caught you by surprise, as he had seemed so relaxed - well, as relaxed as he could be given the situation - but now he was running his hands through his hair as he started pacing in circles.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he mumbled, as his hand ran over his face, and his other gloved hand shoved into the pockets of his jeans. Slowly, you stood up from your own chair and made your way over to him, your hand reaching out for the sleeve of his jacket before he harshly pulled it out of your grasp. 

His entire reaction was confusing you because usually, he just shut down. He didn’t get this visibly worked up, he just shut down and refused to give you any emotion or feedback on how he was feeling. Now, you could tell that he was upset, and from the look on his face, he knew that his expression and actions were giving him away.

“But you know you should,” you continued as you tried to reach for him again, this time more slowly. “Let me be there for you, Buck.” The second part of your statement came out at nearly a whisper, but it had been loud enough he had heard you and he started shaking his head.

“You shouldn’t have to. I’m- I’m fine. I just need to go-“ Now, he had started moving towards the hotel door, and you felt your heart start to race in your chest. He was trying to leave.

“Wait, no, don’t go!” You cried, as you rushed to stop him, and Bucky’s hand hesitated over the doorknob. “Please. Stay. Talk to me.” You hated how broken your words sounded, but after everything that had taken place over the last few months, you couldn’t bear the thought of him walking out of that door and leaving you alone. Hesitantly, Bucky looked back over his shoulder at you, and you could see that same, decades-old pain swimming in his light blue irises.

“You’d be better off if I did. I’m doing nothing for you here.” Earlier, when you thought the comment about Steve was the most painful thing you had heard him say, this was a close second. You shook your head firmly as you took another step closer to him, and instead of reaching for the door knob fully, Bucky allowed his hand to fall back down to his side.

“No, Bucky, I wouldn’t be better off. I lived five years without you. Five years of never knowing if you were going to come back. I’ve known a life without you, and that is something I never want to have to experience again.”

Bucky’s shoulders deflated at your words, and you could see a flash of something in his expression that gave you a sliver of hope. You knew how he felt about you, and you knew that, deep down, he was well aware of how you felt about him. That was a secret you never tried to keep from him, and the one thing he never tried to hide from you either. 

After he didn’t move any closer to the door, and he didn’t respond to your words either, you slowly reached out for him once more, but this time, he didn’t pull away. You took ahold of his gloved hand and moved closer to him. The pain and conflict was still present in his expression, but as you lifted your other hand to cup his cheek, you hoped that maybe you would be able to find a way to bring him some comfort.

“Come sit back down with me, please,” you whispered, and for a moment, he didn’t move. You knew that if he really wanted to leave, you would have to let him, but your heart started to crack at the mere thought. Thankfully, after another heavy moment of silence, Bucky nodded and allowed you to lead him back to the end of the bed. You didn’t drop his hand, and when the two of you sat down next to one another, you sat close enough so that your leg was pressed up against his. 

“I know you said you don’t want to talk about it, but I heard what you said to Sam today. About Steve,” you murmured, your gaze falling to where your hands were entwined and resting on his thigh. “And Bucky, you know that isn’t true, right? Steve… he thought the world of you. He would have, and did, do anything for you. He knew you, Buck, just as I do, and he saw the heart that you have and knew that you were worth every bit of it.”

When you looked up, you could see the tears swimming in his eyes as he tried to hold them back. Steve had always been a sensitive subject, and you knew that, but you also knew that what you said was true. You had known Steve, and you had seen and heard the way he felt about his best friend. Before he was Captain America, Bucky had always been there for him, and after he was Captain America, he was there to return the favor without hesitation. He never held Bucky’s Hydra days against him because he knew, just as you did, that he had no control over that. He was a victim; a pawn in a much bigger game than he ever could have won on his own. He was still paying for it, even after all this time. You just hoped that someday he’d find a way to forgive himself.

“I just don’t know sometimes,” Bucky managed to choke out after another heavy silence. “I mean, I’m trying, but the nightmares and the constant reminders of what I did…” His voice trailed off as he fixed his eyes on the window across the room in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. You knew that he hated crying in front of anyone, despite you having told him numerous times that he didn’t have to hide that part of himself from you.

“That wasn’t you, at least, not really,” you replied. “You’re James Buchanan Barnes, White Wolf.” This time you nudged him in the shoulder with your own and he cracked half a smile as his eyes flickered back over to you. “The Winter Soldier was not you. And before you try to argue with me, I’ve seen him and I’ve seen you, and I can tell you that he is nowhere near the same guy as the one that’s sitting right here next to me.”

Bucky cringed at the reminder that you had been forced to bear witness to his time as The Winter Soldier when Zemo had activated him a few years before the blip. He had spent months apologizing, despite not having done anything to you, and you cursed yourself for bringing it up again. 

“I mean, the metal arm is the only thing you guys have in common, and on the Bucky I know… it’s actually kind of sexy.” You added the last part lightly, and when Bucky looked over at you again, you waggled your eyebrows playfully. He just shook his head as the corners of his lips turned up just a bit, before his gaze fell to his lap. The hand you were holding now was the metal one, and you followed his gaze as you released your hold on it before slowly slipping his glove off. He flexed the metal appendages as soon as the glove was gone, and you reached for it as your fingers traced over the cool metal.

“It’s a curse,” he mumbled, his eyes still locked on where it was resting in his lap. “I mean, Shuri was nice enough to make it better than the old one but…” 

You shook your head as you grabbed it before lifting it to your lips and pressing a small kiss to the back of it.

“It’s not a curse, it’s a part of you. And because of that, I love it. Just like I love you.”

Bucky inhaled sharply at those three little words, even though you had been saying them practically non-stop since he had returned. You had said it before he was gone too, but you knew, back then, that he didn’t believe it. 

“I do love you, Bucky. So please… don’t leave.” 

For a moment, you could tell that Bucky had almost completely forgotten about how he had been about to walk out. It was a gift that you possessed that he had never truly understood. Even though you were talking about his problems, it didn’t feel nearly as bad as it did when he talked about his problems with anyone else. Not that he opened up enough to anyone else to really do much good. 

“I couldn’t leave,” he murmured as your eyes lifted to meet his. “You’re the only one that makes me feel… well, anything.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest as that was practically him saying he loved you too, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

“And thank you,” he continued. “For what you said.” You nodded in response as you leaned against his shoulder, his metal hand falling to your thigh as you wrapped your arms around his waist. 

“I’m always here for you to talk to, you know that? Though, you do need to talk to Sam too. He’s going through a hard time just like you are, and he needs his friends to be there with him too.” 

Slowly, Bucky nodded, but before either of you could continue, there was a knock on the hotel room door, and you were reminded of the take-out order that you had placed earlier.

“You hungry?” You asked with another smile as you stood up from the end of the bed and moved towards the door.

“I could eat,” you heard him respond, and you chuckled as you pulled open the door to grab your food. 

Things were far from perfect, but every day the two of you took baby steps towards healing together. And really, you couldn’t ask for much more than that. 

[master-sass-blast]

Not Normal.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Not gonna lie, this whole fic is me projecting just how bad I want a massage.

Summary: “I’m not having you break my back if yours is already busted.”

The corner of her mouth curls up in a smirk, but only for a moment. “I’m not some fragile, old lady. I know my limits.”

You lift your chin and stare her down. “I’m not consenting.”

Lin scowls and lets out an irritated huff. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

It stings, just a bit, but you shrug it off and turn to leave. “I’ll let you rest.” You make it halfway to the door, then stop when an idea occurs to you. “Actually...”

Lin looks up when you walk back into the sitting room. “What, change your mind?”

You roll your eyes. “No --but there might be something else I can do for you.”

AKA you get Lin to agree to some self-care, for once in her life.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader.

Rating: T on account of my love of swear words.

Word count: 4.5k.

There’s a certain element of “razzle dazzle” that comes with “seeing” --or, perhaps more accurately, being fucked by--Lin Beifong.

You know that the Beifongs are an old money family; hell, everyone in the world practically knows it. The flying boar crest pops up in nearly every major Earth Kingdom enterprise, from mining, to textiles, to political halls.

Lin, despite her staunch pragmatism, is no exception. Her apartment is in the nicest complex in the city --one of the nicest in the world, even--where rent goes for several tens of thousands of yuan a month. She drives the latest model Satomobile (and even with her personal acquaintanceship with Asami Sato, it’s no small financial investment). The fixtures in her apartment --what of them there are, given Lin’s leanings toward minimalism--are all high end, from her furniture, to her bed sheets, to the toiletries that neatly line the built-in shelf in her shower.

And, if she has an occasion to stay somewhere other than her apartment, her tastes don’t waver in the slightest.

According to Lin --who’d given you a short, gruff answer when you’d asked the first time about why she’d invited you to the Four Elements and not her apartment--it’s because of the Spirit Vine entanglement that’s taken over a good chunk of the city. Whenever she has to work in the outer reaches of Republic City, she stays in a hotel suite until everything’s resolved since the drive back to her apartment has practically tripled.

(Personally, you’re not complaining. It’s not every day you get to sweat up the sheets in a bed of a five star hotel room.)

You stride up the steps to the entrance of the hotel, a spring in your step. Your mind’s already awhirl with countless options for the evening; all of them end with your ability to walk being severely impaired.

(It’s the small things in life.)

The front desk staff already knows you (a credit to how often Lin wrecks your back). A crisply dressed concierge member hands you a heavy metal key when you detour to the desk, then gives you a polite “Have a pleasant stay” as you head over to the elevator banks.

It’s a long, tortuous two minutes to the penthouse.

The penthouse comes with its own butler --something you know rankles Lin, but it’s hotel policy. They greet you when you step off the elevator and usher you into the sitting room.

Lin’s there, stretched out on a velvet upholstered sofa with a pillow propped under her head. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her mouth is set into a tight scowl.

You can already feel the bruises on your thighs; a shudder runs down your spine. “Rough day?”

Lin grunts, then tries to sit up --only to gasp in pain and stop halfway.

You frown, alarmed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lin spits through gritted teeth. She winces as she forces herself to finish sitting up and settles against the couch gingerly. “It’s just my hip.”

You cross your arms over your chest and arch one eyebrow at her. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

“I said I’m fine,” she snaps.

“I’m not having you break my back if yours is already busted.”

The corner of her mouth curls up in a smirk, but only for a moment. “I’m not some fragile, old lady. I know my limits.”

You lift your chin and stare her down. “I’m not consenting.”

Lin scowls and lets out an irritated huff. “Then what the hell are you doing here?”

It stings, just a bit, but you shrug it off and turn to leave. “I’ll let you rest.” You make it halfway to the door, then stop when an idea occurs to you. “Actually...”

Lin looks up when you walk back into the sitting room. “What, change your mind?”

You roll your eyes. “No --but there might be something else I can do for you.”

“Like what?”

“I do have a job aside from letting you fuck my brains out,” you quip, which gets a terse chuckle from the older woman. “I’m a healer. Massage therapy and chiropractic adjustment, with a specialty in dealing with injury and scar tissue rehabilitation.”

Lin stares blankly at you. “Oh.”

You do an internal victory dance; it’s not everyday you manage to surprise Lin Beifong. “I might be able to get you some pain relief.” You purse your lips when her expression sours and put your hands on her hips. “Pride isn’t worth pain, Lin.”

She opens her mouth to argue --then winces again and sighs. “Fine.”

You nod --after a moment to process your shock. “Okay. I’ll need to pick up a couple things from the office I work in.”

She waves one hand and tips her head back against the couch. “Fine.”

You stare at her for a beat, then turn on your heel and head to the door before she can change her mind.

***

It’s times like this that you’re grateful for the invention of the phone.

Thanks to the Spirit Vine blockages and rush hour traffic, it takes an hour to get to your office. You call Lin from there to let her know that’ll likely take you a while to get back --which she accepts with little more than a grunt--then pack up what you need.

Thank Spirits for the invention of the portable massage table, too.

By the time you get back to the Four Elements, the sun is setting (although, for late winter, that’s not surprising). Your foot taps against the floor of the elevator car as it whirs past the countless floors to the penthouse. As soon as the doors open, you exit --the butler lets you into the penthouse proper--and head straight for the sitting room.

Lin’s still there. She’s laying on the couch in the dark with one arm over her eyes.

“I need to turn the light on so I can set up.”

She grunts in response.

You turn on a table lamp, then start setting up your massage table. You keep glancing over at Lin, try to suss out what’s ailing her.

She’s tense --but, then, Lin’s almost always some sort of tense. Her jaw is clenched tight, and her hands are curled into fists. Her whole body looks keyed up, almost like relaxing hurts.

You realize she hasn’t taken her arm away from her eyes. “Light sensitive headache?”

Another grunt.

“Does talking hurt?” When she grunts again, you tut softly in sympathy. You secure the last leg of the massage table, then pick up your fur skein you use to hold water (it’s easier than toting around a bowl) and amble over to the couch. You crouch next to her, study her face and where she’s holding tension for a moment, then quietly ask, “Is it your scars?”

Lin tenses --likely on reflex, you’ve seen it in several trauma patients--but grits out, “Partially.”

“Alright.” You bend some water out of your skein. “I’m going to try to get you some relief so you can open your eyes and talk, okay?” When she nods, you continue. “I’ll need to work on your face, head, and neck. Is it alright if I touch you?”

Lin purses her lips, then takes her arm away from her eyes and nods.

You gently place your hands against her cheeks and use the water to feel along the tissue and muscle there. You can feel the scars --the angry, inflamed, knotted stripes of tissue that streak across her right cheek--and, sure enough, when you start massaging them gently, you can feel the pull of tension shooting into the surrounding muscles, up her forehead and scalp, and down into her neck.

“Yeah, that’s a gnarly one,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, as you try to find the root knot. You move one hand to Lin’s neck and start pressing your fingers against it. “Did you take a hit to the right side of your face recently?”

Lin’s lips curl into a tight smirk. “Got slugged in the face by a perp.”

“Ouch.” You suck a breath through your teeth. “Yeah, that would probably do it.”

“Should see the other guy.”

“Oh, I already knew they’re worse off.” You smile when she chuckles, then focus on feeling out the tension in her shoulders and neck. “Okay, I think I’ve got at least part of the root here. I’ll be able to get the rest of it once we get you over to the table.” You take a deep breath, then place your water-covered hands on her shoulders. “I’m gonna start down and work my way up so that the bigger muscles help the smaller ones release. You’re probably going to feel really warm from all the blood flow moving through the tissues again. If you need me to stop, tell me.”

Lin takes a deep breath to brace herself, then nods. “Just do what you need to do.”

You nod back --out of habit, her eyes are still closed--and start using the water to massage the muscles how you’ve been trained. You knead her shoulders with your waterbending, using the water in her muscle tissue to massage out the adhesions. “Come on,” you mutter as you work at a particularly stubborn knot. “I know you’re not happy; please let go for me…” You smile when you feel the muscle --finally--relax. “Thank you.”

From there, it’s like chasing after an unraveling rope. The release in the shoulder muscles triggers relaxation in Lin’s neck and face; all you have to do is follow along and catch any stragglers.

Lin lets out a gasp, then relaxes against the couch.

“That’s it,” you murmur with a smile as her body goes limp. You focus on the crown of her head, make sure the headache finishes dissipating properly, then bend the remaining water back into your jug once you’re done. “How’s that?”

Lin opens her eyes and blinks. “Feels like I got a full night’s sleep for once.” She pauses, then grimaces. “And like I’ve been out in the sun.”

You laugh quietly and nod. “That’s the blood saturating your muscles and soft tissue. It’ll settle in a bit --slowly!” you hiss, placing your hand against her back to help her sit up. “Don’t fucking undo all my hard work.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lin says, smirking. She lets you help her stand --though she glares at you a little for it--then winces as she straightens.

“Yeah, I figured there’d be more,” you mumble as you look her up and down. “Sit on the center of the table, arms down. Do you mind if I turn on another light so I can see better?”

“That’s fine.”

You turn on another lamp, then skirt around the table so you can better examine the set of Lin’s shoulders and her back. You press your fingers down the length of her spine, checking for resistance. “It’s your left hip that bothers you, right?”

“Yes.”

“That tracks with what I’m seeing,” you mutter as you check her ribs. “Can you turn your head to the left for me? And to the right?” You place your hands on her neck so you can feel the motion of the joints and muscles, then tap the left side of her neck. “You’ve got a lot of resistance here, likely caused by your body trying to correct your favoring your right side. I’m going to do some massage work first; the bones move easier if the muscles are already relaxed.” You step back and dig through the bag you’d brought with you. “Are you sensitive to scents?”

Lin grunts, displeased. “No fucking lavendar.”

You chuckle, then opt for the unscented massage oil, just to be safe. “Shirt and bra off, please, then lay flat on your stomach.”

Even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before, the sight of Lin Beifong topless is always enough to leave you breathless. The musculature in her back, shoulders, chest, abdomen, arms, even her hands, to say nothing of her tits…

You force yourself to close your mouth before you start drooling.

Lin lies down on her stomach, lets you reposition her arms and adjust the angle of her neck…

You sigh when you realize her hands have curled into fists. “Lin.”

“What?”

“I need you to relax.”

“I am.”

You arch one eyebrow at the back of her head. “For a cop, you’re not a very good liar.”

“Not supposed to be. That’s the attorneys’ job.”

You snort, then shake your head with a sigh. “Lin. Please. It’ll be harder for me if you don’t relax.”

She sighs --and then slowly, reluctantly, she lets her body go limp against the massage table.

You murmur your thanks --and tuck away the interesting fact that she conceded to make things easier for you--then pour some massage oil onto your hand and rub it between your palms. Once your hands are warm, you place them on Lin’s upper back and start working.

There’s a lot to work on. Between Lin’s sheer muscle mass and the stress-slash-physical wear and tear of her job, there’s knots and adhesions all over her back.

Lin grunts when something near her left scapula goes crunch. “What was that?”

“Gristle,” you reply with a smile. When she scoffs, you laugh. “I’m serious. The muscles around the shoulder blades get used a lot. The knots that form give the muscle tissue about the same consistency as gristle.” You dig your thumb into another line of knotted muscle and press it through. “Crunch, crunch, crunch. Do you do any yoga or regular stretching?”

“I do some stretching as part of my workout routine.”

“Good, good. I’d recommend adding some upper body stretches to your regimen; it’d help with all the tension you carry up here.”

Lin snorts, low and soft. “Whatever you say, kid.”

***

It’s slow work. There’s a lot of trauma and scarring on and in Lin’s body --no surprise there, given her line of work.

You switch back to waterbending-based healing when you get to her left hip. You grimace when you feel how inflamed the joint is, then start working on calming the irritated and overworked tendons. “You need to take it easier on the job.”

“I need to do my job properly,” Lin fires back, sucking in a breath when you adjust her hip further.

You switch to pain relief techniques. “You won’t be doing your job at all if you destroy the joint.”

Lin grumbles under her breath, but doesn’t argue further.

Once you’re done with the massage work, you let her get dressed before having her lie down on her back. “Have you had a chiropractic adjustment before?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, good. I’m going to work on your back first.” You put a padded board underneath her back, then have her cross her arms over her chest --one atop the other, hands on her shoulders so her arms make a ‘V’ shape. “Alright, curl your chin up.” You put one arm around her, supporting her back, then help her up so you can put your fist between Lin’s back and the board. “Okay, deep breath in… and let it out.”

Lin grunts when you roll her down over your hand and something in her back pops. “Shit.”

You freeze. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Keep going.”

You keep working up her back, then take the board out from under her back once you’re done. “How does that feel?”

Lin shifts experimentally. “Better.”

“Good, good.” You move to stand at the head of the massage table and start palpating her shoulders and neck. “Alright, let me take the weight of your head in my hands.” You gently turn her head to the left, feeling for any resistance. “Just let your body relax… okay…” You get her neck in position, feeling out where the tension rests. “Tilt your chin up for me, please.” You adjust your grip on her head. “Alright, deep breath in, then out…” You wait for her to exhale, then jerk her head to the left.

Lin groans when her neck cracks. “That felt good.”

“I bet.” You repeat the process for the right side, then have Lin roll on her sides so you can adjust her lower back. “Lay back down, I want to check your knees and ankles.”

Lin arches one eyebrow at you. “Is that… normal?”

“They can be safely adjusted, if that’s what you mean.” You flash her a teasing grin as you walk down the side of the massage table. “Besides, call it a hunch.”

“What ‘hunch?’”

By way of response, you start feeling around her knees and ankles. You nod, then laugh. “Yep. Definitely an earthbender.”

Lin smirks up at the ceiling. “Your first hint was?”

“You lot are rough on your ankles and knees. All that stomping around. I can tell just by how jammed up everything is in here.” You adjust her knees, then move to her ankles --and frown. “What the hell kind of shoes are you wearing, day to day?”

“My uniform boots.”

You squint at her from the base of the massage table. “The metal ones? With the retractable soles so you can use your seismic sense when needed?”

“...Yes.” Lin lifts her head, then chuckles when she sees the stink eye you’re giving her. “They’re practical.”

“They have no support for your joints,” you fire back. You smack her shin --albeit not harshly--when she lets out a huff of laughter, then set about adjusting her ankles. “Stubborn old fart.”

Lin snorts. “Pigheaded kid.”

You smile and shake your head.

***

By the time you finish, it’s nearly ten. The sky is dark, save for the few visible stars --thanks, light pollution--and the sounds of the city have wound down to a gentle roar.

Lin stands, stretches, then lets out a sigh of relief when there’s no pain or resistance. “Thanks.”

You wave your hand as you go about packing up your supplies. “No problem. I wasn’t about to let you suffer.”

Lin nods after a moment, then pads over to a nearby desk. “How much do you charge for your services?”

You gape. “I-- Lin, no--”

“I can always pick a number at random.”

Your mouth snaps shut. You sigh, but acquiesce (mostly because you’re certain she’ll pick an absurdly high amount just to get a rise out of you). You rattle off a price --an expensive price, maybe worth two or three day’s work in total--then accept the check Lin hands you moments later. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You huff a little --it still feels weird, taking a friend-but-not-friend’s money--as you tuck the check in your bag --and then your stomach decides to imitate a dying whale.

“I’m guessing you didn’t have dinner,” Lin surmises.

You shrug. “Kind of hard to give a massage and eat at the same time.”

The corner of Lin’s mouth quirks up. She nods to a nearby phone. “Kang’s is still open, if you want to put in an order.”

“...Okay.”

This entire night is a break in your usual routine. Massage and chiropractic work aside, normally you’re either headed home or in the middle of being fucked into the nearest solid surface by now. There’s no casual hanging out --and, sure, Lin’s ordered take out for the two of you on occasion, when you were both hungry, but all this still feels… different.

(You’re not sure what’s scarier, the change or the fact that part of you likes it.)

You put in the order --fortunately, Lin’s ordered from Kang’s before, so you know what she likes--then put down the phone just as the clock strikes ten. “Oh! Murder Mystery Theater is on!”

Lin looks over at you. “What?”

“It’s a crime-drama radio show. They run a new show every week.” You gesture to the radio. “Do you mind?” You take Lin’s hand wave as the permission it is, and turn on the radio before tuning it to the right station.

The sound of slightly muffled string instruments floats out the speaker.

“This week! On Murder Mystery Theater…”

You make yourself comfortable in an armchair that matches the velvet upholstered sofa. The new shows air at nine, so this one’s a rerun, but you recognize it as one of your favorites --a dramatic game of cat and mouse between the intrepid detectives and a serial killer hiding in plain sight.

Five minutes in, and you realize that Lin’s listening along, even as she reads from a newspaper. You catch her looking over at the radio or staring off into space while she processes the story unfolding before her.

Eventually, she flips to the next page of the paper and says, “The doctor did it. He gets off on killing his patients.”

You raise your eyebrows as you look over at her. You already know she’s wrong --it’s the mortician’s assistant, who so happens to be the doctor’s son. A smile stretches across your lips as an idea forms in your brain. “Wanna bet?”

Lin looks up from the paper and smirks at you. “What’s your wager?”

You mull it over, then grin wickedly. “If you’re wrong, I get to use the cuffs on you at some point.”

Lin scoffs and sets the paper down on the coffee table in front of the sofa with a thwap. “And what could you possibly offer to make that a balanced wager?”

“If you’re right… I’ll behave for a night. Whatever you want, no complaining, no fighting.”

Lin’s eyes light up. She smirks, then extends a hand out to you.

You grin and shake her hand.

***

Dinner arrives halfway through the show. You and Lin eat in the sitting room, listening to the show while eating (spicy possum chicken with steamed vegetables and rice for her, braised hippo beef with spring rolls for you).

“--but Jang said she was with her husband at an evening show until eleven.”

“...Which means he can’t have been playing cards with his friends at ten.”

“Not unless he’s a Spirit. Come on, I’ll drive. Let’s go see if Lee remembers this ‘show’ he went to with the missus.”

“This isn’t half bad,” Lin comments around half a mouthful of possum chicken.

“I thought you liked Kang’s,” you fire back, even though you caught her meaning the first time.

She rolls her eyes, swallows, then continues. “I meant the show. Its description of police procedure is actually on point.”

“The creator shadowed police departments in the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation for over a year before writing the first episode,” you explain before biting into a spring roll. You chew, swallow, then add, “He used to work as a PR rep for law enforcement when they had to work difficult cases.”

Lin nods, impressed. “It’s definitely better than all the crime family and love triangle shit that gets put out there.”

“Well… that stuff happens, doesn’t it?”

“Not the way the media likes to write it.”

You concede with a shrug --then perk up when you realize the script is heading towards the twist reveal. You shove the rest of your spring roll into your mouth to keep from tipping off Lin to your “insider information.”

“Lee Jang is a servant to this city. He’s been my coworker for three years! I think I’d know if he was a psychopath murderer.”

Lin’s brows knit together. She sets down her container of chicken and glares at the radio. “The mortician’s assistant?”

You shrug and take another bite of your entree to keep from grinning like an idiot. “Eh, there’s still time for things to shake out different. Each show always has a twist.”

Except it doesn’t “shake out different.” The mortician’s assistant is arrested, there’s a few brief trial scenes, and then it ends with an allocution when it’s apparent that the case isn’t going in the defendant’s favor.

Lin tosses her chopsticks against the coffee table and slumps back against the couch with a disgusted scowl. “Fucking dammit.”

“I guess that makes me the winner.” You tidy up your take out trash, pretending to pay Lin no mind as she glares holes into the side of your skull.

There’s no hiding your smug sense of victory --especially from a seasoned detective such as Lin Beifong.

She narrows her eyes. “You knew how the story would end.”

You lift your gaze to meet hers and smile, smug and unrepentant. “New shows air at nine. Reruns air at ten.”

Lin rolls her eyes. “So you cheated.”

“The odds are always in the house’s favor.” Your smile slips when you take in her obvious discomfort and displeasure. “We don’t have to hold the deal if you’re that upset about it.”

Her gaze cuts over to you. She studies you for a minute, then relaxes minutely and shakes her head. “It’s fine. A deal’s a deal.”

You’d argue, but something in her eyes --a familiar glint you’re accustomed to seeing before starts undressing you, or spanking you, or bending you over the nearest flat surface--makes you stop. Your cunt throbs, and you push through it by crossing your legs. “Alright, then. I’ll let you know when I want to collect.”

Lin rolls her eyes --but she’s smiling, just a hint. “Brat.”

“Funny, I thought that was why you liked me.”

Lin merely rolls her eyes again (but you swear you see her smile get bigger, just a bit).

You stand, stretch, then turn off the radio when it switches to a commercial. You eye the clock, then groan when you realize it’s almost eleven. “Dammit. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

It’s too late for a cab --again--or the hotel’s car service. Lin could drive you, but it’d be forever to get to your apartment building from here (thank you Spirit Vines and bureaucracy for impeding the city infrastructure).

Lin glances at the clock, then stands and starts clearing her share of the take out trash. “Stay here. Use the second bedroom.”

You nod, grateful (it’s not the first time you’ve stayed over with her at the hotel, given that the Spirit Vine roadblocks aren’t exactly new). “Thanks.”

Lin nods--

And then the two of you just stare at each other.

(Because, while this isn’t the first time you spent the night in her hotel suite, normally she fucks you in your bed, then heads to her own bedroom once you’re sated and on the verge of passing out.

But, if it wasn’t clear, this isn’t exactly “normal procedure.”)

Lin moves first. She nods again --awkward and jerky--then carries her trash over the bin in the kitchen before striding off to the room she usually uses. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“Good night,” you reply, soft enough that you’re not sure she hears you. You blink when the door to her bedroom thumps shut, then sigh and force yourself to clean up and head for bed as well.

(Despite the luxurious mattress and bedding, sleep is a long time coming.)

[miekasa]

mie!! i’m so late to the party but i absolutely loved ‘NICE’, it made me feel so warm and fuzzy <33 it’s so unique to its own and the flow of it is beyond wonderful!

what is married life like for oc and eren in ‘NICE’? is it just like before/do you have any nice!husband!eren headcanons?

AHH I’m so happy you liked it and that you took the time to come and tell me!! Married life for them... doesn’t really differ from what their lives looked like before actually hehe. They were basically married without knowing it 🙄🙄 idiots to lovers or something like that; but here are a few head canons of the months immediately following NICE!

You officially got married in Paris on the fourth, not too long after Carla’s wedding. You guys flew in some officials, checked through all the technicalities, and signed the papers right on top of the Eiffel Tower (access granted by the city of Paris upon request of one Carla Jaeger, of course). 

Aside from having the most picturesque location in the world to sign your marriage certificate, there wasn’t anything lavish in celebration after that. Carla’s wedding was just three days earlier, after all, and was still the talk of the local press. You did have a small party with your friends (Jean, Armin, Mikasa, Marco, Erwin, Levi, Hange came from the Alps for Carla’s wedding) in your overly large hotel room. Just some music, room service, and lots and lots of champagne.

Eren extended your winter break vacation by two weeks for an impromptu honeymoon to the Bahamas before you went home. Let’s just say you did not leave the safe haven of your hotel room very often, except to dip into the ocean a few nights (benefits of a private beach).

After getting married, the rings swapped places; the band with diamonds previously on your pointer finger was put on a chain (a new one since Eren threw the other one on the ground 💀), and you now wear the engagement ring on your ring finger.

Eren doesn’t like it when you take off the ring (the ring being the engagement ring). The first time you were going into the water, you were going to put it on the chain for safekeeping, but he protested very strongly. He would rather it rest safely in your suitcase than go around your neck again.

Your wedding bands are actually very similar to the band you already have: gold and diamond encrusted. Eren’s, however, has an emerald in the center, like the two emeralds that serve as the pistils of the sunflowers in your engagement ring (for reference, that ring looks something like this, but with a gold band). The bands were the first thing Eren bought when you guys got home.

Your friends in Dubai (Ymir, Reiner, Annie, Connie, Sasha) had no idea that you and Eren got married over winter break. Safe to say they were all… very surprised to hear the news. Connie was a little bit bitter because he missed it, and wolf whistles every time he sees your ring (even though he’s seen it before because you wore it on the necklace every day).

You got married in January, but have an official wedding in the process of being planned sometime around late summer/early fall. Carla insisted that you guys have a wedding despite already being married, and Eren agreed whole heartedly. They are both very into planning it, and yes, Eren is somewhat of a bridezilla, and his mom is enabling him 100% please.

The night you signed the wedding papers, Carla lent you an off-white satin couture gown from one of her past collections. She is designing and making your official wedding dress by hand, with the help of Mikasa.

The two of them are also making Eren’s suit, and all the outfits for your wedding party. Carla will murder you if you even so much as hint at just buying other suits/dresses. This is her baby’s wedding, and she runs one of the most renowned fashion houses of the modern century; she’ll be damned if you guys wear something off the rack.

You considered a destination wedding, but settled on having it in New York. You haven’t decided a location yet, and it’s the one thing Eren isn’t actually picky about (because you know he’s gonna go ham on the decor no matter where it is bye).

Jean doesn’t know it yet, but he’s your maid of honor. Good luck and best of wishes to Eren picking between Mikasa and Armin for best man.

Even before confessing and getting married, Eren never slept much in his own bedroom. You both have California king sized beds in your rooms, and more often than not, Eren would sleep with you in your bed. You didn’t always cuddle, but he just liked to be there (for your presence, and because he was grossly in love bye)… you ended up cuddling a lot of the time tho.

He wants to renovate your apartment now that you both “officially” live in the same bedroom, even though it’s not necessary. He just likes renovating things.

You guys go to dinner every weekend, and sometimes you even go dancing. Eren still can’t dance and he doesn’t actually care to learn; it just reminds him of being in Nice with you.

He kisses your ring finger every morning waking up and every night before going to bed; sometimes he even does it subconsciously in his sleep.

He holds your hand way more often. Not just because you guys are together now, but because he likes seeing the ring where it’s meant to be. He also notices that it helps to curb your anxiety, which is a good bonus.

Eren wants kids, but he hasn’t really brought it up yet. He knows you both are fairly young, and that you’re still technically in school, but that’s not really a deterrent for him.

The only reason he’s waiting to say something is because you guys have a lot going on with wedding planning and settling in to “married life”—there’s a lot of tedious paperwork to be done and documents to update. He’ll bring it up next year when all that is settled.

On the subject of school, you are still attending university, but have been eligible for graduation for a year now. You had enough credits to graduate last (the year before NICE) December, but there were a few more classes you wanted to take out of interest that hadn’t been running in past years, so you stayed for all four years. Eren picks you up from your lectures.

Eren graduated in December before you guys went on vacation. By normal standards, that’s a semester early. However, he was supposed to be in this Honors Arts and Sciences program, that should have taken him another two semesters. He decided it wasn’t worth it, and dropped the honors part, and with that, had enough credits to graduate, so he did.

A college degree is really more of an accessory for him anyway, and school was never his thing. He’s decently smart, sure, but he never enjoyed school because of the emphasis on exams; he’s more of a creative person, a dreamer if you will. The only reason he even went to Columbia was because you decided to go there. 

He and you both have enough money to live more than comfortably if neither of you decided to get a job after graduation… way more than enough/ But Eren isn’t doing nothing; he’s actually sorta been working his way into the world of professional interior design, and he really loves it. You’re proud of him, and more than anything, happy that he decided to go for something he loves.

Armin and Jean also graduated a semester early. Armin’s been living with Mikasa since Connie got his own place off-campus in January. Jean is a little upset blondie is living with his girlfriend before he is, but it’s whatever 🙄if it’s gonna be anyone, at least it’s Armin. 

Carla mentioned that Eren got married sometime during a NYFW interview (along with talking about her own recent marriage), and since then you both have interviewed for two magazines, one of which featured pictures from your smaller party in Paris. You’ve gotten requests from Vanity Fair and Vogue about your bigger wedding later in the year, but you guys haven’t invited any media officials as of yet.

You and Eren attend the MET Gala almost every year. You don’t walk the red carpet and nobody is scrambling to take your pictures; but you have passes because of Carla. Also, you could just buy your way in if you wanted you (and your friends have in the past). This year, Eren had to pay two security officers $10k in bribes because you two snuck away to fuck in… a part of the museum not sectioned off for the event. Whoopsies.

Even before Eren got him arrested, going out to brunch was kind of your and Armin’s thing. Eren insists he should be invited now that he’s your husband. He is not. (His bitterness grows when he learns that Jean has secured himself an invite somehow).

Eren sold the car he got arrested for drag racing in. He never told you why—and as far as transportation goes, it wasn’t a big deal because you guys have other cars—but, to him, it was a kind of symbol. He thinks it’s dumb if he thinks too long about it, but he just didn’t wanna have that there are a reminder of how he’d hurt you and his mom.

Jean still drives you to your therapy appointments, but now Eren picks you up. Eren also goes to therapy himself, and has been before you guys got married; his therapist says he’s undoubtedly happier in recent sessions… like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulder.

As far as drugs go, there’s, of course, weed on a happy occasion, or at a party; but he hasn’t touched coke since that one time (which was also the first time he’d ever done it). That’s not even him being a changed man, he just didn’t like it—he only argued with you about it because he was being stubborn. He’s more of a drinker than anything, and absolutely loves to get you drunk on a special occasion, too; he always has. He thinks you look cute, and he likes taking care of you.

You have lived in that apartment with Eren for years before marrying him, yet he insisted you needed to christen the place like it was brand new… at this point, the only places you haven’t fucked in are the elevator itself, the foyer, the storage closet, and the pool. The latter only because it’s been too cold in NYC… trust and believe pool sex is coming lmfao.

Eren bought the apartment and renovated and designed it, but he never did like being in it all alone, and that’s been magnified since you got married. If he’s there by himself, he’s usually in the living area, napping on the daybed. He waits for your faithfully every day, and is hardly in the bedroom if you’re not.

Eren has not stopped introducing you as his wife since January. Even to people in passing like cashiers and bartenders, everyone in the whole damn city probably knows you guys got hitched.

[haileygarciasunshine]

Remain the Same

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Written: April 12th, 2021

Posted: April 12th, 2021

Warning: None.

Word Count: 2,262

Summary: You couldn't remember why you and Bucky harbored hate for one another. With a little push from Sam, the tension reaches an all-time high. Will things evolve or remain the same?

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Gif made by me

Opening the door of your apartment, you let out a surprised gasp as you gazed between the Two men standing in front of you. Your mind began whirling with assumed ideas as to why they were there. Raising an eyebrow at them, you groaned already figuring what they needed.

"There's no way I'm working with him." You spat, allowing him and Bucky entrance into your apartment.

Standing in your living room, you crossed your arms along your chest as you glared at Bucky.

"He's in therapy now-" Sam started.

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes. "And that suddenly makes him a saint?" Your face contorted as anger began bubbling to the surface.

"Look, you know we wouldn't be here unless we desperately needed your help." Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Oh," You huffed, nodding your head in understanding. "So I was your last resort. Cool, Cool, Cool."

Sam let out a groan as he opened his eyes again, sending you a pointed glare. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Right." You drew out your word not fully believing him. "So why are you and Cyborg here?"

Bucky let out a quiet growl at your dig at him.

Shaking your head you scoffed as you rolled your eyes at him.

"Would you Two stop," Sam spoke, holding his hands out taking a few steps so that he was standing in between you. He sent Bucky a glare before turning to face you allowing him to give you the same expression.

"This is bigger than...Then whatever you Two are always fighting about." He spoke, his voice turning stern. "Look, we're here because we need to find Zemo."

Your jaw fell slightly, as you furrowed your eyebrows together. Your mind racing a million miles a minute, as you attempted to justify their need to find him.

"I'm sorry...Am I missing something?" You questioned allowing your arms to drop from their defensive position. "You're looking for the guy that we fought...The guy that triggered Bucky and-"

"I know how this sounds," Sam spoke his voice softer than when he last spoke. "But there's a bigger threat now."

Dropping your gaze to the floor, you let out a defeated sigh. Nodding your head, you returned your gaze to Sam's face. "Alright...I'm in."

Bucky let out a groan as his shoulders dropped.

Frowning at his reaction, you furrowed your eyebrows together. A ping of sadness washed over you.

--

Once you had located Zemo, the three of you had made your way to his destination.

The ride there was filled with bickering coming from Sam and Bucky. Sitting in the backseat, you had become unusually quiet.

"What's going on in that mind of yours, Y/N?" Sam questioned, sending you a quick glance in the rearview mirror.

"Huh? Oh, uh, nothing." You spoke, cringing at your uneasiness.

"If you say so." Sam hummed.

Sighing, you turned to gaze out of the window, your mind became cloudy with the memory of Zemo triggering Bucky years ago. Shifting in your seat, you were overwhelmed with a sense of uneasiness.

As your attention was cast out of the window, you were unaware of the concern glance Bucky sent your way. Returning his attention back to the front, Sam caught his attention. Sam raised his eyebrows at him in question before sending him a smirk, making sure to let him know he was caught in the act.

"Alright, kids." Sam's sudden voice caused you to jump. "We're almost at the motel for the night."

---

When Sam pulled into the motel parking lot, you were the first out of the car. Letting out a quiet groan, you stretched your arms above your head.

Sam was the first to grab his bag before he made his way to the lobby. Reaching for yours, your hand brushed against Buckys. Inhaling a sharp breath you quickly yanked your hand away as if you had been scorched by something hot.

Without saying a word, you were fast to turn on your heel rushing towards the lobby. As Sam came out, he had a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Here's your shared room. They only had rooms with one bed available."

Your eyes widened at him. "Wait-"

"I've been with Bucky long enough, I'm not sharing a bed with him too," Sam spoke. He made a subtle glance at Bucky sending him a quick wink before returning his attention back to you.

"Whatever." You grumbled, snatching the key from Sam's hand as you made your way towards the room.

--

Tossing your bag down, you gathered your pajamas, before rushing into the bathroom in an attempt to avoid any small talk with Bucky.

Once you were changed into your nighttime clothes, you fidgeted with your bag before making yourself comfortable on the bed as Bucky glided into the bathroom.

Sighing, you fell back on the side you had claimed. Your mind clouded with thoughts of feelings. The moment Sam had stated you were going to share a bed with Bucky, your breath had hitched in your throat while your hands became clammy. Butterflies fluttering in your stomach brought you back down from your thoughts.

Crawling into bed, you pulled the blanket up under your chin as you were laying comfortably on your side. Closing your eyes, you hoped it would save you from any possible arguments or conversations.

However, when you heard the bathroom door open, the butterflies in your stomach returned. As Bucky climbed in, you attempted to ignore the fluttering feeling. Shivering slightly, you tried to wrap the blankets tighter around your form.

Without uttering a word, Bucky tossed around in bed before he mirrored your position. The heat that radiated off of him, was enough to alert you of his close proximity, the heaviness washing over you.

Reaching behind you, your hand gently grasped Bucky's wrist making sure to give him a light tug as you wrapped his arm around your waist. You heard his breath hitch before he was pressed firmly behind you. His chest was snug against your back, while his leg softly nudged its way between yours.

Nuzzling your pillow, you couldn't help but let out a content sigh. The butterflies became harder to ignore as you were wrapped in his arms. Bucky's free arm moved some of your hair away from your neck exposing it before splaying beneath your pillows allowing you to rest your head upon it.

His breath hit the back of your neck before his nose gently traced the back of your neck. The hair on the back of your neck stood at attention while your senses were in overdrive. Your back arched slightly as a quiet moan slipped past your lips. Bucky's arm tightened around your waist in the process. He gently pressed his lips to the back of your neck while being cautious as to not cross a line.

Turning your upper half in his arms, you laced your hand in his hair tugging him down towards you. His lips brushed yours before finally taking your lips between his.

Bolting upright, your chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace, while a thin sheet of sweat covered your skin. A ball of sweat rolled down your chest.

Bucky was quick to join you. "Are you okay?" His raspy voice laced with concern, as he studied your features.

You hummed in response, as your eyes were trained on the crown molding of the room.

Bucky's warm fingers gently grasped your chin, angeling your head to face him. "Are you sure?"

Gazing at him, you mapped the features that were etched along his face. His ocean eyes pouring into yours.

"I..." The words lost in your mouth. With his metal hand resting on the bed, his chest was angled towards yours. The close proximity almost allowing them to touch. Your breath hitching as the realization dawned on you, as you were taken by surprise that Bucky was concerned.

Without a word, Bucky laid on his back gazing at you as made himself comfortable before opening his arms in a welcoming manner.

Furrowing your eyebrows together in confusion, your jaw fell slack. "A-Are you sure?" You whispered, your eyes widening at his actions.

Rolling his eyes, Bucky sent you a toothy smile. "Just... Come here, before I change my mind." His eyes carried a playful glint in them.

Placing your ear upon his chest, you wrapped your arms around his waist. One of Buckys hands landed in your hair beginning to scratch your scalp. The other, landed behind your knee gently pulling it over his hips wrapping you in each other.

His warmth calming you almost immediately. Your eyelids grew heavy as you allowed sleep to overwhelm you just as Bucky pressed a gentle kiss upon the crown of your head.

---

Once you were back on the road in search of Zemo, things had seemed to change between you and Bucky. The arguments between you had changed to flirtatious remarks.

When you arrived at the prison that held Zemo, you felt your heart fall into the pit of your stomach.

Standing next to Sam you frowned slightly. Before you knew it, Sam and Redwing were checking the perimeter leaving you and Bucky alone.

"Bucky.." You whispered as your eyebrows furrowed together.

"Hey, what is it?" He questioned his features dancing with concern as he stood before you.

"I...Be careful..."

Smirking, he raised an eyebrow at you.

"Who else is going to annoy me if you're back to being-"

Chuckling, he rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine." Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, he leaned forward placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. "Besides, I had a pretty girl to come back to."

Heat rose in your cheeks, as butterflies erupted in your stomach.

---

When Zemo joined your small group, Bucky had returned to his previous persona before that night.

Sighing, you couldn't bring yourself to rebuttal anything he shot at you. It had been insult after insult. In his mind, he was protecting you, he felt the more he pushed you away the safer you would be.

As you were getting dolled up for the mission, you noticed the subtle glances Bucky sent your way. On the one time you caught him, he was quick to avert his gaze while clenching his jaw.

"Don't you look beautiful," Zemo spoke from behind you.

Whirling on your heel, you scrunched up your face as you gazed at him. "Thanks."

As Zemo was ready to respond, his mouth opened but Bucky's voice came out.

"I think Sam wanted to talk to you," Bucky spoke, standing beside him. Clearing his throat as a rosy color danced along his cheeks.

Nodding your head, you went to find him.

Turning to face Zemo, Bucky let out a growl. "Leave her alone."

Zemo tutted, as he sent him a toothy grin. "Has the Winter Soldier gone soft?"

Grabbing him by the front collar of his shirt, Bucky yanked him forward as rage danced in his eyes. "I'm not the Winter Soldier anymore."

"But-"

"And as for Y/N," Bucky glanced around in an attempt to make sure you hadn't heard the altercation between them. "She's mine."

Grinning in a taunting manner at Bucky, Zemo chuckled softly. "You have a funny way of showing it."

---

"Winter Soldier," Zemo spoke as he stood before Bucky at the bar. A hand was placed on his shoulder. "Attack."

Your breath hitched in your throat as you and Sam stood watching Bucky. Sadness washed over you, as you saw a flash of pain wash over Bucky's features. As you watched Bucky go through the motions you frowned.

After the mission was successful, you hadn't missed the concern oozing off of Bucky. You hadn't looked at him since the beginning of it. You couldn't help but feel as if your heart broke.

"I..I need some air." You spoke breaking away from the group without waiting for any response.

The bitter evening air whirled around you. Crossing your arms along your chest you made your way towards the nearest ally allowing yourself to lean against the wall. Closing your eyes, you let your head rest against the bricks.

"You shouldn't be out here alone."

Without opening your eyes, you knew Bucky was standing before you.

"I'm not alone, you're here."

A silence fell between you. Frowning, you opened your eyes as you gazed into his ocean eyes.

"I.." His voice trailed off as sorrow washed over his features.

"Was it all a joke to you?" Your voice breaking at the end. Your composure was quickly crumbling as tears welled in your eyes.

"No. No, it wasn't-"

"So what?" You questioned feeling yourself becoming defensive. "You want to give me a glimpse behind the walls again before you shut me out without a second thought?"

Bucky flinched at your words, as they came out much more harsh than you intended. "No-"

Scoffing you rolled your eyes. Tears began to cascade down your cheeks. Kicking off the wall, you didn't want to partake in the conversation anymore. As you began walking away from Bucky, you felt his calloused hand wrap around your wrist preventing you from retreating from him. Whirling you around, you collided with his firm chest.

Releasing your wrist, he placed his hands along your jaw before placing his lips upon yours. His lips were softer than you expected while a salty flavor invaded your mouth.

Pulling away, he rested his forehead against yours as your breath mingled together. "You're not going anywhere."

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[plaidbooks]

Cabin Life - The Beginning

A/N: You all need to blame both @storiesofsvu and @berniesilvas for this! I want woodsman!Sonny to be real so fucking bad, so that he can sweep me off my feet. Anyways, this covers the Cabin in the Woods square in @storiesofsvu fall bingo!

I don’t mention it in the story, but in my mind, this takes place before he’s in SVU, even before Homicide. I have him mid-late 20s.

Tags: none, just fluff

Words: 1330

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba  @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy  @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl  @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas​  @reading--mermaid  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles​ @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

(gif by @dailypeterscanavino)

When Sonny was a kid, his parents would take him and his sisters to their vacation home; a homey cabin nestled in the New Hampshire woods. There were multiple cabins there, spread out over the land, close enough to be considered neighbors, but far enough for privacy. They had basic appliances—a fridge/freezer, a stove/oven, a sink, a bathtub, a shower, a toilet—but everything else was wooden. Dom Sr. eventually put a tv there, just in the master bedroom, so he could keep up with news and sports while they vacationed.

Sonny always loved the little community up there. Everyone was always so nice to him and his family. Which is why, after dealing with atrocities while on the force, he decided to retreat from city life. He hated being surrounded by monsters every day; sure not everyone in New York City was a creep or predator or murderer, but after seeing so much of the city’s underbelly, he was fed up.

He asked his parents if he could move to the New Hampshire house permanently. They would still be able to vacation there, of course—it was a massive, four-bedroom cabin—but he just needed to get away. He agreed to pay for everything, and he still had his cell phone so they could contact him if needed. It didn’t take much convincing for his parents to agree.

It was definitely an adjustment going from the heart of NYC to becoming a woodsman. Sonny grew his hair and beard out and bought plaid jackets—the things he saw woodsman do on tv when he was younger. The cabin needed work, especially clearing up the outside foliage, giving him some sense of purpose. And if he needed food, there were the local markets close by and a grocery store about an hour away.

The locals all remembered the scrawny little boy who spent his summers running around the woods with his sisters, and they all gladly took him under their wings. After Sonny hacked back the overgrowth, Mr. Piper taught him how to do controlled burn piles. Mr. and Mrs. Willis came over soon after, helping him measure out, then build an elevated garden. Mrs. Willis taught him how to make nutrient soil, while Mr. Willis gave him seeds, and taught him how to care for each and every vegetable.

When Sonny got the cabin, he inherited the small apple orchard, too. His pa taught him how to care for the trees while his ma taught him recipes for apple pie, cider, tarts, jams. He noticed how much he relied on bees to pollinate, and Ms. Walters, the local honey provider, taught him which wildflowers were 1) regional to them and 2) attracted bees. Sonny built another elevated garden, this time on his own, and filled it with wildflower seeds Ms. Walters gifted him with.

There was a creek nearby, and one day, Sonny found Mr. Adams fishing in it. Sonny proposed a deal; Mr. Adams gives Sonny an old rod that he wouldn’t miss, and Sonny would teach Mr. Adams the best way to clean and cook the fish. Mr. Adams agreed and gave him a sturdy rod. As Sonny went about cleaning and deboning the fish they had caught, he complimented Mr. Adams on his herb garden.

“Herb gardens aren’t the hardest thing to manage,” he said with a smile, and gifted Sonny with starters for every herb he could think of— “as payment for this phenomenal fish recipe!”

Third elevated garden up and running, Sonny fell into woodsman life easily. His muscles grew, though he was still thin; he was lean, though, not lanky anymore. Any questions he had, the locals had answers for. He grew his own food, fished his own fish, and bought (or traded) meat from the local hunters. Soon enough, the locals were calling him, asking for help with something or other. And Sonny loved all of it.

 *********************

During the weekly Autumn Farmer’s Market, Sonny rented a little booth. He had brought multiple apple pies, tarts, bottles of cider, apple chips, packages of herbs, tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, lettuce, and everything else he had in abundance…that would also fit on only two tables. When he first started harvesting, he would give most away, or trade for other goods, but he also needed to make money some way. So, the extras ended up here.

He was in the middle of chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Willis about how his gardens were coming along when he saw you. He froze halfway through a sentence, his jaw hanging open, prompting the Willis’s to turn. Mrs. Willis looked back at Sonny, a knowing smile on her face.

“She just moved back in with her parents; she had been living in New York City for a little bit, trying to make a life there, but, well, as she said herself, she’s not a city girl,” Mrs. Willis explained.

Before Sonny could respond—or tear his eyes from you—you glanced over at him. You smiled warmly, and his heart beat faster. When you started coming towards his little booth, he scrambled to clean himself up, brushing his hair back off his face, smoothing down his shirt, trying to wipe some dirt off the front. Mrs. Willis gave him a smile before looping her arm with her husband and pulling him away.

“Hello! I’m new here, but I must say, your booth is probably my favorite,” you said, still smiling at him.

It took him a moment for his brain to process your words. “O-oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“All of your food looks delicious. I mean, look at this squash! It’s bigger than my head!” you announced, giggling.

He had never heard anything more magical in his life. “Do you like pie? I can give you a slice,” he replied nervously.

“How much?” you asked. You loved both apples and pie, and his looked amazing.

He gave you a soft smile. “It’s on the house; a sweet treat for a pretty woman.”

You felt your face heat and you smiled shyly as he unwrapped a pie and cut into it. He cut off a generous piece, and you opened your mouth to complain about taking it for free, but he brushed you off, placing the piece on a plate and handing it to you. You took a bite, and you swear your taste buds were dancing; it was the most delicious thing you ever tasted before, the sweetness and the tartness balanced perfectly.

You chewed thoughtfully before swallowing it. “That is the best damn pie I’ve ever had. Ever. But please, share with me, Mr.…?”

“Call me Sonny, please. Sonny Carisi,” he replied, a goofy smile pulling across his lips.

You gave him your name, then offered him a bite. You both stood and chatted while exchanging bites of apple pie. He told you about his decision to leave the city and live a simpler life, surrounded by good people. And you told him about how you had always heard of the big city and decided to live there. But after a few months, you missed the woods too much, and you came back home.

“I feel a little silly living back at home in my adult life. I’m hoping to get my own cabin one day…maybe build it from the ground up,” you finished.

Sonny nodded in understanding. “Well, if you ever need anything, anything at all, you can always ask me. I’m not the most knowledgeable about cabin life quite yet, but I have the knowledge of who to call for advice.”

“Well, thank you, Sonny. Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” you replied, and he smiled. Then you leaned over the table of his goods and kissed his scruffy cheek before winking and walking back to your parent’s booth, giving him a little wave. The smile and look of absolute adoration in his eyes would be a fixed image in your mind for a while.

[deductioniis]

John Watson character analysis, or what is going on in John's head in tst to make him do what he did in TLD

A few premises:

What i say here below might have been mentioned already by others in the past

It's my interpretation of facts, so I might be wrong!

It contains TW // suicidal thoughts, alchololism, PTSD, grief, self-loathing, gaslighting

 

Before going right into the topic, it's better if we go back to the beginning of the show, so to analyse where John comes from. The show opens with shots from Afghanistan, a nightmare that wakes up John, leaving him sweaty and panicking. Then we see him in a therapy session, Ella telling him about his trust issues. We never know what caused these issues, but I believe that it is a cause of the war PTSD or of the sexual repression going on inside of him if we think of him coming from a conservative and homophobe family. No one really understands him, he has no one to relate to and to talk about his trauma, hence he is no longer bothered to open up to others if all he gets is nothing. 

Even if we consider John as the more empathetic and extrovert compared to Sherlock, we are reminded constantly of his struggles in relating to people and showing emotions. John is as much lost and damaged as Sherlock: he was probably dealing with past traumatic experiences, he came back from a war that left him with PTSD and he is now suicidal with nothing to look forward to. 

"You are not haunted by the war, Dr Watson, you miss it." That doesn’t really make sense if we think of John’s nightmares. But if we consider the 'war' as his inner turmoil, then it makes sense. John was literally on the point of ending it, until the moment he met Sherlock. From the nothingness, to something happening, going back to life. Though life requires feelings, John's weak point. 

I think it is also important to talk about John’s strong attachment with male figures, in particular Sherlock and Sholto. Compared to them, John is the one who is looking at them as a guide, probably because of the lack of a strong bond with his own father, thus resulting in the commonly known daddy issues. Some examples can be seen in TSoT, where Sholto is presented as John’s ex (army commander). If we think of their relationship in a romantic way, reinforced by Mary’s ‘neither of us were the first’, then we get John’s strong attachment to him: he is concerned about him, advises him to go to therapy to deal with the trauma and probably John himself has been in some sort of distress when he knew about Sholto’s accident. 

John never mentions Sholto to Sherlock, the other male person he is strongly attached to, probably because he is scared to lose him, preferring then to bottle up his emotions. This bad habit of John is recurrent: when Sherlock fakes his suicide, John at first bottles up his emotions, he doesn't even talk to Mrs Hudson because, as mentioned before, he doesn't really know if she would fully understand him. We see then at how he copes with it in Many Happy Returns. His tare héreditaire makes him find peace in drinking alcohol, probably abusing it as a way of escape from feelings. He is repressing them so much at the point of blaming himself of feeling them, adding up the sense of grief and probably guilt of not having been enough for Sherlock after all they have experienced together. But when Sherlock comes back, John finds that the only way to express what goes on in his head is by actions, attacking Sherlock for having been so careless of not even thinking about him when he fell from the rooftop. Here John is one of the many considering suicide as something selfish, where the one who leaves doesn't think of the void they'll leave inside others. This, though, is discussed and later contradicted by Sherlock himself in tld 'your life is not your own, keep your hands off it'.

Time to flashforward to TST now, whose final scenes really require John all the strength to fight the feelings he has always repressed. Grief is a tough process that we all get to face in life and that might cause different emotions. For the second time in his screen-time life, John once again decides to retreat, hiding from the world and not giving his best friend a chance to help. We know that he gives Sherlock a letter, but its content is a mystery. As he struggles himself with a direct confrontation with Sherlock, he might have written down his thoughts, probably harsher than he intended, as we later see Sherlock high and John coping in an unhealthy way with trauma. 

He is self-blaming himself for letting Rosie down, he is stuck into a dimension of things that is bigger than he is and really doesn’t know how to deal with it. As he speaks with the (fake) therapist, he is passive-aggressive, once more he is getting defensive about his own point of view. He doesn’t understand his own feelings, he doesn’t want them to be normal and ordinary during a process of grieving. He is desperately craving someone to agree with him and not going against him, making him feel even more misunderstood. He is ‘holding himself to an unreasonable standard’. He wants to be someone else, not committing the same mistakes that probably most of the important figures in his life have done. In tld, we see John who is desperately clinging to his past, his only place of comfort. But clinging to it is never good, it doesn’t really solve anything. 

He is distressed, grieving, not understanding the emotions he is feeling. For once, he wants others to return the care he is constantly giving but yet again, the trust issues come in.

His session is interrupted by Sherlock, one of John’s weak points. Sherlock’s addiction is now coming over into John’s problems. Once at the hospital all the emotions he is keeping inside to holding up to his unhealthy standards are on the point of bursting. 

He is once again trying to keep up with the ‘quicker’ minds of Culverton and Sherlock and his trust for the detective is at stake. Sherlock’s high, how can he trust him? The person he trusted the most, is letting him down, and he needs to be the one in command. Cultverton is keeping playing with John’s insecurities, playing with his trust issues and weaknesses so to make him burst. Messing up with his head and manipulating him to the point so he can get what he wants: Sherlock in his hospital room. When John is questioning his role as a doctor, he feels guilty, for not having looked after Sherlock, for not being able to deal with his grief. All these emotions bottling up to a point of no-return…