#grief counseling training

[sidneycounselling]

Sidney Counselling & Psychotherapy

Website: https://www.sidneycounselling.com/

Address: Sidney, British Columbia

Sidney Counselling & Psychotherapy, led by Phil Enns RCC, offers adult individual counselling and therapy services with a specialization in treating anxiety, depression, PTSD, grief, and loss issues, among others. With over 35 years of experience in both public mental health clinics and private practice, Phil employs various treatment methods including EMDR, Mindfulness-Based Psychotherapy, Solution Focused Therapy, Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, and Dialectical Behaviour Therapy. Notably, services are currently provided exclusively online, ensuring accessibility for individuals seeking supportive and certified therapeutic services without geographical constraints.

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[ask-aesop-sharp]

"Dear Students and Faculty Alike,

In light of... recent events about the school concerning the mistreatment of my students, I shall make my position abundantly clear: anyone found harming (physically, verbally, or otherwise) my students shall find themselves expelled from these halls faster than they can say 'wiggenweld'.

That said, I confess to having been trained in grief counseling as part of my role as an Auror. Should anyone need an understanding ear, do not hesitate to send me an owl, or visit me in person, no matter the hour. I assure you what is said will be kept between us, and I shall do what I can to help you feel safe.

Yours,

Prof. A. Sharp"

[solisaureus]

what do you think future nico and will would look like? not necessarily as fully grown adults, around percy/annabeth age in toa where they have the freedom to not be in chb all the time! maybe will going to school, nico doing ???

would love to hear ur thoughts!!! ty my favorite nico and will writer 🙏

I picture nico staying on at camp half blood long term, at first as a swordplay instructor. then he gets the idea to start a grief counseling program for all the bereaved half bloods and works with chiron to make it happen. his cocoa puffs become like little therapy demons for the kids who come to talk to him.

i picture will training other apollo kids in field medicine to take over the infirmary once he goes off to school to become a doctor. he starts out as an ER doctor, and then later goes into hospice work.

i like the idea of nico as a grief counselor and will as a hospice care doctor, because they both combine the realms of death and healing, and embody everything that they’ve taught each other

[courtana]

CW: suicide, grief

Losing someone to suicide is a traumatic experience in itself. If you've been affected by this recently, please take the time to process your feelings and come to terms with this. If needed, please consider even seeking out therapy or counseling to aid in this.

Some things to note:

Do not say that someone “committed” suicide. Instead, use terms like "died by suicide."

Do not ask about the method the person used to end their life

Respect the privacy and wishes of their friends and loved ones.

When discussion of a death by suicide increases on social media, this can cause others to consider or attempt suicide. Please, if you are in a crisis, call one of the following hotlines to talk to a trained professional:

Veterans Crisis Line - 988, then press 1 (or text 838255 or Chat online) National Sexual Assault Hotline – (800) 656-4673 National Domestic Violence Hotline – (800) 799-7233 National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline - 988 (or Chat Online)

[searchingforserendipity25]

The Eagle's Share

Tw: hunting and animal sacrifice.

Inspired by the incredible Fingon&Eagles relationship in Not In Vain by @polutrope!

-

In Barad Eithel celebrations were held in the middle of every bitter winter, a proud chasing away of the bitter frost Fingolfin's people so loathed.

There were dances, sparring games, and great hunts. Lalwen lead a masking ritual, a time of portents and heady magics; Fingolfin-king poured the mead and the wine, and passed to every cupped palm their due bold of miruvor he had brewed all summer, to each were given their due words of praise and courage.

He spoke and shone as once he had amidst the spluttering fires, a small animal in the Darkening calling to himself a hard, a pack to weather the long night within greater warmth.

Well-loved he was, Fingolfin of the Noldor; to him none were truer than the eldest of his sons, whose bowl was ever poured last, that it should be known the king favoured not his own blood unduly.

But Fingon went by himself, on the darkest nights before the lengthening of the days: and did not return until he had slain a great elk-of-the-woods, or a mad-eyed bear mother, and left the upon the highest peak for the eagles and falcons and ravens to feast upon.

Afterwards he joined the feasting, singing and harping as he went, at that hour when a grey light started to gleam dully to the East; and the music changed, the drums quickened into lighter reels, treacherous leaping staff-on-staff dances. He wore ribbons of goldcloth embroidered with copper in his hair, and about his neck necklaces with eagle feathers - long and sleek and just as golden.

The Great Eagles came not among the Eldar then, but to involve themselves in rare and dire matters; but some of them begot lesser creatures among their wild kin, and it was from such a strain that Fingon raised, and tended, and trained many a generation of bold hunting kestrels, amber-eyed falcons - even some rare grave and little-tamed eagles.

In the back of his aiming hand he inked an eagle, wings spread and proud. It had been the way of mourning in the Ice, when one died, and the body could not be buried; Fingolfin's grave never was seen by Fingolfin's heir.

Still the blood-price must be paid. Fingon went, and brought down his greatest beast yet, a woollen mammoth thick enough to feed a company for the march.

He left it to the wise birds of the realm. The blood gleamed red and slick on the snow, the viscera steaming enough to make his mouth water. As ever he gave them his thanks, begged their pity, praised the glory of their free flight, their hungering defiance, even as Morgoth made foul and weak so much of the land and the land's beasts.

Alone under the judging stars he wept, as he had not yet; a great grief was on him, and a will for revenge. Above all he denied Morgoth's design, that would wipe clean the skies and the earth, till all creatures were his servants, and no honor or memory of good deeds remained alive.

The birds came to feed. They fought among themselves at times, as was their way; yet they were solemn in their devouring, determined as they bit the meat out of the bone and bared it.

Their many eyes were in the night of nights a light of their own, ancient; and their cawing and their calling was insistent, even after all had fed - insistent for blood and vengeance, fierce and fierce enough to tear the silence in many halves. It made the white hills and the high firs tremble with urgency; Fingon's voice too rose, at last, and joined their defiance.

In the dark before a slow dawn rose, he started making ready for war.

The feasting changed with Fingolfin's end, ever less a celebration, more the smothering thrill that gathered, storm-like, in the hearts of the Eldar before a battle. His vassals came more often and from further, to deepen their counsels of war under the guise of a common visit, the trading of winter-gifts made anew into a deep renewal of vows.

Through great gates they went, marveling at the strength and beauty of the fortifications of the Noldor, and in the king's great chamber they bent over his left hand in greeting, that Fingon might clasp their necks and touch their cheeks in welcome.

But Maedhros of Himring alone kneeled at his feet and kissed the tattoo through the king's hawking gloves, his own cleaved right arm pressed against his heart.

So it was in Barad Eithel, that valiant realm, before the walls were broken, when the wild wings of Beleriand were revered.

[autisticlancemcclain]

prologue part one

–––

“You know, there can’t be that many humans in space.”

There are several simultaneous sighs in response over the comms. Keith doesn’t need to have the video feed open to guess the faces his team are making; the annoyance, the tired irritation and flat dismissiveness. He’s used to it.

He doesn’t care. If anything it’s amusing, actually.

“I’m only speculating,” Keith continues, casual. He ignores Red’s sharp pangs of warning in the back of his mind. “The movie references, the bomb, the attitude –”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up,” Pidge says icily, and Keith has no issue ignoring her, either.

“I mean, how many times would the Galra have come to the Milky Way?”

Pidge is no longer the only one telling him to stop. He counts two more voices but doesn’t let himself recognise whose, pretending it’s just background noise, because he’s damn right and he knows he is.

“We know four confirmed humans to have gone missing in space. Who’s to say it’s not –”

“Can it, Kogane!” Hunk shouts, and he’s much harder to ignore, if only because Keith wouldn’t put it past him to ram his lion right into Keith’s.

He shrugs and picks at a loose thread on his undersuit. He said what he needed to say, anyway. So. It doesn’t really matter.

Hunk’s breathing is heavy and carefully controlled, static over the comms, building up a tension that Keith can’t help but delight in, a little. He knows Hunk’s waiting for a response, maybe even an apology, so Keith takes his time in answering, poking idly at his dashboard.

(Keith has sat through Matt and Coran’s grief counselling just like everyone else. He knows how he’s supposed to handle this, how he’s been asked and trained to handle inner-team conflict. He has been presented with mindfulness worksheets and team building exercises. He knows the stakes. He knows that they are supposed to preserve the caricature of Voltron that they have left, continue animating the skeleton of the Coalition. 

But then again, he sits in grief counselling in silence, because he has nothing to grieve yet.)

“Not my fault you gave up,” Keith says, faux-casual.

Many voices erupt at once, because it is the wrong thing to say. He knew it and said it anyway and watches the aftermath with a deliberate and defiant brand of ennui.

“You just don’t fucking get it, do you.”

No, Keith doesn’t understand. He will never understand the ease in which everyone has simply accepted what seems to be. He doesn’t understand how quickly everyone else gave up. He doesn’t understand why they are moving forward, why they are bothering, when Lance has not been returned safely to them, when they haven’t even found a fucking body, if that’s the route they choose to pursue. He will never understand why everyone has given up on Lance as if it’s the right thing to do and he will never forgive anyone for it, either.

So he says nothing.

But Hunk is used to him starting things and backing away, now, so he continues.

“Lance was my fucking brother, Keith. I don’t have a single memory in my life without him in it. I fucking –” Hunk’s voice shakes, and Keith can’t tell if it’s rage or pain. When he speaks again he sounds reedy, drawn out. “I won’t turn his memory into one of your conspiracy theories. I know it’s hard for you, I know you loved him –”

Keith shuts that line of thought down fast, bouldering over Hunk loudly. “So help me look for him.” 

Keith’s words have no conviction. They have had this argument before and they will have it again, although every time they do, the patience for Keith wears thinner and thinner. 

(Keith knows they are getting tired of him. He knows they are losing their affection for him the fastest and he know he is making it worse for himself but he can’t fucking stop because if he stops then that means he’s given up and he can’t give up not on Lance. Not on Lance he promised. They have never found a body. There was the tape of course there was the tape but Keith knows down to the very soul of him that if the roles were reversed Lance would never ever stop looking and who would Keith be if he stopped. He knows his family just wants to grieve and he is standing in their way but he cannot choose between Lance and his family he can’t.)

“...Alright, Keith,” Hunk sighs, exhausted. Keith squirms until he forces himself still. “Alright.”

They ride in silence for the rest of the flight. Keith remembers a time when flights this long almost guaranteed a game of some sort, or playful argument that lasted half an hour, then immediately wishes he didn’t. He busies himself with the mission bulletpoints from the pre-mission briefing to keep from falling down that trap.

The intel Kolivan passed onto them included a very convoluted amalgamation of Haggar and her operations. Maybe even all of them. Keith’s not sure, it’s mostly been Pidge and Shiro and Allura looking at it, decoding and puzzling it out. What Keith does know is that the mission they’re on now is one of confirmation, a tentative testing of the waters, to add credibility to the intel. The massive file has informed them that the base they are approaching has been abandoned for months; planet totally ravaged of its resources and left behind when the Empire could no longer had use for it like the goddamn parasite it is. If the intel is correct, then the base should be empty of everything except a few patrolling sentries, easy to take out, and rife with bridges for Pidge to build to more information rich systems. 

And if the intel is correct about this base, then it is likely correct about others; others like the giant citadel in the Qelrn nursery star where Druids are supposedly born, others like the factories in twelve different galaxies where all Empire sentries are assembled, others like the almost immeasurably massive fortress built inside the most powerful star in the known universe. Places that, when hit, would not only cripple the Empire, but destroy it.

But of course they have to kick around this stupid abandoned shell of a base, first.

“Cloaking on,” Shiro announces as the base starts to blip on their radars. 

Keith listens without argument. He’s pushed enough today. 

He’s bored on the mission, as he expected to be. He takes the lead in the beginning, but it takes him all of fifteen minutes to wipe out the sentries scattered throughout the base and then his part of the mission is basically done. He’s not trusted to go digging around in files, not anymore. (Not after the tape. Not after taking down the Empire stopped being anywhere close to his first priority. Not after he became a Liability.) So he stands off to the side as everyone else crowds around the control centre of the bridge, swinging and slashing his sword around with no real purpose. He wonders if anyone would notice if he just got in Red and fucked off.

Probably. 

Sighing to himself, he sits heavily on the floor, not bothering to soften the impact and knowing the hard clang of his armour will leave a bruise. It’s a dangerous path to go down and he knows it, but he allows himself to think about what it would be like if Lance was here, on this mission and alive. Lance would be with him, probably. Neither of them have ever been able to maintain interest in hacking and computers and coding and everything. If Lance were here Keith would be allowed to explore the ship, since they'd be a pair. They wouldn’t find anything interesting but Lance has a way of making mundane things interesting. Keith wonders if they would have fun or if they’d spend the whole time arguing.

He smiles slightly. Both, probably. 

He hates their new normal. He hates it so much. He knows that they don’t have the resources to look for someone who’s very likely dead. He knows Pidge was never allowed to just up and leave and look for her family in the beginning, and it’s no different now. He knows that tactically, the smartest thing the Empire could do with Lance would be to kill him. He knows that and he’s not stupid enough to think Haggar and Zarkon and whoever the fuck else would mess that up, keep Lance alive, allow him the possibility to escape and reform Voltron.

It had been Lance to point that out, actually. Quietly and on the observation deck, one night when Keith couldn’t stand the sound of his muffled sobs through the thin wall connecting their rooms any longer and dragged him there to help mellow him out. The conversation had rolled around to the time Allura was taken, somehow, and Lance had confided in Keith that he was so angry in Keith’s and Allura’s insistence that she be left behind because he knew that they would kill her. 

“It’s the fastest way,” he’d explained, chin hooked over his knees and halfway haunted look in his dark eyes. “Voltron is a team or nothing kind of deal. There is no four paladin Voltron, there is no wormholing without the Altean heir to run it. Yeah, they could torture us for information, but why bother? Why expend that energy? You kill just one of us and we’re fucked forever. You could take Voltron out with one lucky shot.” He’d shuddered. Keith feels bile rise at the back of his throat even now, at the memory, at the surety in Lance’s voice when he said it, like he knew one of them was going to die and it was only a matter of time. It freaked Keith out then and makes him nauseous now. He doesn’t like the idea that Lance knew, that he prepared for it.

The train of thought makes him want to crawl out of his skin. He hates that his mind always goes here. He scrambles to his feet and stumbles out of the bridge, like he can outrun the memories, leave behind the fear in Lance’s face. He’s down a random hallway and swiping cobwebs and dust from his hair before he realises what he’s doing. He stops, smack in front of a giant window in some forgotten hallway, pressing the heel of his hands to his eyes hard enough to see stars.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he says. He breathes deeply through his mouth for several moments. He still feels hugely twitchy, like sparks are just under his skin. He looks out the window and finds a random star, staring at it until he’s cross-eyed, until it blurs and blinks around the edges.

There is too much he doesn’t know. There is too much that has been left up to speculation and it kills him.  Keith has always been hellbent on figuring things out -- his heritage, the Garrison secrets, the mystery of the Blue Lion. He has always busied himself with finding the truth and damned the consequences. And there have been consequences. There always have been and they have always been painful. He has always had to choose between truth and comfort. 

He takes one final, deep breath, imagining the air flowing into his lungs and sinking into his bloodstream, and steels himself. He pulls out his comm and messages Kolivan. (Even now, even after Keith has long since left the Blades and will likely never return, Kolivan has a soft spot for him. Maybe it’s the way he had the answers Keith needed and Keith trusted him. Maybe Kolivan just needed a reason to be soft after so many years. But Keith is grateful for it nonetheless.)

He opens the file Kolivan sends him, no questions asked, no hesitation. The intel that he has not been expressly kept away from but that has not been openly provided to him, either. He watches the video, with the mysterious figure who speaks like Lance and walks like Lance and squares his shoulders the same way Lance always has, and Keith starts his search.

[heademptie]

Scrapes and Bruises

CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFAE III (2023) DRABBLE HANDLER! READER, UNDECIDED/READER: 

cw: mentions of death, hospitals. mild depictions of violence (one punch is thrown) mentions of mental illness (PTSD). [I don't know if there other warnings I should add]

a/n: the writing is incosistent because the idea got away from me a bit. unedited ramblings. there are definatly military and medical inacuraces, and if i make this a proper fic/fic series there will be more. im leaning towards making this a price x reader fic because he's my recent brainrot. the title is also subject to change.

   Handler! Reader who used to work in the field until they suffered an injury that made active field work too difficult, instead taking up a desk job, occasionally training recruits in the basics. Handler! Reader works hard, doing the rare, simple job out in the field, and eventually gets promoted to a handler position. A contact for soldiers doing confidential, dangerous work. Reader is good at their job, their innate healthy (not so healthy) amount of paranoia serves to keep themselves and their charges safe. Theres been close calls, and severe injuries (one charge lost an limb, another's lungs will never recover, and of course the PTSD almost all have), but only three have died in their eight years (almost nine) as a handler. Some cases lasted a few months, others years. 

   It’s after a four year long case, a pair of soldiers are finally able to go home, they wear new scars and their bodys have new aches. The paperwork is all done, the soldiers have been checked over and given well deserved time off and counselling. Reader gets them settled, hands them off to the person who helps them readjust to society, offers (like every time) for them to call if they need. But like every time, they nod to be polite and don’t take Reader up, wanting to cut ties from the time spent isolated. 

   Reader gets a call then, asking them to be the handler for a new soldier, one who hasn’t done this type of work before. The isolation that rots away at soldiers' minds. So they agree, they’ve always been the best at handling the newbies. A file is sent over in an email, the soldiers information inside, along with a brief explanation of circumstances. A K.I.A case, these ones needed to be handled carefully. 

   Handler!Reader arrives at a military hospital, always hating being here, always being the bad guy here, and the place is in a bit of a flurry. They’re dressed in fatigues, blending in to the soldiers and medics around. It's easy to spot the team they’ll have to pry a comrade from, be the bringer of grief and mourning, and it kills a bit of them too. They wait off to the side, speaking with a nurse absently, actively avoiding looking at the team. They already look defeated, hollow and angry and, much to Readers juxtaposing relief and dread, hopeful. After a while, Reader makes their way past the team, escorted by a nurse through a set of doors separating dire patients from their concerned teams, friends, family. 

   They get to the Sargents room, Sargent MacTavish, he’s surrounded by doctors and nurses, all fluttering to keep him stable. It feels pervasive, it always does, to watch him be sewn together, hear the shriek beeps that monitor his heart, to watch him die. Except he’s not actually dying, not currently anyways, it's all a show, John MacTavish is currently unconscious in front of them, peacefully asleep as a play of chaos happens around him. Armed with a surgical mask and latex gloves, they slip into the chaos easily, grab their dead soldier's hand and squeeze it. A comfort more for them than him. Reader slips a note between his teeth and cheek, laminated to avoid damage before he can read it and uses a sharpie to mark the inside of his left bicep. A subtle way to let the morgue know not to autopsy.

   They leave the room the same time as the rest of the medics, departing in a flurry of movement, they pass the team again as the doctor in charge approaches. She delivers the news with practised sympathy, giving them a beat before leading them to where Sargent MacTavish lay dead. If they check, his heart won’t be beating, his skin won’t be as warm, he’ll look dead, he’ll feel dead too.

    (“Let them say goodbye.” “What?” “The only way I take this job, be a handler, is if they can say goodbye.” “It will put them in danger.” “Let the people they leave behind say goodbye.” “We can’t-” “The only way.” “Fine.”)

   He’s cremated, they typically are, and his ashes are spread somewhere Reader hasn't been. Handler! Reader takes Johnny there. They wait for him to get his bearings, patient as he processes what he’s been told. 

   (“‘M no’ dead.” “Literally? No, of course not. Officially? Time of death eighteen, thriteen.” “An’ ma team?” “Alive and, well not well, but physically they’re relatively unharmed.” “Relatively?” “Scrapes and bruises, Sargent MacTavish. Just scrapes and bruises.” “I wa’ shot.” “Yes.” “In the’ head?” “Yes.” “Bu’ ‘m alive.” “Sargent-” “Johnny.” “Johnny, give me your hand please.” “Wha’ for?” “...There it is.” “Wha’?” “Your pulse, steady and strong. Exceptional for a dead man.” “...” “...” “Ya do this alo’?” “Job of the Ferryman, Johnny. Job of the Ferryman.”)

   They watch from afar, safely hidden in tall grass looking through a sniper's scope. Reader purposefully ignores the shake in Johnny's shoulders, does not comment when his hand covers his mouth and a muffled, near silent, cry barely reaches their ears. 

   Handler! Reader has to pull him away, covering his mouth just in case he calls out to them, he doesn’t thankfully, he doesn’t fight as hard as others do, some part of him resigned to this new work.

   (“They won’t want to go, they’ll fight you.” “I know.” “No, you don’t. It’s not the kindness you think it is.” “It can be.” “It can also be a torture.” “I know.” “No,” “Yes, sir, yes I do know. They will fight and kick and scream and beg. But there will be some, if only just one, who will be thankful. And the ones who don’t make it, because that's something I have to accept, that there will be casualties, no matter how good they are, how good I am. They will remember that they got to say goodbye. At the end of the day it’s just scrapes and bruises.” “Your hearts’ too big for this.” “Nah, I’ve lost just enough of it.”)

   Handler!Reader gets him far enough away, safe for him to scream and grieve without an audience. That's where he hits them, a solid punch to the jaw and more yelling before he just collapses to his knees in the stony dirt. Little pebbles try to dig into the fabric and flesh over his knees, and Reader joins him, sits with their arms around their knees and looking out into the distance while Johnny composes himself. Their jaw aches and they only rub it slightly, curiously pressing on the forming bruise, a hum that sounds awfully like admiration taking Johnny's attention. It takes a half hour, forty-one minutes to be precise, for them to get moving. Johnny apologises on the way to the car.

   (“‘M, ach, ‘m sorry fer…” “Nothing to apologise for, Johnny.” “No, really, ‘m sorry. Ye dinnae deserve,” “Scrapes and bruises, Johnny, it's just scrapes and bruises.”)

a/n: yeeaah, this is gonna be a proper fic eventually

[justanapplenothinghere]

Party!Friends Au CatNap

(since majority wanted him from the votes)

Fun facts ⭐✨:

Very much touch Starved

Only lets (Angel) Y/N touch him

Does not trust the scientists

Ferocious gremlin

Can be playful when he feels like doing so

Grumpy most times

Second popular with kids

He loves Napping

His favourite activity apart from sleep is making biscuits.(Biscuits as in the cat movement)

Demands you give him attention

Au Explanation:

In this the smiling critters were made not as toys but as actual experimented animals with a conscious transfer with selected candidates. How the factory selected the unfortunate was by secretly observing them throught playing,every day life at the orphanage and tests(could be personality too).

These all determined which orphan specifically would match the certain Critter mascot they can merge their consciousness with an actual animal body.(Of course they all start out with younger bodies.) The scientists have to train the critters in their spare time to behave well and fulfil their duties.

They at first were used as a special party birthday mascots before when they were a bit older handing them out proper care duties.

Incase you missed my DogDay Version!:

https://www.tumblr.com/justanapplenothinghere/745602629016698880/party-friends-au-dogday?source=share

Name of Orphan kid for this critter before:

Name: Theodore Grambell

Age:7

Gender:M

Notes:

He was originally brought in to the orphanage due to both of his parents ended up passing away in a car crash accident.

Not much is known about his background but what is known, is that his parents were strong Christian believers.

Observing from a far he is really quiet. He doesn't usually interact with the rest of the kids maybe with the exception of Sam Neve and ..1006

They both seem to be close.(? Exploitation weakness)

He doesn't trust our department.. perhaps he knows too much already.(Poseable threat?)

Additional Notes:

Right handed

Him and 1006 interactions are interesting to study from a far..but yet also quite concerning at the same time.

We do not want for this relationship to continue any further so actions will have to be taken in a day or so.

He seems to be wearing a silver crufix necklace underneath his shirt at all times.

This could suggest his struggles with grief, understandably.Often ends up sleeping in on entire days.

However we had made him go to school counseling therapy.

He hates the therapy.(See previous point above) Continue with the treatment until phase 2.

Mascot assigned: CatNap.

[satureja13]

After Ji Ho opened his Pandora's Box stuffed with all the feelings he'd hidden deep down inside to survive, they all got kicked out of the game. After Vlad and Kiyoshi, who hadn't been ingame, helped them up and checked if they were unscathed... Vlad: "Where is Ji Ho?!" They couldn't ask Tiny Can - the overload has blewn his circuits ö.ö Saiwa: "Gods - is Ji Ho stuck ingame? How are we supposed to get him out when Tiny Can's broken?" Jack was shaking: "It's all my fault. I wanted the investigations to continue."

Before Vlad could take something - or someone - apart in his grief and anger, they heard an incoming call from the computer, which luckily hadn't been destroyed, like poor Tiny Can. It's Noxee! And Greg. Noxee: "Babies! Ji Ho is save! Don't worry, he'll be fine. We need you to leave Tomarang for a while. Pack your stuff together and take the train tomorrow. I'll send you the tickets."

And - as always - before they could ask or say anything: Noxee: "Huh, already that late! We have to... prepare *winks*. Bye Babies! See you there!" Jack: "Argh! Can't they keep their hands to themselves! Turn that off! He stole my girl in this world and even ingame!" As if things weren't worse enough!

So Ji Ho is safe. But Noxee said he will be fine. Means he isn't fine right now? Vlad was still raging. He wasn't even able to feel Ji Ho through their bond! But Noxee wouldn't lie to them. Ji Ho is safe. Even though Jack was at the verge of loosing it himself, he dragged Vlad (and Kiyoshi - as counsel ö.Ö) over to his houseboat, to watch a Star Wars movie. This always calms them down and distracts them - at least for a while. And Jack hopes Diety Kiyoshi has one of his 'here' days and could cast a little soothing aura on Vlad... or whatever he was able to do. Little Goat: "I wonder where we are going to go?" Kumo: "Who knows? The poor Boys." Little Goat: "Who could have forseen that, though..."

When they entered the houseboat, Jack's TV was running? Jack: "Huh, I don't remember leaving it on. And I never watch the X Files..."

Skully: "Hey, Buddy! Come join us!" Skully? How the hell did he make it out of the game! ö.ö And what is Malfoy doing here?

Jack isn't able to deal with anything else today. So he just shoved in a bigger sofa and they watched the X Files together... Skully: "Everything's gonna be alright, you'll see."

'Good friends we have, oh, good friends we've lost Along the way, yeah In this great future, you can't forget your past So dry your tears, I say, yeah'

Bob Marley - No woman no cry

Leaves Saiwa and Jeb, alone together for the first time since... uh it's been months! To make it less awkward - and because Jeb knows that it helps Sai to run when he's upset (usually Jack says/does something stupid so Sai runs after him ^^') - he urged Sai to accompany him. It's raining, but they didn't bother.

Saiwa looked at Jeb and he was thankful he was acting somewhat 'normal'. They ran quietly for a while. Even though Jeb must hurt from their separation just as much as he does, and must be upset about the latest happenings - he's Ji Ho's best friend after all -, he's still solid like a rock and devoted to him and tries to help him where he can. And Sai remembered of one of their happier days, running together through the rain... How he wants those days back. Jeb: "Look forward or you'll trip ^^' We can't have another of us injured." Right, forward it goes...

Sai couldn't stand going home yet - back to all the madness that awaits them there, so they went to the Night Market. Sai: "I'm going to ask Ms Coombes to replace me. I failed utterly as our leader. I'm too weak for this - even broke down." Jeb: "None of us could have avoided what happened. And no one else could have brought us this far. Look at all the things you've already achieved, hm? How well you did. And we already promised we'd carry the burden together with you. Just let us. We need you." He wanted to add 'I need you' but it's neither the right time nor the right place for this.

Jeb: "Van... (It's not the right time and place to call Sai 'Vanië', Jeb's nickname for Sai, either) uhm, I don't want to upset you any further, but the monolithic figure on the platform Jihovere stood on and raised the storm - it was the same as in the cave Ji Ho's grandfather held him capture with his brother... I noticed it when I freed him." Sai: "What? No way he made it into the game, did he?" Jeb: "I hope not. We'll have to discuss this tomorrow with the elders from the Resistance. Even if it 'only' was a 'reminder' for us from Tiny Can to finally start to learn how to protect ourselves against the Siren's Spells. It's too severe to ingore it any longer." Sai: "I'm not sure if I can lead you through all this, Jeb." Jeb: "I know you will. Together with us, hm? Don't give up on us." He also meant Sai shouldn't give up on them - and their love. But he didn't say it out loud either.

No one noticed yet, but Skully wasn't the only thing that made it out of the game. The sword Jihovere pulled out of her King's statue's heart was lying on Ji Ho's memorabilia rack ö.Ö'

This is the last post from the 'Who killed Jack?' chapter! 🗡 I hope you enjoyed it! I had so much fun! (I already told you how much I love these Crime Games ^^') So following the Boys solving a case was the perfect combo for me :3

Does this mean game over for the Therapy Game? ö.Ö' Who knows? If you want to learn how it all started with the Therapy Game: - the development of the Therapy Game (chapter 26) -> here - their therapy sessions (chapter 27) -> here - and the Murder Mystery (chapter 28) 'Who killed Jack? -> here

The Therapy Game Master Post with the sessions and places so far is -> here

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

[merlincersei]

Merlin BBC UK TV Show - A Psychological Analysis Series Part 13

The Meaning Of Pendragon In The TV Show

The 3 prominent characters in the TV show who bear the Pendragon last name are Uther, Arthur and Morgana.

The name has its origin in the Old Welsh language

The Arthurian legends were mainly written in the medieval age.

However Arthur's literary origins lie in the Dark ages.

The TV creators have already stated it was their intention to reinterpret Arthurian legends using a modern Smallville format which is modern American in its narrative.

Source:

Even though the TV show does not specify the time period it is set in, it uses a lot of medieval imagery such as plated armor, chain mail, carriages etc.. which were all medieval inventions.

So this dark age last name used within a medieval world but portrayed through a modern 21st century American narrative takes a whole new meaning.

The show also gives us a literal meaning to Pendragon as Uther even sent a dragon to the pen ( Kilgaragh is imprisoned underneath the cavern of Camelot )

Here the name takes the overtures of being a TYRANT.

______________________________________________________________

Uther:

He fits the classic definition of a tyrant.

I don't even have to list all of Uther's crimes because Merlin as Dragoon literally calls him a tyrant to his face listing all his misdeeds in the following clip:

It is Uther who lends his last name to Morgana and Arthur and all the baggage that comes with it.

______________________________________________________________

Morgana:

It is very telling that the moment Morgana realizes that Uther is her father, she rejects Uther as she does not want to associate with what Uther Pendragon represents.

However the Pendragon traits soon manifests within her as she undergoes the tragic transformation from being a brave and loyal friend who helped a lowly servant by going to his village and helping him defend it to being this embittered villainess who shows dictatorial traits.

Her struggle for self acceptance as a magical being and protesting against the persecution of magic users soon manifests as a crusade against the non magical users based on revenge.

The Pendragon legacy here acts as a genetic pathological mental illness that is triggered through grief and betrayal. Morgana being poisoned by Merlin being the trigger for Morgana as Ygraine's death was for Uther.

______________________________________________________________

Arthur:

Uther is the typical distant and repressive fatherly figure who has channeled all his hopes and emotions on his sole male heir i.e. Arthur.

Arthur had a strict military training who is only allowed to show his masculine, aggressive side

Unlike Morgana, Arthur constantly feels the pressure to live up to Pendragon name. The Sword in the Stone: Part 1 and 2 episodes perfectly highlights Arthur's insecurities.

Merlin who is privy to Arthur's psyche more than anyone in the series, has seen the Pendragon rage manifest in Arthur such as:

Arthur willing to kill Uther (Refer Episode: The Sins of the Father)

Arthur banishing Gwen under the punishment of death (Refer Episode: Lancelot Du Lac)

Arthur vowing vengeance against Agravaine (Refer Episode: The Sword in the Stone Part 1)

Arthur vows to punish Dragoon after Uther dies (Refer Episode: The Wicked Day)

In all the above situations, it is Merlin who provides counsel and/or emotional support to Arthur to exercise prudence and not give in to his rage.

IT IS ONE OF THE KEY REASON WHY MERLIN DOES NOT REVEAL HIS MAGIC TO ARTHUR UNTILL THE VERY END !!!

The dialogue in the scene above is very revealing.

ARTHUR: Why did you never tell me?

MERLIN: I wanted to but...

ARTHUR: What?

MERLIN: You would have chopped my head off.

ARTHUR: I am not sure what I would have done

MERLIN: I did not want to put you in that position

ARTHUR: That's what worried you

Merlin knows the trigger for Pendragon rage is betrayal and grief.

Merlin knows it was his betrayal of Morgana that lead her down a dark path.

Had Merlin revealed his magic to Arthur earlier he would never have earned Arthur's trust to be in a position to counsel him during his darkest moments.

Merlin being the other half of Arthur as stated by Kilgaragh acts a superego for Arthur trying to counterbalance his aggressive Pendragon tendencies .

Kilgaragh had told Merlin it was his mission to mold Arthur into being a great king. (Refer Episode: Dragons' Call)

Merlin's influence on Arthur is really exemplified in the episode "Death Song Of Uther Pendragon" , where Arthur confronts Uther:

Merlin then confronts Uther's ghost, reiterating that Arthur is indeed very unlike Uther.

This episode ends with Arthur rejecting Uther and what Uther stands for, by blowing the Horn of Cathbhadh and sending Uther back to the spirit realm.

______________________________________________________________

In Conclusion:

It was a masterful stroke by the series creators to have Morgana and Arthur introduced to the audience in contrasting light. (Refer Episode: Dragons' Call)

Morgana is shown distressed as a man is executed by Uther for being a sorcerer whereas Arthur is seen bullying one of his squires.

The audience is only privy to the information that Arthur is Uther's son and Morgana is unrelated to Uther resulting in the viewer sympathizing with Morgana and rooting against Arthur.

However as the series progresses and as Morgana's identity is revealed. We see her succumb to the Pendragon traits despite her abject hatred of Uther . Whereas Arthur ultimately rejects Uther and Uther's ideology despite constantly seeking his validation throughout the series.

Morgana ( Hero to Villan ) and Arthur's ( Villan To Hero) character arc ends up in complete opposite directions from where they began.

Both characters are scarred by trauma, loss and betrayals they have experienced compounded by the less than stellar parenting of Uther Pendragon.

It is very poignant that the series ends with Gwen on the throne and not a Pendragon signifying a new future for Camelot.

[candlemouse]

I posted a new fic that explores Marla and Scott Sorenson’s experience from losing their daughter, being kidnapped, forcibly educated about magic, and finally reuniting with their family.

It will be three chapters and end up about 10k words.

It’s been really fun to write!

Here is an excerpt:

Silence filled the house. The TV sat dormant, pots and pans did not clang, and there was no bickering over the remote. Just Marla alone on the couch.

The peace and quiet she had always prayed for.

It was 6 o’clock on a Sunday. Normally, dinner would be takeout from the steakhouse downtown as Marla had always maintained that a day of rest meant no cooking. She would force the kids to eat dinner at the table, and Kendra would stress out about an assignment she had due the next day while Seth flung peas at her. Inevitably, someone would yell and the other would storm out of the room.

Marla would be pulling her hair out trying to get them to settle down and wishing that, for just once, their house could be peaceful and quiet and not full of bickering and loud noises.

She had gotten her wish.

Her house was silent.

It only took burying her baby girl under six feet of muddy dirt, and shipping her son off to her in-laws.

Great. Amazing. This was exactly what she had prayed for.

No tears fell. She just stared at the floor.

Scott was somewhere. She didn’t know. Probably grief counseling or the grocery store. Either way, Marla couldn’t seem to care enough to remember.

She was a passive participant in life at the moment. It was better that way. If she had to go back in the stream of things—back to “normal”—she’d have to have quiet Sunday dinners.

No, it was better when nothing happened at all.

The train horn interrupted her line of thoughts. It was a faithful thing that she disliked. It came every night at eleven pm. She could never get to sleep when she wanted because the blasted horn would wake her up.

While in some crevice of Marla’s brain, she registered the oddness of Scott staying out past eleven, she couldn’t stop the onslaught of grief that prevented her from thinking about anything but her baby girl. It wouldn’t be right to go about her day without Kendra on her mind. To Marla, that was the final goodbye she dreaded. The point when she forgot about her baby girl.

Ironically, the funeral had offered the briefest reprieve in her thoughts as she had to sort money around and calculate coffin costs—monotonous, mindless things.

But, the funeral had already occurred a few days ago. Well, at least Marla thought it was a few days ago. Not much recently had been cataloged in her memory.

All she knew was that there was a new headstone in the cemetery and that her baby girl was under it.

Parents weren’t supposed to grieve for their kids. That wasn’t the deal Marla had made with God when she conceived.

Motherhood was supposed to be the most amazing thing in the world. God-given. And it was, at times. But, this was never supposed to be part of it.

Why did God take her baby girl?

The priest had tried to explain to her. Euphemisms ran into mantras ran into the most meaningless crap she’d ever heard.

Their family went to church every Sunday. They praised God. They said grace before every meal. Marla had sat on her knees every night like a good girl and prayed for her family.

Her baby girl taken from her. Who did it?

The private detective didn’t know. She didn’t know. Her son didn’t know. The coroner had sent a report with confusing details, but then the next day, sent a clean bill of death.

A stroke.

Marla guessed that was it. A stroke of luck. Something no one could predict but God. Bad karma.

Scott tried to pull her to the grief-counseling meetings. It didn’t work. She didn’t want to feel these feelings and live with them. She wanted them gone!

She wanted Kendra back. She wanted her children.

Pain constricted her chest and she couldn’t breathe anymore.

It was like this now. She got sudden pains and constrictions she had used to associate with sadness and anger, but she no longer felt those feelings.

It was all nothing.

There was a knock at the door.

How late was it? Eleven? Well, who cared. Time didn’t matter anymore.

Obligated, Marla approached and peeked through the peep-hole.

There was a skinny looking man holding tupperware. He looked around and then knocked again.

Oh, well. As Marla sighed and opened the door, she was faintly aware of the consternation she would have had a week ago if she had answered the door with unwashed hair, pajamas, and days-old makeup. She couldn’t imagine ever thinking those thoughts again.

“What do you want?”

The man smiled understandingly at her and held out his container. “I’m sorry for your loss. Kendra was an amazing student. I brought a home-cooked meal for you and your husband.”

Marla squinted at him. He must’ve been one of Kendra’s teachers, but she didn’t recognize him. But, that didn’t mean much. Kendra had had six teachers. This could be the one Marla could never remember the name of.

She took the Tupperware and nodded her head in thanks. It was the most she could do, because she didn’t want to talk to him at all.

“Have a good night. If you need anything, I can have the school organize a drive.”

“That’s alright. Take care.”

Marla closed the door and opened the container. It smelled good.

A week ago, if Marla had suddenly received an influx of meals from the community, she would have kept meticulous count and ate them in the order she had received them as to avoid spoilage.

But, Marla was different now so she slid down the door frame to a seated position and used her hands to eat the chicken wings.

As she tore off the skin with her teeth, she tried to place the flavor. She liked Buffalo, but this wasn’t that. It wasn’t bad, it was just different.

Before she began eating, she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. It made sense, though. She hadn’t eaten since she had woken up, and that had been a long time ago.

Her original intention to share with her husband faded as she finished the last of the wings. Her fingers were sticky and she simply licked the sauce off, another thing she would never have done a week ago.

As she set the container aside, she resumed her meaningless staring. Exhaustion began to tug at her eyelids, and she had no will to deny it. She slumped against the wall and closed her eyes.

There was a knock at the door and then another, but by then, she was too tired to move. And by the time the door opened and the skinny man stepped in, Marla was gone to the world.

Continue reading this chapter on Ao3 by clicking this link!

[knight-of-skyloft]

Opinion: Lirin

First impression: A Dad. Pure concentrated Father.

Impression now: Oh my god get this man some grief counseling

Favorite moment: The scene in RoW where he's talking with Kaladin about his depression and PTSD. Kaladin calls him out for ableism and he listens and apologizes! They plan an overhaul of mental health treatments, and both of them have something important to add because of their unique training and life experiences! They're a team!

Idea for a story: I don't think I have anything specific for Lirin but I think a lot about him and Hesina and Oroden going back to Hearthstone after the war and building a community with the singers and Herdazian refugees that have settled there.

Unpopular opinion: He's not a bad father. He said some really horrible things in the heat of the moment (and that moment was his son killing someone in what Lirin considered to be cold blood, like I'd freak out) and then he realized what he said was wrong and it looks like he and Kaladin are taking steps to work it out. Also he had strong expectations for his son's career, which isn't stellar parenting but it definitely doesn't warrant the vitriol he gets from the fandom.

Favorite relationship: I mean Lirin/Hesina is so good but I found myself really liking his dynamic with Venli. When Lirin is like "why are those guys drawing Kaladin's brands on their head, that's stupid" and Venli is like "maybe they need something to hold onto when they can't trust their own hearts" like idk man that really got me.

Favorite headcanon: Either 1. transmasc Lirin, or 2. Lirin and Hesina gave Roshone the rest of the spheres as the world's cuntiest wedding present

[estellardreams]

New Rehabilitation Patients - Five Month Aftermath

Current changes:

Niko/Sonic

Working on physical therapy to conquer his Tachophobia and get back to running.

Got eye surgery to fix his damaged eyesight.

Didn't want to lose the bangs early on, but they were too big so they were cut much shorter as a compromise.

Sonic never got back to eating chili dogs as his favorite food. And that's fine by him (cinammon rolls are so much better).

Sonic is personally in Occupational Therapy in an effort to fix all of that anxiety that was forced upon him.

Kyle/Tails

Ever since Tails began to eat more healthy, his fur began to appear a lot more softer and plush than way before.

Tails does a little flight training using his tails. He thankfully still knows how to fly previously, it's just that he wasn't able to.

Tails tried to return to engineering, but found that his new passion was becoming writing, so he stuck with that. He does still enjoy engineering, but it's no longer the only thing he does.

Rose/Cami/Amy

Amy's discuise had never come off, mainly due to all of the enchantments, but she honestly doesn't mind. It's a good look for her.

Amy sometimes does physical therapy with Sonic, but most of the time she doesn't.

Amy is the only member of the trauma siblings to not be severely traumatized I some capacity... Except for one case.

Amy is in grief counseling for obvious reasons.

Damien/Shadow

Probably put under the more extensive treatment out of everyone. Shadow still had his old and new past clashing to the point that they had to deal with both traumas.

It took a good two months to begin to erase Starline's programmed in fake memories, but they do have the tendency to show up under very high stress.

Shadow was instructed to keep his body relaxed and try smiling when he genuinely means it. Since then, his ears and mouth position have remained mainly looking on-edge despite not actually being so.

Shadow also got surgery for his eyes, with the accidental side effect of them lighting up green when he uses chaos energy.

Shadow is undergoing magic therapy despite usually claiming he doesn't need it.

Collective Group

Whether they want to believe it or not, their attachment to Starline lingers, despite him being dead.

There have been a few cases of auditory or visual hallucinations of Starline in the facility, but never both at the same time. Usually it's his voice or the platypus staring at them from the open door or over them when they're trying to sleep... It leads to a lot of panic attacks.

All of them are in therapy.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Exile

Andy Barber x Reader

Author's Note: Its been like two years and I'm still not over this song. Summary: Five years after their break-up, one person's still reeling while the other's moved on. Warnings: Angst. Masterlists

It must have been ages since he’d last seen her; three, four years? Maybe five. It felt like a lifetime ago though, and still, he was stuck. Andy was stuck; stuck in a moment that might have been reduced to chump change for her, stuck in the hurt of their end, stuck in the confusion of their strange reality. How could one person feel like home one minute than become like a stranger the next?

Andy still didn’t understand where, or when, it all went wrong. 

But it obviously had and now Y/n had found someone that could do better by her. From what he’d gathered, his replacement was also an attorney, but instead of putting criminals away, he was in-house counsel for a big pharma firm. Allen? Adam? Aiden? Andy couldn’t quite remember his name, though, he was sure he’d heard it when he’d asked another guest to confirm that he was in fact, seeing Y/n across the room, wrapped up elegantly in crimson satin.

“Oh, yeah. It’s her. She’s here with her finacee….”

Fiancee. 

He couldn’t believe his ears when he’d heard it; Y/n was engaged while he was still trying to pick up the pieces. He’d lost his home, while someone else had found a haven- he wondered if the man knew how lucky he was; back then, Andy hadn’t. The news had been like a sucker punch in the gut and it had taken three whiskeys- neat- before he could even begin to believe it. And then another two to propel him out the doors when she slipped away to the balcony, following her the way he should have all those years ago. 

She’d spotted him from the minute they’d entered, and at the sight of Andy, Y/n had shifted uncomfortably in Aaron’s embrace. He’d asked if she was okay and she’d lied and said yes, but really, Y/n was quaking inside. Figures that the first big event that she and her fiancee attend since getting engaged involved her ex, and not just any ex; Andy Barber, the only one she regretted breaking up with. 

Though, it wasn’t like he’d given her much of a choice; for the most part, Y/n had felt lonelier in that relationship than she’d been while she was single. 

“You okay?” He glanced down at her, easily picking up on her discomfort. Affectionately, he rubbed his hand up and down the small of her back, following her gaze before adding anything to his earlier concern, “Wait,” he knitted his brows, “Is that him?”

Him. His predecessor. In Aaron’s mind, the one that had, by some sort of divine consequence, made their relationship that much more worth it. Because of the carnage Andy had wrecked, Aaron had worked that much harder.

Still, without effort, she loved him. 

“Yeah,” she elicited, “I didn’t think he kept in contact with Tammy and Greg,” Y/n mused absently, glancing down at the dry bubbly half filling her delicate champagne flute. 

“Is this hard for you?” Aaron probed, bending to press a kiss to the top of her head, all while she kept her gaze trained on Andy, who suddenly looked ready to punch through walls- his pain always had a way of getting muddled with fury. She’d wanted him to see a therapist, he’d been adamant that he didn’t need one- or her. “I know its been a while but……” 

But she’d once made a messiah of Andy in her mind; he was on a pedestal and she’d excused so much in the name of protecting what they had , until the grief of it all had become cigarette burns on her soul by their end.

“No,” she shook her head, finally breaking eye contact with Andy to meet Aaron’s hazel gaze, “Its not hard. Why would it be?” She drew in a large gulp of her champagne, all but finishing off the glass. 

He knitted his brows, “Because….nothing. I’m glad you’re good,” he bent a bit lower, while Y/n tipped her chin, meeting his lips. It was a short one, though, she struggled to get through it; suddenly, Andy was all she could think about. When they broke, Y/n glanced back towards where he’d been standing, across the room only to find that the anger in his expression had melted away, making room for something else;

Jealousy? 

Apathy?

If he was anything like the man she’d left behind, it would remain indecipherable; he had a knack for hiding what he was really feeling under stoicism. When they’d first met, she’d called it brooding and thought it gave him the most attractive edge but towards the end of their relationship, it had become one of their most glaring points of contention. 

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like if she’d stayed; would he have ever changed? Or would they have gone to that wedding as strangers living in the same house- as opposed to strangers that stared at each other from across the room. 

“I’m just gonna run to the restroom,” Y/n smiled tightly, finishing off the remainder of her champagne, handing her glass over to Aaron before slipping away. She didn’t know why she excused herself or lied about it, she actually had no intention of going to the restroom, nor did she think that it was wise to be alone with her own thoughts, not when they’d been run amuck with memories that were as sharp as broken glass……and others that were as delicate as daisies. Yet, despite that, as her fiancee took her empty glass, Y/n bent her head and crossed the large room, only glancing backwards to ensure that he’d turned to chat with someone else before heading for the balcony doors instead of the hall that would lead to the ladies room.

The frigid air hit her face, as well as the skin let exposed by her one shoulder gown, in a rush as a gentle gust of wind stirred the city the minute Y/n stepped onto the balcony, shutting the door behind herself. Inhaling deeply, she took a few quick steps towards the railing, only stopping when she could grab the cold wrought iron in her hands. 

She shouldn’t have gone to that wedding, it wasn't enough to think he'd stopped hanging out with their friends. 

She shouldn’t be giving that much consideration to a man who hadn’t appreciated her worth. 

She shouldn’t-

“Hey,” the sound of an all too familiar voice was enough to make her breath audibly catch in her throat. Instead of turning around, Y/n clutched the railing tighter and squeezed her eyes shut; maybe if she pretended he wasn’t there, he’d go away. 

Maybe she didn’t want him to go away. 

Sucking in a sharp breath, Y/n whipped her head around, taking a moment to drink in Andy, illuminated only by dim city lights and the traces of intimate lighting that seeped out of the door, opened just a sliver. He looked like a dream; dressed to the nines in a tailored tux and when he absently smoothed his hand over the lapel of his coat, she caught a glimpse of cuff links she’d gifted him on his wrists- diamond encrusted horseshoes, for good luck. “Hi,” she breathed, shoulders falling, as if she’d just defeated herself. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Here at the wedding, or here?” Andy probed, finally shutting the door in favor of stepping closer. 

Y/n shrugged; the correct answer might have been ‘both’, but saying it felt wrong somehow, so she didn’t. “How have you been?” 

Andy licked his lips, “Clearly not as good as you,” he nodded to her engagement ring; a stunning trilogy of diamonds set in delicate, twin sapphire encrusted bands. Scoffing, Y/n rolled her eyes; of course one of the first things he’d say to her after five years was a snarky swipe about her moving on. “Sorry,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve been um….” He raked his short nails through his beard, and as she saw him do it, Y/n longed to do the same- she used to love the roughness of his scruff under the softness of her palms. “I guess I’ve been better,” he huffed a lonesome, dry chuckle. 

Frowning, Y/n reached out to grasp his bicep, and while she knew the gesture might have been a tad too intimate, she couldn’t help but look at him and feel like he needed comfort; broken and tired. “What’s wrong?”

He shook one shoulder and threw a glance at her hand on his arm and relented, “You’re gone.”

Y/n sighed again, dropping her hand and taking a step back, “You can’t-”

“I know,” Andy hung his head. 

“And that was on you anyway,” she continued pointedly, the twinge of heartbreak evident in her tone. She hated thinking about it; the moment that she’d come to terms with the fact that Andy was never going to change and being in a relationship with him meant always being kept at an arm’s length. 

“I know,” he threaded his hand through his hair while stuffing his other hand into the pocket of his black slacks, “God,” he hissed, suddenly, driving his side of his fist against the top of the railing, “But I don’t fucking know. We were good, Y/n.”

She shook her head, “Don’t do this Andy,” Y/n reasoned, adding with emphasis, “We’ve done this before,” the whole song and dance; her explaining why she needed to leave and him arguing that he’d thought they were fine. “And its been five years,” she licked her lips, “You’ve had too much to drink and-”

“Its been five years,” he shook his head, “Five fucking years and I still don’t get it where it went wrong. Five years and I  can’t get over you- you were everything, Y/n.”

She scoffed, casting her gaze towards the darkened distance, only illuminated by little yellow and white dots peppered in buildings, “You kept saying that-”

“Because its true,” he promised earnestly, “You were all that I had, you mean everything to me, and you left like it was all nothing.”

“I left because you started acting like were nothing! I was always the last thing on your mind,” exhaling heavily, Y/n shook her head, “You never talked to me-”

“Oh, come on,” Andy scoffed, “We talked-”

“Not about anything that mattered,” Y/n snapped, “You kept everything all…..bottled in. I felt like…..like I was looking at you through a window or something; I never knew what was going on with work, what you were feeling.”

Andy scrubbed his hand over his beard again, shaking his head, “You could have asked.”

“I did,” she stressed, moistening her lips, “But talking to you was like talking to a fucking brick wall,” he glanced away and Y/n could see him resisting fact; refusing to believe that he could have a hand in her leaving,

In their end.

“I don’t get it,” he shook his head, “Its like everyone knew but me,” he slumped his shoulders, and even in the dimness she could see his deep frown.

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” she sniffled, “Everyone knew but you,” her voice broke pitifully, “We’d been falling apart for months; all of our friends could see it, my parents- everyone. And you were just….” Y/n shrugged, “It was like you weren’t even there.”

Or maybe, it was like she wasn’t there. 

“Do you know what that felt like?" Her shoulders slumped and she gestured absently with her hands, "You’d come home and barely say anything. We’d have dinner together and you’d work right through it- wouldn’t even notice if I got up,” she sighed, “When we went out, you’d spend half the time answering emails- or doing literally anything else. God," Y/n scoffed, "I honestly started to think that you thought the weather was more interesting than I was,” she chuckled dryly, “I don’t know if you were lazy or just comfortable, but it hurt like hell.”

“I was up for a promotion,” he argued firmly, “You know that.”

“Yeah, well that doesn’t mean I stopped existing," her tone was firm, despite the pain weighing it down, "I’m not a toy, you can’t just put me away when you don't have time to play,” knitting her brows furiously, Y/n folded her arms.

“That wasn’t how I meant it-”

“Well that’s how it felt,” she countered evenly.

Andy didn’t speak for a while and Y/n suspected that it was because he didn’t really have a way to defend himself that time. The silence must have persisted for at least five or six minutes, until he said softly, “I’m sorry, I should have been better. ”

Still angry, Y/n scoffed and swiped at her eyes, “Yeah, you should have,” so they could have stayed together, because as much as she hated to admit it, she still thought of him. 

“I want to be better,” hesitantly, Andy reached out for her hand, and despite knowing that it wasn’t entirely appropriate, she let him have it. “I can be better, I know it. You know it,” he professed earnestly. Andy lifted her hand between them, and spared a moment to glance down at her ring, before stepping closer. She knew she should have stepped back, or even just pulled away. But she didn’t, instead, when he bent his head a little, Y/n tipped her chin and tried to meet his eyes.

“Andy…..” She rasped when his lips had gravitated so close to hers that she could almost taste the liquor on them. 

He brought his free hand up to her face, touching her jaw in a backhanded caress and, unwittingly, Y/n leaned into his touch. “I miss you,” he elicited, “I lost everything when you left,” his nose was touching hers and Y/n’s breathing was heavy in anticipation of what was to come. 

Shutting her eyes tightly, she felt a warm trickle seep from her tangled lashes; every memory she’d made with him flitted through her mind like a film on a projector. Every date, every kiss, every ‘I love you’. They’d had so many good times, and in that moment, standing so close to him, the bad ones seemed muted. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded weakly, knowing that there wasn’t enough will in her veins to tug her away from him, “Please.”

Y/n wanted to kiss him. She missed him too. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he choked out, tightening his grip on her hand a moment before interlocking their fingers, “Do you think about me?” There was an urgency in the question, one that almost hurt her to hear. 

“Of course I do,” she admitted, breath hitching, “But you hurt me.”

“I didn’t mean to. I promise, I would never want to hurt you,” his thumb shifted to swipe her slow tears away and Andy sniffled softly, “If I could do it all again….” He didn’t need to finish for her to know where he was going; she’d only thought the same thing for the past five years.

“But you can’t,” her voice was thick with emotion as the realization dawned upon her; he was five years too late. She had a fiancee, her life had gone on after she’d walked out of that door and it wasn’t fair to Aaron, the man who never let her question his affections, to stand there with Andy like that. A strained sob broke from her lips as Y/n finally stumbled backwards, pulling her hand away from his so she could point weakly, “You can’t just apologize and expect everything to change.” Aaron was kind and sweet, he listened and let her in. They were solid,  he was safe- he didn’t deserve her betrayal. 

Maybe if they'd seen each other again before she’d gotten engaged. Maybe if he’d reached out after she’d left.

Maybe if he’d actually cared instead of throwing his hands up in defeat as she walked to her car.

“I should go back inside,” her low tone was husky and Y/n struggled to come by the words, “It was….it was good seeing you Andy,” swallowing thickly, Y/n turned away, headed back towards the doors. 

“You want the truth? You wanna know how I really am? You wanna know how I fucking feel?” Andy began desperately as she closed her hand in on the knob, “Bad. I feel bad, I’ve been bad; I’ve feel like shit everyday because….because I pushed away the one person that actually gave a damn about me. And I’ve known it for a damn long time but I couldn’t admit it, not even just now. I couldn’t admit it because…..” His voice broke, “I couldn’t admit it because…..then I'd have to accept that I threw everything away. My second act, " he gestured widely, outstretching his arms before dropping them heavily at his side, "The first person that took a chance on me after my life went to shit.” He paused for a minute, and Y/n couldn’t bare to look at him knowing there’d been pain written all over his face, “All those people in there, all of them- they only give a shit about me because of you. I couldn’t do that on my own; get myself together, move on, make friends.”

When she’d met him, Andy had practically been a shell; caught in a work/home cycle with not even a trace of a social life. He was still reeling from losing Laurie and Jacob and it had taken months- almost a year- of work on her end for him to even entertain her offer to grab lunch together. She used to joke that she’d wore him down while Andy adamantly argued that he’d only refused for so long because he’d thought she was only asking him out on a pity date. 

“I get that I’m not your problem anymore,” he added in a moment of tense silence, “But-”

“You were never a problem,” Y/n countered without turning around. Turning the knob, she tugged the door open, “But its too late now.”

Too late for apologies, too late for him to decide to work on himself. 

Too late for her to turn back. 

Clenching her jaw, Y/n headed back into the main room, desperately trying to keep it together. Like it had the first time, leaving Andy broke her heart, but like she had the first time, she promised herself it was the right thing to do- even if deep down, she knew it wasn’t. 

[writing-in-sin]

Miraculous the Awakening HC: Adrien Agreste

His full name is Adrien Félix Agreste

I don't know if the movie is gonna use Felix in the future but for my HCs in the movieverse, Adrien and Felix are the same person

Born on Ocotober 13th

Like in the show, Adrien is half French and half British

Unlike his show counterpart, Adrien only has 2 given names (since it seems that French culture dont have middle names). However, whenever Adrien visits London, he follows the English tradition for middle names and tends to go by Adrien F. Agreste

Considering he's not a model in the movieverse, Adrien's fashion style follows his own taste instead of the cookie cutter style or what is demanded of him

His preferred fashion tends to mix classy, casual and rebellious in his style

Isn't allergic to anything

PUNS! SO MUCH PUNS!

Before his mum died, Adrien had a mischief streak a mile wide and loved pulling pranks. After meeting Marienette (as a civilian and Ladybug) he slowly regains back that troublemaking mischief

Is a speed demon and wants to own a Kawasaki Ninja one day

His playlist consists of Jazz, JRock and Jpop. He may or may not have Careless Whisper on repeat

Learned the piano from his mum

Shares a love for fishing with his dad

While he's very knowledgeable of fashion because of his dad, Adrien has zero interest in taking over his dad's company

Is a huge fan of anime and manga

Favourite manga and anime are Black Cat, Death Note, D.N Angel, Friuts Basket, Kimi ni Todoke and Fullmetal Alchemist

Favourite anime/manga characters are Train Heartnet, Greed, Kazehaya and Dark Mousy

Favourite genre: Fantasy, Shoujo and Mystery

Loves Fish and Chips, would take off like a bullet in search for it whenever he's London

Is a big mystery fan, especially detective or noir themed books

really admires Sherlock Holmes and becoming a detective like him was Adrien's childhood dream

absolutely loves to play Yu-Gi-Oh!

after his mum's death, Adrien had some anger issues that eventually led him getting into some serious fights. Partly an outlet for his grief and partly to have Gabriel actually pay attention to him. It did eventually, causing father and son to get into a screaming match at the ER

after the fight, Gabriel practically hauled Adrien for counseling. while still strained, they eventually fall into a cordial sort of truce

Welp, thats all I've got for now. If you've read this far, thank you so much!

[puppet-purgatory]

you won't post 1 headcanon for every puppet. you wont

i WILL. AND i'll do it in chronological order from appearance (more or less). but it will be under a readmore after the first season so i dont interrupt anyones scrollin

The Professor: i think in addition to growing a bit from Dino DNA(tm) he also has feathers now. just some feathers in there with his fur. maybe even molts and is miserable about it

Death: he plays guitar And piano, but just as a hobby. he's like a salaryman who had a garage band as a teenager and never fully gave up on the dream

Propeller: propeller SADSTUCK: i think he legitimately had to go to therapy for the britannica shit that happened. PH feels like it would be that realistic about mental health tbh

Big Pile of Diamonds: his mustache is fake. his greatest secret. his greatest shame.

God: he actually really likes to dance! unfortunately next 2 no one will do it since... The Incident

Train: does he not have a better name... maybe put a mr. in front of there... anyway he feels betrayed by the U.S. since they gave up the train model for highways/interstates and the motorcar industry. gets REALLY heated about it

Mt. Vesuvius: has a bunch of speeches given by famous latin authors and orators memorized, but sometimes he mashes them up without realizing/misattributes which one was written by whom. old man moments

Hatshepsut's Goose: can't remember what their gender was in life. that's fine, they love being a nonbinary icon. AMAB (Assigned Mummy at (em)Balming)

Clipped Coin: dodges the spool's wrath by being unflappable and so down to earth despite his apparent success. truly the king of staying in his own lane

Olympic Torch: hes a cranky piece of shit and only really enjoys sporting competition. he was complaining about being in the group puzzle photo so god just picked him up and he went ffffffffffine. okay. ill smile for 2 seconds

Gay Oars: i think they Also went to therapy, mostly relationship counseling, and now they are back and better than Ever. unbreakable bond. im abt to pen a whole ass comic series about them getting married in purgatory

Policarpa's Spool: still thinks of himself as a spy type, but there's only so much spying he can do in... purgatory. of course, his primary nemesis is the treasure chest.

Lake Donner Snowman: idk if this counts as a headcanon per se but in my very short list where i recast the puppets as famous singers, he is ABSOLUTELY voiced by Weird Al Yankovic.

St. Nick's Wet Bones: sort of taking the whole purgatory thing in stride. he kinda feels like he's in retirement! now he's a minor agent of chaos who's looked after by his darling Pickle Boys

Beast of Gevaudan: i was so sad when the infinitiger wasn't real, i wanted them to have a cooking show together so badly and destroy the horse's self-esteem. i love him. hes so abominably french

Stool of Gold: well-traveled, well-read, literally just as sensible as the Book or the Oars, but finds the chaos entertaining to spectate.

Ziryab's Oud: I think that the puppets have divvied up the whole Wondrium Arena and all have designated Living Areas, and he has a whole dressing room filled with shitty costumes he can't even wear. every time someone knocks he answers like hes on MTV's Cribs.

Bye Bye Brothers: they live in the orchestral pit and treat it like a secret lair. only other Murderer Puppets are allowed in. EXCLUSIVE club

Flower Boat: GNC Icon. this is a flower boat stan account. jenuinely a wholesome, emotional vessel doing their best to pitch in.

Molasses Horse: you can wash him as much as you want, that shit always just comes back somehow. the book theorizes it's psychosomatic at this point, since they're technically only souls at this point.

Tiny Piece of Wheat: bro i bet they went through SUCH phases after finding out about the professor's death. like all five stages of grief and then four more that have not yet been discovered by humans. dw kiddo, u got Grandparents incoming

Emu: the type of guy to fistfight you and then help you up. laid back but ready to throw down at a MOMENT'S notice. has no beef with the Wheat, but generally avoids them to keep from any Upsets.

Treasure Chest: has a little list of get-rick-quick schemes he wants to test, but has no way to in purgatory. he has one braincell bouncing around in his head like the DVD logo

Scabs & Pus: they get to hang out with the Bye Bye Brothers in their little club :) they're gross dudes to look at and be around. but they are ultimately harmless and friendly and just happy to be included.

Book: i love da book. I think he lives in the music library backstage and finds librettos for stageplays/musicals to pitch to the group to put on, as well as produces their little TV shows.

Birch Trees: since they share a root system, they have a telepathic link and communicate without even speaking, which is fucking creepy as hell when one or both of them just start laughing out of nowhere. they probably enjoy acting sinister

Asmodeus: he worked HARD on his song for the show!!!!! i think he's a bit of a ham sometimes when he gets the chance. also his goat head bites literally anything that comes close on reflex.

The Devil: while everything he does is to get souls, it also feels like he wants for positive and is less an Enemy of God and more an Irritating Coworker. in my brain they have a whole Tom and Jerry thing going on.

I don't have anything for the Fake Puppets the Substitute impersonated, but im planning on drawing some infinitiger soon bc he was my fave for sure

The Substitute: this is PURELY crack but i think it would be hilarious if he had voice commands like some tech does. i want him to climb back in the window and ryan just yells XBOX TURN OFF and he vanishes.

Dino Dad/Dinosir: i think even after he gets to the present and learns about all kinds of rocks and gems and crystals he Still just loves a big old rock he can lay on and sun himself with. like a dad and his armchair. doesnt gotta be fancy, just has to be comfy.

Dino Mom/Dinosara: i think she would be REALLY into the fake tv shows the puppets in the Wondrium Arena make. and they'd probably Love to have her as a fan. i think both the professor's parents are Hella popular.