#i ask therapists about this too and none of them have ever been able to answer me

[3liza]

I didn't want to reblog this actual thread because my sidetracking doesn't need to be on a good and helpful mental health post. BUT. I wanted to ask anyone who has noticed the same thing I have about this topic: why do you think this kind of therapy does not work on the very large percentage of autistic people that it does not work on, including myself. many professionals and laymen have tried this tried-and-true method of subverting depression on me and I will just argue back, and I will have more reasoned arguments than they will. and I will engage with their question ("why do you feel that way") and the proceeding argument in good faith, but the therapist will not be prepared to advance past the professional Jedi mind trick of just telling me my extremely studied reasons for thinking a certain way aren't rational and should simply be abandoned. they don't have any more rabbits in the hat after that. so what the fuck

[velocesainz]

Le reali

F1 masterlist | Main masterlist |

summary: Carlos hasn't publicly dated anyone in over 3 years and people get suspicious. He tries to tell his friends that he's dating the heiress of Italy but they don't believe him until a special moment.

Warnings: None, cursing?, fluffy

Pairing: Carlos x Italian!princess!reader

Carlos showed the entire text chain to y/n and as she scrolled through the responses bursted into laughter at lando's response to Carlos.

"Love, I wasn't pissed. I was just annoyed that he was feeding into rumours. Poor Lando must've been scared out of his wits" y/n told Carlos.

Carlos chuckled "Lando deserves to be scared out of his wits from time to time darling. How else would he function effectively and not spill our secret in front of the entire world?" he told y/n

"I guess you're right" y/n laughed.

"Amore?" Carlos called out to y/n

"Si, Corázon?" Y/n replied adjusting in the bed to meet his eye.

"Do you ever want to go public? I mean I'm not forcing you to go public, just asking. We've been together for 3 years now" Carlos asked with a thoughtful and soft expression on his face.

"Of course Corázon, I would love to. Do you want to maybe go public on the day of the Monza GP? I've already gotten an invite and will be giving out the trophies" y/n replied with a soft smile.

"That would be absolutely wonderful amore" Carlos said softly and held her close.

Timeskip:

"Ready to go sis?" y/n's brother asked her as it was time to leave for the GP

She was only going to go for the race day otherwise it would seem suspicious to the public and they wanted to be extra careful.

"Yea yeah let's go" Y/n called out grabbing her brothers hand and getting into the car.

She was more than ready to reveal to the world her relationship with the love of her life

Meanwhile: (Carlos Pov)

"Mate is your girlfriend ever going to come or are you just pranking us all?" Charles asked me while everyone was waiting around in the paddock for y/n to come.

"Yea mate, no shame in saying you haven't been able to get girls for the past 3 years. At least don't live in the delusion that the direct heir to the Italian throne is your girlfriend."

Nobody believed me except Lando since he's met her but everyone thinks me and him are pranking them together.

I would get my sweet sweet revenge.

But deep down I was scared. I was planning to propose to her soon. If I got on the podium today, I would propose and I've never been more scared for a race in my life.

Her entire family would watch me race for their country and would also find out about our relationship because she was very private and didn't share even with her family. Would they approve of me? Would they force me and her to break up?

Just then her family walked into the paddock and everyone immediately stood up and greeted the family but she was not in sight.

"So Prince b/n how do you feel about your sister dating our friend over here?" Fernando asked her brother and dragged me into his view

"Dating? I wasn't aware that my sister was dating anyone. That too with a commoner? Not expected." Her brother replied and my heart slowly sank to my stomach.

The rest of the grid came up to me.

"See Carlos? How would you be dating Prince y/b/n's sister without him knowing? Stop living in your delusion" Max said

"Mate such delusion isn't good for you at all. You should start seeing the team therapist a little more" Charles added.

The rest of the grid exchanged glances of amusement and worry while Lando came over to me.

"Don't worry Carlos, I believe you. Don't listen to them. You and Y/n have a beautiful relationship and she told me that she didn't want to inform her brother of her relationship status since she, frankly, hates him" Lando told me and I felt slightly better.

but her brother didn't approve of me, why would the rest of her family? I was internally panicking when Y/n's father King f/n came up to me and took me aside

"So you're the lad dating my daughter huh?" He asked me

"Si señor, I love Y/n with all my heart" I responded slightly nervous about his response

"She made a good choice, how long have you both been together? She didn't give me many details" He asked

"We've been together for 3 years senor. We met when I was invited to the royal house for my medal" I replied feeling better that at least her father approved of us

"And no proposal?" He said with a smirk on his face

"I was planning on proposing to her if I get on the podium for the race today and also wanted your blessings señor" I answered

"Good good. I've seen that she's been much happier around the palace ever since she started dating you. She truly loves you and you have mine and her mother's blessing. May you both be forever happy together" with that he left as I the race was about to start.

I gave Ricciardo my ring box and gave him all the instructions before getting into the car.

After the race:

I couldn’t believe it.

I had won in Monza.

The crowd was going absolutely wild as I got out of my car and the mechanics lined up outside tapping my helmet congratulating me.

I felt like I was in a dream.

I looked over to the vip box and I saw y/n in all her glory.

The look of admiration she had and her soft smile made me fall for her all over again.

That was when I knew nothing else mattered.

It didn’t matter to me that her brother didn’t approve of our relationship. It didn’t matter to me that my friends didn’t believe my relationship.

I had her and that was all that mattered.

The podium ceremony came quickly and y/n’s brother gave out the p2 and p3 trophies.

Then came my turn and y/n walked into the podium with the most elegant red dress I’ve ever seen.

She looked absolutely ethereal and I couldn’t wait for her to be mine forever.

She handed me the trophy and I raised it over my head after which I leaned in to kiss her.

The crowd went absolutely wild when they saw the scene.

I took the ring box from Ricciardo and got on one knee and I saw tears welling up in her eyes.

“Y/n. You have made me the happiest person these past 3 years and it would mean the world to me if you were with me for the rest of my life. Y/n m/n l/n will you marry me?” I asked her pouring the emotions out.

“Yes Carlos! Of course I’ll marry you” she said and hugged me tight.

I slipped the ring on her finger and we kissed once again.

Timeskip:

“Hey Carlos, sorry about all the comments we passed. We really couldn’t believe that you were actually in a relationship with the princess of Italy. We apologise for our actions” Charles apologised to me on behalf of the rest of the grid

“It’s ok mate, I myself can’t believe that I bagged a literal princess” I laughed

Y/n came back to me and it was time for us to leave.

In the car y/n sat leaning her head against my shoulder

“Our wedding is going to be one of the most celebrated occasions in Italy you know? They’re going to keep it as a national holiday and it will be broadcasted live on tv for everyone to see. Are you sure you’re ok with that?” She asked me in a soft voice

“Of course amore , as long as in the end I get to be with you. I’m ready to do anything.”

A/n: hope you guys enjoyed this fic. Took me a while to come up with it. Would appreciate feedback and suggestions. Also please send me any requests you have! Kissies ✨

[kamiana-ruzha]

so, because of what is happening on twitter with opbee currently, i think some things need to be said.

for context: there's a trend "we listen we don't judge" going around social media, which, well, most of the time you're not listened and judged and roasted instead. so someone posted an 'opbee edition', asking of people's opinions on the pairing. at first it's been...more or less okay. but i won't be wrong if i say shit hit the fan rather quickly.

there were words about how disgusting the ship is. how disgusting are the shippers. there were words that the shippers must be investigated. there was a death wish and i think kai agreed with it?

why there was so much hate?

because people see them as father and son. because Bumblebee is infantilised by the fandom. and that is the problem. not the shipping or shippers.

so... let's go over all the facts, okay? calmly. read all of this post please.

1) Father and son

the biggest argument why this is a 'trash ship' is because people *see* them as father and son. yes. *see them*. they're not father and son. there's no canon confirmation of Prime ever adopting Bumblebee, or Bee being blood-related to him. if you google it -- you'll get a wattpad AU! fanfic. they're not canonically related in any way.

why do people see them like that?

as far as i'm aware, it started in g1 and some tfone voice actors said that they see them like that too, but a) i don't have the interview, b) it all grew out of a meme.

and that argument crumbles after a couple questions. what a father would Prime be for sending his alleged son to war? even after his arch nemesis literally yanked his alleged son's throat out, taking his voice away (tfp)? yeah, that's a great father an son relationship, don't you think?

a less... scientific or journalistic or rational, call it what you want, answer, is...daddy issues.

people just see Prime as a father figure and because Bumblebee is infantilised he's seen as his child.

i have daddy issues too, i don't deny it. my father was emotionally unavailable until recently. but to people who say only fatherless ship opbee -- look into your own traumas. please. talk to a therapist and then think twice about telling others something like that.

2) Bumblebee is a child

no he is not. there's no canon info about how old he is. from what I was able to find - he's six millions old. SIX MILLIONS. Optimus is nine millions, and that COMBINING his existence as Orion Pax (4-4,5 mil) and as Optimus (the rest). so, do the math. Bumblebee might be just a little older than him, older than PRIME, but a bit younger than PAX.

the infantilisation of Bumblebee is a huge problem for transformers fandom and the canon itself. no-one takes him seriously. and yes, i agree, he might be in his very late teens or a young adult, but he's not a child, not a toddler, not a middleschooler, not a minor. look at Bayverse Bumblebee. look at War for Cybertron (especially Netflix) Bumblebee. look at Earthspark Bumblebee. even G1 is *not* a child.

think about it. would a child be able to kill Skyquake or any other Decepticon (tfp)? would a child be a mercenary, that avoided war up until it killed cybertron (netflix wfc)? wouldn't a child hesitate when sent through the city that is currently being destroyed and heavily bombarded to tell some guy named 'Optimus' that Zeta Prime is dead (wfc game)?

think about it twice. rewatch anything but animated while watching for "signs of adult personality".

think thrice before saying Bee is a child or child-coded. at most, he's neurodivergent-coded, or just someone who's not really in touch with his emotions (think the rage moments)

3) age gap

there's none. i said about it slightly higher. at most their age gap is three millions old. that is insignificant for beings that are essentially immortal, unless they get sick or killed.

now think of all the mech+human pairings. how come that kind of age gap is normalised?

i'm not saying that to shame the fans of Charlie/Bee or Mirage/Noah or Optimus/Michaela or any other, no. i like those ships. every ship is relevant.

the double standard and hypocrisy is not. it's not okay.

4) all, or anything of listed above makes people uncomfortable

it's okay. your feelings are relevant.

and i, a shoker, don't like opmeg too much. i didn't like that my whole twitter was only them after tfone. you know what i did? i added 'opmeg' and 'megop' into ignored words. and that's all. my soul is at peace.

is it so hard to do the same? let the shippers be. are they hurting you? no. are they hurting anyone else? no. so just use the feature twitter and tumblr have had for a long while and bluesky has too. use it. and ignore the ship if it makes your eyes hurt. spare yourself and spare the people that like the ship.

5) there's no dynamics

no there is. watch fall of cybertron trailer. rethink all "Optimus I'd die for you" and actual deaths.

6) the shippers are sick and other words people say

you know what i read? i read that someone thinks that blocking shippers isn't enough, they want them, they want me dead for shipping and creating content. that i'm weird for shipping opbee. that i'm sick. that i, and others, need to be investigated.

no, no we are not weird. i don't know about everyone, i only know about myself. i have issues. i have trauma, hell, who doesn't? i know it could have been worse, for example, if i stayed in Kyiv after the war began. opbee helps me cope. and it helps not only me.

have you.. actually mindfully, objectively read what is posted under opbee tag? yes there's a lot of valveplug, but have you seen the size difference? the kink is tickled.

but the content shippers make is wholesome, cute and comforting. hell, opbee helped me get over my self halm issues, slightly helped with my anger issues, that's what my first fics of them are about.

any ship might be someone's way to cope. respect it. respect people's feelings. it saddens me that empathy doesn't exist anymore. think what impact your words may have on someone before writing those words. think for a moment more. and think again, would it be worthy? would saying that someone's favourite ship is shit and they're sick for loving it be worthy of someone killing themselves? and i'm not exaggerating -- that happened many times.

if you think it's worth it...just block me, okay? like i blocked many people who asked to block them if you ship opbee.

respect other people. respect their feelings, their ships, their requests.

and don't be a dick.

[lynzishell]

The Present 🤍 San Myshuno

Prev // Next

Transcript + Bonus below the cut:

Li: I just made some tea, would you like some? Dawn: I’d love some, thank you.

Li: So, tell me what’s going on. You sounded upset on the phone. Dawn: [sighs] I’m just exhausted. We’ve been fighting for days. Every time it feels like we might be okay, we get dragged right back into it again. It’s the first time we haven’t been able to work through something. I don’t know what to do.

Li: Do you think it would help to see a counselor? Dawn: Oh, I don’t know. It’s not that serious, is it? Li: Probably not, but why wait until it is?

Dawn: That’s a good point. It’ll have to wait a while though. He went out of town, left yesterday to go to Copperdale to see his uncle. He was supposed to be back tonight because we have plans tomorrow to take Aspen to the pumpkin patch, but apparently, he’s going to Chestnut Ridge now.

Li: What’s in Chestnut Ridge? Dawn: His dad. Li: I thought he didn’t want anything to do with him.

Dawn: Me too. I don’t know what changed. I couldn’t even get him to read the letter, but now he’s going to see him? And he won’t let Aspen and me go with him. Honestly, it just feels like he’s punishing me at this point. Li: I’m sure that’s not true. Dawn: I don’t know. But now I’m not sure if I even want to go to the pumpkin patch tomorrow.

Li: Why not? Dawn: It’s with Asher’s family, which is fine, but with him and Atlas and Phoenix all out of town, I’ll be on my own with them. Li: And that’s a bad thing?

Dawn: Yes. No. I mean, they’re so sweet, and they’ve done so much for us. And having a big family again is all I’ve ever really wanted, but it all just feels so… fake. Like I can’t trust it. Li: Why do you think that is?

Dawn: I don’t know. I guess… if my own parents didn’t care about me, how am I supposed to believe they do?  Li: What about Atlas? Do you believe Ash’s family cares about him? Dawn: Of course. Li: So, what’s the difference? Why doesn’t your logic apply to him?

Dawn: I- I don’t know. I guess because he’s with Ash, it makes more sense that he belongs. Like, if they ever get married, then they will be his family. Maybe I hoped, with Phoenix’s family, that it would be like that for me.

Li: Dawn, I’m going to tell you something and I want you to hear it, okay? Dawn: Okay.

Li: Your parents’ lack of love toward you and your brother is about their inability to love, not your inability to be loved. You are perfectly lovable just as you are. You don’t need them. Nor do you need Phoenix’s family to come in and fill that role. Being someone’s relative doesn’t make them family. Sometimes the two go hand-in-hand, but sometimes they don’t. That doesn’t make it any less real or any less valuable.

Dawn: I feel like Atlas would say the same thing. Li: Well, if so, he’s very wise. Dawn: [smiles] He has his moments. Li: So do you. Dawn: Doesn’t feel like it. I’ve made a real mess of things. What am I supposed to do?

Li: You want my advice? Dawn: Very much.

Li: I think you should try to open your heart to the people that have earned it. Those that have been there for you and your husband and your daughter. Not some strange man who crashes your wedding to leave a letter. Kinda creepy if you ask me.

Dawn: [laughs] Oh god, when you say it like that, it is a little creepy, isn’t it? Li: [laughs] It’s a lot creepy!

Li: But, in all seriousness, I’m sure none of this is easy for Phoenix, and he could probably use your support right now. Dawn: I know. You’re right. Li: And if that feels hard to do, then I can recommend a good therapist. Dawn: I might just take you up on that.

[amymbona]

So I kinda had this au idea for sex therapist!Patrick but who specialises in treating people who find it hard to cum. But he's got this warm/confident/empathetic vibe, like what he loves most about his job is helping the men and women who come to him for guidance; who trust him to touch and tease their bodies, to just look at them and know what it takes to make them finally feel good. I dunno, I can just see Patrick putting his sex god powers towards helping and healing ❤️

THE GASP I JUST GASPED

Poor you :((( You're so ashamed of yourself, thinking all of the mistakes come from your side, that your body is just broken in some way, that you're the reason why none of your sexual partners were satisfied. And it breaks your heart honestly, 'cause you're afraid you won't be able to find a long term partner just because of this simple reason. You're aware sex is important in a relationship, and that it wouldn't be only your partners who remain unsatisfied - usually under the impression that you're not turned on enough by them to actually cum - but mainly yourself, unable to cum despite your raging arousal. And the worst thing is, you still don't know whether the mistake is really in you, or if you've just only been fucked by shitty men.

It takes a lot of courage for you to make an appointment at the Zweig clinic, as you're incredibly creeped out by the idea of opening yourself like that to some stranger. He sounds friendly on the phone, offering you a bunch of dates to choose from and just tells you not to worry, come in some comfy clothes, have a good breakfast in the morning, and that he will help you.

When you actually first step in, you're surprised to find a pretty domestic looking place. There's no waiting room, only a small corridor with one chair. It seems that doctor Zweig either has very little clients, or just manages to split them into so many appointments that they never overlap. You sit on the chair, one leg nervously bouncing as you wait for the door to open, really nervous what he will be like.

Doctor Zweig doesn't let you wait for long, his curly head peeking out of the door - "Welcome, it's so nice to meet you!" - and simply from the sight of his handsome face, you feel like you could cum. He's by far the most gorgeous man you have ever set your eye on, and suddenly you're almost sure why he is so successful.

He invites you in, insisting you call him Patrick and asks your name, then offers you a place to sit. "Would you like anything? A glass of water? Tea, coffee?" You leave the comfy looking sofa for him and plop down in a vintage looking arm chair as he goes to fetch you a glass of water. Soon, he returns with a smile and leisurely sits down, shooting one more smile in your direction.

You do the basic introduction when you tell him your name and age and then obviously the reason why you came. Patrick doesn't ask for your personal details at first, instead opting to tell you something about himself too. You learn he is nearing his thirties and has a fair share of sexual experience, that his biggest hobby is tennis and some other facts he considers important for you two to warm up.

For the whole time, you're struggling to keep your eyes off of him, drinking in the sight of his face. He's genuinely so handsome, like a god damn model, like he should be on the cover of some magazine. His eyes are so rich, shining at you like two expensive diamonds, and yet incredibly warm, compliment by a casual smile on his face. The curls on top of his head bounce lightly as he nods in response to your slurred words, patiently waiting for you to fully explain yourself. He allows you all the time you need, stating you're his only customer for today and so there's no need to rush. Your comfort, he says, is his priority.

Then, the personal questions begins. How many sexual partners have you had, all the positions you ever had sex in, which one usually makes you cum and do you ever come? Have you ever squirted? Does penetration work? So many questions that have you a blushing, sweating mess, almost making you want to cry. But Patrick is so sweet and kind, saying that it's completely natural, that nobody is judging you and you can talk to him as if he's just an old friend. This time, nothing serious happens and you two only make another appointment for next week, allowing you all the time in the world. When you're leaving, he asks whether you're feeling, in any way, aroused, stating it's important to know the effect he himself has on you. He gives you a homework as well, to come up with all the things that turn you on.

The next time you come in, you're wearing a pretty floral dress, as you're more afraid of him seeing you than really touching you. This way, if you two proceed to anything like that, it could all be hidden. Again, Patrick greets you with the usual smile, making your heart warm up, and invites you in. He sits you on the sofa, positioning himself next to you, and listens as you list all the things that excited you the most.

"I'm gonna touch you a bit, okay?" Patrick proposes and you nod, knowing that's the whole purpose of this predicament, so you can't really refuse.

He goes really slowly on you, so slowly and cautiously, that is actually leaves you surprised. First, his hand finds yours and he intertwines your fingers, inspecting the rings on your fingers and then the bracelets on your wrists. He kisses you on the cheek and throws one arm around you shoulders, easing you into his chest. He's so warm and smells good, it makes your head spin.

Then, Patrick finally kisses you on the lips, just lightly smooching the cherry taste of your lip stick, tasting you. He lets you kiss him back, allowing you to set the pace and intensity, engaging in your first make out session. His palm finds a place on your knee, just where your dress ends, but he doesn't dare slide under the fabric yet. Instead, his fingers lightly rub your knee and squeeze it.

When you begin responding more hungrily, your nose bumping into his messily, he pulls away. In front of him sits a cute, blushing girl, her pupils blown wide as she's unable to believe she's been kissed like that. Seriously, nobody has ever kissed you better than Patrick just did. And it's only the first kiss you two have shared. If he's supposed to fix your body in the most intimate ways, you can't even imagine what it would feel like when he proceeds further.

"I want you to set a pace. And a boundary. Okay? Don't just kiss me because you feel like you have to," he tells you, still massaging your knee gently, while he runs the fingers of his free hand through your hair. "Think of it as a real sexual experience, because it is. As if I was your boyfriend, doing all this with you."

You nod again, suddenly feeling shy of your actions. The sudden need you have for him. "Can I kiss you again?"

He lets you. He lets you kiss him and crawl onto his lap, to run your hands over his shoulder and tangle in the curls on the back of his neck. He allows you to touch him just as you please, discovering his body in your own way. When you hands keep roaming over his chest for too long, Patrick gently directs them to the top button of his shirt. "If you want to."

You take your time, slowly undoing the buttons on Patrick's shirt one by one, allowing for your palms to feel his skin. He's ripped muscles tight even when he sits so relaxed under you - probably the result of frequent tennis playing - and not so hairy either. All in all, he's warm and nice to touch.

Patrick notices the little falter of your breath as you stare at his body, and the gentle raise of your own chest, each and every breath passing through your mouth. The lipstick is a bit smeared from the messy intensity of your kisses and so he reaches up to wipe away the bit that remains on your chin, his touch gentle.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N," he whispers with full honesty, unable to tear his eyes off of your face. It's natural for Patrick to develop a bit of a relationship with his clients, his magic wouldn't work otherwise, but with you - such a pretty girl on his lap - he genuinely means it.

"Patrick," you sigh, lips parting as his finger slides over them.

"I want to make you feel good," he states in determination, his eyes glowing as he looks at you. "Will you let me?"

You let him. With his help, you sit with your back facing him, between his spread legs. Before your back could come to rest against his chest he stops you, and slowly slips down the straps of your dress. Shivers run down your spine at the gentle touch of his fingertips, feeling the softness of your skin. You have such a beautiful body, and he has only seen so little so far.

The top of your dress pools around your hips as he pulls you into his chest and his hands settle on your waist. There you rest, settled into the warmth of Patrick's body, eyes wide as you stare ahead, wondering if he can see your breasts over your shoulder. And you'd be really nervous if he could.

"I'm gonna touch," his whisper reaches your ear, the slow movements giving you time to reject his advances. But you don't.

Patrick's palms cup your breasts delicately, earning a small sigh from your pink lips, your own gaze slipping to see how good they fit in his hands. Almost as if he was made to holds them. He feels the weight in his hands before lightly squeezing, one more sound from your lips following. There, as you rest, Patrick begins gently kneading your breasts, squeezing the muscles and letting you get adjusted to the unusual intrusion.

The moment Patrick senses the ease in your posture, your shoulders slouching just barely and your head falling on his shoulder, he decides to proceed. Both of his thumbs roll over nipples, the touch so light but thoroughly felt. It makes you shudder and moan, the high pitched sound filling the room of his office.

No man has ever paid a generous amount of attention to your breasts, finding them just pretty to stare at in your low cut tops, but never enough to fondle or fully touch them. A kiss here and a violent tug on your nipple there, but that was all.

"Do you like it?" Patrick asks, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

"Yes," you nod.

"Woman's nipples are as sensitive as her clitoris, at most times, but many people fail to notice that," Patrick continues talking while still teasing your nipples delicately, earning a small sigh from your pink lips. This is, honestly, better that any soft of a dirty talk. Simply being told how exactly your body works while it's being touched at the most sensitive spots. That's thousand times better. "It's crucial that they are stimulated too, as it adds to the sexual experience and makes the whole act much more enjoyable."

"I-" you attempt to speak, but all that leaves your mouth are small gasps and moans. "I haven't really... No one ever pays attention."

But Patrick is. All his focus is glued to your sensitive, pink, pretty nipples and how the feel under his fingers. By all your reactions, he's well aware that it's making you feel good, better than just good. "That's okay, sweetheart, I am. Do you know a woman can orgasm purely as a result of nipple stimulation?"

Of course you don't know that. With all the attention your breasts have ever received, you barely know how they work. "N-no."

"I want you to know. To make you feel it. Will you let me?" he's determined. He wants to make you cum, not by fucking or fingering you. But simply by playing with your beautiful breasts and whispering sweet words into your ear, have you lay and pant against his chest, too shy to actually face him. He wants you exactly the way you are, that's how your first proper orgasm should be.

"Please."

That word is like a switch turned on for Patrick, stopping him from holding back. His lips mouth your neck, trace the path down your throat while his hand keep kneading your breasts, listening to your delicate moans that follow each time he deliberately brushes his fingers over your nipples. You're a perfect little patent, but you're also much more than that. A wonderful young woman with shattered sex appeal who's begging to be put back together, to be given the lacking confidence and shown how much fun sex can really be. You're all he needs for his work and he's all you need for your life.

Perhaps a part two? :3

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 51)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Age-Gap, Triggers, Smut

With the wedding coming up, Cillian and you made even more of an effort to remain on good terms than you ever did before. While he was away, filming the Peaky Blinders Movie, you video called him so that Mara could see her daddy every day.

Every day, before she went to bed, you allowed Cillian to read her a story over the webcam, whenever he was able to.

It was a small gesture that meant a lot to Mara, and it helped her and Cillian to maintain a connection despite the distance.

Your therapist welcomed the positive communication and reminded you that you were doing an implacable job by keeping him involved even despite his busy schedule. 

During that time, you also noticed a slight change in Cillian's behavior. He seemed more relaxed, more at ease with himself, and with you. 

"So, what's the plan for Mara's birthday next week?" he asked one evening when he skyped in from London.

"I was thinking a party actually. She has been at daycare twice a week and made some friends. I was going to invite them and their parents. My mum, Siobhan and Emma are coming too, and I think even your mum is driving down from Cork. I also invited two friends from my mother's group," you said, filled with enthusiasm for Mara's big day.

Cillian chuckled, his eyes filled with warmth. "Sounds like you got everything planned out," he said, sounding genuinely pleased. 

"You know it would be nice for Mara if you could come,"  you added, hoping that he might be able to make the trip.

"I would love to," he said, "but you know I can't leave the set, Y/N. I have a busy schedule filming and I'm just hoping that things will ease up a bit in the next couple of weeks," Cillian said with sadness in his voice. 

You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment, but you knew that filming was important for Cillian's career.

"I know, but what I am saying is that you are more than welcome to come if you wanted to," you repeated, looking him straight in the eyes through the camera.

"And I appreciate that, really," he nodded, taking a deep breath. "But I still need to wrap up this movie." 

"I understand," you said softly, biting your bottom lip. "And, you know, you can always celebrate with her when you come back by taking her to the zoo or something. She probably won't remember the party anyway, but she will also remember the zoo," you chuckled, seeing how it was Mara's favorite place to go these days. 

"You are probably right you know," Cillian conceded, his expression softening even further. "Now, did you call the carpenter to fix up the shelving in the living room? I told him that you would call and to invoice for it. You might need that done before the party," he continued, seeing how one of the built in shelves had collapsed after you tried to carry out some DYI work on it. 

"No, he can't do it until the week after next, but Sean offered to fix it for me before the party which is nice,"  you informed him, noticing how Cillian's expression changed for a second.

"Sean, huh?" Cillian chuckled; his expression unreadable but you could hear a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Don't start, Cillian! Don't fucking start!" you shot back with irk, already feeling the familiar burn in the pit of your stomach.

"I didn't even say anything," Cillian smirked, his eyes glimmering as he studied your reaction.

"Then why are you acting the way you are when I bring up his name?" you asked, rolling your shoulders back, trying to release some tension in your body.

"I'm not. It's none of my business who you spend your time with so long as you keep Mara out of it," Cillian growled, scratching the back of his neck impatiently.

"You know what, I was actually thinking about inviting him to the party, as a friend of course and only if you would allow it. Because he has been a big help those last few days, running errands for me for her party while I was sitting my exams and he asked me whether he could come," you told Cillian nonchalantly, secretly enjoying his reaction.

"Oh, did he now?" Cillian said with a sigh as he adjusted the display setting. "So, you two are getting more serious then?" he enquired  without looking at you.

You could tell he was slightly irritated, he clearly didn't want to give you the satisfaction of seeing it on his face.

"Well, we are still taking things slow and we not being too serious about it. We agreed on no labels, but I still only consider him as a friend, with benefits,"  you replied, being brutally honest while watching Cillian's reactions closely.

"So poor Sean is still in the friend zone then, eh?"  Cillian quipped, the corner of his mouth curling into a slight smirk before he quickly hid it.

You noticed it, and it stung a little, but you tried not to let it get to you.

"Yes," you confirmed, doing your best to maintain a neutral expression. "He has been very supportive and helpful lately and I like having him around, but there is no pressure between us. We are both free to see other people. That's the way it is for now."

Cillian nodded, turning his gaze back to the camera. "Fair enough and thank you for clarifying your relationship status for me. I just hope he knows that too, because I am not the one who needs convincing Y/N," Cillian said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Whatever Cillian. Can you just give me an answer?"  you asked, your patience wearing thin.

Cillian's smirk faded, to be replaced by a look of annoyance. "What do you want me to say, Y/N? I don't want Sean around my daughter," he said firmly.

You let out a frustrated sigh. "Why not? He is a decent person and Mara won't even know who he is. There are other people there who are no more than friends either and there most certainly won't be any public display of affection," you argued , trying to reason with him.

Cillian sighed deeply, knowing that he couldn't win this argument. "Fine. He can come, but only if you make sure that nothing happens between the two of you that Mara might see, at least not until you are serious about him which, it clearly seems, will never happen," he relented , eliminating any obvious doubts in your mind.

***

Your mind began working overtime to decide a strategic approach to the situation. On one hand, you were glad that Cillian was allowing Sean to attend the party, but on the other hand, the caveat gave you a sense of unease. 

You explained the situation to Sean on your next date when your mother was looking after Mara and, much to your surprise, he was very understanding about it.

"My parents separated when I was twelve Y/N. I get it, so don't worry, okay? I don't even have to come. I can help you set up and then leave before Mara and your mum arrive," Sean suggested, trying to make things as easy as possible for both of you.

"I really appreciate that Sean, but I don't want you to feel like you have to leave on my account, especially since you have been helping me so much those last few days," you  told him sincerely.

"And I like helping you Y/N, because I know that being a single mum can be hard. Your ex hasn't really been making an effort to be here for Mara lately, so if I can do anything to help, I will," Sean replied with conviction.

"Cillian is away filming. That's his job Sean," you explained wearily, wondering if he had brought this up to upset you or validate his actions. 

"I know, but he should really make an effort to be there for his daughter's first birthday, don't you think?"  Sean queried, a hint of frustration coloring his voice.

"Maybe, but it's not my place to say or judge what he does, because he is still looking after us both," you responded, attempting to defuse the tension that had suddenly risen between you. "So, lets change the topic shall we?" you suggested, trying to keep the mood light and pleasant. 

"I am sorry Y/N. You are right," Sean sighed, taking a deep breath before giving you a gentle kiss.

***

Later that day, after you picked up Mara and Sean went his separate way to catch up with some of his friends, he couldn't help but feel slightly let down by the conversation he had with you about the upcoming birthday party and confided in a friend about it.

"Dude, you're acting like you are in some kind of relationship with this chick," his friend Mark joked, taking a swig of his beer. "You told me that you two agreed to be friends with benefits. You don't owe her anything other than your time while you are hooking up and she doesn't owe you anything either! So why do you even want to go to that kid's birthday party?"

Sean sighed, shaking his head as he stared out the bar window at the busy cobblestone street outside.

"Because I want to make an effort for her daughter and make her see that I could actually be right for her, you know?" Sean replied, finally giving voice to his true feelings. "It's just that she is so damn stubborn most of the time, and I know that she still has feelings for her ex, which I can't really compete with."

Mark chuckled, slapping Sean on the back. "Well, he is Thomas Fucking Shelby, man," he laughed, burying the rest of his beer in one swift gulp. 

"You are not helping Mark!" Sean rolled his eyes at his friend's remark. "I am trying here, you know?"  Sean said, sighing again, exasperated.

"I know, and Y/N is a lucky woman to have you," Mark smiled, clinking his empty bottle against Sean's before signaling for another round. "But dude, you need to just relax and stop worrying about her ex. If she wants to be with you, she will. It's that simple."

"She said she just wants to be friends and I don't even want her to meet you guys because I am worried that I will look like a fool when she decides to go back to  her ex," Sean sighed, sitting down on the couch in his apartment, feeling frustrated. "I mean, how am I seriously going to compete with someone like him, a famous fucking Hollywood actor?" Sean mumbled to himself as he paced around his apartment. 

"You may not be able to, but she may also just play hard to get, which is what a lot of women seem to do these days," Mark reminded him thoughtfully as he watched Sean struggle with his thoughts. "Maybe you should focus on being the best version of yourself for your sake and not for hers, and then she will soon see if you are right for her or not," Mark added with a raised eyebrow. "Or you could find something that makes her ex look really bad. He is famous enough, so surely, with the right help, you can dig up some dirt," Mark suggested with a sly grin and Sean's brow furrowed as he contemplated Mark's words, his mind racing with ideas of how he could ruin Cillian for you, once and for all. 

"Maybe I should try, yeah, but I don't want to fight dirty. Despite, I don't even know him or anyone who hangs out with him other than Y/N herself," he said, his morals preventing him from considering such a devious course of action.

"Well, let me help you then," Mark offered, pulling out his phone and conducting a quick online search. "I work for the Irish Times after all," his friend smirked,  focusing on the task at hand. 

Tags:

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[manjjiros]

okay but sweet post-juvie kazutora who goes to weekly therapy seeing you for the first time and giving in to his repressed darker impulses. idk i can just see yandere!kazutora so vividly !! stalking and kidnapping you bc he wants you all to himself <3

GROUP THERAPY

kazutora hanemiya x fem!reader

warnings: dark content, yan!kazu, stalker!kazu, implied sex, inaccurate representation of group therapy, manipulation, kidnapping, lying about condom usage, ask to tag

notes: cass this has been in my brain ever since you sent it. about 2.3k.

from the ASM: [he bumps into you as he passes by you in the casino, jumping in fear and dropping a file that had been confiscated from kazutora’s desk. the photos that scattered all over the floor were all… you. they were all of you. the ASM apologizes profusely and scrambles to pick them up.]

the smell of burnt coffee and donuts.

the low hum of old overhead lights, one of them flickering, making it a little hard to see very clearly in the damp basement of the church.

two, then one, then two, then three, then one; people filtered into the basement and sat at each of the chairs that were placed in a circle, though it became more of an oblong shape as one by one people pulled them back to be able to sit in them.

kazutora had gotten there a half hour early, dropped off by his parole officer who told him he would be back to pick him up at seven thirty, sharp. he sat in the stiff chair, hands folded between his knees, eyes drifting dazedly over each person that arrived and took a seat in the circle.

group therapy would help, the parole officer had grunted to him from the driver’s seat, give you a chance to talk to other kids like you. i’ve seen it help others. 

the therapist took a seat two chairs away from kazutora, dragging his attention away from the door for a split second to study him. the guy looked like he was just under thirty, some stereotypically upbeat type. he let out a breath, certain that this place would make him rip his hair out and have another breakdown, until…

you.

you came in in a flurry, worried about the possibility of being late. you carried yourself with the confidence of a small dog, shaking and nervous as you gently closed the heavy doors behind yourself to try and stay under the radar.

it was too late for that. kazutora’s cold, intense gaze followed every tiny step you took towards the circle of people in the center of the room.

your lamblike gaze shifted around nervously for an empty seat, finding none outside of the one directly next to kazutora. he was new to the group, unknown to all of the regular members, and no one wanted to try their luck with a guy who looked like he could be part of a gang. you didn’t have a choice, though, and hurried around the edge of the circle before pulling the chair back to sit with a breath. “sorry, i hope you don’t mind,” you murmured to him.

it felt like his chest was being squeezed. he wanted to eat you alive.

“it’s fine,” he smiled lightly at you, shrugging his shoulders.

you smelled like freshly cut flowers and the summer sun. he wanted to brush that lock of hair over your shoulder to reveal the column of your throat and sink his teeth into your soft skin. what did you taste like? sugar, maybe? were you as sweet as you seemed?

what was your name?

he opened his mouth to ask, but got cut off by the therapist clasping his hands together to get everyone’s attention. he said his name, but kazutora didn’t hear it, nor did he want to. any voice that wasn’t yours should be silenced.

he shook his head to himself and slumped back into his chair. he shouldn’t be thinking like that. those thought processes are what landed him in this shithole anyway, and now he was being forced to sit through these hour-long group sessions to listen to other people complain and whine.

it did bring him to you, though. he supposed it wouldn’t be so bad.

“... and we have a newcomer today, just registered this morning. do you want to introduce yourself?”

kazutora blinked slightly, rejoining the conversation and glancing around. “kazutora hanemiya,” he gave a curt wave, eyes darting over to yours to watch you smile.

“hi kazutora,” everyone in the circle replied, as if it were some kind of alcoholics’ anonymous meeting. maybe it was. maybe he was in the wrong place, it would explain the coffee and the gorgeous girl sitting next to him that he wanted to devour.

“so, kazutora, what brings you in to join us?” the therapist tilted his head, a mild smile on his face.

kazutora hummed softly, shifting in his seat. “i was part of a gang. i’m not anymore. i got caught doing gang stuff.” it was a complete bluff – shinichiro’s blood was still on his hands. it’d been years, but the blood never came off. “theft, mostly.”

he felt himself smile back at the therapist, calm and collected, before turning his sights back on you. you looked timid, shrinking slightly under his gaze before smiling back at him. 

“we’ll get you to open up soon enough. let’s get started, shall we?” the therapist was quick to move on, clearly wanting kazutora to not feel pressured at his first visit, but he didn’t care. he wasn’t impressed or even vaguely interested in what these other pitiful people had to say. it only mattered when you told a recent story of how you held yourself back from stealing an expensive purse when you realized it was missing a security tag.

a kleptomaniac, it seemed that was your only crime. well, technically, it was grand theft, but hey, it was nothing in the long run. something that would be sealed up because you were a kid when you did it. 

kazutora listened to your story as if you were a siren, and he was a lost man at sea, swimming closer and closer to you. he could feel the corners of his mind start to warp as he watched the way your lips curled around your words, enticing him closer. he wanted to feel you, to hold you, to get you that fucking bag you’re talking nonstop about-

the session finished with your story, and it would be a short five minutes until his parole officer would arrive to take him back to his tiny apartment on the outskirts of the district, where no one could reasonably get to him without at least a bike and a semblance of direction.

he watched you stand and make your way to the refreshments, your fingers dancing over the donuts before scooping up a donut hole to take a bite out of it. 

his feet moved before he could stop himself, and soon enough he was at your side, grabbing a tasty, albeit chalky, treat for himself. “good thing they give us some sugar after making us spill our guts like that, right?”

“huh?” you turned to lift your head and look up at him, blinking in surprise at his sudden presence next to you. “oh, yeah, i guess so. today wasn’t so bad. sometimes miki cries, and then we all really need the sugar.”

“that doesn’t sound fun at all.” kazutora stuck his bottom lip out as he chewed on the tasteless donut in his hand. you shrugged. 

“it’s the way of the sessions. helps to make everyone feel seen, or something…” you trailed off before throwing him a smile that made his head spin. “you’re… kazutora, right? sorry, i listened when you said it, but the session felt really long today.”

“that’s right. and you’re y/n.” he pointed at you with his half eaten donut, sprinkles caught on his lips, and you felt yourself start to giggle.

“right. it’s nice to meet you. will you come back next week?”

“have to. it’s part of my-” he thought briefly, mind scrambling. he probably shouldn’t mention juvie, his recent release at eighteen, his real crimes. “-deal with my parents. they told me i had to keep coming if i wanted a roof, y’know?”

“oh, right,” you believed him, falling easily into the idea that he was also just a kleptomaniac, just like you. “my parents were really upset when i got arrested. they got me out on bail, but enrolled me in this program. it’s helped, it’s a good thing.”

kazutora watched the twitch of your lips as you bit down on the rest of the donut hole between your fingers. you weren’t sure.

you shrugged and reached for a napkin to wipe at your lips, the residue of your lip gloss staining it pink as you headed for the stairs leading back up to the main lobby of the church. “well, we’re glad you’ve joined us. we should probably go, they like to give us the coffee and stuff, but if we hang out for too long, they shut the lights off.”

“right,” kazutora nodded his head and followed you out, watching the way your form blended into the shadowy corridors of the stairwell. 

before he knew it, you were gone, disappearing into the back of the church to exit into the back parking lot, and he was sliding easily into the back seat of his parole officer’s car. 

the interaction was brief. far too brief to have even been a hit on your radar. but for kazutora, you had suddenly become a beacon of light, untainted by the blood on his hands. 

he needed to know everything. he needed you.

in two month’s time, kazutora had worked himself into a point of almost-high status amongst the other delinquents in the group. he could play into his charm, he could play into being just a petty little thief who got caught up in the wrong crowd. the tokyo manji gang made me do it, he would say, crocodile tears dripping down his cheeks, i wanted to be just like mikey, but… he was someone no one else should be like. 

you had rubbed his back that day, and it felt like his entire body had been lit on fire. he pumped his cock holding his shirt to his nose that night in bed, convincing himself he could still smell your lavender lotion on the fabric as he imagined it was you on top of him. 

in two month’s time, kazutora had learned every single thing he possibly could about you. your name, age, your childhood home, how you walked to your college campus, the routes you alternated between to be safe. he loved to watch you browse in the high-end stores between classes, walking into the luxury districts and perusing the items you knew you could pocket but told yourself not to. he knew that soon enough he would be the one using blood soaked sticky fingers to get you whatever your little heart craved.

you wanted luxury? he could get luxury. you wanted someone stable, someone loving, someone to fill the void your dear old dad left? he knew about that too, of course, and he could fix it all.

in his head, you had become an angel, someone he craved to corrupt and ruin only for himself. the longer you kept yourself away from your human depravities, the more kazutora craved you.

two months was more than enough time to get in your good graces, to be considered a friend, someone to rely on, someone to trust. and trust him you did, giving him your phone number and letting him start to infiltrate your life outside of therapy sessions together.

you put your faith into the reformed criminal who had barely washed his hands after the crime, the blood and grime still caked under his fingernails as he rode up to you on his bike and offered you a lift to a nearby cafe after your last class. 

“funny seeing you around here, kazu! i didn’t know you liked to ride around here.” you giggled as you climbed onto the back, wrapping your arms around him.

“normally i don’t, but i guess it was just fate to bump into you here.” he smiled at you over his shoulder before bringing you to the cafe he knew you liked, the one where he got his favorite photo of you chewing on a strawberry pastry with the cutest smile on your lips.

he wouldn’t sleep unless he saw that smile on your face up close and in person, and as he offered to get you whatever you wanted and you asked for just that pastry, he knew his wish would come true. 

your little excursion with kazutora was fun. he was so sweet, so kind to you, reaching across the table with a napkin to dab at your cheek when some of the flaky pastry stuck to your skin. it made your cheeks feel warm, your eyes linger on his mouth. 

it didn’t take him long to offer you a ride back to his place, to check out his new living quarters that his ‘parents’ were helping him pay for. 

you accepted, like a lamb to the slaughterhouse, consenting to your own kidnapping as he drove you both home for the very first time.

he led you upstairs and into the small apartment, letting you in first before closing and locking the door behind himself. the place was small, well-kept, tidy. it was just a small one-bedroom, but enough for two people. 

kazutora was charming. kazutora was kind. kazutora had eyes that turned into deep black pools when he looked at you, when his hands landed on your waist and his teeth sunk into your skin. kazutora was a gentleman, getting you off on his tongue before sinking his cock into your tight heat.

kazutora cared about you. he definitely had a condom on, you heard him fumble with the wrapper. kazutora didn’t make your shoulder bleed when he bit you too hard, you had been overwhelmed with pleasure and had gotten confused.

kazutora. kazutora. kazutora. 

you thought only of him as you drifted to sleep in his bed, just for a short nap, you had murmured. you thought only of him as you felt something cold and a bit heavy snap around your ankle.

you had stepped on a bear trap without even knowing it, and now it had its rusty, bloodied teeth sunk deep into your flesh and muscle and bone. 

kazutora would be your everything, whether you liked it or not. he had made sure of that. at least you would have the best bags his fingers could grab, right?

[theaspen]

summary : Jay seems to keep appearing in your alternate nightmares. He acts as your night in shining armor, always helping you in your sleep. But when you try to stop the nightmares altogether he doesn't like it.

Genre : Thriller, angst.

pairing : Jay x you

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of blood, death and suicide. If you are sensitive to these subjects please don't read!!

___________________________________________

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

____________________________________________

Authors note: It's honestly SO embarrassing that I'm posting this now LMAOAOAOA.

Uhm. I'm sorry. I hope you guys enjoy and leave some nice comments or feedback or anything tbh. And send me an ask, or comment below to be added to the tag list.

____________________________________________

Are you sure?” My uncle asks sceptically.

“Yes I'm sure.” I tell him firmly. 

This is the 10th time he's asked me this question today alone. What's a therapist gonna do? Besides, I'm sick of him pretending to care. 

“Uncle, I'm not really sure why you're so insistent on this. Is it because the press is outside? They want to interview you?”

It's a sharp dig at him and I know it. He's never cared about his own brother, never visited.

He scowls at me, “Careful, might I have to remind you that it isn't your father that's taking care of you, putting you in the best room with the best doctors.”

I glare at him as he walks away from the room. Well atleast the pathetic nice act is gone. 

Kyungsoo enters my room soon again, throwing a careful glance at my uncle. He was a big shot after all. With his more than successful firm.

“You good?” He asks.

“Yeah, um I think I'll just go for a walk.” I tell him rather shortly.

“Sure.” He says quietly, probably assuming I had an argument.

But truth be told, I'm avoiding him. I'm getting attached to someone who's just tolerating me for their job. It's not his fault I know but I can't get attached to those who won't stay once I'm up and gone. 

My mind goes to Jay for a tiny second. Hm. Maybe I should talk to a therapist. The dreams stopped for two days and usually I would be overjoyed at the idea of not just one but two full nights rest.

But I woke up feeling uneasy, I made a promise to Jay, someone who exists only in my head. But I made a promise nevertheless. 

There are so many things I want to ask him, so many. 

Why do I have no dreams? Why is it that I only ever have a blackout or nightmares?

Why is he saving me? 

I know I shouldn't, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me. I look down at my fisted hands and open them. There are two sleeping pills, I stole it from a nurse's bag when she wasn't looking. 

Sleeping pills and I aren't the best of friends. Sure they help me not have a meltdown from not being able to sleep for almost 20 hours but they also give me the worst types of nightmares.   Which right now happens to be something that I need. 

“Goodnight.”Kyungsoo tries to smile at me.

I meekly smile back , eager to down the pills and meet the one person who actually wants me to stay.

_________________________________________

The pills go down my throat ten minutes later. The small light creates a shadow of me in front.  The shadows shift, turning and twisting and I watch fascinated as they give a performance for me. 

I'm not afraid, a part of my brain thinks. What are the shadows going to do? They've been with me forever. Taunting me, trying to manipulate me. I've never given into any of their tricks. I've never trusted them. 

But when I'm all alone now, in a tiny closet peeking out from the hole and watching the shadows linger my heart picks up its beat. 

They come and they disappear again and again. I look through the tiny peep the closet gives and realise soon as they go behind every nook and creek that they are looking for none other than me. 

 

My hands reach out to clasp my mouth shut. My body folds itself as small as it can possibly go. Will the shadows think to look here too?

I shut my eyes forcefully. My other senses heightened until I could feel everything around me. The musty smell of the closet, my fingernails digging into themselves.  My feet numb, paralyzed. 

My breathing becomes slower, my arms start to unclench. I think they're gone. I think I can get out now. Escape to a place where they can't catch me. 

Before I know it, before I can even pull my hands away from myself. There's a strange hiss that comes inches away from me. A hand grabs my ankle and pulls me hard enough that I don't have time to scream. 

My head bangs against the hard wooden doors as I'm being pulled away. The impact is so hard that I can only clutch my head and groan as the hands keep pulling me away, dragging me on the rough wooden floors.

The splinters catch on clothes and skin. My chin is bleeding, but I can't even stop. Can't even catch a hold of myself as I try to catch myself breathlessly.  

There's a sharp turn to the right, and that's when I know that the shadows aren't just pulling me along aimlessly , they have a destination in mind. 

My eyes scan around desperately trying to catch hold of something to stop. 

Just then, a hand- a solid, real and warm hand catches me. A sudden stop to the journey. 

I know who it is before I can even look up. I clasp my hands with his. The shadows aren't pleased, they hiss and linger around My ankles. 

But when his hand keeps tugging me in, the shadows start to dissolve, materialise into nothing, losing their power. 

Jay's hands pull me again, even when the shadows disappear, he doesn't let go and I don't either.

When I gain a little strength into my limbs I finally pull away from the embrace. I look into his eyes, they are wide and scared, maybe even more than mine.

“Thank yo-”

“Why didn't you come?? You made a promise and you leave me all alone here?!” Jay yells angrily.

I pull away completely.  I was happy to finally see him again, but seeing his bloodshot face. The look of absolute rage in his eyes makes me stop. Brings the familiar uneasy feeling back into my stomach. 

“I'm sorry.” I mumble.

Jay looks at my crestfallen face, and immediately his face softens. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you. I was just scared you left forever.” He says softly, “You're hurt a lot this time. Come here, let's clean you up.” 

He rips off a piece of his sleeves and starts dabbing it on my wounds.

His reassuring words don't chase away the moths in my stomach. 

“Jay..do you think I should see a therapist?”

Jay frowns at my words, “A therapist? What's that?” He asks curiously. 

“Umm. It's someone who helps you with your problems, like stress, anxiety…nightmares.”

Jay stiffens upon that. His hand paused on my chin. 

“But why…? I can save you. I save you every time.”

I shake my head,

“I can save you again, you won't even have to get hurt next time. Just trust me. That's all you need to do!”

I take his hands in mine, his eyes are trembling, 

“What happens when you can't?”

“..what”

“What happens when one day you can't save me? I can wake up, but what about you? What if something happens to you instead?” 

He shakes his head intently, “I don't care, I only exist because of you. If you're gone, then I'm alone again, I have no purpose.”

I stay silent at that, avoiding his eyes. 

The world around me seems to shift again, faster than it did before. 

“I think I'm waking up now.”

“Yeah.”

“Can't you…can't you appear in my dreams too? Not just nightmares?”

“I don't know.”

I can feel my resolve slipping at the sight of his tired face. He looks my age, but at this moment his face seems to have gone through a millenia worth of sadness. 

“I'll come back okay?” 

Jay just nodded. His fingers slip away from mine as he watches me disappear again. I never stay for long. He wonders whether it's because I can't or I don't want to. 

Jay fidgets with his fingers even after I'm gone. 

He thinks long and hard about how he could make me stay. Every time I've left, it's only because he saved me.

What happens when he makes me believe that she can't escape the nightmare anymore? 

________________________________________

Taglist : @sunjaylove @ryejigyu @keikeu

@excusemeimquirky @lollllllliiiiiiiiiiiipop

[edelweissbarnes]

• Sunshine and a little bit of hurricane •

Bucky Barnes x supersoldierF!reader Edelweiss (OFC)

A therapy session can change the perception of oneself? (Angst, mention of torture, mention of su!cide, bad self talk and bad self image, fluff)

Dr Reynor’ studio is neat and tidy, the giant picture of a forest, on the wall behind the sofa you’re sitting on, is placed to soothe the frustration of being closed between four walls. You watch the rain fall incessantly outside on the not so busy streets of Brooklyn Heights, the gentle pit pat against the glass is relaxing but the brisk click of your therapist’s pen brings you back to reality. You look at her and let out an exasperated sigh.

“You don’t talk, I write, remember?” She murmurs looking at you.

You exhale and you lower your gaze to your hands.

“since we talked about the tub, my nightmares got worse.” Your tone is more harsher than you wanted to, but it’s difficult to hide your frustration to not be able to sleep peacefully with your boyfriend. It’s a strange thing but you feel like you have a rock in your chest, a weight that makes it difficult for you to breathe, let alone sleep.

“Do you want to talk about what happens in your nightmares?” She asks, her tone is calm and even motherly.

“I’d prefer not to but I’m sure you’d be pushing it by telling me something like ‘talking about it makes it easier to move on’… easier my ass…” you reply bitterly before getting up from the sofa and nearing the window. “ there’s only one thing that I know for sure: I don’t want to feel ever again the way I felt back there…” You whisper looking outside.

“If you’re not ready to talk about your nightmares I’ll wait…it’s ok, Y/N.” Dr Reynor replies gingerly, like she’s talking to some scared animal.

“None of this is fucking ok…” you bite back. “ being here is not ok, what happened to me is not ok, what I became is not ok. They broke me and I’ll never be fixed” you can’t help the bitterness in your tone.

“What makes you think that you need to be fixed?” She asks quietly, you can feel her eyes on you.

You chuckle and you turn to look at her “ can’t you see?” You gesture to yourself with a scoff.

She smiles at you “ you’re not the darkness you endured. You are the light that refused to surrender. You’re a survivor Y/N, but you don’t need to be fixed. you need to understand the person you are now and you need to remember that you’re not alone. You have James…and now even the Avenger’s crew” her words hit you hard, even if it’s difficult for you to really believe them.

You turn again to look outside “ after the tub, they couldn’t wipe me because doing both would had been too much for my already fried brain. That’s when I had some glimpse of my memories…fragments…I remember lying on the bed into my cell and even if I was exhausted I couldn’t sleep or even breathe sometimes…. Everything in that cell remembered me of James… every bloody time they left us alone, every kiss, every scar or bruise that we left on each other…we were so emotion starved that sometimes even pain was ok…just because it made us feel something…and the fact that he was gone without me was overwhelming” you murmur quietly closing you eyes, your memories so vivid.

“back there I thought several times about what it would be like if I killed myself...if he would miss me...would he cry?…but then the thought that he was gone and he left me there got me like’ why should he care?’ Why should I care?” You pause “ you know that he wants to propose? Did he tell you? I found the ring hidden in our closet…” you chuckle bitterly. “If he thinks that he was fucked up, when he was the winter soldier, he must reconsider because I got worse…really worse…In that cell I shutted down, I went completely numb…and every time they got me out for some mission it was always a bloodbath ….the more gruesome, the better…they wanted a killer machine? I obliged them…sometimes even enjoyed the killing…” you confess, your tone heavier then before, shame and disgust easily recognizable. “How can he desire to marry a damaged good like me?” You whisper just before the timer rings gently reminding you that your time is up.

“Don’t mind showing me the exit…I know the way…” you murmur pushing both your hands in your leather jacket’s pocket before moving toward the open door, as you are her last patient of the day and the two of you are the only ones left in the building.

She stands from her seat “You’re not damaged good, Y/N. What you did back there was a survival behavior. None here can judge you for that…. We’ll talk about that next time” she murmurs calm without trying to stop you.

Once outside the building you turn up your face to look at the cloudy sky, it’s raining heavier than when you get here. The chime of your phone claims your attention and when you take it out of your pocket you notice a message from Natasha.

“ mission alert. Meet me at the tower. Hill’s office in 30.”

“Copy. I’m on my way” you reply before getting your hood up and stepping into the rain. You make just a couple of steps before your vision goes black and you collapse on the sidewalk.

When you open your eyes, the white light on the ceiling is blinding you and you let out an annoyed whimper before you squint and turn your head to the side trying to evade that annoyance. Your head is pounding and you feel disoriented.

“She’s awake” you hear a feminine voice whisper gently.

“Thanks God…love, I’m here…” The voice of your boyfriend is low, you can feel the relief in his tone and finally you open your eyes to look at him.

“Where…where am I? What happened?…” you pause for a moment “ my head hurts so bad…” you murmur quietly trying to sit in the bed.

“We’re at the tower, at the medical bay…you went to you therapy session with dr Reynor…you had to meet with Tasha a couple hours ago…when you didn’t show up she alerted me and then dr Reynor called, telling me she found you collapsed on the sidewalk outside her studio…you scared the shit out me, doll” he explains while his hand caress lightly your face. You sigh loudly before slumping against the pillows. You feel an itch on your arm and when you look down you see that you have an IV attached. Before you can articulate any of your concerns you hear the door of your room open and Bruce made his entrance.

“Well, well…look who’s awake!” He murmurs too cheerfully for you taste. You let out a frustrated groan.

“ you scared us a little but don’t worry..it’s seems you just got a mild concussion and you’re a bit dehydrated…nothing too concerning for your condition…” Bruce replies with an encouraging smile.

“My condition? What do you mean?” You murmurs, looking at him with concern, you know for sure that you boyfriend got the same expression looking at the scientist.

“I…I thought you already knew…” Bruce stutters, trying to arginate the situation.

“What are you talking about Bruce? Am I dying?” You retort with a hint of panic in your voice.

He starts to laugh loudly and you give him a murderous look.

“No no…for heaven sake no! You’re going to be a mum” he murmurs giving you a reassuring smile.

“Wait, what?” Bucky asks with wide eyes. You try to rise from the bed but you feel your head spinning and nausea coming up leaving a disgusting taste on your tongue so you slump again on the pillows.

“Bad time for a joke Bruce…” you reply bitterly while you search for some water. The scientist is looking you movement and promptly gives you a glass with some ice cubes and water.

“ recently have you experienced some brain fog, nausea, maybe throwing up sometimes? Sensibility to smells? The sudden urge to eat ice or to take a nap in the middle of the day?” He asks politely.

“Yeah, my health hasn’t been great lately and so? My bloody nightmares are keeping me awake most of the nights…it natural that I want to nap during the day!” You reply quietly.

“When you had your last period, Y/N?” He asks you.

You look at him with wide eyes and for a moment you’re speechless. You don’t know when your last period was. You turn your head to search for your clothes, you know that your phone has the answer you need.

“My phone…I need my phone…” you whisper and you see Bucky promptly searching your jacket to give you your phone. With trembling hands you search the app where you track your menstrual cycle and to your surprise,when you open it, you see that your period is 4weeks late.

You gasp quietly and you lift your gaze from the phone to your boyfriend.

“Ok, I get it, you need to talk… I’ll leave you to it…” Bruce murmurs before exiting the room leaving the two of you alone.

The silence between you two is heavy. You look at him, his jaw clenched and his gaze low, as it’s too much to bear. He feels responsible to put this weight on your shoulders, who would want to carry the former winter soldier’s child?

“ I… I can’t be a mother…” you whisper, your eyes full of tears, the words you spoke with dr Reynor are haunting you: why would he want YOU to be the mother of his child? You and your fucked up brain.

He sighs quietly.

“ I know it’s a difficult situation and I know that’s my fault…I should‘ve been more careful…” he murmurs, guilt in his voice “ I shouldn’t burden you with this situation…I know that you love me and I’m grateful for that every single day and I’ll be for the rest of my life but I know it’s too much to carry my child.. who would want a father like the winter soldier?” He concludes with a whisper lowering his head.

“No, no…” you whisper cupping his face to look at him in the eyes, you can feel his pain and it kills you every time he felt so insecure due to the past he endured, he never had a choice. “ no James, you’d be a wonderful father…attentive, generous, protective, a perfect father…it’s me…I’m the one fucked up…I can’t be a mother…after all they did to me, I’m too damaged…I can’t be a good mother…and this child don’t deserve a mother like me…” you started to quietly pouring down all your doubts, all the fears that are haunting you, your sense of unworthiness, the “truth” that you think you had the choice to become what you become.

“Don’t you ever, EVER, speak like that again!” The way he’s grasping you by the arms, shaking you slightly to gave his words more power leave you speechless.

“You’re not too damaged, you’re the bravest, kindest being I’ve ever known in my entire life, despite what happened to you, you managed to explore your own darkness and save your heart. You stayed pure even if you walked through a fucking hell.” His choice of words is kicking you in the gut.

“I’m not as pure as you think!” You shout with desperation.

“ you are! Do you think I don’t know what if feels like to numb yourself and become what they wanted you to be? It’s easier than being wiped out every single time! You did what you had to do to survive and you can’t forgive me and do not forgive yourself for living and experiencing the exact same damn thing!” He shouts back.

Your sobs start silently before taking every fiber of your being and you fully start to cry, he hugs you tightly and you realize that the weight you felt on your chest is disappearing.

“You’re not too damaged. You’re not what they made you become.you’re strong as vibranium, love.and yes, you’re pure… You’re not even a ray of sun, you’re the whole fucking sunshine….and a little bit of hurricane…”he whispers in your ear while gently caressing your hair until your sobs subside.

He sits on the bed and he gently maneuvers you to sit in his lap so he can look at you in the face.

“Love, I know it’s a difficult situation and I’ll accept and I’ll love you no matter what you choose to do. It’s your body and it’s your choice. Do you want to make a family together?” He murmurs quietly.

“I’ve always wanted a family of my own…” you whisper “ I want a family with you…but I’m scared…” you confess. He hugs you.

“ that’s ok…if you want this…if you’ll have me…we’re in this together…” he murmur kissing the crown of your head.

“ you know that Dr Reynor will freak out when she’ll know that we’re having a baby?” You joke and the laugh that vibrates in his chest makes you giggle while now you feel the weariness of the whole day upon you.

" I think I'll take a nap..." you whisper softly before snuggling against your boyfriend.

“I’ve got you mama…” he whispers holding you tight against his chest and lulling you gently into sleep.

[middleearthpixie]

Brilliant Disguise ~ Chapter Twenty-Five

Summary: Speech therapist Josephine Asharm has been brought into Erebor to work with Bifur, but trying to find her place among people who eye her suspiciously would be difficult enough under normal circumstances, but when Sophie finds herself caught between the king, his most trusted lieutenant, and the dwarf she’s there to help? She’s certain no good can come of it. Being of Man, not only does she stand out in the dwarf kingdom, she’s not entirely certain she’s actually welcome there at all. 

Thorin only agreed to allow Sophie to live amongst them out of a sense of duty to Bifur, who is recovering from an odd head injury (is there any other way to describe having an axe blade lodged in one’s head, only to have it later dislodged during the Battle of the Five Armies?) Before the battle, he spoke only khuzdul. But since it? He’s regained the ability to speak Westron—if only he could but remember any of it. As for Thorin? He’s trying his damndest to ignore the speech therapist, not to mention his own growing feelings for her, even as he is also recovering from his near fatal wounding in the same battle. 

Both Sophie and Thorin are haunted by their pasts and are uncertain of their futures, but sometimes, chances must be taken…  

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x OFC Josephine (Sophie) Asharm 

Warnings: None 

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.6k

Tag List:  @mrsdurin @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard

@legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being

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@night-ace

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Thorin heard the laughter coming from the paddock before he reached it and as he drew near and caught sight of Heather astride a pony on her own, he stopped in his tracks. Her silvery laughter rang out across the open field, mingling with Fíli’s and for a moment, Thorin envied the peace, the innocence, that surrounded Heather. She never need know what happened to her father, other than he’d not frighten her again, that he’d not ever lay another angry hand upon her again. 

He only regretted that he had not been the one to let Asharm know exactly what he thought of men who raised fists to women or children. Still, not being able to do that was a small price to pay, since Sophie had taken care of Asharm for once and for all. He would never trouble them again.

With that, he crossed to the fence, where he found Dís watching as well and she looked up as he leaned on the rail alongside her. “Is everything all right?”

He nodded slowly. “It is now.”

“Good.” The beads in her braids clicked against one another. “Dwalin said you went into Esgaroth? There was an accident on the Long Lake?”

“There was, and that is all I will say about it.”

Another soft clatter of stones. “So, will Mrs. Asharm be remaining with us here?”

“I think so, yes.”

“And will you make an honest woman of her?”

“Dís.”

“That little girl needs a father.” Dís nodded in Heather’s direction. “Are you prepared to step up into that role?”

“I rather thought I already had.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, and yes.”

“Kíli is planning to depart for Mirkwood in the coming days. He plans to formally ask Tauriel for her hand.”

Thorin bit back his grin. “And how do you feel about this?”

“An elf, Thorin. She is an elf.”

“I know.”

“But she’s also the reason he is alive today.” Dís looked over at him. “How do I deny him my blessing when I know she truly cares for him?”

“I don't suppose you can.”

“So, it seems I will have an elf daughter-in-law and a sister-in-law who is of Man. Our family is growing interesting.”

He chuckled, his gaze going back to Heather, who was listening intently to whatever Fíli was saying. “Erebor’s princess is also of Man.”

“I like her, Thorin. I like both of them.” She looked over at him again. “And I think they will both be happy here.”

“I hope so. And do not worry about Kíli. He knows what he is doing. And Tauriel is a fine match for him. They’ll be happy.” He glanced over at Heather, and then turned back to his sister. “Would you prefer it if I went with him?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I think Fíli is going with him and they will be fine.”

“Have you spoken to Dwalin?”

“Thorin.”

“Oh, am I overstepping?” He turned to her, resting one arm on the topmost slat of the fence. “He’s miserable without you, you know. What did he do, that you’re angry with him?”

“He did nothing. And I thought we were discussing Kíli.”

“We were, and we’ve both come to the conclusion that he’s grown and of age to decide for himself who to take as a bride. And since we’ve straightened out my love life as well, that leaves yours as the only one in disarray. So, give over and tell me or at least tell him and put the lad out of his misery.”

“He told me about his outing with Mrs. Asharm, when she first came here.”

Thorin smiled even as his gut kinked as well. “It was nothing, you know. They shared not even a kiss.”

“I know, but…” She sighed softly, shaking her head. “She is stunning. How do I compete with that?”

“Dis, there is no competing with her. He is not interested in her.”

“Because of his friendship with you.”

“No, he knows who his One is, Dís. And it is not Sophie. So, now that you know this, will you at least talk to him?”

“I have spoken with him, Thorin. He wishes to marry.”

This was news to him. “He does?” 

“Aye. He asked me last eve.”

“He never said a word to me.”

“I told him no.”

“Wait… what? The two of you have been dancing about each other since we returned here, both wanting the same thing, but neither one having the courage to speak up, and when he does, you turn him down?”

“I’m too old, Thorin. Too old and set in my ways and I have my boys to think of.”

“Nonsense,” he told her flatly, pushing away from the fence. “They are boys no more, Dís, and do not use them as your excuse. And as for being too old? You are an entire decade younger than me. Am I too old to think about a new life?” 

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, you’re the king. Your duty is to marry and produce an heir.”

“Nonsense. Fíli is my heir since there is no guarantee Sophie and I will be blessed with children of our own. Again, stop making excuses.”

“Even so.”

“Do you love him?”

“What?”

He nodded. “Do you love him? Because I’m fairly certain he loves you, Dís. So, do you love him?”

“I—I don't know. Perhaps. It’s been a long time, Thorin. I don't know… I don't know if I can open myself to that again. Vili was—he—he was… I thought he was my One.”

“I thought Elmaya was my One,” he replied softly. “I think perhaps even Mahal might make a mistake every now and again.”

“You did not have children with her, though.”

“No. I did nothing with her, aside from a few stolen kisses. But, Vili also would not want you mourning him if you had a chance to be happy, either.”

Dís turned her gaze back to Fíli and Heather, now both trotting back toward the stables on their respective mounts. “She’s quite the horsewoman. It won’t be long before she’ll be asking for a pony of her own.”

“Yule is coming.”

As if on cue, the first snowflakes of the season began to fall and Dís smiled as she looked up at him. “I do love him, Thorin. But… it’s frightening.”

“It is,” he nodded as Fíli and Heather disappeared into the stable, then he turned to his sister, “but it’s worth it in the end. Go talk to him. Before too much time passes and you end up regretting your silence.”

“Now I know why you hate when I butt in,” she told him with a smile. “But, thank you. And will you be taking your own advice?”

“I will,” he replied. “But first I need to speak with a certain little girl and see how she feels about my asking Sophie for her hand.”

Dís’ pale blue Durin eyes sparkled. “What if she says no?” 

“I’ll bribe her with chocolate cake until she says yes.”

She chuckled with him for a moment, but then her expression grew serious. “You will be a wonderful father, you know. To Miss Heather and to any children Mahal sees fit to bless you and Sophie with. I’ve always thought so, and now I look forward to seeing it.”

“Thank you, Dís. That means the world to me.” He leaned over to press his forehead to hers. “And I think you and Dwalin will surprise each other to no end when you finally both stop being so blasted stubborn.”

“Rather like you and Mrs. Ash—I mean, Sophie?”

“Exactly.”

“Mister Thorin! It’s snowing!”

He grinned, stepping away from the fence as Heather bolted toward him, catching her easily when she launched herself at him. “Mimûna, you will not be happy until to knock me over, will you?”

She let out a peal of silver laughter, wrapping her arms about his neck. “That’s silly! You’re a giant!”

Dís offered up a knowing smile. “You don't hear that often, do you, Thorin?”

“I do not. And it’s fine if Miss Heather thinks so.”

Heather leaned away from him to turn her pearly smile to Dís. “You look so pretty today, Lady Dís.”

“Why thank you, love,” Dís replied, tweaking one of Heather’s curls. “You are turning into quite the horsewoman.”

“Indeed she is,” Fíli replied as he joined them, tousling Heather’s hair gently. “I volunteered you to ride with her whilst I’m gone, Uncle. I told her you are almost as good a horseman as I am.”

“That was generous of you,” Thorin replied dryly.

“Kíli is going to the woods.” Heather turned back to him. “Where is that?”

“Mirkwood? It’s not far from here. Across the Long Lake and down the river a bit. Perhaps when you are older, we can travel there and I can introduce you to their king, Thranduíl. A fussy little wood sprite with leaves in his hair.”

“In his hair?”

Dís chuckled. “A fussy little wood sprite, indeed. Very well, Thorin, I will leave you and this lovely young lady to talk. Fíli, would you walk me back? There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Of course. Until tomorrow, Miss Heather.” Fíli caught one of Heather’s hands in his and brushed the back of it with a playful kiss.

She giggled and drew her hand back. “That tickles! Bye, Fífi. Bye, Lady Dís.”

“Enjoy the snow,” Dís replied, tucking her arm through Fíli’s to allow him to escort her away from the paddock.

Snow swirled harder around them now and Heather blinked like mad as she peered up into it, her cheeks already rosy from the cold. “Can we play in the snow, Mister Thorin?”

“Perhaps later. There isn’t quite enough on the ground for playing just yet.” He shifted her slightly. “And there is something I needed to speak with you about. Something very serious.”

Her eyes widened. “Serious?”

“Oh, yes.” 

“Am I in trouble?”

She asked it so earnestly, her expression suggesting she feared his answer would be yes. He smiled, shaking his head. “No, Miss Heather. You are not in trouble. I promise.”

“Good. I thought I was.”

“Not at all.”

She leaned away from him, bringing her hands up to curve against his cheeks. “Is something wrong? You look sad.”

“Nothing is wrong, mimûna and I am not sad. It is simply I am in a serious sort of mood at the moment.”

He carried her away from the paddock, toward the walled courtyard off the infirmary. Snow fell harder now, softly swirling this way and that to coat the trees, the ground, in a layer of pure white that glowed as if lit from a moon hidden behind the clouds. The silence accompanying it was some of the most peaceful silence Thorin had ever heard and for the first time since learning of Sten Asharm’s existence, Thorin felt the weight lift from his shoulders. Sophie was free.

He glanced down at the little girl in his arms. Heather was safe. They were both safe. 

“Mister Thorin?”

“Yes, mimûna?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“You’re very quiet. Mama gets quiet when she is sad.” Heather leaned away from him. “But you said you aren’t sad.”

“Just the opposite, love. I’m not sad at all. I’m actually quite happy.” He drew several wayward curls away from her face and then traced his finger along her cheek. “What about you, mimûna? Are you happy?”

She nodded. “I like it here.”

“And I like having you here. You and your mother. Would you be happy living here?”

Another nod. “I would. I’d miss Gimli if I had to go. And Mister Fífi. And Lady Dís.” Her eyes grew serious. “And I’d miss you, too…”

“I’d miss you as well, you know,” he told her softly. “Might I ask you a serious question?”

“A serious one?” Heather’s eyes went round. “How serious?”

“Very serious.”

She thought about it for a moment, then slowly nodded. “You can.”

His stomach tossed slightly, and he would have laughed at his own nervousness, if not for the fact that he genuinely valued what this one little girl would think about what he asked. “You know, I’m glad you and your ’amad came here, right?”

She nodded. “And I’m glad we did, too.”

“Good.” He smiled, giving her a gentle squeeze. “In the time that you’ve both been here, I’ve… I mean to say that I… well… Well… I love you. Both you and your mother. Very much, in fact. And I’d like you to both stay. Would you like to stay here, Miss Heather?”

She nodded again. “You just asked me that, Mister Thorin.”

“Right, I did, didn't I? I’m so sorry, mimûna, for I am nervous.”

“Nervous?”

He nodded. “Nervous.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s like scared.”

“But you’re a king. Kings don't get scared.”

“They do indeed get scared from time to time. And you would be amazed at the reasons why.”

“Why are you scared?”

He gave her another gentle squeeze. “Your mother has become very important to me, you know. But you are also important to me. And I was wondering how you feel, if I were to ask her to marry me.”

Heather’s eyes went wide. “What?”

“Would you be upset if I did?”

His heart beat faster as she stared at him for a long moment, but then she smiled and shook her head. “No, Mister Thorin. But—” 

She clamped her lips together, her brows pulled low as if something very heavy weighed upon her mind. He held her away slightly. “What is it, mimûna?”

“Would that make you my… how do you say it?”

His heart sped up again. “’Adad?”

“Is that papa in dwarf?”

He nodded slowly. “It is, yes.”

“Would you be mine?”

“Would you like me to be your ’adad, raklûna?”

“Yes.”

She said it softly, but for Thorin, it was like being punched in the gut in the nicest way possible and unexpected tears pricked the backs of his eyes. “I’d like it as well, uzbadnâtha.”

Heather slipped her arms more tightly about his neck and hugged him and in return, he wrapped her tighter as well. When she whispered, “We’ll be a real family,” Thorin would swear he felt his heart actually melt. 

“We will, indeed,” he told her, giving her yet another squeeze. “But, can you do me one very large favor?”

She leaned away from him again. “What?”

“I want to surprise your mother, so don’t let her know we’ve had this conversation until I’ve been able to ask her as well. Can you do that?”

“Keep a secret?”

He nodded. “Just for another day or so, though.”

“I can do that, Mister Thorin.”

“I knew you could.” 

She beamed at him. “Mama will be so happy.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“She will. I promise.” Heather brought her hands to his cheeks, her fingertips moving lightly along his beard. “Bristly.”

“So you’ve said,” he chuckled.

“Mister Thorin, does this mean I can have a baby brother or sister?”

“Perhaps one day, mimûna. First, I need to ask your mother and we will take it from there.”

“I’d really like a baby brother.”

“We will see, love. We will see. But first, there’s one more thing I need to ask you.”

Heather’s eyes went wide. “What?”

He smiled. “Will you help me?”

She nodded, more serious than he’d ever seen her look. “I will.”

[museontheside]

Ugh. I thought this is what I wanted a year ago, but I realized that wasn't true when I couldn't do it to you after unhooking our calendars. Because I care about you too much, even if it felt unsafe having you have access to my calendar. Even if my therapist has encouraged me to block you on everything. I don't want you gone, I just want it to not hurt so much every time I see your screen name/s or face. Or tear me to shreds every time you send a * hug * etc.

I couldn't figure out a way to feel safe opening up to you again, based on our history. Then, when I did figure it out (because when my mom pulled her shit, all I wanted was to talk to you, be held and comforted by you, and then I'd get angry at myself for those feelings) I knew you wouldn't want to hear it, and you definitely wouldn't want to ever make that choice, especially just to be able to be my friend. And I didn't want to be the one bringing it up. Especially when it felt like you didn't even want to hear what I had to say when we were partners-- why would you want to hear any of it now? And I was afraid it'd piss you off so much, you'd block me on everything. But I purposefully left the door open for a real conversation back in October, then again at Thanksgiving before dealing with a house full of norovirus. I just... I really thought we were finally to a point where we could eventually talk about how to be able to have a better relationship since it's obviously been very strained over the last couple of years.

But I guess since you went ahead and pulled the plug without a conversation (again) I don't really have anything left to lose when I say if you want to be a real part of my life in any capacity, you need to pursue and dedicate to seeking sobriety. Your alcohol abuse affects every relationship you have, every part of your life. It destroyed any chance we had at being happy together. It was so hard to sit back and watch your other partners enable it because it benefitted them, even when it endangered your life after your surgery. But I knew I couldn't bring it up without you either flying off the handle at me, shutting down/switching on me, or just dumping me on the spot. Sure, I could have been braver, but literally as soon as you started drinking again, your personality took that same turn for the worst I'd observed in the past.

Anyway, it's obvious that you don't want to have anything to do with me. I'm sorry I've put off saying "I'd like to have you in my life, but only if you're committed to being sober; but I also don't even know how to trust you to stay sober unless I'm around you all the time; but also everything in me wants to talk to you, believe the things you say, trust you; but I need some sort of apology and commitment to change; and I don't know what to even do or say about any of that." I've read enough about alcohol induced psychosis being a huge issue with Wellbutrin-- on top of how it messes up neurodivergent brain chemistry for months from even light to moderate use-- to not trust even occasional drinking, especially after experiencing the shitty end of that so many times.

It's true that I've only looked at your Tumblr twice in the last 2 years. And none of your other socials, besides accidentally seeing you bubbling about your new partner within a day of you officially dumping me. Because it hurts. So I've been a shitty friend. But I've been trying these last months to get to where I can again. To talk to you as normally as I can. But when you're always asking how I'm doing or saying you hope I'm doing well-- and I'm not, but I know you don't want to hear it. My life has been fucking misery dealing with all of the issues long covid has raised for me, including a deep and lingering depression from the brain damage, coupled with the depression of watching my life and health waste away and losing most of the rest of my close relationships. I've been trying psych med combo after psych med combo to try to help, with very little affects unless it's a negative reaction. Until a couple of weeks ago, I was overmedicated for 6 months so that I didn't care about anything at all-- no big emotions, no crying over random shit, nothing. The replacement for that secondary medicine caused a severe negative reaction and I almost had to be hospitalized last week on top of handling norovirus, pink eye, and lice since Thanksgiving. And now my body is recovering for a couple of weeks until we try another med.

You need to do whatever you need to do for your own mental health. I think it'd benefit greatly from sobriety, but that's your choice to make. If this is how you want it, that's fine. Maybe in a few years, you'll feel differently and be able to look me up. I want you to be happy and healthy. And I'd prefer to be a part of that. I miss you so much (I've tried everything not to, but it still hasn't gone away.) And I still feel when you reach out-- even that stupid drunk message about a gift you wanted to get me, when I woke up on the couch and went upstairs to bed that Friday, I felt like you were in my room waiting for me and couldn't shake it. At the end of May?? It was all-encompassing for days and days, then I gave in and looked at your Tumblr a couple of weeks later and saw your post. (If you'd asked me to meet for coffee, I would have.) And there's been many other times, of course. Hell, I even felt when you blocked first my IG, then my FB. I knew what had happened before I even checked. (Which all makes me feel a bit crazy, but whatever.)

You know where to find me if you want to, I guess. I hope life treats you well in the meantime. I don't want to argue about any of the things I said, I just want you to consider my input for a while and figure out if you want to bother even talking to me, because I really don't want to talk to you unless you've been sober for at least a few months first and really have made a commitment to stay sober. I love you, I miss you, but I can't let you keep hurting me, and I can't trust you while you are actively engaging in alcoholism.

[yuulina-vre]

Fear - Chapter five

Summary: Y/N lives the life she always dreamed about. a job she loves, a fiancé that does everything for her, and a house she dreamed of. There are hiccups on the way, but Y/N's still pretty satisfied with where she stands in life. Though a word can be powerful, especially if it's said to the wrong person. Y/N would never have thought that she ever gets to experience how bad it can turn out. For her and the loved ones around her.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist // Masterlist

“Sweetheart. Doll, it's all right. I’m here." His hands keep their motions on my back, one coming up to run over my hair, softly pressing my head firmer against his chest to provide more comfort and possibly make me feel as safe as he can in that particular moment. He comforts me just like a child who had fallen off a bicycle, rocking back and forth, and strangely enough, I don’t mind one bit. I soak up every bit of him, every word, every touch, every smell, but I still can't calm down as much as I want.

It's impossible.

I’m too upset. The shock and fear swirl in my brain, letting no room for any other emotion or feeling. It’s as if a wall blocks my mind, impossible to climb or break down. Even though he’s here, reassuring me of my safety, the sounds are still running amok in my head, and thoughts circle back and forth without me being able to catch them. Dark eyes, whispering voices, looming footsteps. Flashes of knives in the moonlight.

Bucky’s voice is worried, strained, trying to sound calm for me, though I know he is anything else but calm. He probably is pretty upset, not really grasping how to help me. And maybe he’s feeling afraid himself, though for a whole other reason. He tends to panic when I do, but he’s better at masking it and calming down. His body is rigid and stiff with tension, yet his hands are gently against my body and skin. He smells so typically Bucky, woodsy with a mix of his deo and aftershave. Sweat mixes in from a long day at the precinct. The slightest smell of gunpowder comes to my mind.

Bucky pulls me even closer to his chest, hugging me tightly and pressing his lips to my temple. I don't let go of him, not even for a second, clinging to his shirt as if my life depends on it. And at the moment, it feels like it.

Somehow, I actually feel like a child, when he’s holding me like this, softly rocking back and forth, kissing my temple now and then, or stroking my hair. Given my profession as a therapist, you'd think I'd be more in control, but somehow, I seem to have a blockage. Getting so attached to Bucky is the only way for me to get some kind of peace and deal with the demon in my mind.

His hands slowly loosen from my body to slowly come up and cup my face. I whine as he leans back a bit, holding my face softly. He is careful as he lifts it from his chest so that I look at him. My vision is blurred with tears, making him a swimming mess. His thumbs gently perform a comforting dance over my cheeks, brushing tear tracks away. That gesture makes me feel a little better the longer he continues doing it. “Y/N. Look at me. I'm here. It's all right. Sam’s looking around, but so far, no one’s in the house. I still asked him to triple-check. Okay?” His eyes stay on my face, staring intently at me until I nod the smallest one I ever did. “Do you think it could have been a false alarm this time?” His eyes are gentle, knowing of the loaded question he asked. He never puts my feelings into question, and he doesn’t want now, I know that. But he needs to make sure every possibility is looked at. I can understand that. It still stings.

I stare into his eyes, hypnotized by their worried blue for a second. I hesitate for a moment, thinking about his question and what he said. It could actually have been a false alarm. At least I didn't hear anything suspicious in the house. Nothing I know doesn’t belong. Sure, there were the typical sounds of houses. Setting wood, crackling of devices, and so on. Well… I know that there was something unusual, like eyes watching me from somewhere, but there was nothing that indicated a difference. I nod timidly, still sniffling, before shrugging. The feeling from earlier is still there. I can feel eyes on me, mustering every inch of my body, as if it’s looking into my soul.

With his thumb, he rubs a tear out of the corner of my eye, and he smiles at me. It has a mix of sadness in it. He leans forward again and hugs me gently, giving me a kiss on the forehead, then on my lips. It’s just a quick peck, there to comfort me and provide a feeling of safety. I let myself fall forward, more into his embrace and his chest. “Okay.” One of my hands loosens its grip on his shirt but doesn’t lose contact altogether. I let it roam around him, coming forward to his chest, resting it between our bodies, right over his heart. His heartbeat is strong under it. I can feel each lub dub. The constant rhythm brings comfort and peace into my body that not even his voice can create. My eyes close on their own accord, and I concentrate solely on feeling him, his heartbeat, his life.

“Tell me what’s going on." His voice is soothing and composed. It seems to have only a slight tone of tension in it, and that makes me a little puzzled.

Why does he sound tense when he thinks it's a false alarm? When he’s sure and checked that no one’s in the house?

Bucky rustles a bit around, lets go of me for a bit to grab the rumpled duvet off the bed, and wraps it around my shoulders. I haven’t noticed that I’m shivering until the sudden warmth envelopes me. His arms come back around me, holding me tenderly. I sigh and put my head on his shoulder as he strokes my back. “I don’t know,” I mumble into his shoulder, way too silent to be heard if it wasn’t for his ear almost directly at my head. My tears finally let up, but I still sniffle now and then. “I-I woke up because… the rain, I think. I don’t… I don’t think there was something else. Maybe the neighbors cat.” My voice is still a bit shaky, but instead of focusing on it and my shivering, the fear still deeply residing in my bones, I try to focus on Bucky’s hands around me. “I turned back around and tried to go back to sleep. I almost drifted off, but... there was, well, how shall I put it? There was just a- a feeling."

“A feeling? What kind of feeling? Threatening?"

“Not really threatening. It was more like... like someone’s watching me. Here. In the bedroom. I don't know. Everything seemed perfectly normal. I couldn't hear or see anything that was somehow different, but… still. I had a feeling something was wrong. It scared me. But I didn't know what it was. I sat up and took a good look around. I even wanted to go through the house, but then I panicked." I take a deep breath. “Feels pathetic now.”

“No. It’s never pathetic to be afraid of something, doll.” Bucky knows that I have strange feelings. Strangely enough, he never seemed to be deterred after I told him, never acted as my ex-boyfriend did. He had portrayed me as crazy and, at some point, threatened to have me committed because the accident and death of my parents had left me with some damage. I still have nightmares about it, but these feelings aren’t a side effect of deep trauma. Bucky never put into questioning that he wants to stay with me. He often even relies on this feeling and always takes it seriously. From time to time, he involves me in his work, which was strictly forbidden, but he doesn’t care, always tells me that no one will ever find out, and if they did, he just puts me down as his therapist, which probably isn’t allowed either. He shrugs it off. Bucky gives me case files and asks me for advice. Mostly, I can tell him if I have a particularly bad feeling about a person or statements in the report, and somehow that seems to help him. I still have no idea how much help this is supposed to be, but he keeps asking me for my advice, so I figure it is enough. Sometimes it feels like I’m just confirming a suspicion he already has. However, when I have strange feelings at home, it is usually nothing serious. We shrug it off and have a good laugh, though before we do, we always investigate. But it was never like this. Never like I’m being watched.

"Okay. So, you looked around, saw nothing, and hid. I assume you called me directly, then? Did anything else happen after that?" His voice keeps gentle, hands continuing their pattern as I hear a door close downstairs and light footsteps on the stone floor. I shake my head and wipe my hair that clings to my tear-stained cheeks off my face. For a moment, we’re just silent, but then I swallow thickly past the lump in my throat and look at Bucky. “Hmm... After I hung up, I-I just sat in the bathtub. I guess I just imagined everything afterward. I thought- I thought I heard noises. Something like... door creaking, rumbling, or footsteps. Now that I think about it, the window looked like there were eyes.” My voice fades, and I see past Bucky into the hallway where Sam has reached our floor to look through the rooms. After a few seconds, I look down at my hand on his chest, where his heartbeat still drums a steady rhythm. "I can't tell you if any of this was real. Now, I doubt it myself." Suddenly the thoughts of my ex-boyfriend come to my mind. My hand on Bucky’s chest instantly tightens into a fist on his shirt, eyes panicky looking into his. My voice is urgent as I speak up next, hurried to get him to believe me and a bit too loud, causing Sam to pause in his steps to glance at us. "Bucky, I'm not crazy. I certainly wasn't imagining the feeling. It may have been delusions in the bathroom, but this," I gestured across the room. “I’m sure I wasn’t imagining it! There was something here.” My voice becomes a little softer and quieter again. He looks at my face and nods. “It’s okay, I believe you." He pauses, pushing me softly off his lap, and just keeps my legs on his thighs. His gaze swiftly flies to the hallway, where Sam waves before he disappears downstairs. Then Bucky directs his gaze back to me, softly takes my face in his hands, and leans forward so our foreheads touch.

"Okay, babydoll.” He leans back and presses a soft kiss on my forehead. The softness and warmth of his lips let me shudder a bit, and my eyes close on their own accord. “How about you get comfy on the bed, hm? Maybe snuggle up into my shirt or something and try to sleep. I'm going downstairs with Sam to talk about what to do now. I’ll be quick and bring some tea back up." For a second, I just stare shocked at him. Did he just suggest leaving me alone again?

Instantly my head shakes as vehemently as I can. I can feel a crack in my neck, but I don’t pay it any attention as panic floods me yet again, and I try to cling to Bucky again. “Sweetheart, I understand that you don’t want to be alone. But I need to talk with Sam.”

“No… please…” Bucky takes a deep sigh, his hands still cupping my face, staring at me as if he’s able to look into my soul. Sometimes I think he actually can. His deep blue eyes turn soft then, and he just takes me into his arms, swaying me from side to side, while pressing kisses all over my face. “All right, doll. Want to come downstairs, too, then? Just promise that you rest on the couch for a bit. I’ll make some tea and talk to Sam in the kitchen.” His head ducks a bit to have a better view of my face. “That way, I’m just a few feet away.” Tentatively, I nod, knowing that it’s a better option than staying upstairs all alone. The feeling still hasn’t left me, but the adrenaline is slowly fading, leaving me tired and exhausted.

He pushes my legs off him and stands up, immediately reaching for my hand, but I pull it back for a moment. "D-don't you want to look around, too?"

“What for? I already did when we arrived, doll. And I was in this room the whole time, with you. There's no one here. Besides, we would give Sam the impression we don’t trust him, and I really don’t want to make him cry now." A snort leaves me. It's unexpected but welcome because I actually feel a little light afterward. Bucky’s grin is indication enough that he’s pleased with his joke, so he leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. I let my gaze wander through the room for a moment, then I, too, get up and finally take the hand he holds out for me. “We probably should get your robe, yeah? Won’t show Sam what he’s not supposed to see!” Bucky smirks and another small smile slips on my lips. It feels like it’s the first time in years. His hands gently pull the duvet off me, before he quickly runs into the bathroom to grab my robe. He helps me slip it on and carefully closes it before tying a small bow with its ribbon. A small giggle leaves me as his fingers tickle my sides, and as I look at Bucky, I can see happiness in his eyes, indicating that he’s incredibly relieved to see me smile again.Despite the summer heat, I grab the duvet again to take with me. I still feel some kind of cold with the adrenaline leaving, and the tiredness sinking in. The throw blanket on our couch won’t do anything to keep me warm. He holds my hand tightly as he guides me downstairs and to our couch in the living room, passing Sam, who waves with a small smile.

Bucky’s grip on my hand is not as tight to hurt, but still tight enough, so I can see how tense he is, even if he tries to hide it.

Immediately an alarm bell rings in my head, and my feeling tells me he knows something he isn't telling me. But I feel too tired to investigate. It probably can wait a bit.

Taglist:

@cjand10

[xxrainshadowsxx]

Family Affairs

First family therapy session and the return of angst. Takes place a few days after Jack plants the seed. DISCLAIMER: None of the advice given in this chapter is professional. I am not a therapist, and any advice given is my own personal take on my characters and their situation.

(Also I kind of have an important question down below so please make sure you read that note too!)

Rating: T

Warning: Tiny bit of language, and some heavy topics

“Do we really have to do this?” Jack whispers as the three of you walk up to the quiet center. “All they’re going to do is ask me about planting the tree again.”

“No, she won’t. She’s not here to do that, she’s here to help us learn how to be a family,” you say softly yet firmly. “This is a huge change for all of us, and she’s here to help us through it.” Jack doesn’t complain further, but you can tell he also doesn’t completely believe you. And you can’t blame him for his bad mood. Ever since he’d planted the seed earlier that week, he’d been hounded by just about everyone in the city. It was overwhelming, and while he didn’t regret planting the seed, he was desperate for people to leave him alone again.

Jack wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable. Onceler had been almost completely silent since you had told him where you were going. He, too, had been receiving intense levels of scrutiny after coming back into the public light to help Jack plant the seed. You thought he’d be used to the attention by now, but he seemed to hate it more than Jack did, and you guess you could understand why. He used to be adored. There was a lot more hostility this time around.

But you had to give them both a lot of credit. Despite their complaints, both Jack and Onceler did recognize the importance of this appointment. There were a lot of emotions to sort out, and no one wanted those emotions to become overwhelming in an already delicate situation. Anything that could alleviate the stress was welcome, and at this point, necessary.

Onceler holds the door open for you, and you step inside a quiet waiting room. This particular therapist’s office mimicked a home setting, which you liked; you didn’t want anyone to feel like they were going to a doctor’s office for these visits. You smile a thanks at your fiancé and take a seat on a soft loveseat, Jack right next to you. That left Onceler to sit in the single chair across from the two of you.

You don’t have to wait more than a minute or two before a woman with shoulder-length chocolate hair comes out. “Welcome,” she says in a soft voice and with a soothing smile. “Please, follow me to the back.” You take one of Jack’s hands in your own, and Onceler’s in the other, and lead your family to the woman’s office.

The back room is set up much like the front, with a distinct home-like setting. However, there’s a much longer couch back here, and the three of you are all able to comfortably sit side by side, while the woman sits across from you.

“My name is Emily,” she says in her calming tone once all of you are settled. “And I understand that the three of you are in a very unique situation. I want to impress upon you first and foremost that this is a judgment-free environment. You can speak your mind here, and I will not think less of you for it. And this is your family. We can work on being comfortable speaking the truth to them if you’re not already.”

Her words are exactly what you need to hear, and you hope she’s been able to calm Jack and Onceler as well. You still have one hand of theirs in each of your own, and you give them gentle squeezes as Emily continues. “I know we’ve spoken before,” she says, addressing you. “But I would love to meet the rest of your family.”

Jack takes a deep breath, but decides to go first. “My name is Jack,” he introduces. “And this is my mom… and my dad, I guess. Well, he is my dad, but I’m still getting used to having a dad…” he trails off here, his cheeks turning pink, but Emily, true to her word, doesn’t seem to mind. She simply smiles and nods before turning her attention to Onceler, who shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.

But, despite his discomfort, he also introduces himself to Emily, and confirms that he is indeed Jack’s father. Emily nods again, then consults her notes that she’s already begun compiling.

“So, based on what I know about this, and what I’ve discerned so far, I’ll want to do individual sessions with all of you in time, but today I think it’s best to remain together,” she decides. “And just to make absolutely sure I have all of my facts together, Jack, you grew up with your mother your whole life, until just recently when your father came back into the picture. And Onceler, you were unaware of Jack’s existence until then. Am I correct in all of this?” All three of you nod in affirmation, making Emily lean back and sigh. 

“Well, this is a complicated situation, that’s for sure,” she comments, but there’s no judgment in her statement, just an acknowledgment of the bizarreness of the whole thing. “And I can imagine that everyone’s emotions are going a bit haywire.” She turns to you. “If you’re comfortable, can I ask why you didn’t initially tell Onceler about Jack? Do they already know why?”

Now it’s your turn to shift under her gaze. As nice and comforting as she was, the topic was never fun to revisit. You quickly explain to her that you wanted to tell Onceler about your pregnancy, but weren’t able to get in touch with him. To her credit, she doesn’t dig into this point for now, just adds it to the list of very weird circumstances that surrounded all of you.

“Wow,” she comments when you’re done speaking. “Yeah, you three are going through quite a lot. But the important thing to remember is that despite all of these obstacles, I’m getting an abundance of love in this room. There might be hurt, and there might be confusion, but most importantly there is love, and I want all of you to remember that, particularly if things get challenging. We’re probably going to get pretty deep during our sessions here, but there’s no shortage of support for each and every one of you.” She gives another kind smile, and this time, you can tell Jack and Onceler are starting to become more accustomed to her presence, and thus more likely to open up.

“And one more thing that I should probably address,” Emily adds, glancing down at her notes. “I understand that all three of you have been or are currently in the public eye, particularly Jack and Onceler. This might come into play later, but for now I don’t think it’s a big deal, nor do I think it’s something that will drastically affect your family dynamic. So unless I’m proven wrong about that, I’m going to leave the fame firmly behind us for the time being.”

Next to you, you can feel Jack visibly relax. That had been his biggest worry, and it had quickly been alleviated. Onceler, on the other hand, was still a bit cautious, which you understood. You were sure his experience in the spotlight was going to affect him and need some working through far more than either you or Jack would need. 

Emily next asks Jack about himself, and while it seems an innocent enough question, you’re sure she’s also doing her job. Sure enough, you can see her making notes as Jack speaks. When Jack mentions his love of music and his newly formed agreement with his father to learn guitar, Emily apparently reads a lot into that; her pen is practically skating across the journal on her lap.

After Jack, Emily turns next to you. “And what makes you, you?” she asks, the same question she posited to Jack. Unlike your son, you have much less to say.

“I mean, I’m a mom. That’s been my primary role ever since Jack was born, and I like to think I’ve done a good job at it. Jack’s a great kid,” you shrug.

“Yes, but you are more than that,” Emily explains patiently. “You’re not just defined by your relationships with others. You’re more than a daughter or a sister. You’re more than Onceler’s fiancée, or even Jack’s mother. You seem to have forgotten that.”

All you can do is blink, words lost in your throat. You want to refute her because of course that’s not the case, but as you start actually thinking about it… she’s not wrong. For the past decade, you’d delved so deeply into motherhood to numb the pain that was there so now, that was all you knew.

“It’s alright,” Emily comforts gently. “This happens to several women after kids come along. I’m not saying that your kids shouldn’t be your first priority, or that you’re in any way a bad mother, just that it’s not a bad thing to focus on yourself as well. In fact, it’s a necessity.”

Well shit. For as nice as she was, she pulled absolutely no punches. You trusted that this would make your family stronger on the other side, but the journey was going to be even more arduous than you were anticipating.

Finally, Emily turns to Onceler. This was the part that you were really interested in. Since coming back into your life, you had seen him return to life, but there was still a deep rooted self-loathing there. He’d already made it abundantly clear that he thought you were too good for him, and had insinuated that Jack might even be better off without him. You’d done your best to stop these insidious thoughts in their tracks, but it was beyond clear that he, more than even you or Jack, needed the professional help.

And sure enough, as Emily asks him the same question as you and Jack, his line of vision finds the floor. “What am I supposed to say?” he mutters after a moment. “That I’ve failed at everything in my life? That I haven’t even been able to raise my son? I haven’t done anything right. I don’t know why she still wants me around. They deserve a better husband and father than I can be.”

For the first time, Emily puts down her journal and instead scrutinizes Onceler for a few moments. She then asks a question that you never would have thought to ask. “Do you want to lose them? And I need a brutally honest answer.”

“Of course not,” Onceler answers, looking and sounding almost offended. “I love them. They’re all I have.”

“If you love them, but keep telling them they deserve better than you, knowingly or not, you’re putting an idea in their heads that you don’t want to be around,” Emily says bluntly. “Everyone messes up. But no matter how grievous the offense, you can become a better person. You’ve committed no acts of violence against your family, so I see no reason for you to be separated from them. Believe it or not, I see this often. You made a mistake, yes. But no matter the size, your son and fiancée believe the best in you. Instead of trying to convince them they can do better than you, you need to become the man you think they deserve. But you can’t be that unless you forgive yourself first.”

The silence in the room is heavy, a palpable presence after her words. You’ve talked to Onceler about forgiving himself before, but you’d never been able to achieve the same punch that Emily has just given. Whether he likes it or not, this is what he needs.

“I… I don’t know if I can forgive myself,” he whispers, his voice thick with sorrow. You can tell he’s working hard to hold back tears. “What I’ve done… I’ve hurt so many people. And it’s my fault I wasn’t involved in Jack’s life at first. I made the decision to leave. There was so much I did wrong.”

“Then start with something you did right,” Emily advises. “And I know it’s hard to think of anything you did right when your mind keeps bringing up all of your mistakes, but that’s what I’m here for. I can give you the tools. You just need to choose to use them.”

“And as for something you did right,” you start nervously, looking to Emily to make sure you’re allowed to say this, but she nods encouragingly, so you continue. “As soon as you found out about Jack, you wanted back in his life. And you’ve done everything to be an attentive father since then.”

“It’s not near enough,” Onceler insists, but this time, Jack interrupts him.

“I like having a dad much better than not having a dad,” he says quietly, but in the silent room, it might as well be as loud as a gunshot.

He also manages to completely shut Onceler up. How could he continue arguing after that? He just hangs his head, letting his son’s words sick in as you run your thumb over the back of his hand, offering him what crumbs of comfort you can.

“See?” Emily says, finally breaking the silence. “Your family loves you. They believe the best of you. If you can’t believe in yourself just yet, borrow theirs. I don’t think it’s wrong to have other people as your primary source of motivation, initially. In time, I want you to want to better yourself for you, but if you can’t do that yet, that’s okay. As long as you aren’t using others as emotional support crutches, they can be helpful in terms of motivation.”

“And you can always lay your burdens on me,” you add quickly. “We’re going to be married, and that’s what being married is about. Your joys are mine, your sorrows are mine. And I want to help you with whatever pain you’re going through, even if all I can give is a listening ear.”

“And I want to do the same for you,” he sighs emphatically. “I’m just not sure I know how.”

“That’s why we’re here,” you remind him with a small smile. “We don’t have to know everything right away. We’re here so we can learn how to support each other.” You turn to Jack to include him as well. “All three of us. And believe me when I say, you support me better than you know. There’s so much I could never have gotten through if you hadn’t been there with me.”

“You told me when planting the seed,” Jack says carefully, “that everyone deserves a second chance. I think you should give yourself one, too.”

At yours and Jack’s words, the tears that had been threatening him finally spill over Onceler’s blue eyes. “Thank you,” he says, pulling both of you into his arms. “I don’t know how I ever got lucky enough to get you. Both of you.”

Emily lets the moment linger a while before speaking up. “Well, I think that should do it for today,” she murmurs, seemingly satisfied. “Same time next week? And I think we’ll start with individual sessions then.” You confirm the details with her before leading your family out.

You weren’t perfect yet. None of you would ever be perfect. But you were mending. And you were confident that with each other’s help, you would become as strong a family unit as you were able to be.

OK, question time. My Too Much Gene decided to kick in yet again, and this time... she wants me to write another OncelerxReader multi-chapter fic. The difference is that this one is heavily AU, and set in the 1910's. And the MC isn't the same MC as the one in Interpersonal, if that makes sense. Like, there's no Aurora, her mother isn't dead, little things that make it not the same character. My question is, would any of you actually be interested in reading that? I'll probably write it regardless, but whether or not I post it depends on if y'all would actually read it.

[mchlgayser]

𓂃⭑ᜊ: SASS ft trent alexander-arnold

𓂃⭑ᜊ an: HELLO! Okay first of all, this idea just kind of popped up in my head but I'm not complaining! Lol I came up with such a great idea *maliciously laughing*

𓂃⭑ᜊ content warning: cursing and bad actions

𓂃⭑ᜊ: @iwritesjud3's masterlist

It was a hot sunny day, a well-perfect day to ruin your mood. To sum up the matter worse, you had promised your boyfriend you would come to his match today, not that you always don't but since you got your ticket booked late you couldn't manage to get the v.i.p benchers.

Not that you mind but ever since you and Trent publicized your relationship to the world and media, many of his fans hadn't take you seriously, you are a rising model star, fame and money are your mid name but what made the fans not very much fond of you is your poorly attitude and nastiness.

I mean, come on you are not that rude and vicious but due to your career, you are always with your resting bitch face 24/7. And nasty? Yes, you are a bit sassy, and you give rude remarks to rude interviewers but that's it, you are quite friendly to your fans but of course, it's the media that always point out your flaws. But do you care? No, you don't give a fuck.

Your relationship with Trent has always been sweet and nontoxic, those who know you both would say that you both have the perfect relationship anyone could ever ask for.

You are always in your 'I don't give a fuck' mode but today since you know you won't be able to be in the v.i.p you should at least lay low, not to attracts attention from his horny fans.

Right now, you are dressed in his jersey with a pair of jeans skirt that stopped right above your knees, you wore a pair of sneakers and even wore his grey cap and a mask. You didn't bother to wear makeup, partially because you wears a mask. You get your purse bag and a few important essentials and left afterwards.

You arrived at the place already on your way to your seat before you accidentally launch with three girls who are also on their way 'Hey watch it!' The brunette yelled, her other friends helping her as she accidentally poured some of the carbonated drink on her jersey 'Sorry,' you apologized, already marching to your seat but she pulled you back, intentionally dropping your cap and ruining your messy ponytail and your hair let loose, you gasped in disbelief 'Hey!'

'Oh my God! Are you who I thought you were? Y/n L/n?' She laughed while her other friends joined in 'God, it is you!' You take off your mask 'What if I am, Gosh just give me back the cap!' She throw it away to the crowds and snickered 'Oh looks like it went missing, sadly you gotta go and search for it.'

'Yeah no shit, the cap went missing just like your father did.' She gasped 'How dare you?!' You throw her one nasty look 'And please, what's the different between your father and your hairline? None, both missing.'

'And you, you got a stink and tangled hair like you bath rain puddle. And you, your laugh sounds like a hyena who just recovered from asthma. You should've thought twice before coming here and roasting me, you bunch of horny hoes.' You sassed, rolling your eyes at them

'And this is why you got so much hate on social medias, I wonder what Trent sees in you anyway! You are so rude!'

You give her a sarcastic laugh 'Who? Me, rude? You started it and please, it's people like you who would crumble down when you get a little hate on the internet, I don't give a damn about what other people said and what you did you said? What does Trent see in me? Probably something that you can't afford having, so peace out whores.'

She went blazing mad, eyes fuming with anger, her two other friends are embarrassed enough that so many people are eyeing them and whispering 'Just so you know, once this shit got viral, I won't be the only one who got the hates, you three will too and as for me it was something that I used to. So I hope you booked a therapist just in case you got depression or something.' You gave them one last look and left for your seat.

-

The match ended with Liverpool winning the game, you are more than happy that your boyfriend got to prove himself again by doing amazing assists and scoring one goal against the opponent team. He found you as soon as the match ended, he mouthed and motioned you to meet him after that and you did.

He was smiling when he sees you, inviting you in for a long and warm hug 'Okay, to be frank, I saw you fighting with three of my fans.' You groan in frustration 'You just had to mock me!' He chuckles wrapping an arm around you to caress your back 'Someone recorded it and it went viral rapidly! They got your convo from a to z.'

You broke the hug and crashed one brow at him 'Really? So it's like my name is clean now innit? I mean I wasn't in the wrong at all!' He laughs harder, pressing his face to your neck 'Multiple people praised you for your quick remarks! I assume they liked it!' You snort 'They better be!'

trentupdates

❤️🚀💬

3,475 likes

trentupdates model @yourusername is spotted on trent's game tonight, she was caught on camera fighting with three fans

view 497 comments

fans1 what she did was 100% reasonable, they were harassing her when she absolutely did nothing wrong

fans2 I love her more for calling them out like that

fans3 replied the dad ones tho 💀💀

fans2 replied ...honestly serve them right

fightingfan2 @fightingfan1 this is all ur fucking fault

[hismercytomyjustice]

So I started writing this yesterday and then I got SO MANY FEELS and it was SO LATE but… 

Def got a little too into my own head earlier with the finale  approaching for my BG3 fic. So I reread the draft I have of the final three chapters. And I just…I’m so happy with them??? (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) I don’t even feel like they need any major overhaul editing or anything either.

I have NEVER felt confident about writing endings, but I’m feeling alarmingly confident about this one??? Like, even my OCD doesn’t seem to have anything disparaging to say??? ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!??

I mean, I truly hope other folks feel the same way when they get to the end. But right now I’m just so fucking happy that I do?

Wildly long self-indulgent post about my BG3 fic and the writing process for it below, if that’s something you’re into.

Writing this fic has been such an unexpected rollercoaster of emotions for me. It’s taught me so much about how my OCD manifests and impacts my writing, in addition to building my writing confidence back up in general.

It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written (just about twice as long as the longest before that?!) and I feel like I’ve grown SO MUCH as a writer while working on it for the past six months. I went from thinking I would never write description well to finally feeling like I get it??? I mean I’m sure I still have loads more room for improvement, but I’ve always felt like description has been my biggest weakness as a writer and I finally don’t feel that way anymore??!!

Same with writing endings too!!! I def feel like I have a lot more progress to make on that front, but like…oh my god I actually wrote one I’m super proud of??!!

Not only that, but this fic taught me I actually can jump around while writing??? I’ve always written super linearly before and tbh I still do, but when I got stuck on chapter 12/13 for almost two months, I skipped to the very end because I had an idea spark for that part and because of that I’ve been able to lay more of the groundwork for what I hope is a satisfying wrap up.

God, I was so fucking mortified to bring up my struggles with fanfic writing to my therapist. In retrospect I realize that’s because my OCD spirals around it were getting out of fucking control…

Just a super fun refrain of:

“This isn’t a big deal, you’re doing it for fun. It’s ridiculous how upset you are over a literal hobby no one is forcing you to do. It’s just a fanfic. No one cares about it. It’s not even real writing. No one will even read it or like it anyway. You’re wasting your time. See? You can’t finish anything. You’re stuck at the 60k mark because you lack discipline and commitment. You can’t do this, so you’ll never get anything original published. How many things have you started now that you’ve never finished? You haven’t finished writing anything in almost a decade. You’re wasting your therapist’s time talking about something so absurd. She’s going to laugh in your face.”

And fucking on and on and on.

But like…none of that was true??? FUCKING SHOCKING THAT MY OCD WOULD LIE TO ME, AMIRITE?! When has it EVER done that?!

I just wound up sitting there telling my therapist I was stuck and I had lost the passion for the fic like I always did and I’d wasted three months and 60k words on a story that was never going anywhere because I wasn’t good enough to write it.

And she asked me “What would help you get unstuck?”

And I thought about it and was like: “Maybe if I start posting it, folks will read it or bare minimum I’ll get enough kudos and hits to make my brain go brr enough to finish it?” All I wanted at that point was to regain the drive to finish writing the story I’d put so much heart and time and effort into already.

I mean OF COURSE I hoped folks would read it and like it and leave kudos and omg maybe even leave a comment??!! And since BG3 was and is such a big/popular fandom I was also hoping maybe I could surpass the level of achievement I hit with my multichapter Cardcaptors fic a few years back, if nothing else.

And like, as of last night, this is where I was sitting with both:

And YES. I know that stats are NOT what I should focus on at the end of the day. But GOD IF I DON’T CRAVE THE EXTERNAL VALIDATION!!! Don’t we all…

And like, honest to god, this fic doesn’t have to surpass my CCS fic! One of the absolute (hehe) best things to come from this whole experience has been getting to interact with other cultured Bloodweave sommeliers (haha). I seriously cannot get over just how nice and encouraging and fucking amazing everyone has been with their comments!!! And that multiple people have taken the time to comment on each chapter as they come out??!! Like, I am living the fucking dream!!!  (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

I get so fucking excited every week to share my newest chapter because I desperately want to know how my pressganged Bloodweave book club will react. Like, my HEART IS SO FULL OMG!!!! They are gonna make me cry frfr!!! 

I have personally been such a terrible commenter in the past on fics I’ve enjoyed (i.e. I didn’t fucking comment), but I am trying to become a reformed member of AO3 society because the support I’ve gotten (especially when the doubts start to creep in) has been incredible!!! 100/10, would definitely recommend!!!

And like, some other great stuff has happened that helped me so much along the way too! I read The Accountant’s Guide to Taking Down an Evil Vampire Lord (and maybe bagging Astarion while you are at it) by Cinnamontails. While I was reading it, writing description FINALLY FUCKING CLICKED for me! I was just like “Omfggg?! This is what people are talking about when they say description should do more than one thing!!!” Up to that point I pretty much believed that was like a sort of writing koan or something. Something everyone says, but that isn’t actually meant to be understood because it’s unknowable? Or something like that.

Lemme tell ya, I fucking love learning about writing. I’ve gone to countless writing panels at cons. I listened to podcasts on writing for YEARS (Writing Excuses, I Should be Writing, Ditch Diggers, etc). I’ve read so many books on writing. Watched YouTube videos, took a class, etc, etc! But for some reason the “description should do more than one thing” adage just did not compute. Until I read that fic!

Up to that point, description had always felt like something I threw in as padding around all of my dialogue and character navel gazing. And I fucking STRUGGLED with it as a result. It always felt SO FUCKING BORING to me. I hated it, especially because it never came easily. But now I FINALLY understand and I LOVE writing it!!!!

I went looking for some more tips on writing description and picked up Description: A Busy Writer’s Guide by Marcy Kennedy, which broke things down even further for me!

I felt personally attacked by this part in particular:

“Irrelevant description is what gives description a bad name.

You might think that’s obvious, but so often in my editing work, I’ve seen authors describe things in detail that have no bearing on the story at all. Usually they do it because they’ve been told at one time that they weren’t including enough description and no one told them what kind of description they needed to start including or how to properly include it.”

I am not exaggerating when I say, until very recently, to write description I would find photos of locations, buildings, character inspo, etc and try to focus on what someone more visually inclined would want described because I don’t have a super robust mental image generator. I’ve never had the “I see a movie in my head” while reading gift. Super jelly of folks who do tho! I get more like…flashes maybe? And I didn’t even realize that until I actually made myself pay attention to what was going on in my head while reading fairly recently. I sincerely thought I had aphantasia and people were exaggerating when they said they could picture things in their heads.

Like, when they’d tell you to look at something then close your eyes and envision what you remembered in school (was that just me?). And I’d be like “Okay so we’re just closing our eyes and trying to remember the individual things right? No one actually sees anything.” COLOR ME SURPRISED to find out that WAS NOT the case!

I don’t think I have aphantasia anymore, but like, on the scale from 0 (aphantasia) to 10 (see a movie in my head), I’d say I’m maybe a 3? I can’t envision a whole room or even like…a moving image? Moving images in my head are almost more like extremely short flip books. And the more I try to focus on them, the more out of focus they become. I also really struggle to envision things I’ve never seen before. Like, as a literal picture in my head I mean. It’s easier for me to imagine like…a picture I took of my dog than my actual dog? And like, if I try to do something like envision my bedroom or something, I just kind of pick a point and go from there like “Okay this is what my bed looks like, now it’s gone. This is what my dresser looks like, now it’s gone. This is what my end table looks like, now it’s gone.” It doesn’t form a bigger picture in my head. It’s more like a mental checklist where I think about the different attributes of something (like the color of my sheets, or how many pillows I have) rather than actually see something like the whole bed? Idk. That’s the best way I can think of to explain it.

Ngl, that might very well be part of why writing description like was so difficult and SO FUCKING BORING to me. I didn’t really see things in my head and I’m not a very visual person in general, so I don’t focus a ton on those details anyway as a reader or when I’m physically somewhere. So l felt like all my description was so hamfisted and awkward as a result, and I had absolutely no concept of how much was enough or too much.

But then she goes on in the book to say:

“All description filters through the viewpoint character and is colored by who they are as a person.” And I was just like…ohhhhhhh!!!! That’s exactly what that fanfic did!!!

And then:

“What they notice will also be largely influenced by their circumstances. A character heading into a job interview will be hyper aware of their own appearance, whereas a character who’s crawling around in a cave looking for hidden treasure won’t. A character who is running for their life will notice different things about their surroundings than will a character who isn’t in immediate danger.

If it’s not something they would notice, then we either have to leave it out or come up with a believable, realistic reason for them to notice it.”

Like. OF FUCKING COURSE?! THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE?! HOW DID I NEVER GRASP THIS BEFORE?!

Marcy Kennedy goes on to give other tips like “a good description is specific” and “a good description allows less to be more.” And about how it’s more important to focus on specific, unique details than to try and describe everything about the scene/character (like I would do before). Like, focusing on stuff readers will actually remember and that paints a clearer picture.

She also delves into the specifics of writing for the five senses (another thing I always heard suggested, but never felt I executed well). And on how people naturally notice things from bigger/more obvious to smaller/more specific. She also talks about the psychology behind the things people naturally notice and why and how it’s impacted by who they are as a person (ex. the career they have, their gender, etc).

She gets even more specific with stuff like:

“Description for the purpose of grounding should be quick and needs to happen within the first few paragraphs of a new scene.

If time is the only thing that’s changed, we’ll need to use even less description than if our characters also changed location.

As a general guideline, describe a place in the most depth the first time that setting shows up on the page. Later on, unless something important has changed, a brief re-orienting passage is enough.”

I have DESPERATELY been searching for something this specific. Like just PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TELL ME HOW MANY SENTENCES/PARAGRAPHS TO USE AND HOW FREQUENTLY TO USE DESCRIPTION. And ON GOD that’s exactly what this book does! ദ്ദി ꒦ິ꒳꒦ິ )✧

I still need to finish reading it but omfg I about lost my mind when I found the holy grail I’d been searching for.

And like, I’m sure my description still needs work and I’m using a sledgehammer instead of a regular hammer sometimes. But I’m learning and growing! And I’m sure it’ll become easier with practice! Hell, half the time I’ll write something and not realize until, oh I don’t know I’ve pretty much finished my fucking 100k word fanfic, that I fucking never really physically described my Tav?! I shouldn’t have said that… Now everyone will notice if they hadn’t already.. FUCK.

BUT! My absolute FAVORITE thing to write is character and being told “write description through the lens of your character” got me so fucking hype. I’m not sitting there anymore like “What’s in this room, what would a reader who sees what they read in their head (definitely not me) find most interesting?” and am instead like “What would Character A notice in this room? How are they feeling right now? What does X remind them of? What are they thinking about? What do they like and dislike, how does that impact what they pay attention to?” And I FUCKING LOVE IT!!!!

And I AM SURE this is not groundbreaking information for 99.9% of folks but IT WAS FOR ME!!!!! It has easily doubled my word count for everything I’ve written since then and I’m not stuck massively overthinking it all now! And I actually enjoy it! It doesn’t feel like a miserable slog anymore!

And this is THE MOST OBVIOUS in how my BG3 fic chapters literally DOUBLED OR TRIPLED in length after I got my hands on this book in the middle of writing the fic lol. Almost every shorter chapter in the first 75% of the fic was written prior to me reading this book. And the longer ones? Those were added after! 

Like, chapter two originally didn’t include the Owlbear scene. It just ended after Astarion walked out of the fortress. Meanwhile, chapter five and six DID NOT EXIST. I kinda panicked when I realized the story felt too Astarion heavy when it was supposed to be about both of them. I also felt like the pacing for the story in general was off (too fast). So I went back and added those. Leon and Victoria WERE NOT IN THE STORY until I went back to add chapter five.

Since I was doing alternating POV, if I added another chapter for Gale I needed to add another for Astarion. So I decided to make Astarion’s about them needing to find Gale an artefact in the Underdark. I started researching artefacts there that would satisfy the orb, but wanted to dig deeper and lay a little more groundwork for Astarion starting to care more about Gale and learning to be more kind/compassionate overall.

My headcanon for Astarion is that he’s always been a little selfish, or at least he thinks he is. I expanded on that later on in the fic by implying his parents weren’t the best of people. I felt like Cazador would smell blood in the water as far as folks with prior abuse of some kind were concerned, like a lot of abusers do. So Astarion spent his life up until he moved to Baldur’s Gate trying to be his own person despite the box his parents wanted to fit him in. That was my reason for why he left the Dalelands so young (by elf standards). He was still a grown ass man, but hadn’t reached maturity as far as his parents were concerned.

And like, why did he go as far away as Baldur’s Gate? Because it is like THE OPPOSITE SIDE of Faerun. And there’s no real info on his family anywhere, so I felt like maybe he wasn’t super close with them if he moved so far away. My idea was he felt he couldn’t escape their expectations without putting some real distance between them. And then, in the process, he winds up with Cazador, someone even more determined to mold him into what they want him to be rather than what he wants to be.

I feel like so much of Astarion’s arc in game is about finally being able to become his own person. And I thought it would pair really well with the tragedy of him being turned by Cazador if that happened just when he started take back control of his own life.

My headcanon is a lot of Astarion’s selfishness stems from no one ever being there for him or looking out for him, so he can only rely on himself and fuck everyone else as a result. Except he’s not nearly as callous as he pretends and deep down he genuinely wants to care about others. He just doesn’t know how to do it and feels like it can only come at the expense of his own autonomy/safety/happiness.

SO. What artefact would Astarion have that he could choose to give to Gale? Initially I thought maybe something small like the Ring of Color Spray. That didn’t feel significant enough though. Like, yes it would be something of his that he was choosing to part with, but it wasn’t a big enough of a statement to me. So then I tried to find a cool/powerful weapon or something else that he would be less inclined to part with. Whee, more time researching artefacts! But that didn’t feel right either, so  I decided it should be something with more personal significance because that’s the biggest kind of sacrifice he could make at this point.

So! What would Astarion have that would be powerful enough to satisfy the orb? And why??? Cazador doesn’t exactly seem like the type to give his spawn anything, not even the basics (i.e. Astarion’s 200 years of starvation). Especially not something like a powerful/helpful artefact. And I was like “well, I mentioned they traded favors before back in chapter four, so maybe Leon enchanted something for him?”

BUT WHY?! I really liked the bits and pieces we see of Leon in game. I feel like he’s the quickest to believe Astarion when he says Cazador plans to sacrifice them in the ritual. And he also has a human daughter! Which, yeah, that whole reveal in game gave me major brain worms. Because WHAT. There was a human child just running around Szarr Palace? WHY? What was her life like? What did the other spawn think of her? And I was also so sad we never really saw much in game about her and her father. Even though Leon loses Victoria to Dalyria. I was really surprised there was no follow up to that for him, but lord knows Larian already had 8 billion other things going on, so I get why it wasn’t something they delved further into.

But what would Leon ask for in return for such a big favor? Ooh, what if Victoria’s ill? Cazador doesn’t exactly seem like the type to be like “Oh, sorry, please take all the PTO you need and here’s some money for a healer!” I’d imagine resources suited to caring for a sick human child would be limited in Szarr Palace. And Dalyria has been looking at Victoria like she’s a literal snack for a while now (which is why she kills her in game), so what’s a vampire papa to do???

So then I had to figure out why the self-purported selfish Astarion would agree to help them. At great personal cost, no less. He never mentions Victoria in game and I don’t think there’s anything in game either that indicates he’s ever done her wrong. Leon certainly didn’t seem concerned about him in that regard, so I decided maybe he’s ambivalent toward Victoria. 

So why would he care?!

And then the Drizzt brain worms came back in full force. Because of that fucking phenomenal scene in the DND campaign with Neil fanboying, haha. So maybe Victoria has an interest in Drizzt too? Or maybe in his wife? Like, why wouldn’t a scared little girl who’s stuck in a nest of vampires look up to a strong female role model who is capable of fighting back and saving the day? And I figured Astarion hand’t exactly broadcasted his interest in Drizzt, so maybe this gives him an opportunity to actually connect with someone for once? I feel another major part of Astarion’s character is he is SO FUCKING LONELY. He doesn’t know how to establish actual relationships with people because he never has. And why would he, seeing as any new person he met would just wind up as Cazador’s dinner (as far as he knew anyway). I feel like he’s had to hardcore compartmentalize that part of him for the sake of his sanity.

But now here’s this sick little girl who he can actually help. And she understands what it’s like to dream a hero will swoop in and save the day. And she happens to be interested in stories about the same Drow Ranger  who he’s found his own escape from The Horrors™ in?

Idk if he still would have agreed to help Leon in the fic if he’d had much more time to think about it. So instead he has a moment of weakness where he desperately wants to do something good for once (the only other time having been his sparing his “darling boy”). Something that’s never been done for him, but that he could do for Victoria. He could pretend to be her hero for a little while and get something useful out of it in the process. Win-win!

And like, this doesn’t make them bffs or anything. It’s more like a pivotal moment that just started to lay the foundation for his “redemption” in my fic instead. Then I just kept thinking more and more about what his life was like after with Victoria, who’s already come to trust him a little since he doesn’t treat her poorly or look like he wants to eat her. Especially since I figure that’s probably a pretty novel experience for her given her circumstances.

But he and Gale are in the Underdark! Which has magical artefacts! So why couldn’t they just spend a few thousand words locating an artefact so he doesn’t have to give this ring up? Sure, I could make it imperative Gale needs an artefact like yesterday, but that didn’t feel like enough. Thus Tav’s sister was born, lol! And my Tav became much more of a character in the fic because I did WAAAAY too much research on the Drow for chapter five and was completely fascinated by them.

My Tav was never supposed to feature as much as they did in my fic. They’re literally my Tav from in game, though I didn’t really have an in-game backstory for them. They were just supposed to show up in my fic to help with some scenes/dialogue in lieu of me having to write more interactions with the companions I didn’t feel super confident writing because I didn’t feel like I knew them/their unique voices well enough. To my own detriment, I am obsessed with being as IC as possible when I write fic. Just my personal preference in my writing!

This was my basic ass outline from back in April when I realized I needed to add extra chapters. The checkboxes are chapters drafts I’d finished by that point:

I was about 42k words in when I made it. And the outline changed a little too! I combined my planned chapters for 15 and 16 into one and wrote something else for 16.

And then I got to the bane of my existence, Chapter 13… (≖_≖ ). That was around the 60k mark.

Originally I planned for Astarion to be kidnapped by the spawn and get tortured (a little) and then be rescued by Gale & Co. But it just didn’t feel right. So then I thought “Gale should get kidnapped too, that’ll be more interesting!” And THEN I had Cazador show up. But he was being too…nice? Maybe not nice, but like…too chill/accommodating? Because I didn’t want the fic to get EVEN LONGER by setting Astarion’s progress with his trauma back to the stone ages with prolonged exposure to his abuser.

Originally I had Cazador show up, throw Astarion around a little and then Leon was like “Mister Cazador, sir, he has a tadpole, can we all go somewhere you aren’t so I can take a look at it?” And Cazador was just like “HMPF. OKAY, I GUESS. BUT DON’T FORGET I’M ~EVIL~, even though I’m acting pretty blasé right now!” Cut to Gale, Astarion, and Leon chitchatting in the Favored Spawn room.

And it just…was not fucking working. I felt it didn’t make sense for Cazador. It wasn’t boogeyman enough. Like…no way would he just let them traipse off, even with the tadpole as the reason. Something else needed to happen. Something that would give him an actual reason to have to put Astarion on the back burner. Something BIG!

But fucking WHAT???

My OCD chimed in with: “So happy you asked! Remember that other insecurity you have about being fucking terrible at writing villains? Surprise! It’s true! You’ve hit the biggest part of this fic and now it’s all pointless because you don’t know how to make Cazador be believably mean! Aren’t you glad you wasted three months and 60k words on it? You never finish anything anyway, so why should this be any different?” 

Which is why I brought all of this up to my therapist in the first place. Because I was so fucking disappointed in and frustrated with myself and had all but given up on this fic. I didn’t know what to do next or how to fix what I broke and my motivation to keep writing it was long gone. But if I stopped writing it now, I was 1000% convinced I’d never finish it and I fucking hated that. I was so excited about this story for so long and it felt like it was all over because I “sucked as a writer, lacked commitment, etc.”

It took a while. Like two fucking months, to get out of my own head enough to finally write something I was happy with for chapter 13. I firmly believe I finally got to that point because of how much support and kindness I received from the folks reading my fanfic (who hadn’t found out I was a fraud yet - actual quote from my OCD). I cannot thank all of them enough for helping bolster my self-esteem and helping me get my motivation back! And also because my therapist helped me kill off my own boogeyman of sorts (my OCD around writing)!

Originally I wasn’t going to post this fic until the first draft was completely done. Didn’t matter that I was at 60k words. It wasn’t done, so it wasn’t going up because I hate when people orphan fics. Absolutely no shade to folks who do tho! Life happens! Motivation wanes! But I did A LOT of my own orphaning back in the day on ff.net and I still feel guilty about it to this day. But I pushed past my fear with the encouragement of my therapist and FUCK it paid off!!!

Once I got over the hurdle of writing 12/13, it was pretty much smooth sailing from there. And, omfg, people ACTUALLY LIKED both chapters?! ON GOD?! I felt like they were pretty solid by the time I finally posted them, but it was still hard not to worry I had falsely convinced myself they were good. What if Cazador was TOO mean now? Or what if he still wasn’t mean enough? What if this was too hard of a left turn with the story? What if what if what if…

I seriously cannot thank the folks who’ve commented on both enough for helping allay those fears of mine. It means so fucking much to me that there are so many people out there who were just SO FUCKING KIND to me when they didn’t have to be!  ( ˃̣̣̥︿˂̣̣̥ ) A HUGE thank you to folks who’ve reached out to me or interacted with my posts about my fic on tumblr too, especially asymmetricjest whose ear I know I have talked off at this point in the internet-sense! Knowing there were folks who liked my fic enough to go out of their way to seek me out on tumblr for my Tuesday sneak peeks and to even like my and comment on my posts about writing the fic was a MASSIVE boost to my self confidence! It also made me feel like maybe I had a story worth telling after all! 

I also gotta thank my bff Gourmet for letting me talk her ear off too and for reading the first three chapters before I even posted them. I was SO FUCKING NERVOUS about posting a multi-chapter fic for a brand new fandom (to me). I was especially worried about my characterization of Gale and if it looked like I knew enough about BG3 to be qualified to write a story about it lol. Not that that’s even a thing, but it felt like it to me. Like someone was gonna bust down the door and be like “well, actually” until I gave up on writing and became a hermit in the woods.

Gourmet also made the mistake of telling me sometimes she writes on her phone, which I have taken to heart and then some… I do like 95% of my writing on google docs on my phone now. I went from writing next to nothing to having already written 198,088 words this year. Yes, I’ve been tracking it. Yes, I love spreadsheets. No, I haven’t posted everything I’ve written yet.

That was another thing I struggled with in regard to my OCD. Not just with writing, but with life in general. It’s been so hard for me to accept everything does not have to be perfect before I can do something.

I constantly talk myself out of shit because it’s not perfect. Like:

I should start working out! What’s the research on the perfect amount of exercise? What types? How often? For how long? Etc. And then I come up with a detailed day-by-day routine of working out an hour every day that is not even remotely feasible for me, so I never do it! And I won’t let myself just do 10 random minutes of exercise either because that’s not what the experts said you should do, so that means I can’t do anything! 

Down to shit like, “I can’t work out because my office is a nightmare. There’s too much stuff everywhere.” And “I can’t just go for a short walk by myself. That’s cruel to my dogs who I already don’t walk enough. But if I walk them too, I need to walk them enough, which is at least 20 minutes each. Because a dog should have 30 minutes of exercise a day.” So now my 10 minute impromptu walk has turned into an hour long dog walk because I can’t walk both of them at once (they’re big dogs and I’ve gotten hurt trying to do that before). Which then becomes too intimidating/overwhelming, so I just don’t do it at all! Yay, avoidance!

This is exactly how I’d talk myself out of writing. Just “a real writer would do xyz and since I can’t/don’t, I’m not a real writer. If I don’t write everyday, I’ll never get anywhere. I need at least an hour to write and if I don’t have that, what’s the point? Maybe I’ll just make myself write for 5 minutes a day instead! But that doesn’t feel like enough progress, so that’s not being a real writer.” Just analysis paralysis combined with a hardcore all or nothing mindset. I would spend way too much time focused on my word count each day and beating myself up about it being too low instead of just being happy I was writing, which is something I enjoy doing (ISN’T IT?!).

I used to be a bank teller about a decade ago. It was boring as fuck during the week because there were too many branches around (there was another of our same bank literally one building away from us) so we didn’t get a ton of customers. That resulted in a lot of downtime that I had to fill with something that wouldn’t get me in trouble (i.e. reading or playing on my phone). We also didn’t have internet on our computers as tellers. So I started taking little pocket notebooks with me and writing in between customers. Which was apparently fine! My coworkers would ask me what I was doing and I’d tell them journaling or something like that because I was embarrassed I was writing original romance stuff.

I wound up writing 3 different 50k original works during that time. I’d write in between customers then go home and type up what I wrote every day. And it fucking worked! It gave me something fun to do instead of stare at a wall all day, it kept me from being too perfectionistic about it, and it lowered the demand on my executive function! Win-win-win!

But then I got a different office job where there wasn’t downtime in between tasks (or at least not that you could enjoy without getting in trouble) so that fell by the wayside. I probably could’ve been writing on my work laptop or something instead, but I had undiagnosed ADHD at the time and spent so much time procrastinating while trapped in the office because it didn’t take me that long to do my work. I also didn’t realize a lot of ADHDers procrastinate because then they get a spike of adrenaline as a deadline looms, so. Yeah. Classic ADHD in retrospect.

But writing on my phone is a whole different ballgame! It doesn’t feel like “real” writing. I can do it whenever! Waiting in a doctor’s office? Write! Woke up in the middle of the night? Write! Laying down on the couch with no motivation to move? Write! 

It lowers the barrier for my executive function because I always have my phone on me! No longer am I like “do I have enough time to go to trouble of opening my laptop, opening my google doc, trying to remember where I was, etc” and getting too worked up over having “dedicated” writing time because otherwise I’m not a real writer. There aren’t all these mental hurdles I have to leap over anymore. It’s just “I want to write” > “picks up phone”.

Do I feel fucking deranged writing almost 200k words so far on my phone? ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY I DO! Could I write way faster on my laptop? 10000%! But it works! So I try not to think about it too much, lol. I have started editing more on my laptop though because editing on my phone takes for fucking ever. Editing in general takes me for fucking ever.

But yeah, this was wildly fucking long but I just had a lot of stuff I wanted to mentally process about this whole process because it’s been a really fucking big deal for me. And writing stuff out helps me process it.

If you’ve actually read all of this, you are a saint and I hope some of it resonated with you, especially if you’re a writer too. And, even if you aren’t, I hope it was at least interesting/entertaining!

God, I am so pre-upset about finishing this fic, lol. I don’t want it to end. It’s given me so much structure to my weeks and so much to look forward to. It’s gonna fuck with me once it’s over and I have to find other stuff to occupy my time and I don’t get my Wednesday dopamine hit. I mean, I’m hoping I’ll be writing something else by then (I do have an HH fic that’s 30k+ words already that I need to finish). But I fucking hate change and it’s gonna be a big change for me after I’ll have spent around 7 months on this whole thing.

But seriously, I cannot thank the phenomenal folks who’ve supported me along the way by reading, kudosing, bookmarking, subscribing, commenting, etc enough! This fic would not have gotten written without your support! And thank fuck for my therapist too because I had literally no idea my OCD was so obsessed with my writing until I was in the midst of this fic.

But yeah, it's been super cathartic to journal about my process with this fic and how I've learned and grown from writing it. And my OCD is definitely not completely gone when it comes to my writing, but it's more manageable at present and I'm def gonna take that as a win!

[decamarks]

Hey there! First off I want to say I *adore* your art, you absolutely 1000% perfectly tap into the vibe and style of late 90's/early 00's 3D models in a way literally no one else does. I think about your art of your fake games' glitches (especially the forum post!!! it's. *perfect.*) all the time :)

And I've noticed how you're always very insightful and kind whenever you answer asks, so thank you for that!

If it's not too intrusive to ask, I was wondering how you went about finding a doctor to get your autism diagnosis? I've been pretty sure for a few years now that I'm on the spectrum, but I've never had a clue how to actually get tested/diagnosed. Especially since I'm an adult female too, and I've heard a ton about how autism is really overlooked/underdiagnosed for people like us.

But seeing that you were able to find someone who avoided all the common pitfalls and was able to actually help you made me want to reach out. I had been wanting to ask you this for a while (as you can probably tell based on what the question was haha) but I was too anxious to actually do it (still am, a bit ><). Again, feel free to ignore this part if it's too personal or you don't want to answer it for any reason!

It feels awkward to end an ask with that, so I'll bookend it with something I think you'll like: have you ever heard of trsrockin.com? It's an old fansite I used to visit religiously as a kid that talked about early Pokemon and Super Mario games and collectibles from them, as well as oddities like glitches from the aforementioned games, forgotten weird one-off SNES games, documenting fake/trick fanmade "cheats" for games, and bootleg merchandise.

It's one of if not the first public place (afaik) that MissingNo. and pals were discovered/talked about, and a little community came together to try and figure out why the glitch happened and what all the effects and variants of it were. Even you've been to trsrockin before and none of this is new info, I thought it would at least be a nice trip down memory lane :)

It's an old site that has since been taken down, and for some reason archive.org can't properly archive the full site/all its links. But luckily someone created a complete mirror of it! You can find it here: http://catfish.it.cx/trsrockin/trsrockin.com/index.html

AHH THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!! ;__; you're too kind... i know i haven't posted too much of my 3d work recently, but trust me, i have a LOT more of those faux-retro aesthetics in store with the game i've been working on... >=) i'm always so so happy to see other people appreciate janky ol' 3d graphics, LMFAO

also!! i've definitely heard of trsrockin eheehee... i was a bit too young to use it when it was in its prime (and also more of a bulbapedia enthusiast), but i've perused some archived pages before! old internet forums & fansites are just the best thing in the world...

ANYWAY: regarding your question! Honestly, I'm not sure if I'm the best person to give advice about this, because I feel like I kind of got my diagnosis by chance... Essentially: I started seeing a new therapist; she suggested I might be on the spectrum, I said, "Yeah maybe IDK"; I got a referral to an evaluator—and then an incredibly expensive diagnosis after a few months of waiting and testing.

My case differs in that I didn't really suspect being on the spectrum myself. Which seems a bit silly, considering I now realize I am... observably autistic. In abundance. But it was genuinely hard to puzzle out, what with all my other problems (particularly, severe misophonia, which can be REALLY hard to differentiate from general sensory sensitivity.) So about specifically seeking out a diagnosis, I unfortunately can't give a good answer. But I'm willing to talk about the rest, on the off-chance it ends up helpful! (Under the cut at least.)

I don't like to be too open about my Issues™ online—but I got a whole lot of them, and they used to be a lot worse than they are now, so I was stuck in that perpetual "adolescent with treatment-resistant depression" purgatory for, like... my entire adolescence! Because no one knew what the hell was wrong with me. I'm barely in adulthood now, but I'm extremely thankful to be broken out of that. Both the 'treatment-resistant depression' diagnoses AND the adolescence. Being told with authority that I, indeed, have an untreated case of mega-autism—and not an irreparably broken brain whose electrical activities zap SSRIs straight out of existence—is definitely relieving. And now I can confidently say shit like 'mega-autism', so like, wins all around.

About getting a diagnosis in general: in my case, I kind of needed one, because it would be not be feasible for me to go to school/work/exist without accommodations of some kind. (The evaluation I had was, in part, just to get a psychological report of any kind, since I desperately needed supporting documentation to request accommodations anywhere.) Otherwise, I'm honestly not sure if I'd bother?

On one hand, an official diagnosis is an incredibly affirming thing to have—especially if you didn't even suspect it before; things start making a lot of sense afterwards, LOL—but on the other hand, it is a tedious and kind of humiliating process. And possibly expensive.

And then, like you mentioned, there's the problem of some doctors being biased or plainly godawful at their job/poorly designed systems ruining everything for everyone. It's probably for incompetency on those ends that a diagnosis managed to elude me for nineteen years straight. (Vividly recalling the time my school had a counselor give me an impromptu autism evaluation, in which she concluded that I "didn't seem to have autism, but would probably get along really well with autistic people." WHATEVER THAT MEANT.) But! It's not impossible to get someone who knows what they're doing! I'd love to say otherwise, but I really did just stumble into a decent doctor... There's a lot of luck involved, and man. I did not get good RNG at first. (← I'M SORRY FOR BEING A GAMER.)

I went into the evaluation doubting I had it, and heavily doubting that I'd be diagnosed, but like... Hold on let me reach across your desk and slide you the answers to the autism test. The trick is to not even try to be normal, I think. Intermittently talk about CRT monitors, and how you like learning ciphers, and Pokemon glitches—or whatever else you're into. But those specifically worked for me! "Don't mask", is what I'm saying. (Really though, I think if you're answering everything to the best of your ability, properly administered tests done by a doctor who doesn't suck should be able to diagnosis you. If they don't, then the problem is something systemic, and far beyond anything I could reasonably give advice about...)

ANYWAY! (x2) I'm honestly not sure if any of this is particularly helpful, but if you decide to pursue it, I wish you luck with getting your diagnosis!! It's definitely a bit of a hellish thing to do—but dammit, if it's worth it to you, then it's definitely worth doing.

YOUR REWARD FOR READING THIS WHOLE POST IS: "Kinesin_walking.gif"

YEEEEEAAAAAAHHHH