#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

[jordiemeow]

MARVEL BOT DUMP ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

30/05/25

featuring characters from: marvel cinematic universe

finally logged back in… everybody cheers. 1.4k is so insane i cant fathom that amount of people using my silly little bots thank u all so much !! i love u gooners 🫶🫶

yelena and bob have been living rent free in my head since coming out of that cinema. here u go my apology for being inactive af

all bots are gender neutral unless specified otherwise.

enjoy! <3

THE THUNDERBOLTS*

WINDING DOWN

thunderbolts* x user

None of you are used to this part—the warmth after a mission. The normal part where no is sulking in a corner. No one is drowning in guilt. No one is making you talk about your pasts or interrogating you about nightmares. You're just people.

COMFORT PERSON

bob reynolds x user

He doesn't mind having a therapist. He's had enough at this point to be able to dodge questions expertly. As far as he's concerned, he doesn't need some professional to talk him off a cliff every time the Void feels a bit too overwhelming. He just needs you—his comfort in human form. Existing with him like you always do: like he doesn't scare you, even when he should.

CONGRESSMAN

bucky barnes x user

The problem is that you're good at your job. Too good. You ask the questions that no one else dares to. You quote history, pull receipts from dusty archives, and when you look at him if feels like you can see all the years he's spent trying to forget the man he used to be. And yet he just keeps coming back for more.

NIGHT TERRORS

yelena belova x user

She's been plagued by nightmares her entire life, but ever since Nat's death, they're constant. Easy enough to deal with when she's alone in some shitty motel around the world, but now you're all living in the same building. She has you to whisper into her hair until she falls back asleep. The weight isn't only hers to bear anymore.

AROUND THE COMPOUND

bob reynolds x user

It's not often that Bob gets a moment to himself. Without the Void, anyways. But on one of those rare good days, you invite him to make dinner with you, and he's more than happy to make himself useful. He likes spending time with you more than he'd ever admit.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: BRAVE NEW WORLD

BABYSITTING

joaquín torres x user (m4f)

When your sister is out of town for the weekend, you’re reluctant to take on the duty of babysitting your nephew. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, sees it as the perfect opportunity to prove to you that he’s in this for the long haul. Turns out he’s not very good at playing bad cop, though.

NEW DUTIES

sam wilson x user

With Steve gone, there's a lot of weight on his shoulders. The pressure, the scrutiny, the constant comparisons—it's exhausting. He questions if he's enough, if he’s honouring the legacy or just holding space. Throughout it all, he has you to ease some of that pressure.

MISCELLANEOUS

PRETTY NEW NEIGHBOUR

wanda maximoff x user (wlw)

There’s something off about the woman who moved in across the street. That’s what you think at first, anyways. But after several long weeks of awkward interactions and watching each other through your windows, an unlikely friendship blossoms between the two of you. Maybe even something more.

BAR CRAWL

natasha romanoff x user (wlw)

A night of hopping between bars for Steve Roger’s birthday started as a joke. Several drinks later, though, Nat is really starting to enjoy herself. Especially when the pretty thing making eyes at her from the corner lets her buy them a drink.

LAB PARTNER

peter parker (tasm) x user

For a self-proclaimed genius, he’s really embarrassing himself as your lab partner. But it’s impossible to form a coherent thought when you’re sitting there looking so effortlessly gorgeous. He just has to find a way to impress you without stumbling over his words.

taglist: @tacobacoyeet @blastzachilles @gracelynnx @femme-lusts @voidsuites @cha11engers @magicalmiserybore @m4lodr4ma @newrochellechallenger2019 @coolgrl111 @peachyparkerr @stanart4clearskin @misswrldd @kaalxpsia @downtwngrl @pittsick @strfallz @artspats @dazedandconfusedlvr @turnerrst @elsieblogs @idyllicdaydreams @lvve-talks @won-every-lottery @thischarmingchimp @ellaynaonsaturn @xoxoeviee @cryinginanuncoolway @artaussi @shahabaqsa0310 @whokankathycancan @ashdaidiot @jesuistrestriste @florkt — (join here)

[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.

[gothamite-rambler]

Talia and Harley were having tea together. Harley was visiting to inform her of an important date and see if she could get her as a client for her new street therapy.

Talia: Harley, while I admire your wanting to bring me in as a client, I simply do not trust you as a therapist. I hope you understand.

Harley: I actually appreciate ya honesty. That did sting a bit, but it’s not why I came here.

Talia: Then what is it… Nightwing, Red Hood? I can’t stand that Nightwing. He’s undeserving of happiness, and that-

Harley (interrupting): Talia, he’s my friend, and that’s not why I’m here. I wanted to talk about ya son.

Talia (perking up): Oh, my precious star? What would you like to ask me?

Harley: When did ya have him? Let’s start there.

Talia: In the middle of December, took me fourteen hours of pushing him out my vagina, and it was worth it, especially when I got my sanity back.

Harley: Right. And what month is it now?

Talia: June.

Harley (crossing her legs): And what did ya miss on December 19th?

Talia: Um… not Christmas. I was busy launching this startup around that time. If I birthed Damian in winter and it’s now summer, that means…

Talia paused, realization dawning on her.

Talia: I gave birth to Damian on December 19th… I forgot his birthday, didn’t I?

Harley (holding her teacup): Yeah. He said he’s used to it. It bothered me, some of the birthdays Damian has had with ya…

Harley hesitated, then continued.

Harley: Ninjas attackin' him for his last three birthdays isn’t exactly the best gift.

Talia (defensive): It was for a good reason. My father and I wanted to see how good Damian was at fighting in surprise attacks, and-

Harley (flatly): He was workin' with Batman. That should’ve been enough evidence.

Talia: My father demanded those training sessions, and it’s not like Damian ever failed. I even sent him a gift card afterward.

Harley: That’s a nice, uh, consolation prize. Damian did say he was able to fight them off, but was trauma really the best gift to give him? Especially after, ya know, puttin' a hit on his life that one time.

Talia (stammering): I- I… You actually have a point… Oh my God, you’re right!

Harley took a sip from her teacup, smiling knowingly.

Harley: I surprise myself when I’m right. Glad ya see it, too. Damian isn’t mad at ya anymore, but seein' him dejected because you don’t send him good gifts... That makes me feel bad for him. Batman and the family are a great support system, don’t get me wrong, but if you’ve really changed, you can’t keep forgettin' important dates like this.

Talia (defensive): I’m aware! I have a busy schedule, but starting now, I’ll add birthdays to it. I’m a few months behind, but a birthday gift is a birthday gift, no matter when. Quick, what do boys like? Fisher-Price still a thing, right?

Harley (flatly): Talia, he just turned twelve.

Talia (shocked, raising her voice): I thought he was nine! Okay, I can work with that. I’ll call Bruce, no, no, he’ll be upset I forgot his birthday and think I don’t care. But I do care!

She stood up, her thoughts racing, tugging at strands of hair.

Harley: Yeah, none of us doubt that, except maybe Nightwing. Since you’ve been making progress in your own way, I’ve seen it.

Talia (slight panic in her voice): Exactly. Progress, good progress for me! He’s my habibi. I spent fourteen hours pushing him out of my body. My mind just gets foggy sometimes.

Harley: Talia…

Talia: If I’d remembered, trust me, I’d throw him a party, with no ninjas or dangerous tests. I’m a busy woman. I’m a businesswoman before I’m a fighter. That is more than you can say for those raising him. Not that I hate them… except Nightwing. And this isn’t me excusing my actions. Don’t say it is!

Harley (repeating): Talia.

Talia: Do you think he’d want to go to the pizza place with the giant rat mascot? No, that’s not for beginning pre-teens.

Harley (raising her voice slightly): Talia!

Talia (frustrated, shouting): What?!

Harley handed her phone to Talia, open to the Amazon app.

Harley: What ya see is his wish list. That’s the stuff he wants as gifts. Ya ain't gotta buy everything, just one or two items. You can even get the gifts wrapped.

Talia: Amazon? Yes, this is perfect! Oh, bless you, Harley!

She eagerly began scrolling, adding every book on his wishlist to her cart.

Talia: Wow, he has a lot of books here. I’ll buy them all! And the Lego set and the dolls too.

Harley shrugged, sipping her tea as Talia kept adding items.

Two weeks later, Damian received numerous packages from Amazon, each filled with the books he had saved in his wishlist. Every book was beautifully gift-wrapped with a note saying Happy Birthday, all signed from Talia. Damian blinked, unsure of how to react.

Damian: She actually got these for me?

He looked around, debating whether Bruce had also bought him all these gifts. One item confirmed it was Talia, the Titanic Lego ship he wanted.

Damian: I told her about this last month. I haven’t even added this to my wish list yet. Hmm… she really did get me all these gifts and threw in some extra items. Wow.

He smiled softly, holding his Lego ship happily.

Damian (preparing himself for the phone call): If she got the notification that the packages were delivered, she should be calling any second now.

His phone rang two seconds later, right on cue. He answered reluctantly.

Damian: Don’t speak yet. I just wanted to say thank you for the gifts. While it’s not great that you forgot my birthday, I’m glad this wasn’t ninjas. Now, you can react.

Talia (sweetly): I am terribly sorry for my memory slipping. Work has been hell here, but I’ve added your birthday to my schedule. Next year, you’re getting a normal party. I want to make you happy after everything I put you through.

Damian: I can see you mean that. You’re still on trial, though.

Talia laughed softly.

Talia: I don’t blame you. It’s smart to keep your guard up. You are my precious, twelve year old gift, which I most certainly remembered what age you are!

Damian (rolling his eyes): I’m going to choose to believe that. Thank you, Mother. I… love you.

Talia: I love you too! Happy late birthday.

[quicksilver-castiel]

The answer is staring you between your eyes

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Pairing: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims

Archive warnings: None

Rating: Teen and up

Summary:

There's nothing wrong with Jon. Well, nothing except being the favourite chew toy of one of the Eldritch horrors plaguing his world, of course. But apart from that, he's a normal man. Nothing unusual going on in his brain at all. Unfortunately, the therapist doing his autism assessment begs to differ.

Author's note:

Written for day 8 of @jonmartinweek with the prompts Scottish Safehouse // Disability & Diagnosis.

Jon is having a time™ with the results of his autism assessment. Fortunately, Martin is there to be normal about it.

Read on AO3 or below the cut

“Do you ever find it difficult to look people in the eyes?” the doctor asked.

Jon’s frown deepened. “Not really,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. This was properly silly, and a waste of his time. “I just sort of… look between people’s eyes.”

The doctor’s hand came to a stop, the scratch of the ballpen on paper fading. “Come again?” he asked.

Jon gestured between his own eyes, over his nose. “Here. I just sort of look there.” Surely, that was what all people did, wasn’t it? After all, it was quite a bother to decide which of your counterpart’s eyes to focus on. And even if one did decide, it was still entirely too draining to try and interpret every minute twitch of someone’s eye movements and facial muscles all the time.

“I see,” the doctor said, and wrote down something else.

What was he writing, exactly? Jon grew annoyed at himself for wanting to know, and pushed away the Eye which had started to metaphorically peer over his shoulder.

“And would you say you’re at all picky about your food?” the doctor continued.

“No, I wouldn’t think so.” Jon paused. “Well, there are some things I dislike, but it’s not as though I make a big deal of it. It is rather infuriating when restaurants put herbs on top of a perfectly good meal, of course. You know, when everything is cooked together, the flavours blending splendidly, and then at the last second, another flavour is added — and only in a certain place, to boot, only on top, so the first few bites taste only of those wretched herbs, and then you’re finally rid of them?”

Jon huffed, adjusting his seat in the armchair. “Apart from that, I have some likes and dislikes, like everyone else. I used to be picky, of course, as a child, but my grandmother made sure to drive that out of me. I still can’t stand some things — mushrooms have a horrible consistency, and I wish that people wouldn’t make mushy peas or mashed potatoes if they’re going to leave chunks in there. Raw tomatoes are an abomination, of course.

“But, as I said, it’s not as though I don’t eat them. I try to avoid them, but if there are no other options, I will eat them.”

The doctor scribbled some more notes on his clipboard. Probably writing down that Jon had grown up to become a normal eater, no more picky than anyone else.

“I see, I see. Do you ever have problems reading people’s facial expressions?” the doctor asked, his eyes flicking up to Jon’s face before quickly going back to his notes.

“Occasionally,” Jon admitted. “Generally, I feel that I’m able to judge people’s intents quite well, though I must admit, sometimes I can’t be bothered to.”

This time, the doctor looked up at him longer. “Can’t be bothered to?” he repeated.

“Yes. Admittedly, it is a vice —  laziness, I suppose. But sometimes I prefer to channel my energy into other things than the constant interpretation of muscle movements. I have been told, though, that my own face is rather hard to read. Of course I’m the wrong person to judge on this, as I don’t spend excessive time looking in the mirror. Some people have accused me of ‘resting bitch face’, though I’m half certain that it was a joke.”

The doctor made a thoughtful noise. “Yes, well. Mr. Sims… Do you ever find yourself becoming absorbed by specific things…?”

Jon pursed his lips. “Now, that is a rather unclear question, isn’t it? Define ‘absorbed’ and ‘specific’.”

The doctor did not sigh. Judging from the blank look on his face, though, Jon had the distinct feeling that he wanted to.

Martin heard the door open, then fall closed a moment later. It was unusual that Jon didn’t close it slowly, careful not to make too loud a noise, and so Martin peeked his head into the hallway to check on him.

“Everything all right?” he asked, then frowned when Jon just continued to stare down at his shoes.

That was even more unusual. Taking off his shoes was the first thing Jon always did when he came home — he hated how they constricted his feet. “Jon?”

Startling, Jon blinked up at him, then frowned and glanced back down at his shoes. Finally, he moved to take them off.

“Sorry, what did you say?” he asked.

“I asked if you were alright.”

“Ah, yes. Well. I-” Jon mouth worked, but no further sound came out. Eventually, he snapped it shut, looking quite mutinous. He got like that sometimes — frustrated that he was unable to properly convey what he wanted to say, or to say anything at all.

Martin usually just let him work it out in silence, waiting for him to come back with a properly laid out sentence. But this time he was worried, and so he poked and prodded a little.

“What did the doctor say?”

Jon hadn’t told him what the psychologist would be screening for, though from the way Jon had grumbled about it, Martin had picked up that it must be some kind of disability. Martin wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. Jon was a bit odd in some respects, sure, but no more so than other people. No more so than Martin himself.

And Jon couldn’t exactly have an intellectual disability. He was the smartest man Martin knew. A bit naive, sometimes, but with a sharp mind and an unerring focus.

So what was there to screen him for?

It was becoming clear from the tense set of Jon’s shoulder that Martin wasn’t going to get any answers in the hallway. So Martin ushered Jon into the living room, planting him on the sofa, while Martin went to make some tea.

It was only after half his mug that Jon spoke again.

“The doctor said that I’m-” He broke off, then tried again. “That I was-”

Again, Jon’s mouth worked around words that simply weren’t coming. He looked frustrated, and his eyes slowly grew red-rimmed as he huffed at himself.

Martin reached out with his hand, but Jon flinched away, drawing his legs up on the sofa as he curled in on himself.

“He said- he said that I was autistic,” Jon finally whispered.

“Wait,” Martin said. “Are you serious?”

Jon curled in on himself further. Fuck, that had been the wrong thing to say.

“Sorry, sorry, I was just surprised. Um… come here?” Martin held his arms open.

Jon only glanced at them warily before pressing his chin against his knees again.

“Sorry,” Martin said again.

“I’m not-” Jon’s jaw was so tense that all Martin wanted to do was reach out and rub his hand over it. But that would only have driven Jon further up the wall, he knew. “It’s ridiculous. Utter nonsense. I’m not autistic. Just because I can be a bit-bit clueless sometimes in social situations- I mean, I don’t exactly make an effort in those moments, do I? It’s not- it’s just laziness.”

“Did-” Martin cut himself off, biting his lip. But Jon was looking at him. “Is that what your grandmother always said?”

The deep annoyance on Jon’s face morphed into surprise for a moment, before settling back over his features. “I don’t- I mean, I suppose? She was right, though, wasn’t she? I could just never be bothered to make friends. It just always seemed like so much effort, and I don’t…” He trailed off, something like hurt passing over his face.

“Okay.” Martin took a deep breath to collect his thoughts. “You don’t like the diagnosis. That’s fair. But also, how much do you actually know about autism? Because pretty much everything I know is from Rain Man, and somehow I doubt that a Hollywood movie can teach us all we need to know about… any topic, really, but especially something like that.”

“So, what are you suggesting?” Jon said dryly. But the tension in his shoulders eased a bit as he looked up at Martin. “That we do research?”

Martin grinned. “I’ll set up a case file.”

Even though it had been Martin who had suggested it, and Jon had been extremely dubious about it at first, in the end it was still him who dug into the research the hardest.

When Martin went to bed at midnight, Jon was still at it, and when he trotted back into the living room at seven a.m., brushing sleep from his eyes, Jon was once again — or maybe still — staring at his laptop screen.

“Jon,” Martin said, holding back a yawn. “Please tell me you got some sleep.”

Jon frowned, his eyes still on the screen, likely finishing a sentence. Then he looked up, blinking. Turned his head towards the window, through which light was pouring.

Martin turned off the overhead light.

“Oh,” Jon said sheepishly. “What time is it?”

“Time for breakfast.” This time, Martin let the yawn out. “Did you find anything more worthwhile?”

Jon nodded, his eyes lighting up in that way they always did when they had found key information on a statement.

With a movement of his head, Martin indicated that he wanted to go to the kitchen, and Jon collected the laptop and his ebook reader and followed him. As they walked the few steps through the hallway, Jon started talking.

“There’s quite a lot of lived experience out there once you get past the more… second-hand accounts.” Jon’s displeasure at all the #AutismMom accounts and the countless guides aimed at parents drowning out any first-hand accounts had already been apparent the day before, but if anything, the disdain seemed to have only deepened. “What I can gather is that while things are better than they were forty years ago, they’re still rather dire. And I’m not surprised, if even people like us, who are generally aware of the state of rights of minority groups, haven’t really been in contact with this topic-”

Jon kept talking as Martin cooked their eggs and sausages, telling him all about false prejudices, the spectrum of autistic experience, and the challenges faced by autistic people with regard to employment, social lives, and autonomy.

It did sound dire indeed. So when Martin was half-way through his breakfast and Jon took a second to breathe and then another to shovel eggs into his mouth, Martin said: “Just because you were diagnosed doesn’t mean things will suddenly get worse for you, you know. It’s not like you have to even tell anyone.”

Jon blinked up at him, then, startled and with the fork still in his mouth. “Ah,” he said once he had chewed. “Yes, I… yes.” He looked away.

“... Jon, did you forget that this was about you?”

“No,” Jon said immediately, bristling. He squirmed in his chair. “It just… wasn’t at the forefront of my mind, I suppose.”

Martin sighed. “I think we need to tell your doctor to adjust the score on the ‘do you ever get absorbed by anything’ question. Maybe put it up a few notches, yeah?” he said teasingly.

Jon grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like it started with ‘bugger’ and ended with ‘off’.

“I mean, did you even tell him that you pull all-nighters all the time, because you simply forget that time exists?” Martin kept teasing.

Jon crossed his arms in front of his chest. “It didn’t come up.”

Smiling, Martin hooked a foot around Jon’s ankle under the table. “I love you, you know that?”

Jon hid his smile behind his tea mug. “You may have mentioned it before.” Then his smile wobbled. “Don’t you… I mean, isn’t it weird for you? If I am autistic?”

Martin shrugged. “Not really? I already knew about your quirks. This is just putting them into  context, I guess.”

Jon seemed to think about it. “I suppose,” he then said, not looking entirely convinced.

“Hey, I’ve been in love with you since you first shouted at me. You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Martin said, mostly so Jon would laugh.

He did — it was a small, but beautiful laugh, making Jon’s face light up. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Maybe.” Martin reached out for Jon’s hand, and hooked their little fingers together. “But I’m your weirdo.”

Jon’s expression softened, and he leaned over to press a kiss to the corner of Martin’s mouth. “That, you are,” he murmured fondly, fingers tracing the freckles on Martin’s cheek. “I love you too.”

Maybe they could just be weird together. If Jon was lucky, maybe even for a long, long time.

[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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@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

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[sup3riorsese]

Long Way Back to the Barn: Chapter 1 Rewrite

When she said she didn’t want to go after Brooklyn, she expected backlash. She and Kenji had already discussed the reactions of the other three members and knew they wouldn’t agree. Kenji already suffered so much with his family, he was rightfully done. Sammy was… just so tired. Tired of being scared and hungry. She had just gotten to a point where the world wasn’t mind-numbing, only to get thrown back into danger. All because Brooklyn wanted to be a hero for some lab experiments. Lab experiments that changed their life to the point they won’t ever be normal. 

She wanted to go home. She missed her farm, she missed her cow. She didn���t even know if Bessie and her calf were okay. She’d luckily thought ahead and trained Bessie to get out of the barn and get food and water in case she wasn’t there. She had left so fast that she couldn’t tell if the raptors got to them. She needed to go home.

But of course, of course, things couldn’t be nice.

———

Sammy hated the coverlet under her. It felt too thin and light, and it felt like it was made out of fake material. The pillow she clutched was even worse, gummy and flat. She didn’t know how anyone slept with a bed like this. The room was both too cold and too hot. Anywhere near the walls radiated off the snow and ice from the outside, while the middle of the room was somehow stuffy and humid. At least in Texas, it’s either hot or cold, stormy or clear. She hated Italy, hated that she was forced to be there because of the most stupid circumstances. 

Brooklyn wanted to play hero or vigilante to some madman’s creations, deciding that all other life is forfeit. Did it not matter that her friends, family were being hunted for her actions? Was her mission just so important that them nearly dying to the creatures she was out trying to save didn’t matter? She knew who mattered. Darius, the sweet boy who grew to be an even sweeter man, mattered. Ben, who went from a germaphobe to a wild child, mattered. Kenji, the egotistical kid who truthfully was so caring and kind, mattered. Yaz, the girl who turned into a social butterfly, the girl she loved, mattered. She didn’t understand how that was so hard for Brooklyn to see, she didn’t know why it was so hard for Yaz to comprehend.

Now, she’s in a mixed temperature room, on an uncomfortable bed, far from home, arguing with her girlfriend because apparently she was acting out of character.

“I feel like you ignored me when I asked you to hand over the phone.”

Sammy knew what she was doing. Using that stupid therapist talk like she used when Sammy got upset about the thumbs up emoji or whenever they had a problem. Sammy wondered if Yaz thought she was doing good at communicating right now.

Sammy took a breath to calm her thumping heart. She knew where this would lead, no matter how much she tried to stop it. 

Breathe. 

Therapist talk it is. “I hear you, but I feel like you should be mad at Brooklyn, not me.” Sammy clutched the pillow tighter to her chest, hoping the shakiness in her voice wasn’t noticeable.

“Why you soundin’ like that? Speak up.”

Sammy shuddered, “Right, but I feel like if you-” Stop. “-moved more quickly, I could have gotten to her.”

Breathe. 

“Ok, well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Brooklyn chose, alright?” Her eyes were burning a hole in the floor at this point. This didn’t matter. None of this mattered. She was tired, exhausted. She hasn’t been able to sleep, she’s gone hungry far too many nights, and she’s off her pills. All she wanted was her cow. God, if something happened to Bessie, Sammy wouldn’t survi-

Yaz broke Sammy’s spiralling thoughts, “Wha- of course it matters,” she felt the bed shift behind her as Yaz shifted, “Sammy, babe, I think this runs deeper than just Brooklyn.”

Is she trying to insinuate something? Sammy felt her temper flare for the briefest of moments. No. Yaz wouldn’t bring that up. She knew how she felt about that. Sure, maybe she didn’t give her girlfriend the full story, but she had told her enough to get the point across. Yaz wouldn’t, especially not in an argument. Right?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then you’re not being honest with yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

Sammy finally turned to her girlfriend, allowing the pillow she had previously clutched to fall to her lap. Yaz looked frustrated, exasperated even. How would she know if her was being honest when she hadn’t been around for over a year? How dare she assume anything about her after over a year.

Sammy needed to leave. To breathe air that wasn’t stifled, to exist in a space without being judged. She was tired of being judged. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

“You ain’t mine.”

Sammy shuddered as she tried to push the voice back to the depths of her mind. She didn’t need this right now. It wasn’t important. It didn’t matter. She was past it. She had to be.

Yaz's brows furrowed as she saw Sammy’s face, “You were so much happier around the Mballos than I've seen you be in a long time. I think that's because they were such a tight family.” 

Breathe.

“What does that have to do with anythin’?” Sammy was getting anxious, she felt it. Her heart was racing, her breath was short, and her hands shook. She didn’t want to talk about family. She didn’t want to talk about him. 

She prayed, begged, that Yaz wouldn’t bring them up. Yaz knew her, she had to. Had it been so long? Did Yaz forget, or simply didn’t care? She wouldn’t be surprised if no one cared. Her “father” didn’t-

“Babe, you're still mad at your family for how they treated you.” 

The flood of emotions that rushed through Sammy almost gave her whiplash. She turned away from the other woman, trying to conceal her growing anger and tears. She forced herself not to shake. Why is she surprised Yaz wasn’t listening? Why did she expect anyone to?

“And I agree. They should have listened to you about how they run their business. But what I never understood was that you cut them out of your life completely!”

“-cut them out of your life-”

“-you cut them-”

He was five at the time. He was in excruciating pain after a cow had bitten his finger. Blood dripped onto the floor as he clutched his hand. “Daddy-” He cried as he came out of the barn, tears running down his face. “Daddy!” His Daddy was nowhere to be seen. He walked ten minutes back to his house, blood sliding down his arm by the time he reached the steps. His Abuela had rushed to his aid as she saw his trembling, bloodied state, snapping at her son for leaving her grandson alone. Turns out, his Daddy had come back home without him, all because his younger sister was throwing a tantrum.

She could feel herself struggling to breathe. She wrapped her arms around herself in some effort to make it stop.

He was ten. He was sitting in the front office of his school after a fight. His nose was bleeding, and his lip was sore. The office attendant called home, and his Momma answered. He heard yelling over the phone as the poor little lady at the front desk tried to calm his Momma down. After about five minutes, the office attendant put the phone down and looked at him with sympathy. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Your mom’s not coming.” He had simply nodded and asked for some tissues for his nose. When he was picked up late after school, his Momma yelled at him for waking his sister up when she was sick, all because he got into a fight. He hadn’t told her that the other boys were talking about her.

She felt sick. It wasn’t fair. Why her? Why did it have to be her?

She was fourteen. She had just stepped onto the dock when she was pulled into a tight hug. She realized suddenly that her Daddy had thrown himself at her, holding her as if he feared she’d disappear. She couldn’t help but cry. Her Daddy was here now. She was gonna be fine as long as he took care of her, she was sure. It was only later that she realized that was the first time he ever hugged her.

Breat-

“Sammy? Sammy, look at me.”

She couldn’t breathe. The room was blurry, too bright, and too dark all at once. Her clothes felt like they burned. She put her face in her hands, gasping for air. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go home.

She shrank from the hand that tried to touch her shoulder. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Breathe. It’s okay, Sammy.” Yaz’s hand hovered from her shoulder to her knee as she crouched in front of her. She gently tried to take her hands away from her face, but she refused. Sammy pulled away from her, still crying. “Sammy. Look at me. Please,” Yaz begged softly. She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to see the false care, the stifling pity, the lackluster concern. She just had to breathe, then she’d be fine. It’ll pass like all the other times.

She tensed as she felt a hand on her leg. “Sam, I need you to slow down. In and out. Don’t worry about anything else, just in and out.” 

Despite her earlier refusal, the weight on her leg helped. She didn’t know how long it took, but she focused on the slight thumb movements on her thigh, and eventually, the heaviness on her chest began to lift. When it felt like she could breathe without gasping, she wiped her eyes. She hated it when this happened. She always felt so exposed and vulnerable. 

The hand on her thigh lifted as Yaz, ever so gently, moved her hands to cradle her face. Her girlfriend softly wiped the tears on her cheeks and gave her a small, worried smile.

“Hey, baby.”

So simple, so soft. It nearly made Sammy cry more. She’s wanted this for so long, needed it, missed it. 

Yaz ran her thumb over her cheek with one hand while the other held her chin. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up. I understand that it probably-”

“No, you don’t! You don’t! No you- you weren’t here! Haven’t been here! You can’t- don’t sit here and try and say you do!”

Sammy’s outburst startled Yaz. She’d seen Sammy in bad times, hell, an island of dinosaurs, but she’d never reacted like this. She had seen her angry, sad, scared, all sorts of emotions, but this was different. 

Yaz let out a breath as Sammy hiccupped and tried to swallow down her sobs. She’s never had to comfort her like this. She can’t help but feel a mix of guilt and helplessness. She should know what to do during something like this. 

“Sammy, listen, I get it. I’m sorry for the Brooklyn thing. You have every rig-”

“This ain’t about Brooklyn! This is about me and you! Not Brooklyn, or Ben, or Darius, or Kenji, or those stupid fuckin’ dinosaurs! Me and you!”

Yaz had to stumble back as Sammy abruptly stood and started pacing. She hugged herself as she went on a rant that didn’t even fully seem like she was talking to Yaz anymore.

She didn't know how to respond. She’s never dealt with Sammy, with anyone, like this. She’d gone to therapy, sure, but she wasn’t one for emotional outburst often. She wasn’t taught how to handle them. Yaz stopped for a moment, realizing suddenly that maybe she needed to stop listening to her mind’s therapist for a moment. Sammy wasn’t her. Of course she wouldn’t respond the same way she did. As Sammy paced, Yaz quickly thought of things that always comforted her girlfriend. Touch, reassurance, trust. She understood now. Sammy didn’t trust her. How could she? She hadn’t been around and present in so long, could she expect different?

Yaz refocused as Sammy seemingly grew more frantic, “-And those stupid emojis you always use! Y- you know I hate them and you-” 

Yaz grabbed her by the elbows and forced her to stay still. “Ok. I’m gonna listen to you, ok? But I need you to just take a minute and breathe. After that, you can yell at me all you need to, just take a moment.” Sammy stared at her for a bit before shakily nodding. She, which Yaz assumed was subconsciously, leaned towards her. The shorter woman pulled her closer by her elbows, allowing her girlfriend to hiccup into her shoulder. She raised her hand to stroke the back of her head as Sammy continued to hug herself.

Yaz kissed her girlfriend’s temple before she spoke, “I am sorry. For not being around. For getting distant. I swear, it wasn’t you.”

“But you said-”

“I know, I know but- you were only trying to help and- well you couldn’t fix it if I didn’t tell you. That’s on me, ok?” She mumbled into Sammy’s hair, smelling Gia’s shampoo she let them use. She didn’t hate it, but it definitely wasn’t Sammy’s scent. 

“Listen, how- how about we go for a walk? Talk?”

Sammy simply nodded in response.

..........................................

Sorry this took so long, for some reason I've been struggling to create even though I have the passion.

Just some context: When Sammy refers to her pills, she's referring to antidepressants. In this au (?), Sammy was diagnosed with depression, specifically agitated depression, which causes restlessness (Her need to always be doing something), temperamental outbursts (She has, though later in the series, but signs of sudden irritation do show), and other smaller things such as fidgeting. Being off her pills (All symptoms mentioned in this chapter) would cause insomnia, anxiety, sensory disturbances, mood changes, and hunger/loss of appetite. Some of these are caused by other issues, such as insomnia coming from her fear of something going wrong and her hunger from not having any vegetarian food options.

In conclusion, Sammy's going through it, needs therapy, and hopefully, Yaz gets her some.

Tell me how you guys feel about it in the comments :)

[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!!

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Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

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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

[my-castles-crumbling]

Anon Advice Asks - February 6

24 anon, outlet anon, spoon anon, 8 years anon (new), lawyer anon (new), guess anon

24 anon

hi cas, its 24 anon again. its been a while so i dont know if you remember lol. my friend had her baby and i still haven't met him (mostly bc ive been horrifically sick since before she even had him so im not about to give them whatever germs i have lol). i kind of feel like im at my breaking point lately. ive not cut her off entirely, but i have distracted from my friend a bit because i went into her having a baby trying to think 'this is a major thing and she's going to be down and out for a while so she obviously wont be trying to make plans' but apparently i was wrong bc im seeing posts on facebook and snapchat of her going out and doing things and having get togethers with her other friends and im just. i dont even hear about these plans let alone get invited to anything ever. i dont want to sound entitled to her time and effort but am i really her 'best friend' if she never wants to hang out or talk to me unless i initiate and plan? if she never tells me a single thing about her life and im always the last to know? if ive talked to her about this time and time again without any change whatsoever? im tired of talking to her about this because i know it wont change anything. my best friend had a baby and i wont ever actually get to know him. my heart is genuinely broken. i dont have any other friends to talk to. literally. at this point in my life i have lost every single friend ive ever had except for her but apparently ive never really had her to begin with. im so tired of being fucking lonely but i dont know ehat to do anymore. ive never been able to make or keep friends and i feel like im going fucking crazy. what is it thats so wrong with me that makes me consistently not worth peoples effort to keep around? i feel like im victimizing myself right now but i genuinely feel like i try SO HARD to maintain friendships - talking to them, trying to make plans, etc. etc. and that just never gets returned back to me. im tired of pretending im fine with that. im just fucking tired. i havent been able to talk to my therapist in months and ive only had myself for company for YEARS. i cant fo this anymore cas

Hi <3

Honestly I can relate to this SO much. I have a friend who I was very close to who had a baby a few years back and it's definitely changed our dynamic. Imo, the problem is now, we have different priorities. And that's not WRONG, it's just how it is, so it's changing how we interact.

I don't think my friend hates me and I don't think your friend hates you either. It's just one of those things where like...people get hurt but nobody means to hurt anyone. And it's very hard not to take things personally but it probably isn't as personal as it feels.

I know none of this makes you feel any better, but I just want you to know I'm going through the same thing and I understand. If you ever want to talk about it, please feel free to DM me- I'd love to have someone to talk about it with too <3

______________________

Outlet anon

Hey Cas, outlet anon here. I need help.

So I'm staying with my mother for a few weeks while my place gets some work done, and that means I'm in the same house as Al, which is fine and whatever. I don't acknowledge him, he doesn't acknowledge me. It's a mutual understanding and has been for years. Or so I thought???? He addressed me BY NAME for the first time since I was THIRTEEN to ask me to move my laundry, and he didn't yell at me when I ignored him the first two times. We haven't even spoken since I was thirteen. He's also been talking at me and saying things for my benefit. Like last night, Al and my mother were watching robot fighting with my siblings and I went down to see what was going on because I heard them yelling. Al saw me and told my mother to rewind the TV so I could see the whole fight. I didn't express any interest in the show nor ask anyone to rewind it. He just... did it??? I don't know what's going on or what he thinks is going on. I'm going to keep right on ignoring him and pretending like he doesn't exist, but like thoughts? What should I do? What do you think is going on????? Help??????????

Honestly, it's great that Al seems to be trying to be nicer, but I'd be a bit weary. Like don't be rude to him about it or shit on him for being nice, but you don't suddenly need to be nice because he is. You're allowed to to take some time to build trust (if you even want to). The way he's treated you in the past doesn't warrant instant forgiveness (unless you want to, of course), so just go with what feels good to you and don't feel guilty for however much time you need. And if he ends up getting pissed about it...well, then he didn't really change in the first place.

_________________

Spoon Anon

hi cas it's spoon anon

well i've been looking at self diagnosis tests like yk those online quizzes you have. some say i have a lot of symptoms of autism and others say that i have low-medium autism so idk atp. according to the oxford cbt self assessment quizzes, i have medium-high anxiety and depression and low-medium autism and adhd.

and i've been thinking if i should maybe actually go to a psychiatrist and see if my suspicions are correct. but then there's the part where i need to convince my mom. there's a major school event happening until the end of february so maybe i'll ask her if we can go sometime in march? several of my friends have actually seen psychiatrists and i'll just say that i want to just check once if there's anything that i might be diagnosed with.

i'm going to go out on a limb here and ask if you think i have autism or not from what i've told you. adhd there's a pretty low chance of me actually having that i don't really show any symptoms except getting distracted easily. depression and anxiety, if i'm going to be honest, maybe. idk my country's culture has given me a skewed view of what will actually fall under a mental health problem.

Hi! I think asking your mom is a great idea. It sounds like it's really important to you to know for sure, so I think you absolutely should.

As far as what I think...I'm sorry hon but I'm not a professional and I don't know you very well. But like I said I think it sounds super important to you to know for sure, so you should def ask to get evaluated.

___________________

8 years anon

This actually takes so much courage to type this out but I feel like this is the right place to say it and plus I don't really know where else to say it.

So sometimes my bestfriend (of 8 years) really just ticks me off in a really nasty way. Like I feel awful every single time I feel this way but sometimes he just does stuff that like I don't know if he does it intentionally or not or if I'm just overreacting but sometimes he like takes things I consider "mine" ?? If that's an okay way to put it? I feel like there's just some things that he just starts to develop stuff from me and don't get me wrong, obviously friends are gonna develop things from each other (especially of 8 years) but I feel like I've only really noticed it within the last year or so.

For example I'll mention that I like a music artist very very briefly and like the next time I see him he's totally engrossed himself into that person's music and is saying "oh _ is my favorite song from them!" When like 3 days ago he didn't even know who they were.

Or on a game that we both play theres like 60-70 characters and there's 2 people that I constantly play and he wanted to try out new people which is fine but then he chooses one of the two I play??? And buys a skin for them within like 2 minutes of playing them??

And like there's a certain way I dress and he mentioned wanted to get more into like some things I'm into like okay that's fine and then he becomes more obsessed with it than me?? I don't even know anymore my girlfriends both agree with me and understand what I'm saying cause sometimes he does the same thing to them? This feels like a lot and it feels kinda childish when I type it all out but I'm genuinely lost and you seemed like the best person I could go to.

lots of love cas ❤️❤️

Hi!

I can definitely understand how you feel, but I think this is something to talk to your friend about. I think you need to figure out why it bothers you so much and why he seems to be so drawn to everything you do. Does he just admire you? Is it coincidence? Does he have low confidence?

And I think talking to him about it is important because this type of thing can lead to resentment, you know? So saying something like "I've noticed you tend to like a lot of the same things I do, right after I mention them. Is there something you like that you can share with me, too? I feel like we only ever talk about my likes?" might help to gently call him out without causing a fight.

__________________

lawyer anon

Hey Cas, I hope you're doing well!

I love all your microfics😭they're so well written.

Sometimes I'll be reading a random microfics that popped and I'll think "this is really good!" so I go and check the user and its usually your stuff <3

For context, I'm 2 months away from 15 and a girl.

I was talking to my dad and complaining about school and joking that when I was fifteen I am legally allowed to drop out. I do this a lot.

My dad was joking and saying I've got to stay in school so I can become a lawyer and earn lots of money.

I told him the usual stuff like I don't want to be a lawyer and why would I.

He then proceeded to straight up tell me I was ridiculous and I was really confused and I asked him why.

Apparently I was _overreacting_ to the joke he told, which I had answered non seriously.

It just seemed like he was treating me like a much younger child and it honestly seemed kinda sexist.

This is not the first time stuff like this has happened. I recently went on a trip to my mum's side of the family and it was really nice talking to them because they actually seemed interested in my life and didn't just ask me, "How is school."

I know my dad loves me and this is a minor issue and some people have it much worse but it just really bothers me.

Honestly I feel like you're at the age where some people start seeing you as a person becoming an adult while others see you as a child. And that's a hard age because you want to be treated more like an adult, and it feels frustrating when that doesn't happen. People don't see you're starting to think about more mature things and you're thinking about the real world. It sounds like your dad might still think of you as a complete child. Is he the type of person that might respond well if you say "Hey, I'd like to have a serious conversation about this. I care about this topic and I want to talk about it seriously"?

________________________

Guess anon

Hi Cas

Guess Anon again

He keeps messaging me and asking how college is and asking if i need any more books (i told him no)

I have a careers meeting tomorrow and if i get anything good from that then i may tell him and tell him my next steps (but only if im feeling brave)

Ill keep you updated!!

Honestly that's such a good idea. Having a plan is a great way to like...deliver unwanted news in a much gentler way. Please keep me updated!!

[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 sunlight, 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

@rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-mer-6195 @sherala007 @enchantzz

@knittastically @notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell

@jotink78 @sorisooyaa @ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321

@dianakc @msjava1972 @glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith

@asgardianhobbit98 @albionscastle @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @sazzlep

@night-ace

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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.”

[sockssketchingshack]

Rant: recovery and let people have all the time they need and a rant of mental things

Life is too stressful. I was not made for this. Low key missing the psych ward because all you had to worry about was other patients and nurses and the nurses were all so nice and they did not ease me into the transition from hospital care to society and I'm upset and sad and scared. I agreed to at home care because I didn't wanna go to an out of state home for mentally ill people. I did not sign up for being shoved back into society after others have deemed it long enough. Like it's only been two years in at home care and they're pushing me out to society? that's where the scary things are! I can't deal with this. I feel like I'm having heart attacks and going to throw up just stepping into public. I was not made for this. And they question why I'm starting to go backwards? IT'S TS BECAUSE YOUR'E STRESSING ME OUT TRYING TO PUSH ME INTO THE LIONS DEN! NOT EVERYONE'S RECOVERY IS THE SAME MAN. ILL TAKE DECADES IF I DANG WELL PLEASE. IM GOING BACKWARDS BECAUSE YOUR:E SUDDENLY GIVING ME ALL THIS STRESS AFTER I'VE BEEN REASSURED THAT PEOPLE WOULD HELP ME WITH STRESSFUL THINGS AND NOW SUDDENLY THAT'S GONE BECAUSE I TOOK TOO LONG TO RECOVER?! IT'S ONLY BEEN FIVE YEARS TOTAL. THREE SPENT IN AND OUT OF HOSPITAL CARE AND TWO IN QT HOME CARE. YOU CANT JUST GIVE ME TOOLS TO BE LESS STRESSED ONLY TO TAKE EM AWAY AND EXPECT ME TO BE OKAY AFTER.

I miss my old therapist Ms Sunny. She understood how messed up I was and that my issues weren't comparable to the other ones in my family. They keep trying to talk down to me because they have issues too but none of them have ever have to be hospitalized short term let alone long term. None of them have bouts of time where you can't tell what's real and what's fake. I'm not saying they're completely unaware I'm just saying you can't compare what I have to you when haven't ever had to stay in long term hospital because of your sanity being in the dirt. You can't say how long it should take me to recover when you don't have the breakdowns I do. When you don't have the bus abilities and Illnesses I do. You can't tell me I shouldn't carry my stuffed animals around since you know I carried them since baby all the way to present. It's not tough love. It's bullying. And it's so frustrating when one second they claim I'm an adult and next second they claim I'm not. Like they have control of my finances and medical stuff. That's big scary stuff. But you can't say that I should be able to do things on my own just because you can do it on your own. That's not fair. You cant keep me in adult not adult limbo. Choose one so I can formulate logical reasoning to your biased arguments.

Cause everything's so hard man. I have to actually get dressed when I go outside. And I have to change clothes even when the clothes I'm wearing are clean! I don't care if a shirt has a stain from paint years ago I'm about to break down crying and don't want to have to go through the struggle of changing. The shirts clean so why does it matter?! This is not a significant worry when it comes to clothing! And cleaning my room is hard because I try really really hard to keep it clean and it never works.

And Leo and maki I take care of no matter what. I make sure food water and litter box is always good above all else. Because I rather neglect myself then neglect my animals.

Showers are hard cause they take so much energy cause you gotta scrub and dress yourself after. Car rides are hard cause they make me wanna throw up. Staying in my room is hard cause of loneliness and going outside is hard cause my family is mean. Even when they're not trying to be.

Going to my garden is hard cause it's hot and pruning and watering and planting is a lot of effort and everything costs so many spoons of energy and I have zero and I'm just so tired

:(

I never asked to be born with all this stuff. I especially didn't ask for it to get worse later in life as I grew. I tried my bestest to be a good person. Yet I still ended up like this.

I am not the strong soldier. So please stop giving me all the hardest battles.

Like I forced myself to lock in and not do any self harm or self endangerment in order to not go to a home out of state And this is what I get for it?

Does all that progress suddenly not matter since it's still not enough for them?

I forced myself to be semi stable and now I have to do MORE?!

this wasn't part of the deal. I'm sad and stressed and not built for this and no one understands cause they're all mean to me and everyone's mean to me except my stuffed animals