#it should have been Therapeutic but it isn't

[hanahanumana]

OH, GOOD LORD....

[livingdeadgirlflorette]

SO HIGH ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ carl grimes x reader

summary : getting caught smoking at your age isn't a good thing, but maybe getting caught smoking by the new guy's son isn't so bad at all, especially since he looked so cute.

tags / rundown : slight angst at the start, almost kissing, underage smoking, shotgunning, set in alexandria, carl is easily flustered, reader's parent's are pronounced dead (womp womp)

word count : 2.8k

a/n : this fic was inspired by me listening to so high by doja lols. since my midterms ended, i've decided to write this with my free time. hope it was worth it (∩_∩;) also i'll be writing a part 2 to "late night kisses", just dk where to start ( ´△｀) lmk if you want to be tagged in it!

dividers by @cafekitsune ꩜ .ᐟ

PART 2: YOUR FACE ⟡₊⋆∘

Alexandria seemed like such a pleasant escape from the shithole of the world we're living in today. Living almost two years by yourself from. . . unfortunate circumstances between your parents and an unexpected herd of walkers that had invaded your base camp. With a heavy heart and an even emptier stomach, that had left you scrounging for anything to survive. Food, water, a place to sleep in— it felt like you were just barely living day by day.

With all hope lost and no destination ahead, you just kept walking— no goal or end in mind, just walk until you found a place that could help you regain the empty feeling in you. To your surprise, a place like that still existed— a sanctuary called Alexandria. The first time you ever entered the gates, you felt like a deer in headlights. It all looked different from the outside world, giving you a sense of hope, a small beacon of hope that it would get better.

But even with all the good things that come with it, it still felt like you were so out of place. The pristine, large houses and the children laughing, acting as if nothing had ever even happened. Unrightfully, it irked you. They didn't know what it was like living day by day, not knowing if the last place you'd stay and shut your eyes for shelter in would be your last. They didn't know what it was like to starve, famished to the point you'd eat raw animal just so you could have something in your stomach. They didn't know what it was like to lose people by shooting them using their own gun. They didn't know.

All the feelings of jealousy, envy, and sadness spiraling in you, was overwhelming you to the point of just crying until you had no tears left. But you would never let them know that. It would be a stupid move to show weakness, especially in the state of the world. So you sneak out.

Sneaking out of Alexandria was a therapeutic event. Every time you do this it relaxes you, knowing what would come after would be the cherry on top to help you wind down and let your feelings fizzle out.

With you far enough from Alexandria where you knew no supply runners or recruiters would catch you, you walked through the forest, trying to find a place that's quiet. Seemingly in a matter of minutes, you find a small clearing. Peaceful and from your scoping of the forest, no walkers.

You sit down next to a tree and put your bags down, then finally sitting down, leaning on the large vegetation. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, you fiddle around your jacket pockets and suddenly stop when you hear a voice call out to you, seemingly unimpressed.

"You know that kills you, right?" You turn around to put a body to the disembodied voice, and you see it's the boy from that one group that Aaron had recruited. You weren't that tuned in to the whole story, but you saw enough to know that they were like you, different, in the sense that you'd been out there, living through the apocalypse.

From overhearing Ron and Mikey talk about if they should him to play videogames, you knew the boy's name was Carl. He was cute, interesting, boyish in a way that he still had that youthful face, yet he was mature to have so much control over his emotions and body language and the way he carried himself.

If it were someone different, you'd just ignore the person and tell them to leave you alone. But you had the idea Carl wouldn't be such an annoyance to you, so you decide to entertain yourself by speaking with him.

"That's kind of the point." Finally, you find you lighter in your back pocket and proceed to tap on the cigarette box, pulling one out and putting it between your lips.

You didn't what to continue talking right now, wanting to just focus on matter at hand. You were thinking how to tell him but you were pleasantly surprised to see that he'd gotten the message, and just walked next to the spot on your tree, and sat down next to you.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you question his motive. Why would he even talk to you? more so why would he try to sit next to you? he has nothing to gain from this. . .

Continuing your actions, you flick open the lighter and the fire sparks burst out, creating a small flame. It fills you with relaxation. You lean in, just close enough to light your cigarette and when you finally inhale the comforting tobacco— you sigh out the smoke, lazily blinking. Your eyes dart up to the sky, watching the smoke from your mouth go up and away.

You look back to Carl, realizing you barely noticed he'd comfortably situated himself— with his signature sheriff's hat that he donned on the grass next to him and a comic book open in his hands.

You guess he wouldn't really be a nuisance, he would just be next to you while you let out your puffs of tobacco. So you scoot a little closer to him. What you didn't notice was how he saw you moving closer, unable to hide a ghost of a smile before it disappeared completely.

The sky was turning into an entrancing shade of cool colors. It seemed like time passes faster when you're smoking, only focused on changing the cigarette when it's on its last puff, and breathing in and slowly out to watch the result of your sighs for it to go up into presumably the clouds. You wish you could stay here forever. Carl was quietly reading the second comic book he'd brought, not having any plan to talk to you and your relaxed state. The boy's company was actually, comforting in the sense that you had someone with you.

But you had noticed he kept glancing at you and more so, your lips. You know the reason. He's obviously curious. From your knowledge, teenage boys are typically rebellious, so you figured he'd want to try a small puff.

The silence that had been enveloping the majority of your time together was broken by you.

"You want to try it?" His eyes jolt up from the scene in the comic he's reading, sincerely surprised you'd ask.

"I- uh- yeah i'd like to uhm— I wanna try it." He tries to find the right words, but seemingly they all just turn into mush when he sees you.

Your eyes are lidded, your body languid— presumably from all the tobacco you'd been smoking, and your lips are plump, slightly open. With that look, it's enough to send blood rushing to his cheeks, his eyes darting blinking rapidly and looking slightly down to hide his blossoming blush.

Even in your smoke-induced haze, you still notice this. Seeing him act all bashful and shy in front of you, it makes you feel giddy inside. You let out an airy chuckle and you hand him the cigarette.

"Knock yourself out." You tell him. With a nervous gaze, he musters up his courage and looks at you. Hesitantly taking the cigarette in your hands. But you undoubtedly notice his hands brush against yours as he took the lit stick of tobacco.

Carl then calculatively puts the cigarette in his mouth, inhaling before letting out a dry heaving cough. You giggle at him, you know it's a common mistake but he just looks so cute trying to do it properly.

"How do you even do it without coughing—" His words were cut off by another cough he let out, he seemed like he was having a hard time so you gently put your hand on his back, lightly patting it to help him cough.

"It's okay, I kept coughing a fit the first time I did it." You assured him, wondering how you could help him get through it, until you finally clicked, realizing what you should do to have him experience it properly.

"Do you want me to help you?" Your voice is gentle and calm so you don't startle him. He looks at you, his coughing had seemed to cease. His posture went straight, eyebrows furrowed. What could you possibly to do help him smoke without him wheezing?

Carl silently gives you an okay, slightly nodding as he does. "Don't freak out, okay?" He's curious, what would you do to help him? But then he sees your actions, you take the cigarette in between his calloused fingers and put it back into your mouth, taking in a small intake.

He's uncertain on what you're about to do, questions going in and out of his head. But you silence those answers by taking the cigarette out of your mouth, then grabbing his chin with your free hand to have his face an inch apart from yours.

His mouth is open in awe and disbelief. He can feel his heart beating out of his chest when you take you open your mouth, slowly blowing the smoke into his mouth. He quickly understands what you're doing, slowly breathing in the puff of smoke with his mouth.

With the last blow of your lips sending the smoke, You make eye contact with him. Your eyes were all this time trained on his lips, focusing so he wouldn't move. His breath hitches when he finally has all of the smoke you had in your mouth.

It's overwhelming for Carl, really— knowing all the puffs of tobacco he had in his mouth were in yours, and how close you still are to his face, it makes him want to shoot his heart out into the darkening sky. Realizing he's been looking too long at your face and not releasing the smoke, he lets it out slowly, watching your every move.

You look at him, letting a small smirk grace your face as you lean back. He doesn't know why he has such a dissatisfied feeling when you pull back though, It's so perplexing to him.

"We should get back to the gates, I think your father would be worried that his son's been missing." You put the cigarette out, standing up and patting your jeans off, shooing the dirt off your clothing. You look back to Carl, the emotion on his face evidently stupefied.

"Yeah— my dad's probably looking for me by now so," He scrambles also to fix himself up, turning slightly away from you. He tries to find more words, but it leaves him with only a few.

"We should go." He finally says. He wanted to save himself from the embarrassment he'd feel from you seeing his blush.

Carl thought what he was doing was ridiculous though; it was getting dark, you wouldn't be able to see color on his face unless you were close and squinted hard enough. But he does so anyway.

The rest of the walk back to Alexandria you're standing side by side, walking with him. You fail to ignore that tingly and rushed feeling whenever his hands accidentally brush yours, making your cheeks flush. You look at him, curious if he also felt the way feeling you were experiencing.

Carl felt quite befuddled, he was so perplexed at the thought of you. There was a swirling feeling in his heart. He wondered if what he was feeling was just from the nicotine in those cigarettes or if it was because of you, but then his question gets answered when he looks at you.

With the eye contact you guys had, you smile bashfully and look straight back at the path. He made you smile, and that was enough for him to know he was interested. He wanted to know more about you, and what it would feel like to have your face close to him again. Hopefully next time it would be to feel your lips on his, and not just the smoke.

I'm not sure if I like this, but it fueled my imagination of smoking with Carl so I don't really mind (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

[melodic-haze]

you’re cooking so hard w those fics,,, may I request some sub clorinde?

one of the scenarios in the fic can be where she wears a vibrator on her shift 🙏 (semi-public ofc)

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Clorinde x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: semi-public 🫶, use of toys (the vibe's silly and magical bc this is a magical world and I can do what I want), consensual sexual corruption

☆ — NOTES: Why is this so long anyway DUDE THANK YOU 🙏🙏🙏🙏 I try my best to hashtag serve the cuntry. I somehow brought Navia into it as well I hope you don't mind 😭😭😭 NOT in the pair though, just like a chunk of the post ig

Ohhh my god Clorinde looks SOOOO fun to toy with 🫶🫶🫶 your MIND anon

She takes her job so seriously but when she's off the clock she's so silly she's so unserious like just LOOK at her with Navia???? I love her

I think you two joke around when it's just the two of you in the comfort of your own home when the whole matter pops up. Maybe she's like prepping dinner for the two of you (if you can cook as well you probably have a rotation) as it happens

It was therapeutic, watching Clorinde practically glide around the kitchen in such an organised manner. She often said that her skills as the Champion Duelist and her skills as a home chef were synonymous together in multiple ways, though despite her meaning it as a jest her proficiency with both activities was undoubtedly unmatched. She said you were a bit biased too, but you paid no heed.

"..You look so much more relaxed here, compared to when you're out for work," you muse as you observed her.

To which she looks up at you momentarily before looking back down at the vegetables she was chopping up, her speed and efficiency not slipping up in any way despite the light distraction, "A guard cannot necessarily be seen as.. well, whimsical in order to be taken seriously."

"Yeah, but you're THE Champion Duelist. Surely that allows you some form of leeway towards having to act all serious every time."

"I'm afraid not, mon ange." She shakes her head with a small smile, "What brought this up all of a sudden?"

You shrugged, "I dunno. I guess whenever I see you around, I always see you so.. focused and stoic."

"You mean to say I'm boring when we are outside?"

"You aren't? But you could do with some loosening up."

She looks up again with an amused eyebrow raise, "Between the two of us, my body is much more limber compared to yours."

"You ass!" You scoffed, crossing your arms in mock annoyance, "Go back to cutting carrots instead of taking potshots at me."

"Taking shots is my specialty, though? And I was already done with the task."

"Clorinde!"

The electro wielder chuckled lightly before moving to pour the vegetable mix into the pan, "Still, I fail to see your point."

"My point is," you push yourself off the wall you had been leaning on and move closer to your girlfriend, "I wanna see you all cute during your job at least once."

"Am I not 'cute' enough for you?"

"You are! But I feel like I should be intimidated too. Because, you know, I don't really want to be put in the spotlight for some kinda crime."

"Uh huh. Say I do agree with you then; what do you propose I do?" She is genuinely curious at first, but when she sees you smile the way you do that's when she gets suspicious, "..I know that look, mon cœur. You want to do something risqué."

You hum as if pondering your next response while your arms wrap around her waist, though with the way she turns around with a knowing look and a swift move of turning the stove strength all the way down, you know that she doesn't believe that innocent bout of 'thinking' one bit.

"Do I? You really think so?"

"I know so." And she leans to kiss your cheek, "My skills in observation combined with my knowledge of your every habit isn't useless, you know.

"Hmm... Well, then." Your fingers snuck underneath the fabric of her shirt and traced nonsensical shapes on her skin as you spoke, "I did find something—an item—that could help you.. de-stress during work."

You know she took the hint when you looked her vibrant purple eyes. Perhaps you could've sworn them glow like the element she has command over.

But when she asks you of it—

"And what may this.. item be?"

—you both know full well that that is the only thing she has control over when you're involved.

When she finds out that you want to stuff a vibrator in her for the whole day as she works, she has to give herself time to process it. Like, really? While she's supposed to stay vigilant in case something wrong happens??? Like be serious wth is she gonna do when she's all dumb and distracted and something goes awfully wrong??????

All you say is that while you'd wanna try it out to see what happens, you won't force her to do so.........and against her better judgement, she takes it back. Not only does she want to make you happy and that she wants to prove that she isn't a coward, she.. is a little (a lot) interested in what may happen. Plus "it will prove to be somewhat of a fun challenge", she says, which yk whatever works for her

She learns to regret that come (lmao) the next day when it's actually put into practice

You found this specific vibe from a wandering seller, you see. Powered by a mix of different elements and with the usage of their reactions, it came in a pair—one that was now deep inside her and the other in your pocket, ready for you to hold onto and simply think on the intensity of the bullet's vibrations and effects

Its control range was rather far too, so it's not as if you even had to be in the city to control it. You wanted to see how she deals with such a situation though, so the most you do is carry on with your day instead of constantly following her around (but you do bump into her 'on accident' quite a few times though)

At first it starts out relatively fine for her. It's a manageable feeling, with it interchanging between a weak pace to something slightly faster—she can ignore it with her masterful discipline. Hell, she's even thinking that you might actually be taking it easy on her bc of her earlier concerns which.. how nice of you!!!

Except she's WRONG❗️❗️❗️ You're not being nice, you're biding your time. She probably should've been suspicious but she trusted you unconditionally which would be so cute and flattering at any other moment.........but right now it was so deliciously naive of her, to just let her guard down with you like that

You're slowly but surely testing the waters by playing with the intensity beyond its lowest settings; having it slowly incline nd decline, making it spike up, even manipulating the pattern of its vibrations within your mind. And you can tell that every mental command is successfully transferred when the gem you hold pulses with a faint feeling of warmth that passes after a very brief moment

You can't see her half the time whenever you're off doing something else but maybe that's what makes it better, especially when you see her and you make a point to keep out of her line of sight. She looks around for you like a frazzled animal that's trying to seem composed and yet you know she's becoming anything but from the way she subtly jolts to attention every time you change the vibe's directions, all endearingly paranoid over what you do next as you change the settings again and again and again

Despite the risk and the paranoia and everything though? As much as she wants to deny it, there is an ever increasing pool of arousal in her panties. It's not just from the vibrator, however—it's from the possible risk of getting caught partaking in the sinful act of walking around with a sex toy stuffed inside of her. She can't believe it, but the thrill of the risk and the overthinking is definitely not doing her any favours in terms of trying to keep calm

It's when she has a certain exchange that has her ABSOLUTELY ruined. She had spotted Navia during one of her breaks the same time that the other had clocked onto her too. The head of the Spina di Rosula walked up to her with a smile and a friendly greeting and in no time at all, they get to talking the minutes away

Catching up to Navia again without such dreadful tension from before was definitely a relief. It was as if they had chatted about everything and nothing at all at the same time, with the both of them laughing lightly. The exchange was certainly a welcome distraction, both from her job and the bullet-shaped vibrator that hit and teased her sensitive spots every now and again—you had definitely become braver as time went on, but you weren't going to break her composure just yet.

..Or well, really, she realised that she probably shouldn't have given it any thought when her eyes see you watching her at a distance. She trails off in the midst of her sentence as time seemed to slow to a stop when your lips curl up into an all-too-familiar expression.

Before Navia can even ask her if she's okay or try to break her out of her sudden reverie, Clorinde flinches and almost keels over at the sudden EXTREME increase of speed and force and-- is that a temperature increase too? She doesn't react quietly either—she bites back a yelp, managing a strangled gasp instead. Was this what you were aiming for the entire time? To build it all up until the most inopportune time??

Navia was undoubtedly worried, her hands immediately dropping her parasol to hold her friend steady, "Clorinde?! What happened? Are you hurt?"

The duelist shook her head in an attempt to clear her head but the ever-shifting movement inside her didn't allow that. So instead she tried her best to answer as unaffected as possible, despite her seemingly dramatic display, "Yes, I-- mm.. I'm alright. Just a sudden migraine, is all. Perhaps I've been-- working too hard."

"Whatever did I tell you about working yourself to the bone," the blonde asks, though she doesn't look fully convinced that it's just a migraine, "maybe you should retire for the day. I can tell your--"

"No! It's alright," she rushes out, "I will be fine after some time, you need not worry about me."

"But--"

"Do you not think I can handle myself?"

"I do, but if a migraine gets you such a violent reaction, then surely that's a cause for concern. Are friends not allowed to be worried for each other?"

They are, except this isn't really a migraine she's suffering from!!

(She doesn't know whether she loves or hates the fact that her not being able to say anything about her predicament to her good friend gets her going even more.)

"She probably needs a little rest, somewhere where the sun isn't hitting her eyes."

"Y/N!"

Clorinde looks to you approaching behind the blonde and making yourself known with a happy greeting and she can't help but narrow her eyes at you despite the vibrator in her cunt trying to take all her focus away from her.. or maybe it was due to exactly that, to which your smile widens just a tad further at the effect you have on her.

"Yes, that would be a good place for me to recover. In fact," she keeps her eyes on you as she speaks, "they can take it-- mnf.. take it here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, no need to worry. I will talk to you again s-- ..soon, Navia."

Soon enough, you all part ways (you with Clorinde in tow), leaving a very confused and suspicious Navia alone where you once stood. Neither of you say anything, though as you both reach a deserted alley somewhere, sun blocked by the towering buildings around you, that's when she snaps.

And it is such a lovely thing to witness.

By snapping, I don't mean that she cums right away. I mean she's all over you, gloved hands grasping onto your body and hastily pleading for you to finally help her take the edge off

You're so absolutely mean for doing what you did!!! She says she regrets ever saying yes to this plan and entertaining you like this, to which you laugh at her face. Sure, it would've been a cruel reaction to her distress.. if she weren't so addled with lust; her eyes dark and pupils blown wide, her panties unbelievably wet

It gets worse when you whisper things to her as well such as "you definitely enjoyed it" and "do you think Navia knew? Would you have wanted her to know?" bc even when she shakes her head vehemently and denies it, you can feel her pussy pulsing as you taunt her.........

But then you pull your hand back and Clorinde's looking at you in a mix of frustration and confusion, a complete far cry from her ever-so-composed demeanour on a normal day

She asks you why. Does she need to beg even more? Do you want her to do anything else? She needs this but she's also very aware you're still outside, despite this corner of the area being practically abandoned, so it both gives her a thrill AND a sense of urgency

Your answer? Not one she expected, but should have probably saw coming from a mile away: you want her to cum with the toy and herself only. She's right, this IS still a public space.. so obviously such close proximity would be VERY suspicious, right? And nobody would be able to see the toy buzzing in her, so surely it'd be the best solution

She tries to protest, but you don't budge. Hell, threaten to turn it off for the rest of the day and she'll keel over and do exactly what you ask her to do

So you manipulate the vibrator, up close and personal this time, and you relish in the restricted moans and desperate breaths she lets out as she essentially fucks herself in the alleyway with your help. As the vibe bends to your will within her in different ways, she took her glove off one of her hands with her teeth in a desperate attempt to not dirty her visible clothing before her now-ungloved hand darts into her panties to rub her clit and pleasure herself to you

It's not long when she practically explodes as the setting goes the highest it's ever been, her orgasm SO intense that it has her seeing stars and actually dropping to the ground if it weren't for you immediately rushing over to catch her on time (and maybe you get a light shock of electro too, much to your chagrin, but really it's technically your fault so 🤷‍♀️). You use the control gem to help her with her high, slowly decreasing its intensity until the after-shock is reduced to a few twitches from her here and there

She's practically a lifeless form for a few mins and you can't help but laugh at the situation. She lifts her head up, absolutely unimpressed at your amusement, though a small smile makes her way onto her lips anyway

When she's gained enough strength to hold herself up without falling (mostly bc you whine after a while ab how she's heavy, to which she slaps you up in the head lightly and tells you it's your fault lmao), you both make sure she looks presentable enough to actually go back in public again. You asked her if she wanted to skip instead but she's so duty-bound that she doesn't gaf if she feels fucked-out, she WILL continue her duties

But like. Let's be real though. Esp when you told her she could take the toy out bc you're more than satisfied but she wanted to actually keep it in? You both know that not only will you both have a round two of sorts when you get back home, but this won't necessarily be the last time you'll use this toy after today

You could say she found a love for it 🤷‍♀️ not like she'd ever explicitly admit it when she's not all dumbed out for you in the comfort of your own home

She doesn't even really need to, not with that display earlier

[pseudowho]

Nanami Kento and Higuruma Hiromi are given the same box of IKEA flat-pack furniture.

Kento has a well-organised tool bag, a drill, a tape measure, a spirit level. He reads the instructions through once, slowly, hums, and nods at the end. He builds, methodical, mathematical, flawless. You could build it yourself, of course, but there's something soothing to both of your souls as you watch him, wooly cardigan clutched across your breasts, a cup of tea swirling steam, the sunlight illuminating the dust-motes floating past his shoulders. Kento finds clarity, a slow peace with the world, huffing a soft puff of satisfaction as the drawer-runner glides into place just so.

The result looks professional. He should be employed by IKEA, you think, to put their catalogue pieces together. He is almost disappointed there isn't more to do, having found the experience profoundly therapeutic.

"Where do you want it?" Kento asks you, casually lifting the furniture as if it weighs nothing. You gesture. He carries, positions. Accepts a cup of coffee, pressed into his hands as you grace him with an appreciative kiss.

Higuruma Hiromi had a drill, once. He's certain it's in the same place as those missing keys. Or, the album he's been meaning to listen to for a while? Anyway. You hear cursing and crashing as he rummages through the cupboards, eventually appearing with two pristine, still in their packaging screwdrivers. He reads the instructions step-by-step (but uses the wrong plank of wood for the base anyway, having to double back 6 steps to correct himself), keeps losing his pencil (it's behind his ear, every time), drops pieces on his feet (hopping and swearing), lifts you up and throws you sideways along the sofa, certain the missing screw is under your bottom. He has a glass of wine halfway through, staring out of the window, and asks you, full of solemn despair; "Why is life this way?"

You offer help, concerned by how his hair stands on end, how his shirt has sweat patches, and the look of heated fury in his eyes. The response is almost toddlerish-- "No! I'll do it," he reassures, his voice carefully tempered. You offer him an encouraging smile, now on your 3rd cup of tea, pouring his down the sink and putting the kettle on again. You could build it yourself, of course, but Hiromi has a thirst to prove that he can, and well...who are you to deny him that?

The result? Picasso. It has...character.

"Where do you want it?" Hiromi asks you, dragging it with a concerning grind across the hard floor. You wince, gesturing. He drags, positions. Accepts a cup of coffee, smiling, proud, and pulls you onto one sweaty armpit, nuzzling his shiny hooked nose into your hair.

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Neat Suit/Messy Suit Aesthetics

Hot Anger/Cold Anger Aesthetics

"Get Up!" Fighter/"Stay Down!" Fighter Aesthetics

City-Skyline Penthouse/Converted-Factory Penthouse Aesthetics

[dr4kenlvr]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 ?

feat. shinichiro sano, inui seishu, draken, mitsuya takashi, hanma shuji x gn!reader - fluff (1.3k+)

—in which you and the boys have a sleepover together.

nana's note: tried to write for some characters i don't usually write for (as per requested by my followers hehe)! i hope my characterization of them isn't too off, please enjoy and let me cry over hanma shuji again.

SHINICHIRO quietly shuts the door behind him, as he steps onto the balcony of his home. the warm air of a tokyo sunday travels across the exposed skin of his arms—a pleasing sensation as he searches his pocket for a lighter. a pack of opened cigarettes lay on the small table in the corner. shinichiro bends over to fetch one, lights it up, and takes a long drag. he sighs, leaning forward against the railing. everything is quiet, save for the sounds of people beneath him and the occasional loud honk of a car. but then, the sound of balcony’s door makes him turn.

it’s you—with your jacket half-on and hair disheveled all cutely. “shini, i’m gonna head home soon. i’ve got wor—”

“why don’t you just stay the night?” he says, almost without realizing. he takes another drag of his cigarette at your expression; are you gonna turn him down? but as he exhales, the smoke that evades his vision dispurses to reveal a small smile on your face. shinichiro feels his lungs somehow haven’t exhaled. 

you drop your bag on the floor, and join him outside. taking his hand in his, you begin to play with his fingers, pondering his suggestion. he looks at you with an expectant look, cigarette caught between his lips. “only if you drive me to work—without making me late.” you laugh.

shinichiro laughs with you, exhaling once more as he intertwines your hand with his. “well of course, darling.”

INUI rinses his face twice more, before you hand him a towel to pat himself dry with. “thank you,” he mumbles, voice muffled by the cotton smushed on him. you smile at him, glancing up at the bunny headband keeping his hair away from his face. he reluctantly agreed to use it, considering that no one else was around to see a man of his caliber wearing such an accessory. 

“you look cuter than you think, sei’” you look at him through the mirror, in time to see his face burn up the slightest bit before he turns his head away from your lingering eyes.

“just focus on washing your face,” he says, still refusing to face you. you giggle, as you lather the cleanser between your fingers and apply it to your face. doing skincare was a therapeutic part of both your separate routines, therefore nothing could victor the happiness you felt to do it with him.

you wash away the foam, pat yourself dry with a towel and remove your headband. taking his hand in yours, you lead him to your bed.

“you know, for someone who claims they hate the headband so much—why haven’t you taken yours off yet?” you tease, pointing out the pastel pink headband still neatly wrapped around his head. 

inui’s eyes widen, and you’re able to capture the full extent of his blush as he scrambles to take off the headband, throwing it in your direction with a huff. 

DRAKEN shakes the bag of chips, stopping when they almost spill over the edge of the bowl and onto his bedroom floor. you pop open another can of pop, reaching over to pour some into his cup. the two of you have been using this sleepover as an excuse to get high on sugar and empty calories. you’ve been at it for hours now, just mindlessly chowing down snacks while talking about everything and nothing all at once.

“that flavour is so ass, babe.” draken complains, slouching down against the side of his bed, his long arm extending over to grab some popcorn from your lap. he watches solemnly as the liquid fills his cup, before you retract your arm.

“quit your whining, you always drink it all anyways.” you retort, snorting at the look of feigned disgust on your boyfriend’s face. “besides, that’s not what you should be complaining about—try feeling the numbness in my ass from sitting on your floor for so long.”

draken laughs, coughing on his food. “my ass hurts too y’know!” he yells lightheartedly, making you laugh hysterically with him. “m’sorry i ain’t got a table for us to eat at,” he says, placing a hand on your thigh before squeezing slightly. “and i don’t think you want to eat in the main lobby of a brothel.”

you sigh, and scooch yourself closer to draken’s body. “it’s really no big deal ken, at least both of our asses hurt.” you lean up, pressing a kiss to his lips. “there’s no one else i’d rather share this butt pain with, anyways.” you say, mirroring the grin plastered on draken’s face. 

MITSUYA scrubs the plate in his hands with a sponge, coating it in soapy water before moving onto the next set of dishes in the sink. upstairs, he can hear mana and luna running around while squealing; they’re probably playing some kind of tag game. “be careful girls! don’t get hurt!” he calls from the kitchen, pausing his movements to listen for a response:

“yes brother! we’ll be careful!” luna calls out from atop the stairs, before huffing away as her sister chases her once more. mitsuya smiles, glad that they were able to occupy themselves when he had his hands full. behind him, mitsuya hears a huff too—but it’s from you, who's carrying a basket-full of laundry that needs to be folded. you place it down on the floor and begin to fold the articles of clothing, separating them between his clothes, his sisters’ and his mothers’. 

“s-sweetheart! you don’t need to do all that,” mitsuya scrambles to finish the dishes, when he realizes you’re intent on folding it all yourself. “you can just relax, i’ll be done in a bit.” 

you bite back a grin, and shake your head at him. “let me help you out takashi,” he blinks at you with an unreadable expression, “you deserve to have some weight taken off your shoulders.” 

placing a neatly folded sweater on the couch, you walk over to where he stands and wrap your arms around his waist from behind. you squeeze him tenderly, “let me help you,” your voice is muffled by his back, which you’ve shoved your face against. mitsuya’s hands—still wearing gloves, and covered in soap—are frozen as you stay there for a few moments. then he smiles down at you behind his shoulder, and with an expression of pure gratefulness, he laughs, “.. okay, my love.”

HANMA bickers you for the third time to get into bed with him: “babe! the bed’s so cold without you next to me, y’know?” he whines, making you shoot him a glare from across the room. he snickers, cheering like a child when you finally shut off the lights and walk towards the bed. hanma lifts the blanket for you to crawl under, pulling it over your body along with his own when you slump under. 

you groan happily, feeling all your muscles relax under the weight of the blanket, and hanma’s secured arms around your waist. “s’much better,” he mutters quietly, face tucked into the crook of your neck. you two had left the window slightly ajar, allowing pleasantly warm winds and the sounds of citylife to sway into the otherwise—silent room of your house. 

yawning, hanma presses a kiss to your nape and pulls you closer to him. you blindly search for his hands under the blanket, interlacing your fingers with his once you did, while shivers travelled down your spine at the feeling of his smile against your skin. you lift his hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss to his tattooed skin, earning yourself more pecks to your skin as his lips decide to travel across the expanse of your shoulders.

as your eyes become gradually heavier, you grant yourself the luxury of finally closing them. and before the wonders of sleep can completely take over, hanma whispers a quiet “love you, angel”, before falling asleep holding you in his arms.

taglist: @dai-tsukki-desu @kazuhoya @gwynsapphire @sscarchiyo @reiners-milkbiddies @smileyswifeyy @bontensimp-blog @thisbicc @megumisemo (send me an ask or dm to be added!)

reblogs, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!

[kohakurin8]

Things I Noticed Watching The Umbrella Academy for the Second Time

Spoilers ahead!

• Leonard was always kinda creepy. The reason most people didn't notice it at first is because the narrative makes you hope for good things for Vanya, especially when he acts kind and supportive towards her. It's a wonderful portrayal of manipulative relationship dynamics because it makes you experience the manipulation first hand with Vanya. Incredible.

• Hazel really came into the "Kill Number 5" job with one foot out the door. He was already planning to leave his job and find a normal life. And considering he actually took the time to realize that he was miserable and then manage to just barely keep his job while looking for a way out, I think Hazel just might be the most mentally stable person in that entire organization.

• Vanya's whole statement about wondering if what Mom says is from her own thoughts or from Dad isn't a nihilistic thought about Mom not being her own person. She was trying to express that Dad might have actually loved them, deep down, because if he didn't then he wouldn't have been able to program Mom to be so loving and caring to them. Not only is this foreshadowing for later seasons, it also means that Reginald specifically programmed Mom to show the children all the love and care that he never could in his role.

• Holy shit, Klaus ACTUALLY DROWNED in that bathtub in episode 3—

• Klaus always had a 70s vibe going on before he ever went to Vietnam. It begs the question, did the briefcase take him to Vietnam because that era was in his heart all along? Is that what happens when you don't program it?

• The series treats Vanya's book like it was some horrible mistake. A bad decision that made everyone's lives worse. At least, that's what most of her siblings think, so it makes the viewer feel that way too. But if you take a step back and look at it, there was nothing wrong with Vanya's book. It was therapeutic for her, and it helped everyone go on to become their own people. They should have been happy that Vanya had the courage to speak out about the abuse that they endured, but instead they hate her for it because it forced them to face negative feelings that they'd been trying to ignore.

• When Five ran back to the academy and found it destroyed, the very first name he called was Vanya's. She was the person he was concerned about the most.

[pawberri]

This may be odd, but as a kinky individual who is constantly curious on other kinks, and others opinions/values, how do you feel about fauxcest?

I’m not into it personally, but I like hearing other people’s opinions on any and all kinks. I’ve been seeing it on the tl some recently and I’m not too sure how I should feel.

Incest tw

Its a nuanced question that basically entirely depends on context to me... like I respect it as a kink between adults, your private sex life isn't anyones business and if you're being a responsible & looking after u and ur partner thats fine. Afaik most therapist support that it can be therapeutic for survivors. I am even in theory fine with people like running blogs where they talk about it if they moderate it and such. But I think making art about it (even or especially horny art) is like supremely difficult to do well at best. It takes a lot of thought and care. Which is why I find it un-ideal that it's so popular with really reactionary people who hate tagging and trigger warning and believing art has implications and stuff. This also is inconvenient for me as someone who gets PTSD from like specifically online incest content lol

But it does feel like it's 50 different topics with a lot of different outcomes... like there's trans girl survivors coping and doing their best to be responsible or just making slight mistakes and getting the brunt of online hate VS like 4channers who straight up make memes mocking the idea of having a little sister who hates being abused and collectively egg each other on to become fucking Kaliacc nazi groomers VS the mainstream porn that's not interested in abuse as a real thing or a real issue and just wants a cheap thrill VS joseimuke gacha games baiting sibling couples for fujoshi money harder than other ships but also not gafing abt abuse VS people calling hot people mommy or daddy . All of these warrant their own essays to me because they're all communicating completely different things

Basically I'm glad we're transitioning into an era where the people who like it actually think about it and the implications of it unlike when I was a kid where the norm in fandom was just to introduce kids to random incest ships and not gaf about anything ever . Please please please warn for it tho. Why is it the thing people get mad at u for asking to warn 😭💔

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

Nimona headcanons plus a little bonus at the end

Whenever the trio gets home it's like a switch is flipped off inside their brains and all they want to do is be lazy and relax 

They’ve got very busy and stressful lives and a pretty small home so it’s not uncommon for them to yell when they’re asking a question instead of just getting up

And if they can’t hear each other they’ll just call the other person

One time Ambrosius was yelling asking them what wanted for dinner and was interrupted by Nimona calling him 

He answered the phone and all they said was “What’d you say I couldn't hear you” he didn’t even question it he just kept talking 

Nimona brings dead animals home 

I have this small headcanon that the first time she shifted into her human form was when she met Gloreth 

So before that she was living mostly as different animals and she kind of learned their ways and those ways stuck with her 

So there is a small part of her that sees Bal and Ambrosius as incompetent hunters (can you blame her)

The boys always thank her for her doing a good job and then they wait for her to leave the room before they freak out because MY GOD SHE BROUGHT A FUCKING DEAD RAT IN THE DAMN HOUSE 

There have also been times when she’s brought live animals inside the house the trio spent half an hour trying to get a traumatized bird out of their living room 

I just know for a fact that Bal has a crazy amount of brain damage 

This man has used his head as a weapon and has been hit on the head more times than I can count 

So I feel like he has a really hard time remembering the little details he gets really bad migraines and headaches pretty frequently his eyesight is absolute shit and he has to wear contacts or glasses and he gets really bad vertigo if he doesn’t take care of himself 

This worries the shit out of Ambrosius and Nimona but there isn't much they can do except deal with the symptoms when they show up

So I was thinking about the fact that as far as we know Nimona never told Bal about what went down with Gloreth

But I know that the boys would try and heal the damage that Gloreths legacy left behind  

And in the middle of everything Bal turned to Ambrosius and said “I just wish that fucking eyesore was gone” 

He didn’t have to ask what he meant he knew it was the statue 

So Ambrosius got to work trying to get it torn down 

A lot of people including some distant relatives that he hasn’t heard from in years tried to argue that it was an important monument and that her story touched a lot of people 

To which Ambrosius responded with “I’m her direct descendant if anyone gets to choose what happens to that statue it should be me” 

It was a couple of months into Nimona’s return when the demolition was approved 

The boys had asked him a while after he came back if it was something he wanted 

And all he said was “As long as I get to help” 

It was super therapeutic for both Nimona and Ambrosius 

Like don’t get me wrong the damage she did to Nimona is still there 

And Ambrosius will always have a complicated relationship with his lineage 

But tearing down the “fucking eyesore” heals something inside them

It was supposed to be a month-long process but Nimona and Ambrosius kept going and it was completely gone after two weeks

When all was said and done they collapsed on the couch and went through just about every single emotion you can go through

A little bonus I made my mama watch Nimona with me and here are some of my favorite comments: Mind you when I first put the movie on this woman was acting like I was pulling teeth

“I like the queen she seems nice” (and then she freaked out when she died)

“So they’re nice to him 'cause he’s gold I would just steal the armor what does he have without that?” “Money Mama” “Ah”

“Why are they so mean to him he’s just a baby?” (talking about Bal)

“She’s just like you especially with those freaky eyes” (when Nimona met Bal)

“Oh, so she’s the rhino…. Makes sense”

“Awe she’s cute I can't hate her” (about Nimona again)

“Oh wait she isn’t cute that’s freaky” (when Nimona was the demon baby)

“That’s like you and your sister” (Bal and Nimona interrogating the squire)

“Hey, mama is arm chopping a love language?” “I’m worried that you would even ask me that”

“Oh he’s got issues huh?” (after Ambrosius’ internal freak out)

“Can he die a little quieter… and faster” (after the Director stabbed “Ambrosius”)

“Oh fuck that little blond girl”

We had to pause the movie right before Nimona started her rampage because we were getting tired and I woke up to her in front of the tv with it pulled up on Netflix and she turned to me and said “Can we finish it already?”

“If she sacrificed herself I will never forgive you”

“Do you watch anything with straight people?” “Mama you literally ship them” “That's not an answer” (this is right after Bal and Ambrosius kissed)

“Is there a next part?..... so when’s the next one coming out?” 

Once the movie was over I told her some people thought Ambrosius and Bal were related and she looked me dead in the eyes and said

“You’re joking. No you have no be kidding… He literally said it in the movie!” “Said what Mama?” “oh I love him so much and I lost him whatever will I do” 

And then she kept making fun of Ambrosius for the next three minutes

I asked her who her favorite was and she said Nimona I go “aweee you love me” she looks me dead in my eyes and says “don’t make it awkward”

[conditioned-to-obey]

Hii i just saw your answer to an ask where you said that patriarchy kinks dont sit well with you, i assume u mean the hypno/bimbo community?

That's at least where i see most of it-

Anyway, i just wanted to say that while i do understand your reasoning engaging in that kind of kink (with trusting and trusted people) has helped me heal so much, so for anyone thats wanting to indulge in it: please make sure you do it with people that you trust and know that they, even if they say they do, dont want to (actually) harm you.

(i dont mean any harm, you and your blog genuinely seem super nice :3)

No, I did not mean the hypno and bimbo community. That ask had nothing to do with either of those things?

To the contrary I've seen plenty of hypno and bimbo content without misogynistic patriarchy undertones.

There is a rather large difference between bimbofication as a means of embracing feminity – or not having to be intelligent as a feminine person to be valued, accepting and appreciating beauty and hyperfeminity, being allowed to be happy and bubbly, choosing kind simple happiness, not being pressured to not enjoy traditionally feminine things and concepts– as opposed to content that bases bimbofication in white, blonde, skinny beauty standards or surgeries only the rich can afford and to the detriment of the bimbo for male gratification. That is where my discomfort lies. It's a personal gripe, I just don't participate in the latter.

To me, anyone can be a hot happy dumb bimbo. That's a real beauty of it. I can very much see how that is beneficial and healing.

I've seen hypno used to assist comfort, release, calm and subspace. Hypno for subs to feel more in tune and in control of their headspaces. One comes to mind is directed towards helping a sub feel more like a puppy. Hypno in the sense that all you must do is let go. Release control and relax back.

Hypnosis on its own itself has been used in plenty therapeutic settings. So, it would be very silly for me to discredit it.

When I say patriarchy and misogyny, I mean male centric regurgitated drivel that if not tagged or marked as kink, may very well just be straight from an incel reddit forum. Most of these blogs don't even have a disclosure or warning stating that they are participating in kink in the first place.

Women being left unsatisfied sexually repressed and boring p in v sex ending as soon as a man cums? Sounds like sad reality for a lot of people to me. One I have heard many times. It just doesn't sound appealing.

This ask is somewhat redundant to me, as that advice you purposed is exactly what advice I said in my original answer. The one you are referring to in the first place. Maybe you should return back and reread it to soak up any context and concepts you may have missed.

I'll reiterate that I stated that it is best to avoid those spaces. In relation to what the original anon was looking for. As most people who are actually misogynistic and truly believe in patriarchy flourish there. Without having to be under the radar the operate in plain sight usually. Hence why my advice was to avoid those spaces if you're starting out and trying to find people you can trust to open up to exploring more taboo and complex play. It is in no means directed as telling anyone what to do, or what is or isn't healing for them as an individual.

Hope this helps. Best of luck.

[copperbadge]

lightwit

I love your mindfulness posts. I personally hate the concept of mindfulness with a passion because to me that's just normal being human and using your effing brain properly, but as an educator I have had to accept the fact that manymany people do not in fact have much self awareness and actually do benefit from this mumbojumbo. So, I am so glad I am not the only one struggling out here. 😜

I hope it's okay if I pop this into its own post because it actually gets at something I'm contending with. So, in order to get my research lined up and my thoughts in a row for therapy I turned all this research into a powerpoint called "Doing A Stupid Powerpoint For My Stupid Mental Health". And one of the slides in it is titled "Mindfulness: Petition To Rename It".

Mindfulness, as a term, is uselessly broad; it's such a bad way to identify a category of treatment/behavior that there appears to be an entire subgenre of scientific papers that work to create a framework of what Mindfulness actually is -- I read at least three papers, all published in the last ten years, that are like "What is Mindfulness in a useful sense?" and all of them had different answers. And because Mindfulness is now a buzzword, if you're researching it then you're likely to run into everything from scholarly articles to pop journalism to clickbait, to both harmless and genuinely dangerous peddlers of quack science. And sometimes the quack scientists are also publishing scholarly articles where they've just been p-hacking.

So I'm inclined to agree that mindfulness is mostly nonsense, but that's a problem with the term, not what falls underneath it. There are therapeutic modes that call themselves mindfulness that actually are rooted in real science. I think these should probably have a new name, like Therapeutic Awareness or something, but it'd just get co-opted back into the woo, I have a feeling.

So there's a lot of nonsense, but the goal of being present in the moment and self-aware isn't an idle one; there's an increasing body of knowledge suggesting that it's a foundational skill for emotional regulation and healthy coping. The scholarship goes way beyond "mindfulness arises from Buddhist practice" which if I have to read one more time I'm gonna throw stuff. Clinical testing is looking at things like physiological responses to mindfulness behaviors that have nothing to do with what's going on in your conscious mind. There's some woo surrounding "Coherent Breathing" and I don't trust the foremost proponent of it as far as I can throw him, but he didn't invent it, and testing shows that people trained in and practicing Coherent Breathing have better focus and can, to an extent, lower the level of stress hormone in their body. "Positive affect" (happy emotions) didn't rise, but "Negative affect" (sadness, anger, stress etc) was lowered.

A lot of what's being studied on a clinical level involves us as humans somehow activating shit in our nervous system that we have no conscious control over, the same way we develop muscle memory by doing a task repeatedly. That has measurable value for the issues I'm trying to solve, but it's not universally applicable, which is another reason so much of mindfulness comes across as junk science, because it tries to tell us that it's a cure-all when it isn't.

But there's reason to believe that if you can reroute your nervous system when you're starting to become upset, you can short-circuit maladaptive reactions and prevent it from causing a spiral or an over-reaction or similar, and some practices called mindfulness can train for that. And that's my goal, so I'm willing to rummage in the garbage for the gold.

[the-little-ewok]

From the kissing prompts: “we didn't kiss each other good morning." with Poe please and thank you 🥺🥹

Pièce de rèsistance

Poe Dameron x G!N Reader

Rating : M

Wordcount : 2300 (ish)

Warnings : Cutesy cute fluff, body painting (kinda I guess 😂), lil bit of innuendo, kinda semi public make out, brief illusion/discussion on public sex (doesn't happen), rated M purely just for a lil sexual content.

Summary : You always kiss Poe good morning, but on the day you don't, he's going to make you pay the debt with interest.

A/N: yes I know X-Wing paint probably isn't safe to be on your skin. No I don't care. Let me live fanfiction how I like 😂

@dailyreverie - I hope you enjoy this silly little story!

Un-beta'd so sorry for the mistakes

—-------

You squeak in shock, dropping your paintbrush to the ground as a pair of arms suddenly slip around your waist, relaxing when you hear a familiar chuckle from behind you.

"Good morning," Poe mumbles, burying his face in your neck as he cuddles you tightly against his chest.

"Good afternoon," you tease with a giggle, hugging his arms briefly, before you loosen his grip enough to turn and face him. His hair is still a ruffled mess, and there's stubble on his chin that tells he's thrown on some clothes and come straight to you from bed. Your heart flutters a little at the sweetness.

"You know you don't have to do this?" He gestures to his X-Wing that you'd been repainting for the morning, using whatever leftover paints you could find. After the latest battle the paintwork had taken some heavy damage, and since Poe didn't have time to do it himself, you had offered to fix it up for him, if only to stop his sad grimace everytime he looked at the ship. You were sure of two things in life, that Poe loved you, and that he might just love his ship a little more.

"I know but I'm enjoying it. It's kinda therapeutic," you shrug. "How's your day been? Well the bit you've been awake for," you tease with a grin.

Poe sighs, "not a great start to be honest. I woke up in an empty bed and realised we didn't kiss each other good morning."

He does a fairly good job of trying to look unhappy, which you are sure he probably is, at least a little bit, but there's a tiny twitch at the corner of his lips that tells you he's teasing.

"I seem to remember that's because you were still asleep. I think there's a word for people that do things when you're asleep," you wink at him and Poe gives a soft laugh, shaking his head.

"You should have woken me up," he complains with a pout. "I wouldn't have minded."

You snort with laughter.

"Now we both know that's not true! Have you ever met you when someone wakes you up? Maker, I'd rather face down the First Order alone."

"What are you talking about? I'm sure I'm absolutely delightful," Poe grins at you, clearly knowing full well he is not in any way delightful when his sleep is interrupted. Thankfully waking him wasn't something you had needed to do very often.

Whether it was for missions, strategy ideas he needed to note down, or more recently nightmares he couldn't stop, Poe was usually awake before you, no matter how early you woke up. Morning kisses had become somewhat of a routine, and if you were honest, you had missed that this morning. But Poe needed the sleep and so when you awoke to the pilot still dozing beside you, you had decided to allow him the rest. In fact, you had taken things a little further to make sure he would stay asleep for as long as he needed.

Poe had been working long into the night training new recruits, fixing resistance ships, trying to get them into some semblance of fighting condition again, and generally running himself into the ground. Almost every night for a week he had barely collapsed into bed before he was up again and back to it. The circles under his eyes had become worryingly dark, and no matter how many times you begged him to slow down and take a break, he insisted he couldn't.

So while the pilot was sleeping you had crept out of bed, and taken matters into your own hands to ensure he got a decent amount of sleep, at least for today.

Watching Poe fish out his watch from his pocket, the one he always puts on the nightstand when he comes to bed with his alarm set, you bite your lip nervously.

"I would have been awake but somehow I seem to have lost the battery from this. No idea how considering it would have had to come unscrewed, be removed and screw the back in again. Pretty impressive technology to do all that by itself without me noticing, don't you think?" He muses, holding it up between you.

"Poe," you start, ready to apologise and explain.

"I do feel better though now. I guess I really needed the extra couple of hours," he interupts with a soft smile. The worry dissipates just as quickly as it had coiled in your belly.

"You aren't mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" He gives you a purely boyish grin, raising an eyebrow. "Wait… you don't...you don't happen to know anything about this do you?"

You shake your head, "Nope. Absolutely nothing. Haven't touched it, haven't even seen it. When did you even get that? I've no idea what it is," you giggle, playing along.

Poe hums thoughtfully, regarding you with playful suspicion before he slides the temporarily useless watch back into his pocket.

"Well, if you do happen to see the battery anywhere, I would like it back, eventually."

You nod in confirmation, said battery suddenly feeling like it was burning a hole in your pocket. "Duly noted. I'll keep my eyes open,"

"Good," Poe nods, knowing he will find his watch magically fixed and back on the nightstand by tomorrow morning. "Now, I do need to address this kiss issue. You now owe me a kiss good morning, a kiss to say thank you for coming all the way across here to get the good morning kiss, a kiss to make up for missing the first kiss, and," he pauses, looking at his wrist to check his watch, before he remembers he isn't wearing it anymore. "I'm sure by the time we are done with those you'll owe me your afternoon missed you kiss."

"That's a lot of kisses all in one go." You sigh dramatically, giving him a serious look. "Do you think you can handle that all at once? I wouldn't want to overwhelm you."

Poe gives you a look of warning, one that tells you he'll be bringing that back up later, if only to prove how easily he can overwhelm you.

Taking your hand he all but drags you around the back of the X-Wing, where the noise of people coming and going seems more muted. It's nowhere near private, but it's about as private as you can get with the limited amount of time you have together.

"Up you go," he instructs, gesturing to the crates you had stacked into steps in order to reach the higher parts of the ship on this side. You blink at him in confusion, unsure if you've heard him correctly above the noise, but he simply gestures again for you to go up. Curiously you do as he asks, wondering what he's up to now.

Poe carefully follows until you reach the top. It isn't high but you notice Poe keeps one hand on your hip, just in case you do wobble.

When you reach the top he spins you to face him, before backing you up and pressing your back against the X-wing, pinning your body to the metal with his. Maker it sends heat flashing across your skin to have him so close. You realise this is why he wanted you up here, out of the way, unable to escape making the payment he demands.

"Kisses. Now."

"You're so cute when you're impatient," you giggle. Moving your hand to hold the side of his neck you pull his lips to yours, unable to wait any longer yourself.

You take your time with the kiss, kissing his top and bottom lip before you fully kiss him, your other hand slotting your fingers into the belt loops of his pants, holding him close. Poe pouts when you pull away before he's anywhere near enough of you.

"Good morning," you grin.

Before he has a chance to reply you press your lips to his a second time. This time you kiss him a little longer, but only long enough for him to run his tongue along your lower lip, seeking to deepen the kiss. You pull away with a devilish grin, ignoring his unimpressed look.

"I'm sorry you had to walk 60 yards to get your good morning kiss. Must be a terrible time for you with all those long steps across the yard," you tease sarcastically.

"Less talking, more paying kisses," Poe grumbles, his cheeks already flushed, his fingers digging into your hips as he grips you tightly. Along with Poe's long hours came the fact that you didn't have much awake time to spend together, and clearly it was starting to become a struggle for you both.

With a grin you drag his mouth back to yours, the kiss escalating faster this time, Poe's body pressing tighter against you. You kiss him hard this time, allowing your tongue to dip into his mouth, pulling a soft groan from the pilot who's turned to putty in your hands. You tangle your fingers in his curls and tug gently, causing him to nip your bottom lip in shock. He gets his revenge by slotting his thigh between your legs, making you gasp.

"Poe, people might see," you whimper against his mouth, desperately fighting back the urge to grind down against his leg.

"Let them see the consequences of missed kisses," he shrugs, staying exactly where he is. "Sooner you pay what's owed the sooner I might let you go."

You bite your lip, picking up on the might in his words. "What if I like being right here?"

Poe lets out a groan, pressing you harder against the ship. You're both breathing a little heavier now, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

"Don't tempt me. The extra hours sleep have given me a lot of energy," he whispers in your ear.

Oh well now you want nothing more than to tempt him, to drag his mouth to yours and let him devour you. But you know deep down now isn't the time, or the place.

Still, you can't quite quell the lustful thoughts that fill your mind.

"I owe you one more kiss," you offer temptingly.

"Trust me, I want to kiss you again so bad but if I do, I think the resistance is going to see a lot more of you than you want them to," Poe laughs softly, running his nose up the column of your neck as he holds you close. "Perhaps we need to keep a log and you can pay later?"

While you nod in agreement you still can't help stealing a quick kiss from him. It's nothing more than a fleeting brush of your lips against his, but Poe's smile lights up his face at the gesture. Both of you have missed the time to be close like this, to have the energy for this playfulness.

When he finally lets you step away from the ship, after another two quick kisses, he suddenly bursts out laughing. You frown, once more confused before he spins you around to see your own body print in the paint that has clearly not quite dried.

"Oh no!" You groan, reaching around to feel the wet paint on your back. Bringing your hand back around you see the black coating your fingers and let out a curse. "Shit. I'll have repaint it!"

"Leave it there," Poe grins, "It's very artistic." He tilts his head, as though admiring it like a painting. "Yeah, I like it. Especially this bit," he gestures to the perfect imprint of your ass against the ship.

"It looks a mess now," you sigh sadly. Your intention had been to make the ship look better, not worse.

"Actually, I was just thinking we could come back tonight and do your front on the other side," Poe shrugs. You feel heat creeping up your neck at his suggestion.

"Poe, you are not flying around with my body imprints on your ship!"

"Yeah," he nods entirely ignoring you, "maybe we could do them in a different colour? I'm sure we have some more orange paint laying around. Could paint all my favourite parts." He wriggles his eyebrows at you and you try not to laugh.

"Absolutely not!"

Poe sighs, resigned that you aren't enamoured by the idea of the entire resistance seeing you plastered against his ship, before he grins in an all too familiar, worrying way.

"What about if it was somewhere only I would see? Like the cockpit? Little bit of paint on some, select areas," he squeezes your ass making you jump with a squeak. "We could put it on the pilot's seat. Consider it interest for failing to pay your kisses on time."

You turn to stare at him as he wipes the paint he's gotten on himself from touching you, on the side of his pants, trying to work out if he's serious. He can't really want you to leave an imprint of your ass in his ship. But when he meets your gaze he's deadly serious and you burst into laughter. It's absolutely absurd that of all the tokens you could give him to travel with, that's what he wants.

"Is that a yes?" Poe laughs. "It'll be fun. I'll make it fun," he promises, his tone dropping to imply exactly the kind of fun he means.

You really should be considering how little the cockpit is, how uncomfortable it might be to squeeze you both in, how impractical his suggestion is, but the amusement is so bright in his eyes it obliterates anything else. You don't want to crush his little fantasy just yet, so you laugh with a nod.

"Alright Flyboy, you got a deal. Now go fetch me the paint so I can fix this." You gesture to the smudged mess of your imprint.

"One second," Poe pauses, staring at it hard "just committing it to memory."

You roll your eyes at him.

"If I push you off, I could say it was an accident," you threaten. Poe laughs looking down at the floor before back at you. He launches himself the crates, easily jumping down, landing gracefully on his feet and grinning up at you. He takes a dramatic bow, one that shouldn't be as cute as it is.

"By the way," he shouts as he disappears around the ship to retrieve your paint can, "you owe me another kiss for fetching you this."

Maker, at this rate you'll never get the job done

-----------

Thanks for reading! Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment if you enjoyed! Remember your interaction keeps writers writing!

[bellaxgiornata]

Heyy this may come off as a weird question but,

Since Ive gotten a boyfriend I haven’t brought the whole tumblr Matt Murdock stuff and idk how well he’ll take it. My ex was pretty much weary about it so idk how accepting your partner is or if you have tips on how go handle that talk jsjsj

Hey, friend! I don't mind answering though I'm not sure how helpful this will be, but I'll try! And I'll also put my response below the cut because it got long!

So in my previous relationships I never mentioned writing and reading fanfiction in the past. When I was in my teens and 20s, fanfic was basically nerdy and cringey and it's not something you really told people you took part in. So I always just wrote and read it in my free time and never announced it to anyone. But from what I've been gathering lately, that's a bit different nowadays.

Personally, I don't view reading fanfic as anything different than reading a book. In some instances a smutty, filthy book, but hey, it's not like those don't exist and aren't published. In my view, if it's not somehow negatively impacting your life or the relationship then there's nothing wrong with it. I can't speak to what issues your ex may have had, but I honestly don't see why enjoying silly fanfics for fun or an escape from reality because of a crush on a fictional character is something to be weary about.

For me, my husband and I have known each other since high school and I have always been open about wanting to be a writer. We lost touch when he moved to Alaska for college, but 5 years later when we reconnected and began dating again one of the first things he asked was if I was still writing. I've been fortunate to be with someone who knows how incredibly passionate I am about my writing and he sees me participating in fanfic as no different than writing a published series (which I'd like to someday do). He's also quite secure in our relationship and isn't jealous of fictional characters, and my interest in them doesn't have any negative effects on our relationship or my personal life. If anything, it's an escape and sometimes therapeutic for me to write out different stories. So he really doesn't care and is just supportive of me writing.

Long story short, I feel like it's up to you if you even want to disclose your hobby/enjoyment of fanfic. Personally, I don't think it's anything you should be judged for from a partner. Is it wrong for someone to love reading a ton of books in a particular series? Or who loves binging a TV show because they enjoy the world and they love the characters? Because I don't think so. I don't see how fanfic is any different even with a crush on a fictional character.

Hopefully this somewhat helped, but if anyone else has any thoughts or suggestions/tips to add on to this, please feel free! 💕

[notmorbid]

the vanishers.

dialogue prompts from the vanishers by heidi julavitz.

what happened to me could never happen to you. tell yourself that.

they told me it was all in my head.

you were a mother to me when no one else wanted the job.

why be fair? nobody's been fair to me.

you are all subtlety and whispers.

we were all in some form of love with ____.

in other words, i made shit up.

you really do look kind of dead.

i heard you'd been sick for a long time.

there's nothing you could tell me about yourself that i don't already know.

i recognize you now.

it might be good for you. a disruption to the given system.

according to ___, i'm pathologically territorial.

anything can appear meaningful, at a backward glance.

we are not that sort of people.

most meaningful sentiments are cheapened by articulation.

how would i know, if you never told me?

i am, though. sorry.

i don't hide things from you on purpose.

i practice a no attachment policy. i am all business.

it's no big deal to be used by strangers. it's when you're used by people you know that life becomes unfathomable.

don't worry. your life is about to get better.

when you're ready to fight, give me a call.

what was your authorial intent?

i don't know if i'd call it a career. more of an inspired hobby.

we could be of mutual use to one another.

anything you divulge can be used against you.

i don't go where i'm not invited.

everyone has vulnerabilities. everyone has a weak spot.

when will you stare your sad life in the face?

revenge is not a compelling therapeutic goal.

hate is a form of emotional attachment.

maybe that's your problem. thinking it can be understood.

to forget is to respect the past.

you must have missed yourself.

your good intentions mean nothing.

the past is not past if it is always present.

memory is an act of murder.

i'm an expert at ruining people's lives. it's the one talent i possess.

you might learn things you wish you hadn't.

in some cases, a lie can be more valuable than the truth.

people can be remarkably thoughtless.

tell me why you don't love me.

you are such a parasite.

anything i have of my mother's, i've had to steal.

i know better than to ask anything of you.

what does someone have to do for you to classify them as a monster?

your emotions are like water. they pour onto the people around you.

i tried to say i was sorry.

you're doomed to fail because you're too scared to try.

disappearing isn't very hard when no one is looking for you.

there's no need to be sorry. that's why i don't tell people.

to think i've been afraid of this. to think i've been afraid of you.

come. i'm not going to hurt you.

do you believe i saw a ____?

you really do look like shit.

were you trying not to be found?

i should lie to you, but i don't know you well enough.

to heal is to entomb forever the sickness.

i'm going home, wherever that is.

what good has running away ever done?

there is no knowing the truth from ____.

some people have no taste.

you deserve to have every ounce of marrow sucked from your bones by a hummingbird.

i am not too scared to try.

i want, more than anything, not to be alone.

i'm glad you understand. maybe you can make me understand.

you think i need a massage therapist? what i need is a gun.

it's important to remember that those commit murder are not making smart choices.

i am my mother's daughter. you should be worried.

we don't want people to talk more than they're already going to.

winter in new england is always coming.

sometimes you can resolve the unresolvable by accepting it as unresolvable.

so you're not looking to get better?

reasons are for the survivors. they do the dead no good.

'good health' means being unaware of one's health.

i'm sorry. i can't ever seem to tell you what you want to hear.

don't worry about what i want to hear. tell me what you want me to know.

what you want a person to know is often the last thing you want a person to know.

there's so much i can't tell you. no matter how much i want to.

people overestimate the value of expression.

blame is the cord you can never sever.

[starstruckkittensweets]

puppy love (ii)

Chuuya Nakahara x Reader

fandom: bungo stray dogs

Another part to the Chuuya with puppies series! Honestly it's been pretty therapeutic to write this out and plan out future parts. I don't really have any kind of direction for this series, it's just for fun and I write when I get inspired! But luckily my love for Chuuya isn't going away anytime soon, so you can look forward to more. I hope you enjoy!

warnings: fem reader, pet names ("doll"), rambunctious puppies who just wanna play, mutual pining perhaps (if you squint) || words: 2.6k

Part I | Part II | Part III

The next time you see Chuuya, you’re on your way home from the vet—with Kotaro, Pochi, and Shiro in tow.

Kotaro’s the first to notice him. His ears shoot forward, nose pointed straight in the cool night air, and he gives a hard yank on the leash in your hand. You start to scold him, but the words die on your tongue at the familiar sight of orange hair and bright blue eyes.

The really pretty eyes you haven’t stopped thinking about for the last few days or so. (As embarrassing as it sounds.)

Kotaro tugs hard on the leash, nearly ripping the thing right from your grasp, his tail swishing from side to side. He’s not the only one who’s noticed your new friend; Pochi is sniffing the air, trying to catch the stranger’s scent, while Shiro is digging his paws deeper into the ground, eyes fixed on the newcomer’s every move.

“Sorry,” you manage a smile, despite wrangling all three dogs back under your control. (It’s hard not to get the leashes all tangled up.) “They can be excitable sometimes—I didn’t expect to see you again so soon…”

To be honest, you thought he’d forgotten about your little meetup for lunch altogether (if his attire is anything to go by, he’s a busy man with a tight schedule). The sight of him now makes your chest feel warm, your fingertips buzzing around the handles of Kotaro’s leash.

You don’t even know his name; to you, he’s just the nice stranger who brought your dog back home to you that fateful night.

But that’s plenty enough for Kotaro, who’s scrabbling against the sidewalk to the man’s outstretched hands. You really should invest in some retractable leashes. Then again, Kotaro would probably just break them in two.

Not like Pochi and Shiro, who wait patiently at your side, despite their own curiosity.

“Out for a walk, huh?” The man lets out a chuckle, even as Kotaro presses his dirty paws against his knees. “Hope you’re not causin’ your girl too much trouble.”

“Not that much,” you mumble, cheeks burning beneath his gaze. “…Is it okay if the others say hi?”

There’s a sparkle in his eye, the same one you saw the first night you met. Something that reminds you of the children you pass on the street, the ones who pull at their mother’s arms, begging to let them pet the puppy by your side. Strange to say you recognize that kind of look on a grown man’s face, but it seems to suit him all the same.

Makes his eyes look so much prettier than they already are.

He slips a glove off and crouches down to the dogs’ level, while simultaneously trying to push Kotaro off him. Pochi’s the first one to step forward, his nose twitching almost violently. Shiro hangs back, pawing at the ground before plopping his bottom right down on your shoes.

You stifle a laugh at the bulldog’s expression. My human, don’t come any closer.

“Sorry about that!” It’s hard not to smile at the man’s baffled expression, at the way Shiro’s practically glaring at him from his spot in front of you. “He’s a little protective. But I promise he’s a sweetheart once you get to know him.”

“Nah, it’s fine, I get it.” And he actually does, by the way he only focuses on Pochi and Kotaro, taking turns scratching them behind their ears. Giving the grouchy bulldog some much-needed space, only smiling at him over the other dogs’ heads.  

Huh, that’s a first.

How many times have you had to shoo an eager child’s hand away or scoop Shiro up in your arms just to keep him safe? Shiro’s a rare case, comfortable with dogs but a bit uneasy around most humans. And it’s hard to find people who acknowledge that and just leave him be. No poking or prodding, or pulling on his stubby little tail and risk losing a finger or two. And that’s the last thing anyone wants.

“Just one pet wouldn’t hurt, right?”

“Not a fan of people? That’s kinda strange…”

“He won’t bite me, right? You shouldn’t have him out in public if he’s aggressive.”

The man’s voice jerks you from your thoughts; he’s too fixated on Pochi now, smiling as the beagle kisses his cheek, so much that Kotaro is starting to look a bit jealous.

“What’s his name?”

“Pochi,” you answer with a smile. “You already know Kotaro. And this big boy is Shiro.” You lean down to rub the bulldog’s chest; he grunts and leans into your touch, all the while keeping his eyes on the man before him. “Sorry about them, they can get a little excited.”

Quite an understatement, judging by the bits of dog hair flayed across his black suit. He swipes a hand through his hair, and your eyes linger on the frayed orange strands just a little longer than they should. Until his voice snaps you out of it, as his blue gaze flickers up to meet your own.

“Only three today? Thought you said you had eight of them.”

It’s hard not to smile at his words. He remembered that, huh? “The others are back at home. These three had their check-ups at the vet today. I’ll have to bring the next three in sometime later this week.”

“Only a couple at a time, eh?”

“Yeah, I’ve tried taking all eight of them at once—it was not fun for anyone, except for maybe this little mess.” You lean over and scratch Kotaro behind the ear; the dog looks pretty damn proud of himself as you recall that stressful memory.

But before you can say anything else the man rises to his feet, tucking his hands into his pockets, but not before giving Kotaro and Pochi one last pat on their heads. There’s a soft pang in your chest; is he leaving already?

“A little late for a vet appointment, isn’t it?”

You shrug, your eyes falling to the ground. “I gotta work around the shop’s hours. We don’t close until seven, and it takes about an hour to get these guys all leashed up and ready to go. The vet the next block over doesn’t mind, though. He even knocks a bit off the price whenever one of the dogs is sick. And sometimes it’s nice, being the only ones in there. You don’t have to worry about any other dogs or people over there.”

Are you rambling again? Probably, but he doesn’t seem to mind. At least he doesn’t make it noticeable, with the way he’s looking at you.

“This a usual thing for you, then? These nighttime walks?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you answer with a giggle. “Any major shopping or appointments don’t get done until after work. I’m used to the late hours, though.”

The man hums in agreement, but his eyes tell a different story. Slowly he takes his hands back out of his pockets, eyes roaming the ground before landing back on your own. You swallow the lump in your throat (that definitely wasn’t there a few minutes ago).

“You sure you’re safe out here at this time of night?”

Another shrug, albeit a little more hesitant than the one before. “As long as I’ve got these guys, I think I am.”

He huffs out a breath, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. An uneasy silence settles over the two of you, only broken by the sound of Kotaro’s whining. He wants to get back home.

They all do, by the looks of it. A trip to the vet always wears them out. Not to mention, they’ve been hard at work guarding the shop all day. Being the faithful watchdogs you’ve trained them to be, alerting you whenever a new face shows up at the door.

(Not really, but you let them think they’re helping. It boosts their morale, lets them know they’re appreciated for all their hard work.)

“Let me walk you home,” the man finally says. “Just this once, alright?”

Maybe it’s the adorable wagging of Kotaro’s and Pochi’s tails, or the way Shiro doesn’t outright growl when the man steps closer to you, beckoning you closer with a gloved hand and a gentle smile. Or perhaps it’s the way you try to hold back a yawn, only to fail in the most unattractive way possible, as the weight of the day finally comes crashing down on your shoulders. For the first time since you woke up this morning, you realize just how damn tired you actually are.

Whatever it is, it has you nodding your head almost eagerly, your lips pulled up in a sleepy smile. “Sounds good to me.”

The walk back home is surprisingly comfortable, despite two of the three dogs yanking hard on their leashes. The friendly stranger keeps to the outer half of the sidewalk, a protective barrier between your dogs and the looming road ahead. The two of you are lost in your own little world, making casual conversation here and there, ignoring the skeptical looks of the few passerby’s out on a midnight stroll.

And by the time you see the dim lights and rickety old sign of the shop, you’ve learned three things about your new friend.

First, his name is Chuuya. He says it with a smile, orange hair falling into his face. It prompts you to share your own name, and hearing it roll off his tongue in that slightly raspy voice of his sends a shiver down your spine. (You decide then and there you like hearing your name fall from his lips.)

Second, he’s fairly wealthy. He doesn’t say it outright, but he doesn’t exactly make an effort to hide it either. From the way he dresses to how he casually mentions different brands and flavors of wine—names you’ve only ever seen next to their outrageous dollar amounts in the store. But at least he doesn’t seem snobbish about it. He doesn’t turn his nose up at the less-than fortunate state of the shop you run. Hell, he even turned down the promise of some quick and painless money just for bringing your puppy back to you that night, when most people would’ve jumped at the idea of a financial reward. Or maybe that’s just the way he is? You’re undecided about that for now.

And third, and probably most importantly, he wants to adopt a dog of his own sometime in the future.

“That’s…great! Amazing, actually! We have a lot of dogs back at the shop, it’s more of a makeshift shelter than a pet store, though. I don’t really like that term, pet store—sounds too cold and distant, right? Anyway, it’s nothing too official, none of them are really purebreds so we don’t have to worry about too many legal troubles. But if you don’t mind, you’re more than welcome to visit and see the rest of the pups. Get to meet them and see if you wanna take one home with you!”

Of course, it’ll be hard letting go of one of them. But that’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? Taking care of these dogs until they find their forever homes. Nothing’s permanent, it never has been. But it’s been quite a while since you’ve come across someone who’s interested in adopting a former street dog, sometimes it just slips your mind. You have to remind yourself it’s only a matter of time before you have to say goodbye to them.

Except Kotaro. You’ve got dibs on the shiba.

Chuuya doesn’t interrupt your little speech, but he’s not ignoring you either. He keeps his eyes on you the entire time, only pausing to steal a glance at the dogs at your side. He still keeps his distance from Shiro, who’s lumbering at your side at a steady trot. Pochi won’t stop pulling on his leash trying to get closer to him, and Kotaro’s tail hasn’t stopped wagging ever since you started your walk back home.

Honestly, he’s kind of impressed you’re able to hold a conversation while keeping a hold on three rambunctious dogs. However fun they seem to be, they all look like they’d be a handful to take care of.

“…Well?” You’re staring at him now, eyes wide and hopeful, holding your breath as you wait for his answer. “I know it’s a little late in the day now to meet them all, but what about tomorrow?”

And maybe the prospect of seeing Chuuya again so soon has you on edge, but in the best possible way.

But then he’s shaking his head, holding up a hand, and you feel your chest deflate just a bit.

…Okay, maybe a lot, actually.

“I’d love to, doll, believe me… But adopting a pup ain’t in the cards for me anytime soon.”

“Oh…that’s a shame…”

He winces at the pitiful look in your eyes, the way your shoulders sag slightly—for the love of God, even the dogs look disappointed in him. Kotaro’s ears are drooping, Pochi hangs his head, and Shiro gives a disapproving grunt under his breath.

No fucking way these dogs can understand us.

“I-I mean, not in the near future,” he says quickly, trying to remedy the situation. Trying to make you smile at least one more time tonight. “I’d still wanna meet ‘em, though, if you’ll let me.”

Right on cue you’re giggling again, and he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Sounds good to me! Just drop by whenever you can, the doors are always open.”

As tempting as it is to stay out here and talk with him just a bit longer, exhaustion is weighing you down. The dogs have to be tucked in for the night, and you have to get a few hours of sleep before the shop opens up early tomorrow morning. Or would that be later today? It’s already past midnight, isn’t it?

“C’mon, boys.”

Thankfully, none of the dogs put up much of a fight. Pochi holds his head high as he follows you up the steps to the door. Shiro sticks close to your ankles and practically snubs Chuuya with a grumpy snort. Only Kotaro lingers long enough to get one final scratch behind the ears, and then he’s joining you and the rest of the dogs with a soft happy yip.

Your chest feels unnaturally full as you unlock the door and let the dogs inside. But before you shut it completely you poke your head out—and your cheeks heat up when you realize Chuuya hasn’t moved an inch from his spot on the sidewalk.

What a true gentleman.

“…Thanks for walking us home.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says with a smile. “It was my pleasure.”

Kotaro nudges his way back out the door; you groan and tug on his collar, dragging the poor pup back inside. And Chuuya can’t help but laugh at the flustered look on your face.

“Sorry about that… Have a goodnight, Chuuya.”

He stiffens—so that’s what his name sounds like in your voice, huh?—but recovers quickly with a cough. Hopefully you can’t see the light dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“…Yeah, goodnight, doll…”

You close the door and latch it shut behind you. Chuuya remains rooted to his spot on the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his pockets, until he sees a light flicker on upstairs.

Safe and sound inside.

Then he turns his back and heads down the length of the sidewalk. Unbeknownst to him, you’re watching him go from your bedroom window, peeking through the blinds.

For the rest of the night your chest stays uncomfortably full, even when the dogs are tucked in for the night and you’re left alone with your thoughts in the dark. Staring up at the ceiling, hands bunched around the bedsheets, replaying every single detail you can remember about your little meetup.

It takes a while to fall asleep, but once you do, all you can dream about are blue eyes and wagging tails, with a smile on your face.

[crucipuzzled]

About Loid Forger's therapy in SxF manga chapter 77 (Spoilers ahead)

There's a Freudian text for everything. Today's all about The Question of Lay Analysis (1926), also known as Wild Analysis.

Endo did what I have been planning to do for a comic of my own: depict Loid actually working as a Psychiatrist. While I'm glad he took this path, sadly I can't say he did a good job on it.

As some of you know, I'm a therapist grounded in Psychoanalitic Theory. Yes, I like Freud and Lacan, and no, Oedipus Complex is not what you heard it is. I did a brief analysis of Psychiatry stuff in SxF in the past, and today I feel compelled to repeat that exercise.

Let's go in order.

1. The importance of being a third party

What's the reason for which people ask a therapist for help, and not their families or friends? What do we have that they don't?

The answer is pretty simple: neutrality. We don't have a side other than rationality and ethics. A good therapist should be able to listen to his patient without losing objectivity.

When you and your patient have a shared, unique shared experience, it's preferable, even ethical, to refer him to another therapist, in order to preserve the higher interest of the patient. The more neutrality you can muster, the better for the curing process. Otherwise, it's really hard to listen to someone else without being constantly reminded of yourself. It turns into a blind spot.

Now, there are exceptions to this rule, but you must handle them carefully, and always putting the patient at the center. Loid openly talking here about how close he is to the hijacking incident doesn't help much.

In short, you have to ensure that your position in the therapeutic process remains an impartial, neutral Other, and avoid becoming a fellow. It's good to create trust, but not too much, just enough to work.

2. Chronic condition (?)

The biggest difference between a Psychiatrist and a Psychologist is that the first went to Med School. Hence, chronicity is a term that applies mostly for organic conditions, but it's rare in the field of subjectivity.

In my short experience, I've met cases labeled as "chronic depression" being cured. I, myself, cured a case of "compulsive suicide attempts since 15 years old, chronic depression, started hearing evil voices 2 weeks ago". You might think that I'm a great therapist, but it's not the case; it's just that, in order to tackle subjective problems, you ought to go to the root of the symptoms and deal with the subjectivity you find there. Psychoanalitic therapy has proven to be wonderful to treat many conditions that didn't get a cure in other types of psychotherapy.

Of course, it's not a panacea. There are things that we can't figure out yet. But bear in mind that chronicity, in the field of the mind, is more complex than just the passage of time and only a bunch of mental conditions truly admit it.

Jacques Lacan, the most important psychoanalist after Freud, said that the unconscious's track of time is not chronological, but logical. You don't just jump out of adolescence because you turned 18; other things need to happen for you to finally feel like an adult. It's a logical progression. The same can be said about some "chronic" conditions.

3. Explicit Reason of Consultation vs Latent Reason of Consultation

A.K.A Everybody lies.

Psychotherapy is a really weird thing to learn and master. In Psychology School they teach you that you must trust what your patient tells you, but at the same time, distrust him enough. How to conceal both things?

Well, everything is easier when you take Dr. House's words to heart.

Everyone states a reason for consultation, but that first reason is never the real reason, no matter how reasonable it might sound. The trick to discern what the latent, real reason for consultation is, is to determine what the subjective conflict hiding in plain sight is. Sometimes there isn't any and therefore, a full psychotherapy is not necessary (maybe just assisting someone with some things, being there just in case, etc), but most cases are built upon a conflict.

I'm glad that Loid here decided to act like a good Psychiatrist and took a mental note on the oddities.

WELL SAID MY BOY, I'M PROUD OF YOU

I want to remark this, because it's discouraging how many therapists oversee this to simplify their job to an extreme. Believe it or not, there are therapists out there that act upon what their patients tell them first. "Hi doc. I came here today because I got an accident and I think I have PTSD". "Ok, I'll have you practice these mindfulness excercises and you should be ok within a month, see ya". DUDE.

4. The place of truth in the context of Psychotherapy

Ah, the classic temptation of knowing the 'real' truth. Is this patient in front of me bullshitting his way out? Is he in a delirium? Is she telling the truth, or just embellishing her story to make it more believable?

You don't have this struggle once you are certain of your role as a psychotherapist. And your role is to help your patients to deal with their subjective struggles.

In short: Psychoterapy deals with the patient's truth, not with the 'real' truth.

You know who deals with 'real' truth in the field of Mental Health? Social Workers.

We psychotherapists don't need to ascertain our patient's claims. Confronting them with reality usually proves to be fruitless, just like Loid did here ("But you're a respected educator!"). It's way more useful to open the topic by asking more questions such as "How did you reach that conclussion?" "What made you think that way?", or giving a specular answer ("You speak like someone else said that about you", "You're too hard with yourself. Where does that come from?", "It sounds like you're belittling your fear for what your wife could say", etc etc etc).

Whenever you're with a neurotic patient, their own personal truth is the only truth you need to work with. Leave the 'real' truth for people who actually needs it, like Social Workers, Doctors or Judges. Your role with a patient is to make sure that his personal truth can turn into something less painful. No need to talk with their friends and family for info, unless your patient is a child or a teenager; just ask him and stick to what he says word by word.

There's a huge topic about the place of reality in therapy, specially in the field of Psychoanalysis, but if I start this train of thought I'm afraid I'll go down to Hell. If you're interested, I've reblogged some Lacanian pills on this Tumblr, check them out by searching the tag #lacan.

PS: NO LOID, DON'T DO THAT. DON'T BREAK THE TRUST YOU ACHIEVED WITH MR AUSTIN! CONFIDENTIALITY IS A MUST!!

5. Counceling = Psychotherapy?

Loid is a (fake) Psychiatrist, not a psychotherapist, so I can't be too hard on him. Also I stan this man. I'm painfully well aware that councelling and coaching is an alternative to psychotherapy in other parts of the world, mostly in the US. But let's not forget one thing:

Psychotherapists DON'T GIVE ADVICES.

At least, not the ones that take this job seriously.

Everyone can give advices. Do you want an advice? Ask your family or friends, or post something in social media, or ask a complete stranger in the street what to do. You'll get plenty of answers and advices. Maybe a bunch of them will be really useful. Good!

The thing with advices is that: -They act like a universal recipe for a problem -There's no universal recipe to sort a problem -They don't tackle the subjective root of a problem -They assume that the problem can be solved by something you can do upon your surroundings, when the real struggle stems from subjective problems Some advices do help with real struggles, but when you have a subjective conflict, they barely help; hell, sometimes they make everything worse.

Like Loid here.

Remember when I mentioned that the unconscious mind's track of time is not chronological, but logical? This is a great example. Mr Austin won't be able to properly talk with his wife just because Loid adviced him to; he must solve other issues before that.

I'm glad we're on the same page on this one

6. Your therapist is not your friend

Sad but true.

If your therapist is good enough, you won't know many things about his private life. You won't know about his lover, his hobbies, where does he live, what does he fear.

Why the secretism? Because it's useless for the patient. Also because disclosing personal information has the effect of becoming a model for the patient, who would start to imitate you. And finally, because you need to mantain a semblance of neutrality and not getting emotionally close with the patient more than necessary.

PS: It's kinda cute how aware Loid is about Yor's every movement. Kinda. KISS HER ALREADY, GODDAMNIT

7. Talking cure and (how not to use) the divan

I talked a bit about divans here.

There, I mentioned that you should NEVER PUT A PSYCHOTIC PATIENT IN A DIVAN. NOPENOPENOPENOPENOPENOPE. Well, we can amplify this rule a bit and say that you should avoid the divan with any patient that has a risk of getting seriously upset, like in severe trauma.

The divan is not the only thing that could play against you if badly used. There are cases in Psychiatric Hospitals of patients getting upset because their therapists used the same clothes and hairstyle every single day for months. The point here is that, with psychotic patients and fragile psychic structures (like what happens in traumatized people), you can't use methods that require too much projection.

Also, Lottie here is not performing a Talking Cure.

The divan has been used since Freud to facilitate transference through the Free Association Method. You lay down on it and your therapist ask for whatever crosses your mind first. You don't put a content there beforehand.

(On the same line, if you're a therapist, please refrain from decorating your consultation room with motivational phrases. You're putting words in your patient's mouth before he even starts to speak)

So, it's useless to make Mr Austin lay down on a divan, only to ask him to remember a specific memory. I'd advice (Ha! The irony!) against using the divan here.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------- To finish my Two Cents, I'd like to point some positive aspects of this chapter. It's nice that a troubled person decides to seek for help. There's still a huge stigma about men requiring mental health help, and it's a nice example to settle to portray one actually going to a Psychiatrist. Men usually struggle with their problems alone and they have it rough.

It's also nice that, in the end, Loid could help his patient. I wonder how (How?!), but it probably means that, at some point of the process, he changed his methods for the better.

And yes. Sometimes, helping one single person can change many lives. I'm honored to be able to attest to that :D

As everyone, I'd expect the logical sucession of events that could follow this chapter: Loid realizing he's got a heck of a wife compared to other marriages, appreciating Yor more, and giving us heavy smut cute TwiYor moments. But Endo has proven to be an author that doesn't like to follow logic. So, let's brace for whatever will come in two weeks.

Thank you for reading!

[deareddie]

sweetest devotion

for @tawaifeddiediaz , inspired by this post. ily

The storm goes on for days. Pounding rain against the windows keeps Buck awake far later than he should be, considering his state. He blinks in the darkness and tries to find the sound therapeutic, but in truth, the incessant noise does nothing more than encourage the headache already festering behind his eyelids. 

His phone chimes with a message on the bedside table. In the brief instant of light it provides, Buck welcomes the distraction. 

Hen: Just wanted to check in and see how you're doing. Hope Nurse Eddie is taking good care of you :)

Buck laughs quietly and types out a reply. 

pretty sure he passed out on the couch a while ago. mind if I call you?

Hen: Go for it.

The dial tone sounds twice before she picks up, sounding like she's already refraining from scolding him for not taking better care of his health. 

"Hey there," she says. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he deflects, halfheartedly. 

Hen hums. "That would be a fair question if one of us hadn't been hospitalized a few days ago. You're supposed to be resting."

Buck sighs. Touché. 

"What's keeping you up?" she asks, more gently.

"Just...can't sleep. This stupid storm won't let up."

"Ah. Yeah, Karen and I are still hoping the basement won't flood this time. Pretty sure half of everything we owned grew mould last year," Hen jokes. Buck chuckles. After a moment of silence on the line, she prods him again. "Is that...the only thing bothering you?"

Buck hesitates.

It isn't, of course. But he had yet to figure out how to broach the subject in the flurry of activity that had suddenly surrounded him. Medics trying to keep him awake and doctors trying to keep him alive, his sister tearing up and fussing over him the second he opened his eyes, Bobby filling a Tupperware container with homemade soup and sending it with him when he was discharged. Eddie taking a right turn instead of a left on the way home from the hospital with a scoff, because, "You think I'm letting you go home alone?"

Everyone just seemed glad he was okay. Nobody had said much else. Buck hadn't asked. 

But-

"Did you guys think I was dead?"

Hen is quiet for a second, thrown by his sudden frankness. Buck waits, his breath feeling strangely tight in his chest. "I mean, we hoped you weren't, but-" she sighs. "It looked pretty bad, Buck. Worse than the times before."

He hadn't really thought any less, but it shakes him a bit to hear her admit something more than the usual, "You gave us a real scare there, Buckaroo." Maybe because it actually makes it feel real. Makes the ache that lingers settle in deeper. He lays there, in bed in a house that isn't his but welcomes him as if he belongs in it all the same—where his face is in the pictures on the wall and his old t-shirts are in the washing machine and his best friend sleeps lightly in the living room, listening for any signs of pain so that he can help to ease it—and the the feeling becomes a reminder of everything he nearly lost. 

"So then why-" He swallows, pushing away a sudden wave of emotion that he can't quite define. Grief? Anger? "Why would Bobby send Eddie up there after me? Wasn't there a- a better way to-?"

Hen cuts him off with a dry laugh. "No one sent him, Buck," she says. "He was up there before the rest of us could think to move." 

Buck blinks. 

"Well- why didn't anyone stop him? Come up with a better plan? I mean-"

"Do you really think we could've stopped him?" Hen asks.

Buck finds he doesn't actually know the answer. 

In wake of his silence, she rephrases the question. "If the roles were reversed, would anyone have been able to stop you?"

Buck's head begins to spin. Because no, of course not. It wouldn't matter if the whole world was screaming at him to stop—if Eddie was the one hanging from the top of that ladder, Buck would do anything to bring him back down to earth. Just like he's done before. But that's because–

Well, it's because of a feeling that settled itself in his chest long before he was able to give it a name. 

"Buck?" Hen's voice comes through the phone, but it sounds a bit farther away to him now. "You still there?" 

"I-" he starts. Stops. His mind is running in circles and he can't quite catch up. 

More softly, Hen asks, "Didn't you know he'd do the same?" 

And-

"No," he breathes. "I don't think I did."

Yet suddenly it seems like it’s been there, in the photos and the laundry and there in the next room, on that couch, this whole time. In the arguments and the anger and the long, hard conversations, too. The big things and the small—he'd just never looked close enough to see it. 

"Listen Hen, I think I'd better-"

"Yeah, you better.” He hears her smile through the phone. “Goodnight, Buck."

"Goodnight," he says. "And uh- thanks. For the talk."

"Anytime," she says, and hangs up.

On his slow but steady journey from the bedroom down the hallway, he follows the gently flickering light of the television and tries to figure out what, exactly, he plans to say in order to unravel his tangled mess of a brain and present it as something comprehensible. When he finds Eddie, however (not sleeping like he'd thought, but watching one of those made-for-TV romance movies that he's always claimed to hate) the first thing that comes out of his mouth is–

"You're an idiot."

Eddie turns to look at him, wide-eyed and startled and a little bit concerned. "Buck? What are you-?" He stands, blinking the sleepiness out of his eyes, and steps halfheartedly into the space between them, as if worried he might have to catch Buck if he spontaneously keels over in the doorway. "Is everything okay?"

"And a hypocrite too," Buck adds, disregarding the question. 

Now, Eddie just looks confused. "Am I?"

"You're supposed to be the sensible one,” he says, pointing his finger in the way that his mother had always told him was bad manners. “You're supposed to stay on the ground and stay safe while I pull the stupid stunts. That's how it works. That's how it's always worked." 

Confusion washes away, replaced by recognition. "Buck-"

"What were you thinking?" There's a distraught edge to his voice, he knows it, and knows Eddie hears it. Still, he makes no effort to hide it. He thinks there might not be much point to that anymore, anyway. 

"Someone had to go and get you." Eddie shrugs, guarded. "I guess I was just the fastest." 

"Eddie."

"Buck." He says, eyebrows raised.

"Why did you do it?"

"What, was I supposed to just leave you hanging up there?"

"Why did you do it, Eddie?" Buck repeats, and a layer of Eddie's expression slips away. 

He shakes his head. "I don't really know what you want me to say." 

"I would do the same for you. You know I'd do the same for you. I've done the same for you, more than once," he rambles, gaze fixed on Eddie's—searching, imploring. "And I know why I do it." He swallows the lump of apprehension in his throat. "It's the same reason every time, Eddie." 

He watches as another layer slips; crack after crack in Eddie's façade. Realization dawns—Buck sees it the moment it happens. Something flutters in his chest as the expression spreads across Eddie's face. 

"So I want to know why you did it," he says. 

Eddie's gaze softens. Carefully, nervously, he offers the truth. 

"Same reason as you, I think." 

He smiles, a slight thing. Buck does too. And for that one, brief moment, before either of them says another word, the storm seems to quiet; the rain slows, ever so slightly, to give them some small amount of reprieve.

It doesn't last, of course. But once Buck breathes out a 'thank god' and finally closes the distance between them, he can't seem to find it in himself to care.