#maybe i should try to start therapy again

[lightseoul]

a/n. i really don't know where i'm going with this, y'all. but getting to role-play as a therapist and explore bakugou's psyche has been lots of fun, so bear with me. please let me know what you think and/or would want to see! maybe that'll give me an idea lol. (1.1k)

navigation. part 1, part 2, (you are here)

“n-no.”

at that, the woman’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing underneath her fringe. “no?”

“you heard me,” bakugou spits instinctively, immediately regretting how hostile that sounded not even a second later. “i mean, no, i didn’t.”

his therapist, apparently unfazed by his show of aggression—she must’ve gotten used to it by now, although he still feels bad when he gets testy—only jots something down in her clipboard before looking back up at him, an inexplicable expression etched across her features.

“do you have any ideas, then, why, for the first time in seemingly forever, you’re fixating on a particular social encounter?”

bakugou barely manages to bite back a scowl.

he hates it—this part. the part where his psychologist obviously has theories as to why he’s acting a certain way or how he’s actually feeling but chooses to ask him instead, in an attempt to draw it out of him.

as if talking about difficult shit in the first place isn’t already painful enough.

and isn’t that what he’s paying her to do? give him answers? why’d he have to be the one to wrack his brain for uncomfortable answers to uncomfortable questions?

“do you?” he then challenges, emboldened by that train of thought just now.

“yes,” she responds truthfully and without missing a beat it somewhat surprises him. “but as i’ve explained to you before, i think it’ll be helpful for you if we try a more active approach on your end so that any insights gleaned from our discussions become more personalized and stick with you longer.”

well, then. fuck.

the lady’s got a point.

“so,” she continues when he doesn’t reply, annoyingly aware her little spiel got to him, “any ideas? working hypotheses?”

“uh,” he starts begrudgingly, eyes roving over the bookshelves lining the room’s walls as he struggles to come up with another angle. then it dawns on him, and he looks directly at the woman. “i didn’t expect to see someone in here, and when i did, it caught me off guard.”

“that may be because most of our clients opt for virtual consultations rather than face-to-face ones.”

“yeah,” he piles on quickly, admittedly thankful for the validation, and for the fact. the absolute last thing he needs is to bump into some extras before and after therapy. “that must be why.”

“but how does that explain your, and i quote, ‘dumb as shit reaction’?”

bakugou instantly feels himself flame. he clears his throat, “i told you, didn’t i? it caught me off guard. how the fuck did you expect me to react?”

that must’ve been a reasonable point, thank the fuck, because the woman pauses in thought before nodding slowly. “i suppose you’re right.”

he narrowly bites back an of course, i am.

but then she’s spouting off again.

“although it’s interesting to me how your immediate reaction was to say hi, when that’s not really…how should i say, your style, based on our prior sessions and your personality test results.”

a pause.

bakugou scrambles for a bulletproof rebuttal. he comes up short.

the lady cocks her head to the side, curious. “how often would you say you mull over social blunders?”

never, he thinks to himself. because they never happen.

“i figured as much,” comes her unexpected reply, and only then does it dawn on him that he said the last bit out loud.

“can we talk about something else?” he finds himself suddenly asking, totally over this entire conversation. he can worry about being a loser and pathetically begging for an out some other time. right now, he just needs a break.

“actually, you’re in luck,” she checks her smartwatch, “the session’s just about to end.”

at that, his shoulders almost instantly sag in relief, which makes the woman laugh. he shoots her a half-hearted glare.

they spend the next few minutes summarizing what has been discussed, as well as the arrangements for the following weeks, with bakugou eventually throwing his bag over his shoulders and bidding her a mumbled goodbye. he tosses her a nod over his shoulder as he crosses the threshold of her office, mind already drifting to what he’s going to cook himself for dinner.

and that, for a typical session, he’s walking out relatively unscathed.

but then he does the stupid thing of looking up from where he was studying his trainers when a door creaks open, and he freezes.

because standing a few feet away from him, right beside the entrance to the restroom, is you, equally frozen.

he doesn’t know how much time passes with him just staring at you like a motherfucking idiot, and you, strangely enough, peering at him back, but it’s you who eventually takes a hammer to the silence.

“h-hi,” you offer, voice soft and quiet, just like how he vaguely remembers it from two weeks ago.

“hey,” comes his gruff reply, which would’ve been immediately followed by a wince at how rough his tone was just now had he not stopped himself in the nick of time.

at least he didn’t stutter.

“…b-bakugou, right?” you ask after a moment of neither of you saying anything, confirming his earlier suspicions.

“right.”

you nod, a polite yet somehow stilted smile on your face, and suddenly he’s mentally slapping himself. since when was he fucking bound to one-word sentences?

he decides then and there that this shit won’t do.

in an attempt to convince himself that no, this is just a weird outlier of an encounter for him, and that no, he’s not a fucking idiot like dunce face, and that yes, he is and is being perfectly fucking normal, he resolves to ask you for your name.

and he was just about to do that—he swears he was—when someone from the other side of the door calls out a name, and you whip to face their direction, breaking eye contact.

“yes, doc!” you holler back, and he watches you as you hesitate in place for a second, before turning to face him with an awkward smile.

“nice meeting you, bakugou-san.”

and then you’re off and shutting the door behind you.

he stands there for what feels like a few minutes, just blinking at the door in front of him, what must be your name echoing—again and again—up to the far recesses of his mind.

then: fuck.

he may or may not have just lied to his therapist.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin | @kalulakunundrum @cheezemanz @gold24fish @lunaryasha

[seravphs]

sick in the head

Gojo and Geto try marriage counseling because the therapist is hot.

wc — 1.5k

tags — obviously this is not how therapy actually works, imagine clocking into work and these two supervillains show up I’d quit

“You need serious help,” Shoko says, somewhat kindly as she observes Gojo on the phone with his favorite criminal. He’s just started his twenty minute break from tracking his residuals all over the world, trying to minimize the harm he’s causing without actually being willing to kill him. 

She’s either joking or completely serious. It’s hard to tell with Shoko. Maybe a little bit of both? 

“Huh?” Gojo says, a little peeved she’s taking his attention away from Geto. 

“I said, you need serious help. The professional kind. I looked up a therapist for you.”

Gojo’s expression clears with understanding - then annoyance. “I told you I didn’t need a shrink. Nothing wrong with my brain, anyway.” 

Shoko loves her friends, she really does, but sometimes she walks a fine line between healing and the opposite of healing.

“Just try it,” she says. She’s smarter than to try and rationalize with him. “It’s a couple’s counselor. Maybe you could see Suguru more if you sell him on it.” 

Hook, line, sinker. It was so easy to get them to cooperate when it came to each other. They were so convinced that they were unreadable to anyone but themselves, but they always forgot Shoko had been there too. All three years she had been on the outside looking in, watching the glances they cast at each other. Sometimes, she felt like she understood them more than they understood each other. 

She had always been there, silently watching. Just because they didn’t realize it didn’t mean her presence was negligible. She loved them anyway, despite knowing she was a third, and thirds were always the leftovers tacked onto a pair. 

That was how love worked. It didn’t really matter whether or not Gojo would Geto over her, or vice versa. They were her friends. She’d watch out for them. 

“Here,” she says, handing Gojo a business card. “She’s a friend, so be nice, okay?”

Gojo whistled at the picture on the clean, embossed cardstock. “I can be better than nice.” 

Shoko squints at him. “You’re disgusting. You’re going to meet her with your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, and?” He smiled wolfishly, with teeth. “I know Suguru’s type.” 

Geto Suguru was in the middle of taking a bath when his best friend and mortal enemy appeared next to him, right when he blinked. Most people would’ve screamed. Geto was not most people. Most people were not that close to Gojo Satoru. 

“I’m showering,” he said mildly. “Get out or pass me the soap.” 

Gojo does neither of these things, because when has Gojo ever listened to anyone. “Look at this,” he said, flapping a tiny rectangle of paper on his face. 

Geto sighed and lifted pruney fingers to the offending object. It had been a long day of scamming non-sorcerers and wreaking general havoc, but of course Gojo couldn’t let him rest, on top of working overtime to undo his work. He only let the bitterness of going up against a natural prodigy consume for a moment before he remembered where he was. 

The epsom salts had been a gift from Mimiko and Nanako. No matter how irritated he was, they worked magic. His muscles could never stay tense while he soaked in the perfumed water, and he relaxed into the tub again. 

The card was nicely made. It was clearly expensive, crisp black ink of thick white paper. What caught his eye, however, was the portrait on the front. The smile was sweet, sincere. He checked the business card again. A marriage counselor - that made sense. 

“Why are you showing me this?” Geto frowned. “Is this a proposal? I’m not accepting this. You can do better.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gojo says. “Isn’t she hot?”

Geto hums in agreement. “Yeah. Nice smile.” 

“Should we…?”

“I don’t have time for games, Satoru.” 

“Think about it,” he says. “It can be like the good old days. You and me, the dream team. When we worked together, no one ever said no to us.”

“She’s a marriage counselor. You shouldn’t be playing these types of games with her.”

“Don’t act like you’re such a goody two shoes,” Gojo said, rolling his eyes. “It’s just me. Drop the theatrics.”

Geto let a smile tug at his lips, feeling strangely pleased that he saw through him so easily. “Say I agree. Then what?”

They hadn’t worn suits in a long time, but Gojo insisted. He wanted to make a good impression and-

“Ladies love a man in a suit,” he said, unbuttoning his top two buttons. 

“Slut,” Geto said lovingly. He leaned over to press a light kiss to the collarbones that now peeked out of the gape of his shirt. 

Gojo flushed, the tips of his ears turning a pale pink. Geto reached up to tug lovingly at them, and then smooth down stray pale hairs. He was more relaxed than Gojo was about the situation, but he still wanted to look nice. 

It had been years since they had done this. There was a part of him that wanted to prove that he still had it. 

Gojo strode into the office like he owned. Geto followed after, trying his best to remember what it was like to look apologetic. There wasn’t much he was sorry for, nowadays. 

You look up, startled. Your patients were sometimes early, but never this early. It was almost enough to make you worry that you’d gotten the time wrong, but you were meticulous with new patients. They had picked a good time - you didn’t have any patients scheduled before them, otherwise you’d have to kick them out immediately. As it was, you were still considering it. 

“Mr. Gojo? Mr. Geto?”

The one with white hair shivered a little. A strange expression crossed his face, almost delighted, if there was anything to be delighted about while sitting on the opposite of a marriage counselor’s desk with your significant other. 

“Suguru is fine,” the dark haired one said. 

“Call me Satoru,” the one with white hair agreed. 

Suguru and Satoru. Even their names fit well together. You tried not to judge anything until you got the fuller picture, but you always tried to be optimistic unless you had reason to believe otherwise. People came to you to save their marriages after all. You hoped you could do the same for these two. 

Satoru sits down in the armchair across from you. He’s the showy one, with that bone white hair and piercing blue eyes. Accordingly, he picks the emerald green velvet, as brilliant as a peacock’s feathers. 

Suguru chooses the left hand chair, a little less eye grabbing. It’s a cool dove grey, the fabric soft to the touch. 

Sitting like this, they look good together. They seem comfortable too, coming in together smiling and laughing. You wonder what they’re here for. 

“There’s still twenty minutes until the session starts,” you tell them. 

“Oh, I know,” Satoru says. “But I thought it would be nice to get to know the woman that’s going to be picking apart our brains. Look, I even brought a peace offering.” 

He presses a box of expensive sweets in your direction. 

“I can’t accept gifts,” you tell him regretfully. “And I won’t be doing anything of the sort to your brains.” 

“I went through all this trouble to get them though!”

“Satoru, don’t be a baby,” Suguru says. “She clearly said no. I told you so, anyway. It’s not my fault you can’t listen.” 

Satoru bristles. “Oh yeah? Why don’t we-“

“Please don’t fight,” you cut in. “I can’t take gifts these expensive, but once we get to know each other better, it’s okay to be more comfortable with me. Is that alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Satoru says with an easy going smile, pleased as if he hadn’t been irate just seconds earlier. 

Suguru’s anger takes a moment to dispel, but the clouds clear from his face nearly as quickly. Scary. It seems like you have your work cut out for you. 

You can already tell they’re the kind of people that’ll be hard to direct, so you accept the extra twenty minutes they’ll get out of you. Satoru seems like a Karen, and you’re not in the mood to deal with a back and forth right now. You’ll just lock your doors next time and let them in when you’re ready. 

Against your will, you find yourself drawn into conversation with them. Satoru and Suguru play off each other so seamlessly it almost feels like they’re working as a team to disarm you, to make you feel at ease smiling and laughing along with them, but that can’t be true. They’re here for marriage counseling - surely they can’t be such a cohesive unit. 

The alarm rings. You sit straight up, startled, and try to ignore the way Satoru laughs like he thinks you’re the cutest thing in the world. 

This is going to be a long session. 

[the-morningstar-family]

Okay but you guys really should try to get to the bottom of the trauma stuff. As someone with a similar problem, it generally helps to start talking about things that you do remember happening, and continuing to talk about stuff sometimes helps the other stuff resurface

Alastor: “The thing is I do not remember at all. Not even a smidge”

Lucifer: “Then let me tell you what I read about and found out and all”

Alastor: “And that is supposed to help?”

Lucifer: “It’s not a guarantee, but it's the best starting point we have, no?”

The deer huffs but nods.

Alastor: “Fine, what have you read about?”

Lucifer: “So the most obvious thing could be … electroshock therapy or electro therapy”

He says it carefully, seeing if that already triggers anything. It doesn't, except making Alastor look even more sceptical.

Lucifer: “If it's electroshock therapy, it you would've at least 13. If it's electro therapy it could've happen anytime, but it's usually not supposed to me more than a tickling. Anything come to mind yet?”

The deer shakes his head. Cocking it a little to the side. Lucifer frowns. The angel pulls out that psychology book. Not immediately opening the pages of the therapies in question, but the offices presented.

Lucifer: “Mh. Maybe you've been somewhere like that-?”

Alastor: “There would not have been a ward in the state I could've gone to that would have looked this nice.”

Lucifer: “Oh, common' it can't have been that bad, sure it might be a little cherry picked-”

Alastor: “I think you misunderstood me”

With his brow wrinkles, he looks up at Alastor.

Alastor: “Lucifer. Not only were we desperately poor, my mama was black.”

Lucifer: “So?”

Alastor, sighing: “Segregation was very well in place, dear.”

Lucifer: “I thought you said you could pass as white?“

Alastor: “There were certain times I could. But very much not as a child, nor if I did not straighten my hair. And even then not necessarily most of the time. Facilities for ‘our kind’ would not look this well. And the only people that could be treated by white doctors were people with not one single black person in their ancestry, no matter how white they looked.”

Lucifer: “... How did the hospitals look then?”

Alastor's shoulders drop. The thought of the few institutions that were close enough to visit, and how they were falling apart. People did their best to keep it standing, but with little to no funding… There is only so much one can do.

Alastor: “... Patched together. Pulling from everywhere and sneaking any last penny to it's upkeep. The wall sometimes had cracked, only the important areas were cleaned. There was no time nor money for more. Not even the chairs would have looked that well”

Lucifer blinks. The. Again. As the shock sets in deeper.

Lucifer: “Why?”

Alastor: “... A coloured person was essentially not worth as much. My grandfather was still a slave… They did not care if someone of the wrong colour died. So what if the schools can barely stay open and the hospitals fall apart?”

An old anger grips him, something he had been so powerless again for his life. He presses his palms against his eyes, and Lucifer rubs his back. The deer doesn't even notice.

Alastor: “So what if you can't pay for a simple treatment, that has been out for years? It doesn't matter if she dies. So what if all the medical instruments are older than you, as long as you can come and work tomorrow it doesn't matter. And you will. Because you need the fucking money-”

Lucifer: “Al-”

Alastor: “So why the fuck should we care that that contraption transmits too much elec-?”

With a start he bleats, quite unexpected too. The air escapes his lungs shakier. The smile is sharp a d quivering at the edges, while his shoulders are drawn up and stiff. Carefully, Lucifer peels his partner's hands away from the red rimmed eyes.

Lucifer, softly: “Hey, that was progress. But we should stop for now. Hm?”

The deer isn't even sure what he said that counts in his angel's eyes as ‘progress’. But his head jerks in agreement, desperate to stop this line of thought.

Lucifer: “... For the record, I think racism is really stupid”

A huff escapes Alastor, somehow perfectly patched between utter despair and amusement. He curls up on Lucifer. He doesn't care, the king started this, now he'll have to deal with him.

[smilechiales]

It is really interesting how strangely hopeful Tony is for humanity.

He has been betrayed over and over again, abused by his father, abused and betrayed by Stane, Black Widow backstabbed him (well neckstabbed him) and oh, Steve.

The guy who Tony has been told to like by well- everyone. The guy who clearly never really arrived in modern times - the guy who immediately tried to throw arms when he heard the 'Stark' name and didn't see his old chum but his son instead. I don't like Steve, he's a hypocrite but looking back on it, it's so clear how their friendship was doomed from the start.

They were friends, it's not really hard to see how they were not. Bantering about who was the real leader despite Tony not actually wanting the responsibility (with good reason, he already was the media guy, give him a break) and they were equals. Coming up with plans together, both had strategies and complemented each other and the chemistry between those two. Like cmon, do you think they were shipped for funsies?

But If it's one thing that stayed consistent about Steve, then that he never cared about consequences, that's the flaw that was always shown with him (starting fights in alleyways, trying to sneak into the army, saving Bucky without real armor or support,...) and never understood how when people are hurt, they actually like you less ("I know I hurt you Tony but I'm trying to fix it")

Sure, Steve might not have been the best friend. Tbh not completely his fault, someone should have shoved him into therapy (and Tony too, poor guy) but they were close. Black Widow even commented how they kept lovingly gazing into each other's eyes.

So yeah, Steve betrayed Tony. Nobody is surprised he chose Bucky over Tony (maybe at least the aspect of "Do you even know it's Bucky???") but he didn't tell Tony about his parents. Like an idiot. Could have actually gotten help by Iron Man If he played his cards right but Steve never really thinks his way through. Similiar thing happened with Peggy but while Steve went to her funeral, dropped everything and went, Tony had to stay and fix Steve's civil war mistakes. They're opposites and they still complete each other, cinema, huh?

And despite that Tony still helped in Infinity war. Thank you for this post, reminded me how much of an awesome guy Tony is :3

“He’s my friend.”

“So was I.”

Bitch, since when? I’ve literally only ever seen you resent him for shit your father did and make fun of his PTSD.

[the-casbah-way]

i found loads of pictures of my uncle i am going 2 cry

[robinsnest2111]

idly wondering with what experts would diagnose me if I was 100% truthful and could remember every single thing that happened to me and every single quirk I developed because of it <3

[phagodyke]

venting sorry... don't want to just delete it bc it helps to get it out just ignore this post pls 👍

haven't slept much at all and feeling so sick andstressed and in pain bc my period is due and so tired its making me dizzy but i cant sleep more or ill just feel more sick and I want a hug and to cry so hard into someones shoulder but no one cares or will even come near me it makes me feel diseased they think things about me that aren't true bc I struggle so much to communicate and thry all make assumptions insteqd and no one wants to give me space to talk to them about it so I cant undo that now and its all my fault and I'm so. exhausted :-(

[fnvbennygecko]

i regularly wonder if im a disappointment. to people that i know.

[grimmthorne]

i need to go back to the counseling center so bad because there's no way that I can go on like this 😁

[leafgorge]

fuck it

okay uhh

i guess i’ll do one of these?

100 notes: i’ll write more poems and finish my wip paintings

250 notes: i’ll try to fix my sleep schedule

500 notes: i’ll clean my shithole of a room

750 notes: i’ll tell my parents about how detrimental to my mental health they are and seek therapy and a diagnosis

1,000 notes: i’ll come out to my parents

good luck bitches

EDIT: since this is close to getting to 1k notes, i’m going to add a couple more goals :3 i’ll be updating soon on actually doing some of these that i’ve already hit

2,000 notes: i’ll try to actually start hydrating (impossible)

2,500 notes: i’ll pick up guitar again

3,000 notes: i’ll post some of my old works on here

4,000 notes: i’ll try to get prints of my artwork and sell them (get my work published!!)

5,000 notes: i’m going to actually make a plan on how to not buckle under the weight of my own expectations

7,500 notes: i’ll try to stop starving myself

10,000 notes (final boss): i’ll try to get gender-affirming care and maybe cut my hair short (this one probably isn’t going to happen)

edit: oh my god you people terrify me what

okay umm this post has actually genuinely helped with my mental health so uhh

[himedanshicult]

ive read a lot of anti-transition arguments towards people unsure about their gender that basically pose any sort of internal exploration as inherently solipsistic and narcissistic, with the mantra being that to think about your relationship to your assigned sex is already thinking too much; you should be thinking less! go get a job! work with your hands! volunteer for the needy! get involved in your local church! pray! marry! start a family! keep yourself busy, so you can never think about yourself again. maybe if you fill your mind with enough noise, you can drown your own conscience out.

im 100% not exaggerating btw, it's actually kind of madness inducing w how many times ive seen people use this mode of argument, it's extremely common. i think ive seen conversion therapy resources use a similar line of reasoning too. and like, if you are a cis person just trying to keep a closeted tranny in the closet, it works like a charm. you can, in fact, drown a person with enough noise and garbage until they stop thinking about their gender dysphoria or, well, anything. all the better that "i saw the tv glow" addresses it head on in relation to the closeted subject in question; yeah, go ahead, do it. you might be trans, you might actually be in serious danger, but it won't hurt if you don't think. and it will work for you, for years and years, and you'll always find more responsibilities and more opportunities to muffle your thoughts. but, maybe 5, 10, 20 years from now, none of the noise will be enough and it will dawn on you, how seriously in danger you actually are - but by that point you've drowned out your own inner conscience so aggressively that there's nothing there, just more of the static and noise of others and no interiority left to seek refuge in. you've got a job, you've buried yourself in work, you've married and have a family; you've given every part of yourself to others just to preclude the possibility of thinking about yourself, for yourself, and now there's no you.

[rhodolly]

stares into the distance

i want to be a mom. so bad

[shouty-sam]

.

[n0vazsq]

Pretty Boy | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x gf!artist!reader

summary . . . While you're sketching a drawing of Lando, you notice that something's off with him. Then, you remind him that he's much more than what people think of him

request . . . no!

word count . . . 759

warnings . . . none! just one use of 'damn'

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . first lando fic!!! a bit short but i hope you guys like it <33

. . . The room smelled like salted caramel and the leather of the couch you were currently sitting on. Lando sat across from you, sat on the arm of the chair, one leg bouncing restlessly. The glow from his phone lit up his face every few seconds, softening the sharpness of his jawline, but it didn’t hold his attention for long. He set it down after scrolling aimlessly, leaning back with a sigh.

"You know," you started, stretching out your legs, "you really need to learn how to sit still. You’re stressing me out."

He flashed you that damn grin, the one he knew you hated for how effortlessly it made you forgive him for everything. "You sound like my engineer," he laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Maybe I should be," you shot back, holding up the sketchpad in your lap. "You’re not exactly making this easy for me."

His eyes flicked to the page, and he tilted his head, squinting slightly. "That’s me?"

"Who else do you think I’ve been sketching this whole time? Your mum?"

Lando grinned, leaning in closer to get a better look. His hair was slightly messy, still damp from the shower he’d taken earlier, and you could smell the faint trace of his shampoo as he hovered over your shoulder. "Not bad," he said with mock seriousness, tapping his chin. "You almost got my nose right."

You turned your head, glaring playfully. "Almost? You’re lucky I even attempted that ski slope you call a nose."

He pretended to be offended, leaning back dramatically, a hand on his chest. "Ski slope? That’s rich coming from someone who-" He cut himself off, laughing at your raised eyebrow.

"Go on," you urged, smirking now.

"Nah," he said, still laughing as he settled back into the chair. "You’re not worth the fight."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Lando had this way of lighting up a room without even trying, of making you feel like the only person who mattered when he turned that adorable charm your way. It was infuriating, really.

But tonight, something about him seemed quieter. The usual spark in his eyes was dimmer, and the edges of his grin didn’t reach as far.

"What’s going on with you?" you asked, setting the sketchpad aside.

He shrugged, looking down at his hands, which were fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About....?"

He hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally meeting your gaze. "You ever feel like… I don’t know. Like people only see what they want to see when they look at you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Where’s this coming from?"

He shrugged again, more defensively this time. "It’s just… I don’t know. Everyone’s always saying stuff, you know? About me. Pretty boy this, golden boy that. Like that’s all I am."

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. "You know that’s not true, right?"

"Isn’t it?" he countered, his voice softer now, more uncertain.

"My beloved Lando." You said his name like it was the answer to a question he didn’t want to ask. "You’re so much more than what people say. You’re brilliant, and kind, and funny, annoyingly so, actuall. You care about the people around you more than you probably should."

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you with this look that made your chest tighten.

"I don’t see some ‘pretty boy,’" you continued. "I see you. The real you. And if other people don’t, that’s their loss. But just saying, you are pretty."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re too good at this whole therapy talk thing, you know that?"

You smirked, leaning back against the couch again. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep your ego contained."

He laughed then, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight through a cloud. And when he looked back at you, the spark in his eyes was there again, faint but unmistakable.

"Thanks," he said simply.

"For what?"

"For being here. For being… ," He took a deep breath, arms raising and falling, like he was trying to cut the air. "You.”

Your smile softened, and you shrugged. "Someone’s gotta put up with you."

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Lucky me, huh?"

And in the glow of the room, with the soft hum of the music in the background, you thought maybe you were the lucky one.

[flamingpudding]

Little Snippets #5

Okay, so maybe Danny screwed up a little big. He was just trying to train some of his powers in secret. Really. And sure, just because he wanted to test the limits of what he could do, he tested and trained with a powered he swore he wasn't going to ever use on anyone.

But that kind of turned out to be one of his worst mistakes.

He was pretty sure Jazz was probably posting missing person posters. Maybe hid parents were also wrecking havoc over Amity, leaving literally no stone unturned to find him. And he didn't even want to imagine what his ghost gallery of rogues were up to with him missing.

Now he really regretted that he started training in secret without telling anyone.

Because now... here he was stuck in a doll sitting on some weird guys shelf that apparently used him as therapy doll and was talking to him. Or maybe the other was talking more to himself than Danny stuck in the doll.

Either way Danny was stuck and currently had no idea what to do, and his attempts in making the move doll didn't work as much as he hoped for. It took him an entire night to move his doll body from the shelves to the windowsill.

Tim swore the doll he had picked up on a whim as a mission souvenir was hunted. He swore he had placed the doll on his shelf several times now, but each morning he found it somewhere else.

He had contemplated installing cameras but fos some reasons his electronics stopped working at night. He had told Dick about it.

And what does he older brother do?

Ask him how much he slept the past week.

He sleeps enough, thank you very much. His sleep schedule was a mess but he sleeps and he functions.

The amount of energy drinks and coffee he consumes has noting to do with that.

Still Tim sat on the couch the doll placed on the table before him as he stared it down like it was a criminal he was going to interrogate.

"I know you can move..." he muttered behind his folded hands as his eyes narrowed. "I will figure out what your deal is..."

Behind him Dick looked worried at his younger sibling, wondering if he should get the tranquilizer gun. "Guys... I think he has one of these phases again..."

Jason next to him scoffed with his arms crossed, already planning on tipping Alfred off to restrict Tim's coffee and energy intake.

Damian only clicked his tongue, watching the older teen. "So Drake finally lost it."

[mintmatcha]

In the future when they meet again, does sero ever find a way to make amends? Does he explain what he was going through?

He enters the room with your name on his lips.

You still push up your glasses the same way you always did - your palms on the bottom of the frames- and Sero kicks himself for not seeing it earlier. You've changed, of course. Ten years have passed, but your eyes are the same. The downward curve of your lips and the round of your nose: it's all unmistakably you. When you push away from your desk, it's with a confidence you never had back then, and it almost makes him smile.

"Who told you it was me?" you ask. "Eijiro?"

"No," he says. "I remembered all on my own."

It's only a half lie. Bakugo had called you Cram School and the memories had flooded back. The late night anime sessions, the whispered confessions-

The way he ghosted out of your life without warning.

"What do you want, Sero?" you sigh. "How did you even find me?"

Sero had called for a couple favors to track you down. Luckily, you worked with Uraraka's organization now, as a therapist. All those nights at cram school really did work out; you're a doctor, apparently.

"I just-" He breathes in to center himself, hands jammed in his pockets. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. For just--"

"Leaving me?"

"Yeah." The takes that blow in stride, despite the sting. "For disappearing on you."

"Okay." You lean back in your chair, legs crossed. "I don't forgive you."

"Good. Right. Yeah." That hurts worse. "You shouldn't."

You sit there, hands folded, in silence, watching from over your glasses in silence. He wonders when you got so serious, how you lost that sparkle in your eye. Then, he wonders if he even has the right to know.

"I was a fucked up kid, I was going through a lot." Sero steps forward. "My dad was really -"

You interject. "Sorry, I don't offer therapy for anyone over the age of eighteen. Try Dr. Yun down the hall."

Fuck. God, you're witty. You always manage to steal the wind from his sails with a single cut.

"I'm not trying to-" He huffs, trying to remember to advice his actual therapist gave him. "I just want things to be right between us."

"To make yourself feel better?"

"No, because it's the right thing to do when you hurt someone."

This time, you're the one left silent. Your expression goes softer, wider, like you're genuinely surprised.

"I don't need you to forgive me. I don't think you should forgive me," Sero says. "I just want you to be okay."

He takes a half step in, then a full. Then you don't kick him out, he goes directly to your desk.

"Here. I got this for you. Back in high school." He places a little box in front of you, its label faded and partially ripped from time. "I messed up before I had the chance to give it to you."

It takes you a moment to process what's in front of you. It's a little pink figure, maybe a little less than pristine, but still standing there, arms splayed. The sure look on your face starts to drift, falling down, down-

"She's your favorite, right?" Sero urges.

Your expression doesn't get better. No, you look seasick, your legs suddenly untucked and your arms gripping your stomach.

"She's-" he falters. "You like Flora, I thought, was I-?"

"Get out of my office." Your voice is softer now too, closer to what he remembers.

"I thought you'd like it."

"Get out."

He backs up a step, hoping you'll change your mind. When you don't, he retreats down the hall, unsure of whether he did something right or not.