#they didn't technically NEED to need therapy

[liedownquisition]

#and yeah I know there's a part of like fanon twisting away from the og plot because of a trope in blorbo fanfic#but also tim stans didn't invent Arkham asylum#Roy Wally and a metric ton of others went to therapy and got dead for these crimes#like idk i just don't think it's innocent#i wonder how many people picture the joker in their mind when they say “i'm not crazy i don't need therapy”

I will say that there are instances of characters going to therapy outside of Heroes in Crisis and it being fine. Wally, in particular, used to go to therapy to discuss his grief and issues with Barry (but also not-issues, it was more just complicated feelings and the second the therapist used those words to insinuate something bad about Barry Wally went OFF on them. which, my memory is fuzzy but was less demonizing that therapist and just, normal extrapolations to help Wally work through it/realize it Wasn't That and him having an emotional reaction?)

I believe I recall Dick having a therapist for a little while and it was totally fine too?

Guy Gardner has like... degrees in psychology and education & used to work as a councilor for prisoners actually. It's almost a shame that he went on to be a gym teacher instead imo.

Roy... well, Yeah I would generally say pretty much almost all of his interactions with the practice have been Bad. (shout out to Dick commenting in Rise of Arsenal that Arkham is only a place for people who have no hope of getting better, while supposedly this other facility was actually supposed to help. It could have been the overall demonization of his mental state in general, but it really didn't LOOK like a very helpful place imo. Dinah was right to feel like it was a bad choice, I think.) Best you could say is when Dinah helped him through rehab I think. That technically does usually involve some degree of therapy typically, though it's often very religiously controlled in the States.

It's just that the bad portrayals of it go so far above and beyond it practically drowns out any of the good ones.

Dick: hey Tim you should probably go to therapy

Tim stans: Dick wants to send Tim to Arkham?? Send him to Arkham like the clown?? Oh! Oh! Bashing for Dick! Bashing for 10,000 fics!!!

This is actually what happened in canon now

[invinciblerodent]

Having a single moment of realization that the common denominator for literally ALL your characters (not only the MAIN ones who are just... queer and have a visceral need to be useful and therefore surely also liked) is that they all struggle to figure out who exactly they are after some non-canon event made them realize that what they previously thought to be their identity was merely a restrictive illusion imposed upon them from an outside source... really hits different a few minutes before midnight.

Like at this point I'm unsure if that's just a common narrative theme for any character, or if I should go back to therapy asap.

[starry-bi-sky]

new Danyal al Ghul au just dropped! --or at least some art of it did. I call it the "Stillborn? No, no, still born" au (or stillborn just for short)

it's based off a batfam comment I saw that mentioned in the early comics Bruce knew about Talia's pregnancy and was ecstatic to be a father. So much so that Talia feared he'd give up being Batman for it, so when she gave birth she put the baby (Damian) on a doorstep and (seemingly) told Bruce that the baby was stillborn.

I saw it, thought "mm, tasty!" and thought what if that baby was Danny instead of Damian? By default I was thinking of making him a few years older, however, it works just as well with demon twins. I need to think it over. Meet Daniel Brown! 14 year old foster kid whose been with the Fentons for the last two years! He has SO many issues haha. hah. lmfao even.

Danny's theme song is literally just "Good Kid" from the Percy Jackson musical, to sum him up.

[triglycercule]

horror is so BLESSED he's the only one out of the murder time trio that has actual good people trying to influence his story 💔💔 dust and killer were both driven to INSANITY because of the choices of their respective humans but horror??? every time without FAIL the polls for horrortale's plotline have always ended in a good place for aliza (either by bettering her relationships/reputation or for her to just. not DIE)

horrortale's potential alternate timelines my beLOVEd🙏🙏 they're SO lucky that we're being kind and benevolent hehe (≧ω≦) now where are the aus based off the possible different outcomes that could've happened in horrortale HUH???? (like how aliza couldve killed toriel or chosen horror's puzzle or gone with undyne to the core........)

[bet-on-me-13]

Lex is Vlad reincarnated

So! Lex Luther, the greatest person to ever exist, had recently made a discovery.

A few weeks ago, a Cult of moronic simpletons had managed to kidnap him. Him! All for some stupid Demonic ritual where they sacrifice the wealthiest man they could find in return for something meaningless like "No More Poverty" or "No More Starvation".

He had survived, of course, and was unfortunately save by Supermoron.

But before the Man of Steel had busted in, he overheard something from the Cultists. Apparently they had chosen him for more than just his wealth, there was something more about his Soul that they were after. It felt "Divine", as if he had the soul of a God stuffed in a Mortal's body.

And obviously it must be correct. He was already the most intelligent man in the world, One of the wealthiest, and held more political power than any single man on the planet, so of course "God in disguise" was the next logical addition to that List.

Over the next few weeks he studied and prepared.

He needed to make sure that his efforts would be rewarded, that those Cultists had been correct about him despite their idiocy.

After buying up as many Magical Artifacts as he could related to Identity and Soul, he tested himself on Each and Every One. And Lo and Behold, he is truly a God.

Well, the Reincarnation of One. Apparently this was common in immortal beings such as himself, reincarnating themselves into mortal bodies as a sort of Vacation from their Duties. All he needed to do now was find a way to regain his Memories and Power without dying, and he would truly become a God On Earth.

A few more weeks of Preparation, and he was ready.

Apparently the Manchild of Steel had caught onto his plan in that time. His Ego probably couldn't bear another God living in the same City as himself, so he tried to stop Lex's plans of Ascension. Thankfully, in his research he had discovered his Rival's vulnerability to Magical Attacks, and set up countermeasures for him and his Breakfast Club should they attempt to interfere.

He stepped into the Ritual Circle, and began his Ascension to Godhood.

Try as they might, the League could not foil his plans this time. The Ritual Circle lit up with a sickly green light, and expanded to cover his entire body. The Ritual began to finally complete itself.

He had Won.

...

Oh.

...

Vlad stood at the center of the circle for a few moments. He took in all his Memories of his most recent Life, and Facepalmed so hard he was sure The Badger heard it back in the Realms.

Ten Tousand Years of Therapy specifically to curb his egotistical tendencies, and That is how he decides to spend his most recent Life? Acting as a Billionare Supervillain attacking a well meaning Hero for nothing less than Ego?! He even Cloned them!? Had he learned NOTHING!?!?

"Careful Team, we don't know how powerful he is now." He heard his current Nemesis say.

Oh right...they were still there.

He didn't really feel like explaining everything to them, and he technically still had about 40 years left on his Vacation...

He simply turned his back to them, flew back to his Mansion, turned back into his Human Form, and set about his Day. Maybe he could right a few of the wrongs he had done on this life?

It would certainly throw his current Nemesis for a loop. And while he may not Hate him anymore, he definitely still liked to Mess with him.

Maybe this would be more entertaining than he thought?

[mythicalcoolkid]

I love the "glasses are disability" thing because it applies to basically every complaint abled people have about disability

"You're not even that bad, why would you get that?" Have you ever used a magnifying glass for small details or zoomed in on a picture

"Why do you have that accommodation TODAY?" Why do you wear reading glasses when you're reading

"It seems like your 'needs' are inconsistent." Yeah and you wear sunglasses when it's sunny and not all the time

"But you can technically walk without that." Yeah and if I put the page really close to your face you could read it, it would just hurt and be hugely impractical, inconvenient, and limiting

"But you COULD go without it all the time, you don't NEED it to live." And maybe you could technically see without your glasses, doesn't mean it's comfortable or practical day to day

"If you REALLY had a hard time seeing you would have glasses." Have you ever known someone who couldn't afford a new pair of glasses? Or eye appointments? Someone who needed vision therapy or special prism glasses? Someone whose vision only gets bad during migraines or seizures? Someone with astigmatism that glasses can't help? Someone who didn't qualify for LASIK?

"You only use it when you're out in public." Have you ever gotten up to use the bathroom at night without putting on your glasses

"Decorating it is just trying to get attention, and it's a medical device so stop glamorizing it." Do you hate any patterned or colorful glasses frames too? Art with characters who wear glasses? People who make OCs with glasses? Glasses chains, prescription sunglasses, aesthetic fake glasses with tinted lenses?

"There are secretly lots of people just using aids for fun and attention." There are secretly lots of people wearing fake glasses or colored contacts for fun and attention, it does not affect you

"We need to find fakers, they're stealing disabled resources!" Someone pretending to need glasses is "taking" a seat in the front from someone who might need it more. That sucks and they shouldn't do that. But I'm not going to scrutinize every person who wears glasses to see if I think they really need that seat. You personally are not the arbiter of who is (based on the random times you've seen them) secretly not disabled

"My friend has that and doesn't act like that." Does every pair of glasses in production, or even every pair close to your prescription, work for you? Is your vision identical to every other nearsighted person?

"If you can do X why can't you do Y? Some people with that can do Y."/"But if you have that how can you do X? People with that can't usually do X." Some people are nearsighted and some people are farsighted and some people are both. Some farsighted people can read some without glasses and some can't. And good distance vision doesn't mean you don't ever need glasses, it's just an entirely different reason you'd need glasses

"You're too young to need that." And there are young people who need bifocal lenses

"Why don't you use this DIFFERENT aid though, it would look like you didn't even have an aid." Why doesn't everyone in the world wear contacts

"Why can't I/my friend/my kid play with it?" Do you let random strangers and children try on your glasses at the grocery store

"I was just trying to help, I thought you'd need a push/you were in the way." Are you cool with me suddenly pulling your glasses off your face to clean them, or because the glare was distracting me

"You'll eventually stop using it though right?" Are you planning on no longer needing glasses someday

Disabled people are free to add

I am aware this is not a 1-to-1 perfectly accurate post. Do not come into the notes trying to "um actually this isn't a perfect comparison." I know. Just don't

[copperbadge]

Recently I ran across an article about an art center that was doing creative expression classes for people with disabilities. Not that unusual, I've encountered that and trauma-oriented art therapy before, but it was the first time I'd come across the idea since getting diagnosed with ADHD. While the class was aimed more at high-needs disabilities, it occurred to me that I could -- if I wanted -- make non-prose art about being disabled.

Outside of my work in scene design I've never been much of a visual artist because I've never felt I had the combination of "something to say" and "a meaningful way to say it", but I started to question how meaningful and complex I really had to be to just make some statements about having ADHD. I can do it in prose, after all.

So I started thinking about how you would talk, in visual language, about things like time blindness, shame stemming from undiagnosed disability, the shift in behavior that medication can induce. Ways to express my condition to people who don't experience it. I still didn't really know how to build the pieces but whenever I went to an art museum I'd think about how I might do a gallery installation. The centerpiece of my mental gallery was a pair of barcodes, one marked "Neurotypical" and one marked "Neurodivergent".

[ID: An interior view of a small booklet, with pages marked 1 and 2, showing barcodes -- on the left, labeled Neurotypical, and on the right, in slightly weirder configuration, labeled Neurodivergent.]

And then I thought, why not make a zine? Nothing you're thinking of couldn't be put in zine form instead of on a gallery wall.

[ID: The booklet continues to pages 3 and 4; on page 3 is a postage-style label reading AUTISM with up arrows on either side, and on page 4 is a QR code labeled ADHD. The QR code technically should work but it just dumps a block of text I wrote about having ADHD into a browser.]

I grew up with zine culture in the 90s and I always wanted to make one but much like with visual art, I never felt like I had the right kind of thing to say; either I had too much to say or too little, and anyway I wasn't confident that what I wanted to do wouldn't just come off as trite and obvious. But you can make a six-page zine out of a single sheet of paper, so I did: I made Helpful Labels For Strange Brains by idab zines, a division of Extribulum Press. (i--dab is a term for a cuneiform tablet that contains a royal communication.)

[ID: The last two pages feature the same image -- a cereal bowl with a spoon in it, the spoon containing a single Adderall pill. One image, however, is captioned "Wake up. Pour yourself a cup of iced coffee. Fix a bowl of cereal. It's going to be a good day." while the other is covered in a detailed ADHD-style step-by-step process for the same actions, culminating in "It's going to be a day like that."]

I'm pretty pleased with how it came out -- the art all looks intentional and it still has that "taped this together after school" aesthetic I remember fondly from the 90s. And the confines of six pages, each only a few inches square, offers a good structure to keep things clear, simple, and meaningful.

[ID: The cover of the zine, labeled "Helpful Labels For Strange Brains" in a kind of esoteric stampy font.]

Especially nice is that if you wanted to you could just hand out the flat sheet, and let folks fold it into a booklet or not -- there's instructions for folding it on the back of the zine. Additionally I have some sticker backed printer paper so I could print it such that you could literally turn the labels into real labels.

Anyway if you want it, here ya go. You can print it on a single sheet of paper and follow the instructions on the back to fold it. I thought about selling it but I do not have the spoons to do a bunch of printing and folding and shipping.

[an-gothamite-aka-zannalial]

Jason Goon is definitely someone who will defend whatever he does and follow his actions, until they finally see his face one day and suddenly change to forced Jason to go to school and immediately called Batman for beating up a minor ( Even though he technically isn't, he has a baby face lmao )

Goon 1: hey bos. Why don't you go to college, my little brother is there he can help a little

Goon 2: my sister to, You can be friends together maybe

Jason: I've told you how many times I don't need things like that

Goon 1: but *Keep talking about how Jason would be great in college*

Goon 2: Just keep agreeing

Goon A: Hey boss or Jay, you know I just got permission from my partner to adopt y-

Jason: Please Mike we've talked about this a thousand times, I don't need to be taken care of I can take care of myself

Goon A: But I can-

Jason: Sorry okay. This is more complex than that before I had a mother who always waited for me to come home when my obsession was over

Goon A: Wait really can I get her number

Jason: no

Talia: And this was when he and Damian fell asleep in bed after watching Lord of the Rings

Goon 1: Oh they are so cute

Goon 2: Miss Talia, other time when you visit please bring Damian, boss will be very happy to see him

Goon 3: And also could you hire someone to kick Batman's ass, no one likes him one bit after that accident

Goon 1: That's right, we have to do it

Goon 4: And maybe take him to therapy,Didn't mean anything bad but Harley isn't very good at her job after going crazy

Talia: Of course we will do it together

All goon: *Cheers

Batman: Do you know Where

All the residents of Crime Alley : no. Fuck you

VS

Talia: hey everyone

All people: hey Miss talia

[sirfrogsworth]

Meeting my longtime artist and good friend, Chris, IN REAL LIFE!

So, I hadn't been to a restaurant in over a decade. I can't even remember which restaurant since it was so long ago. But in the past few weeks I've now been to TWO restaurants.

I am becoming a social butterfly. 

And it is exhausting.

But also good.

First I reconnected with my high school best friend, John.

And that went great.

But then the opportunity to see my friend Chris (a.k.a @whosthewhatnow ) came up only a few days later. And this close proximity of social events scared me a bit, but I have been feeling much better since they figured out my heart thing, so I decided to try and do both things even though they were only a few days apart. 

The key to this was strategic resting. As soon as I got home from seeing John, I got in bed and I didn't get out of it until it was time to see Chris. And that was just enough recovery time to pull this off. Typically a short outing requires 2-3 days of rest after. 

I had never met Chris in real life. He has done nearly all of the artwork for my website and comics over the past decade. And he was a main character in my CRAPPRnauts series.

We know each other so well and it is crazy that we've never seen each other with our very own eyeballs.

He is such an amazing artist. He works fast and he adds so many cool extra details that you can stare at his comic panels multiple times and catch a new joke or easter egg each time. He is a dream to work with and my Corg Life series was only successful because he did such a wonderful job bringing Otis to life in comic form. 

So we decided to meet up at a restaurant with his friend Michael and then I was going to take a nice portrait of him after dinner. Chris had never had a professional photo taken of himself and I decided to fix that.

I told him I had a mobile photography setup. Which, in reality, is a trunk full of lights and stands and other various camera gear that I definitely won't need, but bring anyway. It's "mobile" in that it all fits in my car if you are good at Tetris (which I am).

The restaurant was downtown and I had visions of St. Louis's famous Gateway Arch in the background of Chris's portrait. I thought that would be such a cool shot. I could see it in my head and I even dreamed about it.

So I got in my car and headed downtown and my GPS told me to exit at 249B. But I kept looking and I couldn't see the sign for 249B.

This is how much road I had left when I finally was able to see the exit for 249B.

So I ended up taking 249A and going straight to East St. Louis.

Which, if you believe the headlines, is not a place you ever want to be.

Google Maps and I have been having issues lately. They also tried to get me to take the spooky way home that night, but thankfully I actually knew the non-spooky way back from when I used to go to Cardinal games with my parents as a kid.

My short term memory was trashed by shock therapy. And so was a lot of my long term memory. But it finally came through in a pinch and remembered something useful.

I only had to loop around and cross a bridge so I didn't really do anything but touch the edge of East St. Louis. I was mostly concerned about being late for dinner more than its scary reputation. Usually those news stories about a place being "dangerous" are actually just racist and hurtful to people stuck in poverty. I mean, technically my house is in a "dangerous" neighborhood, and we do have trouble with petty crime in some spots, but aside from a few dinged-up mailboxes, I've never felt unsafe in my home.

On the way back to regular St. Louis I could see the Arch on the horizon at sunset and it was kind of magical. And I wasn't able to get a good shot of it, but it sure looked pretty from my point of view. 

My photos kind of remind me of the beginning of movies like Training Day where they are trying to show you gritty, dutch angle shots of the city out of the car window to give you a sense of the location.

As I approached the restaurant I invented a new genre I call "stoplight photography." The sky was orange and the streets of St. Louis were just asking to be photographed. But I wasn't willing to die to get neat photos, so I just took them at every red light.

The big trick was trying to edit the dark area at the top of my windshield out of the photos to make it look like I didn't take these pictures from my car.

After a 15 minute detour through Illinois I arrived at my destination—a Mexican place called Rosalita's. It had a beautiful sign, so I took that literal sign as a metaphorical sign it was a nice place to get a quesadilla. 

Dinner was great. Both signs were right and their quesadilla was very tasty. Chris and I both got one, so we are quesadilla twins. The waitress was one of those "I can remember your order without writing anything down" types. And I am one of those, "I get anxiety when things aren't written down" types. And, to her credit, she did not forget our orders. But she did forget to give us silverware and napkins. So I still feel like my anxiety was valid. 

We told sad stories of the pups we lost. But we also had a lot of fun and laughed and I got to meet Michael who turned out to be an absolute mensch. I sometimes have trouble meeting new people with my social anxiety, but he was very affable and made me feel comfortable with his presence almost right away. He was a fan of Otis and mentioned he still has a Super Otis shirt. I always get choked up hearing that Otis is still loved. Hopefully we get to meet again. 

Dinner ended and it was picture time.

I asked Chris if he wanted the high effort photo or the low effort photo. Either we figure out how to get to the Arch or we find a spot near the restaurant and just take his portrait there. Chris and Michael had a driver because they were coming from a big conference and getting to the Arch would have been complicated. So we decided to go with the low effort option. 

I found a cool shop nearby that had an LED wall that changed to all sorts of different colors. And I thought that would make a neat background and give a colorful edge light on Chris's face. I pulled my car near that spot and started unloading my trunk full of photo gear.

I think Chris and Michael were a little overwhelmed when I started pulling camera gear out of my trunk like a clown pulling an endless handkerchief out of his mouth. But as far as photo setups go, it was actually pretty minimal. 

Light, giant battery, light stand, umbrella, tripod, camera, rolling walker with seat.

My dad's old rollator came in clutch because I wanted to shoot from a low angle and it is hard for me to bend down. In fact, I think I'm going to look into getting an all terrain version so I can do more outdoor photoshoots.

I started shooting in the middle of a downtown sidewalk. And I was super anxious. I could not focus (my brain, not my camera). I was very distracted with all of the people walking by and staring. I was not sure if any of the photos were turning out. I wasn't even sure if they were in focus (my camera, not my brain) because I had not yet had my lens calibrated. But down the street there was a guy with an old school boombox playing random music. His music helped to drown out the ambient noise and gave me some comfort.

I had no clue if the photos were any good, but when I got home and checked them on my computer, I realized I have 12 years of experience and muscle memory built up. I probably should have just trusted myself because the photos all turned out great.

I think Chris can now officially say he has had a professional portrait taken of himself.

This photo has been officially loved by Chris's girlfriend and mother.

There is no greater seal of approval and I am honored.

I was able to comp in any of the colors the wall displayed from other shots in case Chris is feeling a little more green in the future.

A literal rainbow of options.

I also liked this one, though it is a little more "environmental portrait" than regular portrait.

And I got some nice photos of our little group to help us remember the night. 

And I got a bunch of photos of Chris making silly faces like Calvin at his school photoshoot. 

I love this woman's reaction to our little impromptu sidewalk photo shenanigans.

After we said our goodbyes and I gave my friend a hug, I was a little bummed I didn't get to photograph him at the Arch like I had dreamed.

But then I realized I had my own car and it was capable of taking me places. (I actually haven't gotten used to that after not driving for nearly 15 years.)

So I decided to drive a few blocks over to Kiener Plaza—a park with a view of the Arch. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

[honeygrahambitch]

"I once had a very stupid fight with my wife." Will says as he watches Hannibal pouring the Sauvignon blanc in their glasses.

"Not that stupid if you felt the need to bring it up now." Hannibal said as he lifted his gaze from his glass to Will. Even though they've been together for a few months now, he still felt something inside himself getting triggered every time he would bring her up.

As if she would materialize in front of them and take Will away from him. Again. He was not sure if he preferred it when Will called her "Molly" instead of "my wife". Both felt like the screech of chalk on a blackboard.

The term "wife" however, made it feel less personal since it only highlighted a title given by a piece of paper. Mundane. Profane. The piece of paper was not enough for Will to stay with her. The problem with that construction was therefore not "wife", it was the possessive pronoun "my".

Well, technically she was Will's wife until their marriage would get terminated. But Hannibal didn't want Will to use "my" for anyone. And this has been something which has started from before going to prison and before fleeing to Florence.

Quite territorial of him to gain his man back and still act that way even when they had literally jumped off a cliff together. No piece of paper could beat that.

"It's the wine that reminded me." Will explained.

Hannibal arched an eyebrow. What did Will mean by that? He hadn't even had a chance to drink yet, how could the wine bring back such memories already?

"You know, me and Molly hardly ever fought."

Hannibal blinked a few times and tried to keep a neutral expression on his face. There it was, the name as well.

"I don't think, in fact, that this was a fight either. Now that I think about it, my confrontational style is not what a wife is looking for."

Hannibal looked at him with interest, not missing the way he said "a wife". So general. So unimportant. A wife like any other wife, nothing unique.

"Your confrontational style is indeed too passive for a wife." He agreed. "Passive and acidic."

From threatening him with a gun, to almost stabbing him, to starting his therapy again, to "dropping the mic", Hannibal was sure that Molly hasn't even experienced a small percentage of what Will could be capable of.

Will hummed as he picked up his glass and stared at his reflection in the clear white wine.

"So what happened?" Hannibal asked, now interested.

"She paired the fish I caught that day with the wrong wine."

Hannibal parted his lips slightly and didn't take his gaze away from Will, searching him from head to toes. "Was that a problem? To you?"

"No, but it would have been a real problem to you."

Hannibal felt the need to bring his own glass to his lips.

"You wouldn't have made such a mistake. And you wouldn't have brushed it off. You know, Molly - she's a g&t type of person. So it wasn't that big of a deal to her. And I laughed it off."

"But it wasn't that easy."

"It wasn't that easy and she noticed that it was deeper than that. It was not that I was trying to play the alpha male, trying to teach her how to drink wine. She was smart, she knew that was not my intention." Will said.

"So what followed?"

"The reason why we functioned for those few years was exactly because she knew not to get too close. We were both aware she wouldn't like it if she did. Which kind of sounds pathetic since marriage involves all that "for better and worse" thing."

"An overused statement which people are nowadays taking for granted." Hannibal added. "Your marriage did not entail the "for worse" part, did it?"

"Out of mutual convenience. Since "my worst" was something both of us wanted to stay away from. We had all the good parts. So instead of trying to figure out why I was so bothered by her poor choice of wine, she told me to go buy the right type of wine if I disagree with the rosé. And we both laughed."

"And did you?" Hannibal asked, a bit amused, a bit bitter.

Will looked around the room and then looked at him only. "Here I am, I did exactly what she said. Went for the wine that could be properly paired with myself."

Hannibal knew that at that point every effort to keep a neutral face would be futile. He was beaming right there, under Will's gaze.

[tealvenetianmask]

How Blitz and Stolas figure out how they feel: external vs. internal processing

I've been in therapy a ton (feeling like I'm not alone in that in this fandom), and one of the things I've learned from it is that I like to process my thoughts and feelings externally- by talking about them. It turns out not everyone is like that. I'm like Blitz in this way.

I first got on this topic when I was thinking about how Blitz flip flops in Apology Tour. When he goes to see Stolas at the beginning of the episode, he goes in with an idea he's trying out- a narrative he's committed to FOR NOW, insisting that he's there to reinstate the full moon deal with TONS of undue and shaky confidence.

Is this plan something he's actually confident in? Absolutely not. But he's going to commit to it damnit and see how it plays out. Does he believe it? I think he does in the moment. He's convinced himself anyway, and when Stolas wears him down and he understands that he's not doing himself any favors . . .

He starts processing the real shit aloud.

I don't think Blitz has ever admitted this to himself, at least not this articulately and accurately. He needs to say it aloud in order for it to be real. Oops too real.

He's SCARED because he didn't even KNOW he felt this way, but things are becoming very clear and dangerously close to the heart of the matter . . . so he pivots again back into comfortable territory (conflict).

By the end of the conversation, he arrives at a new mission, one that's sort of an equilibrium between his realizations about his honest feelings and his need to have a mission he feels confident in. He's not all confident or all honest- he's still in flux.

There are SO many more examples of Blitz realizing how he feels BY TALKING (later in Apology Tour when he's talking to Stolas, and then when he's talking to Verosika . . . but then also back in Oops, etc.), but I'm going to leave it at one for brevity here. What's important is that we NEVER see Blitz processing alone. Even in his part of the duet (more on songs in a sec), when he's technically singing to himself, he's consoling himself with a narrative rather than really processing the things that need to be processed.

Blitz needs a person to process with.

But Stolas is an internal processor. We know this already because he made the plan to give Blitz the Asmodean crystal and sat on it for literal months, procuring the crystal, ironing out what he would say, trying to initiate conversations with Blitz, but never explaining how he felt to anyone before it was time- and absolutely NEVER in a way that was half baked.

The way Stolas sings his feelings actually gives us a really clear and beautiful picture of how he processes and figures things out. I forget who said it, but someone on the Helluva creative team referenced a broadway truism that in a musical, characters sing what they can't speak. I think for Stolas it's often what he can't YET speak because he's still processing. He has full honest conversations with himself (Stolas Sings, Just Look My Way), and then when he's face to face with Blitz, he knows exactly what he wants to say. His feelings and beliefs actually progress from song to song- he expresses his awareness of a problem in Stolas Sings and gets more precise about how he feels and what he needs to do about it in Just Look My Way.

By The Full Moon, for better or worse (kind of both), Stolas knows exactly what he wants to say to Blitz and how he wants to say it.

Even when he's upset, angry, and then drunk, when Stolas speaks about his feelings, he's consistent. He's decided. He loves Blitz. He wants a real relationship. From his point of view, he doesn't care about social class, so he can't understand why Blitz is so stuck on it.

But he's missing something key (it's the social class thing- it's definitely the social class thing), and internally, he's cooking, and we see that (again) when he sings.

This is the rawest and most in flux stage of his thought process that we've seen. Because this is how he figures out what he thinks and feels- with himself, in song.

Okay- so interesting psychoanalysis- why does this matter to the story?

Well, I think that Stolas doesn't understand that when Blitz speaks in these super emotional, fraught conversations, he doesn't go in knowing what he thinks and feels. He's figuring it out on the fly. He's figuring it out BY talking, and needs to be allowed to do that. Should he do this with a therapist instead of with the person most likely to be hurt by the ideas he flies through on his way to his true feelings? For sure, but this is Blitz.

In turn, Blitz doesn't understand that when Stolas acts absolutely certain and doesn't seem to take in the things Blitz is saying, he's not talking to a brick wall. He's talking to a moveable person who, once he's alone (or singing) is going over and over everything and breaking his thoughts down and reformulating until he arrives at something new.

So . . . it might be a little much to ask these two to understand each other's different processing styles- but they're coming along in their own ways. And I'm looking forward to them understanding each other. Someday. Maybe. Fucking sit down and talk. Slowly. AGH.

[totally-not-a-slug]

The "Stanley" Parable| Gravity Falls x The Stanley Parable

It came from seeing a person's drawing of Stanley from gravity Falls and Stanley from Stanley parable crossover.. Two characters named Stanley who have yellow entities that terrorise them.. Guys.. They MIGHT be the same person idk

bill finds a loophole within the theraprisim. surprisingly the halfly erased contract between bill and stan gives stan the ability to see and hear bill but he doesn't know that..YET. Bill splits his body to move around better, via the arrow. Bill technically isolates himself by escaping the Theraprisim and because of no other ghouls around and the rest of humanity not being able to see him he's losing it. A very ego crushed attention thriving Bill becomes obsessed with Stanley and his life, even narrating his boring life to kill time. It was small, of course. But the entire infatuation becomes intense when it came to getting to know Stan more, he's found that him and stan very alike, and that can't be a good thing when it came to being attached to someone in his state. Stan was very annoyed and made the mistake of acknowledging him which causes the obsession to spiral, to be so alike, to see right through him, bill didn't think he'd be so invested until now. Everything he found so irritating became very endearing to him, when he listened in on Ford trying to suggest bill proofing Stanley's mind he loses his shit and overwhelms Stanley's thoughts in an attempt to distract him so he wouldn't agree to it so soon. He learned to despise the concept of being separated from Stanley, when they so obviously need each other, when he needs Stanley, when Stanley completes him. Tldr: local triangle demon gets out of therapy, splits himself apart to properly watch the guy who can see him, become obsessed, now he don't wanna separate.

He split himself to wander around and also guide stan around

Why doesn't he have his hat? That's because he gave it to stan, who reluctantly placed it in some box in his room because he'd be yelled at for throwing it out, why doesn't STAN have his hat? Simple, Bill stole it. :3

Stan is but a tired man, with the unwilling patience of a saint.

[sweetestcaptainhughes]

Hi can I please get “No more dogs. How hard it it to understand?” With Luke Hughes like he comes home from a roadtrip and reader gets another dog

oh my gosh I swear this happened to one of my friends in real life except it was me who was like "no more pets." In a year her and boyfriend went from 0 animals to 4 dogs and 4 cats. I just get overstimulated going to their house. I hope this is what you wanted because as someone who loves both cats and dogs and really all animals I had to end it this way.

Drabble Materlist

"No more dogs. How hard is it to understand?"

When you met Luke you already had a dog who was like your first born child. He was the first pet you ever got on your own and you loved him with everything. To say this dog was spoiled would be the same thing as saying the sky is blue, it was fact and everyone knew it. But that didn't stop you nor Luke when he moved in with you.

Thankfully your dog loved Luke but you noticed more and more how sad your dog became when Luke was on roadies. He was probably just feeding off into your energy because you did miss Luke tremendously when he was away.

So you did the only logical thing you could think of you went to your local shelter with your two-year old husky and adopted another dog. It made sense because you actually found got your first dog when you were going through a hard time and he helped bring you happiness. So it only made sense to get another dog now.

Luke and you had both talked about possibly getting another dog so you didn't feel bad about not talking to him first. At the shelter was a beautiful 6 month year old Bernese Mountain Poodle mix, as soon as you saw him you knew he was coming home with you. That night Luke came home and you surprised him with the new addition to your little growing family.

"Luke i have a surprise for you." you exclaimed as he didn't look up at you yet still barely two steps in the door as your dog was already attacking him begging for Luke's undivided attention.

"oh yeah?" he asked the happiness he felt from finally being home, radiating in his voice. He finally looked up and saw you were holding your new puppy. Luke's mouth was left ajar as he starred at you in shock before his brain processed what was happening.

"Is he ours?" he asked as he slowly started to approach you, your dog still barking excited about what was happening.

"hmmm. I got him today, at the shelter." As you watched Luke slowly take the puppy out of your arms and into his own.

"What's his name?"

"I haven't named him, I wanted to do it together." you shyly admitted.

"What if we fuck with Quinn and name him Huggy?" he asks, somehow a wider smile on his face. "you know cause he's so cuddly and Quinn's had been chirping me a lot during off season?"

"whatever you want honey." As you both crawled on the floor to play with your new puppy.

"But no more dogs okay? We only have a two bedroom apartment and I don't even think were allowed to have a second pet with our lease." He says seriously, all you do is nod because you don't need any more animals.

Well, until it was a 3 months later and you had a really hard week at work and Luke was away again. You told yourself you were just gonna go to the shelter to play with some puppies and not get any. But then you found a little kitten that looked adorable and so scared. The little guy reminded you so much of the kitten you were growing up. Of course you had to the little guy, and technically you didn't go against Luke's request it wasn't a dog, he was a cat.

Deciding not to tell Luke and to let him find out in person again. He came home 3 days later and you were in the living room getting your dogs use to the cat slowly, making sure everyone was getting along. Although you have to admit you didn't think you would have to do exposure therapy for Luke as well until you heard him walk in."

"Y/N!" he yelled slightly, you whinced realizing you must of gotten the time mixed up of when he was going to be home because you wouldn't of introduced your cat this way.

"Hi Lukey." you say softly turning around to see a very annoyed and even disappointed Luke.

"No more. How hard is that to understand?" he asked his jaw slightly tensed.

"Well technically you said no more dogs, and this little guy is a cat." you reasoned and let at a sigh in relief as Luke realized the play on words.

"I hate your brain sometimes. You knew what I meant."

"But am I wrong?" you asked a slight smile on your face.

"No." he mumbled arms still crossed as you slowly made your way across the cat still in your arms looking up at Luke curiously. "Do i get to name him?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Jax." he said immediately.

You couldn't help but to laugh as you asked "why?"

"Because it isn't a nickname of Jack's like Huggy is for Quinn, but it's still so close to Jack. It will piss him off and I find that funny."

"So does this mean I get to keep him?" you asked hopefully.

"Yeah but this time I mean it no more animals Y/N"

"Damn it. you know I've always wanted a turtle." you joke as Luke gives you a look that says 'don't even try.' But you can't help the smile that forms on your lips because when you got your first dog at 18 you never thought this is where live would lead you.

[perplexedjokist]

jonathan crane has a stutter which is harder to manage with his natural accent, as a child he learned to copy other people's speech not only to mask his stutter but also where he's from.

however it used to be easier because he didn't talk much in the first place, nobody asked his opinion and he never found anything particularly interesting.

unfortunately for him the bat of gotham certainly likes to start conversation.

during their first few fights and returns to arkham jonathan didn't say much other than the occasional small fear ramble, purely because he didn't want to get hit just because he's distracted by trying to mask.

around the seventh time the bat had caught him, he for some reason was driving him to the asylum himself.

jonathan who was covered in bruises and incredibly tired didn't say anything for the first bit of the ride.

"you don't protest when I take you in, why is that?" what a stupid question. jonathan doesn't answer for some time, trying to see if he can stay quiet without issue.

the bat asked again in a slightly different tone and it really does annoy the poor scarecrow.

"shut up." he doesn't think before he speaks, stuttering over the 'sh' sound and repeating the t. there's an audible pause but he doesn't look to see the reaction of the batman, why embarrass himself more?

he's aware he accepts defeat easily, it doesn't matter how many times he has to lose if in the end he'll keep getting away. as long as the bat stays nonlethal.

they stop at a red light, the batman has a tendency to follow road rules despite technically going against the police, jonathan finds it a bit funny.

"I can help you, you know. you don't have to be a criminal, if it's money you need that's an easy fix. and ... if it's help you need, I know the wayne foundation offers free therapy if you sign an agreement."

jonathan again stays quiet, trying to figure out the bats motive.

he hasn't been unmasked like a majority of petty thugs, batman seems to have some sort of code against revealing the mentally ill without their permission. which jonathan finds interesting to an extent and annoying to another.

"I am not ill! I am fear I will be fear forevermore I do not need your help." he surprises himself a bit by not messing up as much as he thought he would with f sounds, unfortunately more with I.

batman seems to find that amusing because he snickers, and the light turns green.

the rest of the ride is quiet and the walk would be too but unfortunately when the bat helps him out of the batmobile he decides to spark small conversation yet again.

"you're glove is broken." he exclaimed while turning jonathan's hands over, one of his gloves split down the palm and towards his wrist.

most likely a scythe mishap, no actual injury.

the bat snickers again while jonathan looks over his own hands and he pouts. what is so funny?

batman shrugs to himself and pulls him by cuffs to the gate of the asylum. the scarecrow has learned a few things these past months, the batman is a strange creature. and he hates bats.

[yandere-sins]

A yandere with a darling who is kinda worse than they are but are still into it.....I don't know how unhinged you'd have to be for the yan to be like "Are you ok? Like if you need to talk about it I've put listening devices in the vents but still..."

I didn't want this to go into compliant darling territory or the darling being the yandere for someone else (though I did laugh a lot at the idea of telling the darling that the vents are bugged just in case they need it lol that's a good one). But this somewhat brought me a kind of different idea which you probably didn't intend, but I hope you like it all the same!

Warnings: Yandere, Violence (Descriptive acts of murder, stabbing, punching other people, breaking bones, getting bloody, a lot of blood actually, burying bodies), Sexual Content (Mentioning of non-con, dub-con, taking advantage, doing it in the blood of victims and next to dead bodies), Mentioning of drugs, Mentioning of knives, Patient/Doctor relationships, Murderer/Admirerer relationships, Reader is a serial killer, Yandere captures people for reader to kill, Yandere is also mad but so is reader, Reader doubts yandere's reasons for liking them, Reader is genderneutral but gets lifted into a bridal-style at the end, I once again didn't compile these warnings while writing and editing so I might miss some, sorry :(, Mentioning of wanting to throw up, Reader doesn't actually want to get better, it was different but really fun to write, Long post?, I feel like there are more warnings... but I can't remember anymore, if you made it this far and still want to read it, I hope you enjoy it!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Click

You sighed, holding your head in your hands, arms squeezed between your torso and legs. Your head was throbbing with the headache of the century. One you hadn't had in a long time... like five days. 

"You're a fucking dick, you know that?"

Groaning, you heard your own voice echo through your dizzy brain, nausea building as you felt like you were on a ship, everything moving unsteadily around you. The blinding lights flooding the off-white room didn't help soothe the feeling either, and your whole body kept tensing up, readying itself to throw up. You tried deep breaths, but they barely did anything. Not like they ever did something. You were too far gone for that.

"I did what was necessary," his voice rang out through the speaker in the top left corner, accompanied by the screeching of technical issues. You whined loudly, tearing your hair out as your head felt like it would burst. "My bad," he added, turning down the volume.

"What was it this time? Double the dose, triple? Must you keep drugging me? Some doctor you are..."

"I tried something new," he admitted, a cheeky grin in his voice. 

"Worked great..." you slurred, listening to him chuckle. 

For a while, you gave in to the need to collapse, putting your arm over your eyes to escape the lights while you thought about the last few things you could remember. Therapy was going well... at least that's what you were told. But the nurses—ugh. That one bitch.

"She did it on purpose," you mumbled, hearing the softest of agreement through the speaker. You knew that if it wasn't against regulation, he'd be sitting next to you, brushing your hair out of the way while you'd tell him your woes. He was that kind of sicko. A doctor, yet fascinated with you, his patient. Even though he merely sat behind the cameras, watching you, you could hear the sickening affection he held for only his favorite patient in every one of his words. 

In a way, he wasn't that different from you.

"You beat her up real good, smashed her face in. Got yourself into a frenzy and just tore open all your stitches from your last fight while you were at it, you really..."

He sighed. He was disappointed. Upset. This was a significant setback for him, too, after all. 

"She called me too stupid to ever recover properly and I was trying this time, really! How else should I have reacted?"

"You could have told me."

"And you would have dealt with her how?"

A brief chuckle rang out before he replied, although, had you been less delirious, you wouldn't have needed to ask. You knew what he did to people who behaved poorly with you. "I would have taken care of her, as always. You know you have my unending support."

You couldn't help a smile creeping over your face, the memory of burying the last nurse who bothered you in the asylum's cemetary resurfacing. Digging out the grave had been hard work, but you had to agree with him that the physical labor did wonders to soothe your ever-agitated mind. 

"You're terrible," you mumbled, unable to hide your smile.

"Ah! There it is! Look at those little dimples! I'm glad my services are appreciated by my darling. I was hoping to take you out on a rendevous once the dust settles. Maybe we can do that sooner than I expected."

"Who'd want that, you sicko."

Groaning, you finally sat up, looking down at the cushioned floor while you adjusted to being awake. Standing took a few attempts; the cushions aligned along the wall, not actually graspable, even if they looked like it. Everything about the solitary cell was so safe, it made you feel helpless. But eventually you managed to get to your wobbly feet, sighing in exhaustion once you stood.

"There you go, breaking my heart," he sighed, and you shook your head with a laugh, knowing he didn't mean it. 

"No straight jacket this time?" you asked, raising your arms and, for the first time since you awoke, realizing your movements were unrestraint.

"You weren't in a condition to restrain you. I prioritized your healing over that awful jacket."

"You just don't like it because it does nothing for my figure."

Again, you heard the grin in his voice as he said, "Busted. You're too cute to walk around constrained. Even though I love how crazy you look with it."

"Sicko..." you mumbled, your nickname for your doctor, endearing only in his ears. 

Your limbs were terribly heavy as you moved them towards the door. Part of you wanted to collapse on the ground again; simply pass out where you were. But knowing him, he'd definitely use the opportunity to take advantage of you, especially now that he could get a video of it. 

You didn't always mind what your doctor did to you. In a way, he was helpful even if everything you two did was against any laws in this country. If anyone knew what you two were getting into when no one was looking, you'd both be put down like rabid dogs. But that's just how you two were—feral.

The sicko kept telling you how he'd get you back on track. How he'd "fix" you just enough so you could go home with him. There was no way you'd consider living with him if you ever did get out. Still, he liked to paint the picture whenever he crawled into your bed while on night duty, hugging you and telling you about his ideas. You told him often enough that, given the chance, you'd kill him outside the safety of this institution, but so far... you hadn't.

You had enough chances, enough people he let you murder, watching you while you did it and helping you to hide the bodies once you were satisfied, but you never once turned the knife on him. Maybe it was because of his studies; perhaps he knew more about you than you about yourself. Or it was because he was just as insane. Fucking your patient in the blood of their victims was definitely not normal, even you knew that. So what other reason could he have for it except insanity? 

"Earth to my darling, I repeat: Are you thirsty?"

You felt the heat spread over your face as you felt called out by his question, almost as if he was reading your mind. It wasn't like you two were lovers. There was no chance in hell you'd get together with someone like him—or anyone for that matter. You didn't want the burden of someone clinging to you while you did your dirty work.

But the sex after releasing all your pent-up anger? Out of this world. 

Perhaps his doctorate was in fucking instead of psychiatry, but he knew how to work every part of his body. And he knew just how to get you in the mood, too. An explosive combination, mixing his lust with your madness.

That didn't change much about your feelings for him, though. 

"I'm not," you muttered, trying to hide your face, which probably showed the embarrassment you felt, thinking of the last romp you two had. You tried the deep breaths again, but the thoughts kept popping back into your mind. Must be the drugs, you thought.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course!" 

His excitement was loud and clear as it rang through the microphone, and you weren't sure if you should smile at it or sneer. For some reason, you both held each other in a tight grip, unable to be separated, yet most likely toxic for each other. But he still got excited over any kind of interest you had in him and you about all the things he did so you could live out your best life—even though you were locked away for a reason. 

"Why me?" you asked, standing in front of the door, not looking up. Even if he was just the voice behind a camera at the moment, somehow, this question left a bad taste in your mouth. You didn't want him to see the conflict on your face; didn't want him to know that you were doubting how deserving you were of his favor. It wasn't insecurity, wasn't a need for reassurance, but how could anyone look at you and think, "That's the one!"? You killed people, went into violent rages, and weren't considered safe enough to be reintegrated into society, probably ever again. There was nothing you had to show for yourself. Nothing that could justify the feeling of adoration your own therapist held for you. Especially not he. He should have been one of the good ones. And you weren't. It made no sense to you why he'd behave like he did.

"Why you what?"

"Why do you like me so much? I mean, come on! I mean, look at us! We're batshit crazy! This isn't some romance movie on television, we're actually doing bad shit, and yet you keep shielding me, doing me favors, telling me you love me. I'm sure there are others out there who you can fix and fuck if you like. It's not like..."

Biting your own tongue, you wondered if it was the new drug combo he tried on you that made you feel especially irritated with his feelings that day. You let him do all this stuff to and with you, but now you were getting weirded out by it? It wasn't like you to get so worked up over him; you were more of the cool type, spitting-in-his-face-type if he pissed you off. You didn't even want to validate his feelings for you, but also... being self-aware enough to know you were a danger to humankind, you couldn't shake the feeling he might just be using you for his own sick desires. And that made you angry again. You'd not be a pawn or a means for no one.

Click

"Wow, okay, you bastard." Your grumbling fell on deaf ears as he turned off the microphone. "Sure, I'm going through something here, but by all means, stop listening. Not like it's your job or anything..."

Unprepared, you jolted back as the door to your cell suddenly yanked open, revealing the pitch-black corridor that lay behind. Apparently, it was late at night, but you couldn't focus on that as your doctor appeared from the shadows, a deep frown etched into his beautiful face. He should have been a model. At least that job wouldn't have led him to meet you.

"Do you doubt me?" he asked, stalking forward, undeterred by the open door, not thinking for a second that you'd try to escape. "Do I need a reason to love you for you to believe it?"

He caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your head back as he matched the steps you were taking backward. Soon, you'd run out of space to back into, but perhaps that was his goal. 

"Can't I just love you because the first time you caved in and told me about the things you went through, things just felt... right? Everything just clicked in my head, and I thought, "Wow, I want to see them happy!" Must there be any other reason for me to love you?"

Your back hit the wall just as his eyes lowered to your lips, his thumb reaching up to brush over them. "I dream about those lips. I can't help but think about you no matter where I go. In the evening, I imagine you curled up on the couch next to me; sometimes, I hear your laugh when you aren't even there. I want that picture-perfect life with you, but the moment I step into your room and see you covered in blood, your eyes showing just how far gone you are, it just..."

He looked up again, his eyes swirling with all the emotions he tried to convey in his words. But when he met your gaze, the color drained, leaving behind what you could only describe as pure, unfiltered madness.

"It drives me insane."

His second hand raised to the side of your face. He cupped your cheek in his palm for a moment, a soft smile creeping over his lips. "I like you like this. Docile, calm, sweet. I like it when you ask me things, I like it when you beg for something. I like it when you only let me do things to you. I want to help you, I do! But..."

His hand sliding down, you looked away, trying to catch it before it slipped around your throat, pressing into it, squeezing so hard you felt as if your head was going to detach from your neck.

"I want to ruin you. I want you worse, I want you deranged. I want you to kill everyone and then me, so I'll be the last of your victims, the only one you remember. I want to be ruined by you so badly that every day, I hope you tell me about yet another staff member we get to kill, and then you can use me to satisfy your needs. Can't you understand? This is love. No one will ever love someone like you, but. I. do. I understand you, I care for you. And I will continue to do so, with no other reason than I love you. I love you so much."

You gasped for air at this point, fingers grabbing his arm. It was hard listening to him, but it was harder to breathe. You knew he wouldn't kill you. This was nothing compared to other things you two did to each other. It stung a little when he said no one else would ever love you, but he was right. Not unless the change everyone expected from you was also something you wanted. 

But why would you?

The pressure on your throat disappeared, only for your breath to be stolen by his kiss. You hated this man. You hated him because he was a little bit too much like you. Too unhinged to be likable. And at the same time, he wasn't at all. He was too supportive, too nice, too forgiving. It disgusted you, honestly. Yet, you reciprocated, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. Before he could back off, you caught his cheeks in a squeeze between your fingers to draw him back to lick off the red fluid, reminding him he wasn't the deranged one here. 

"Don't question me again about my feelings, please," he asked, out of breath, too, as he bumped his forehead against yours. "I love you, I really do."

"You're a sicko, you know that? And your beard is stinging me, you should shave."

At this, he laughed out loud, raising his head to the ceiling. "I spent three days waiting for you to wake up. You can deal with some stubble."

"No, I don't like it."

Grinning, he lowered his face to you and gave you another peck on the lips. "It's gone tomorrow, I promise."

"Can I go back to my room now?"

He hummed thoughtfully before shaking his head. "Someone's awaiting their punishment still. You really want to miss out on that?"

Now it was your turn to grin as well. "Aww, you shouldn't have! Are we gonna cut up that bitch now? For real?"

"Anything for you," he mumbled, raising your hand to give it a quick smooch. "But let me change your bandages first. I don't want you to accidentally get sepsis if your wounds are still open."

"Surprisingly, you're still a doctor at heart."

"That's not true," he gasped, feigning indignation about your statement.

"Are you not?" you asked, watching him bend down to pick you up, bridal-style even. You weren't mad since your legs felt even weaker than before, and you really wanted to conserve your energy. 

"I'm afraid it's no longer medicine that has claimed my heart."

He looked at you, smiling softly. "It's all you."

"And I can't help but love you more, realizing I am becoming more like you every day."

[unspeakable-imagination]

We Don't Have to Dance |Part two| Worst Logan

Buy me a Ko-Fi! It helps keep the story running

My requests are Open and my masterlist is here

Cw: accidental, anxiety induced self harm, poor mental health. Soulmate AU! mentions of Althea's drug use, kinda short.

It was another day and you were once again poking around with your breakfast on your plate, fiddling with the fork. Colossus, Elle, and Yukio had already finished, leaving you behind. You were too deep into thought to even try to break out of your trance. You spent the whole time thinking about the logan you'd seen yesterday. Everybody knew about how your late husband ended up rescuing his daughter, and ended up losing his life In the process. You were distraught over the revelation that his daughter was the same woman you'd seen with this new Logan. This soulmate that seemed to have found his way back to you.

You knew it wasn't the same man. Biologically, sure. In every sense, technically. But not emotionally. Not truly. This wasn't the Logan that you'd spent so many years with. This certainly wasn't the Logan that married you. This man hardly knew you, or so you thought. Your gaze had drifted to the name scrolled along your forearm and you grew restless. It became itchy and you grew disturbed, stuck in your mind as you stared. Gingerly reaching your other hand to scratch at the words, the sensation didn't Seem to stop. Your ears rang as you tried scratching harder and harder, desperately trying to rip the tainted skin from your arm. Tight silver hands grasped your wrists and quickly separated your now bloody nails from bloodied words and you felt wet drip down your cheek.

“No,” you cried. “No it hurts, he's gone-No, he's gone,” you thrashed in Colossus’s hands, not hearing the words he was grumbling. You tried ripping your hands from his grasp but stilled when you felt a canceling collar snap around your neck.

The world changed and you slumped, staring ahead of you, finally processing the words that you were hearing.

“If your mind keeps getting caught up, [Name], we are going to have to keep the collar on you. You can't be present otherwise. You're loosing control.” You shifted to look at Collosus and Ellie behind You.

“I,” your brain calmed down but you had to take time to find your words. “I'm sorry. What happened?” Your now free hands felt at the collar around your neck and you paled, snaping your whole body around to look at the destruction you caused. The wall behind you was charred black with an outline matching your body. Colossus frowned.

“You've lost your mind again, and you're hurting yourself, too.” He motioned towards you arm and you looked at the skin that you tore. The skin with Logan's real name. The pigmentation ran down, as deep as the skin existed, bit parts of it were marred and scabbing over with rash-looking scrapes.

“It was hurting,” you murmured. “I don't know what happened it was just hurting, it was itching. I wanted it to stop.” You sounded confused, and Colossus's look softened.

“You need therapy. You need to return to work on the team, to give yourself an outlet.” Your lips pursed as you looked towards him. Ellie placed a hand on your shoulder.

“It is a good stress reliever.”

“I haven't worked since he left,” you mumbled. “Since he ran away with the professor. I don't know if I can control them now, and without the professor to shut me down?” you watched the scabs heal and flake off, the dead skin falling into your lap. Your arm looked as pristine as it was before, as if it was never marred by your anxiety riddled fingers.

“I will just gently knock you out,” Colossus put out his palm and degenerated by gently putting his fist into to, imitating a much gentle version of his punch. “No trouble, no pain.” You swallowed.

“I'm intimidated by what could happen.”

Distantly, Yukio’s cheerful voice rung through the halls as she skipped towards the group. She was waving Ellie’s phone back and fourth above her head.

“Wade texted, Althea and him are having a picnic. They want us to come!” Ellie moved, removing her hand from her shoulder and opening her arms for her girlfriend. She asked Yukio if she wanted to go and Colossus leaned, looming over you.

“We go to that picnic. Getting out is good for you, no?” You blew a hor breath out your lips, grimacing.

You’d just arrived at the park with the girls. Your signature look was on, a basic pair of black shoes, khaki pants, and a random long-sleeve shirt underneath Logan’s old jacket he'd left behind. You were talking with them about the latest season on Botox Baby, one that they'd yet to see. They were eagerly absorbing what you had to say, relishing in the fact that one of the twins had received her third round of lip filler.

“oh my GOD look at you guys,” Wade squealed. He cherrily clapped his hands and he kicked his feet out onto the massive blanket under him. You wrinkled your nose as his bare feet, cursing him for not wearing his socks that were stuffed into his crocks.

You looked at him and noticed that Logan, Laura, and the dog were further in the grass playing fetch behind him. You focused your attention on Althea.

“Al,” you separated from the girls as they beelined towards the pink-pajama clad man. “How are you doing?” She was sitting neatly under a tree. Her face was shockingly bitchish, more than usual. Her glasses sat on her nose as she held her face up towards the sun.

“Oh, [Name], dear. You have no clue. I've run outta crack trying to deal with the loud mouth fighting with silent and broody. They are driving me up the wall and I'm ‘bout ready to sting them from a ceiling’ beam and dry ‘em like bacon.” You snorted.

“So they've been home two days and you're already done with them?”

“Oh HELL yes, I CANNOT keep dealing with them keepin’ me up at night. That surely little girl been sleepin’ in the room with me but thoes two keep going at it in the living room. I went out there this morning and it smelled like enough blood that an elephant was slaughtered on the carpet. I swear, that stain will never come out, n I can't even see it!” You cringed at the imagery on a hanging elephant.

“That… isn't pleasant sounding.” She nodded her head in agreement.

“What about you, baby girl? I can practically smell the blood underneath your fingernails. She waved a finger in the air. “You're not back to work are ya?” furiously shaking your head you mumbled. “No, I just had a little incident at home. I guess I forgot to wash my hands. Colossus wants me to go back to work though.”

You cocked you head to the side as heavy footballs padded your way. Logan was walking towards you. You sucked in a breat and a fire of anxiety settled in your belly. Your throat suddenly burned and shifted away from him, hardly noticeable, but enough to help you conceal your inner turmoil. It was like putting your back to him, as if you were making a wall to keep him at a distance, safe for your heart. He knelt down next to you and Althea and cleared his throat. Al’s hand jutted out and jabbed towards him, but he was just out of her reach.

“You scared the fuck outta me, Logan. Why don't ‘chu wear a bell or somethin’?” a tiny, nearly invisible smile quirked on the aides of his lips.

“Sorry, Al.” He turned his attention towards you. “You're [Name], yeah?” you side-eyed him and swallowed thickly. “I know Wade kinda Introduced me last night but Im’m Logan.”

“I know who you are,” you muttered. “You don't have to talk to me. He sucked on his teeth and then took a deep nose breath. “I know I don't have to. I want to,” he cast his look down to the grass thinking about something. You turned sour, your anxiety peaking.

“Sorry, ‘m not in the mood.” Your looked away thing your face away from him. You didn't want him to see it, incase he could see your tell. Logan always told you that he could tell the way you felt, just by looking at you. You wondered if he could, or if he did imagine your face when he abandoned you the year before his death. You wondered if he knew your heart would break when he took the professor, but not his wife.

Logan could smell The sour emotions reeking out of you. He felt heated, and angry with Wade that he'd even suggest him coming to talk to you. Before you died in his world, you were about to get married. It was only a week away. He just wanted To get wasted. He had a nasty fight with you and came back to a dead body. He never got to make things right, and Wade talked about you as if you'd jump into his arms with just the chance to talk to him.

He swallowed And took the defeat. Be wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Not in this universe. He's just grateful that you're alive. He pushed himself up and turned, walking away. He didn't want to push you to talk to him, and by the smell of your emotions, you were to far into your mind to talk, anyways.

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