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lotusmi · 1 year

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SUCCESS STORY!!🤎🧸

tw//mental problems, abusive family, bullying, suicide attempt, manifest/void obsession

first of all i want to thank lotus because it helped me even when i was thinking about suicide❤️‍🩹

it's been years since I learned loa and I was having problems with the manifest. althought I have known loa for 2-3 years, i constantly reacted to 3D and for such reasons I could not manifest anything for 2-3 years. and when i first learned loa i was obsessed with void. I was hurting myself to enter void. like if you don't enter void today I will kill you. i was crazy because of void. at the same time, I was staying in the family environment that dragged me to death, and I was bullied at school . i was hated by people even though i did nothing. i tried to commit suicide many times, my family wouldn't let me go to the therapist. also, no one said anything to the bullying I saw. thats why I bullied myself for years in the same way. if I told anyone I was being bullied and asked for help, they would say it was probably my problem to my face💀💀 and towards the end of 2022, i seriously couldn't stand it anymore. i was constantly reading blogs [i think there is no blog i haven't read, lmao] and the last time i couldn't stand it, i tried suicide again, but i failed. later i wrote to lotus and she gave me a lot of advice (baby ily😩❤️) and i cried more than i have ever cried that night. the problem is that while people were already ruining me, the real problem was that i was ruining myself too. after that day, in the first week, i had so many problems in my manifest journey. but until 2023, i said to myself, "i don't want to live like this anymore. i deserve the life I want.” i made a promise. and every time I felt like quitting, i remembered my promise to myself. and now i have revised my whole life, i live in dubai🤭. if you're going to ask how i did this, i started to listen to my inner voice, i almost stopped entering tumblr. i stopped affirming and wrote down the things that i was gonna revise one by one, and added them to the notes app on my phone. i made a note at the bottom that I already have these in my life. when “what if I can't manifest the life I want?” if such thoughts came to my mind, i told myself that the creation was already finished. in this process, i focused only on myself and was developing my self concept. before I went to bed at night, i was constantly imagining the life I wanted and I was staying in that state and saying I already had the life I wanted, I didn't affirm anything extra. and even those who made life difficult for me started to apologize to me. (i manifested their karma life lol) anyway I don't want to talk more about those bitches but I want to mention this. please take a break. relax. stay away from things like void, loa for a few days. I noticed that some of you are obsessed with void on this blog. but i must say void is just a method. if i manifested the life i wanted when i was only 12-13 years old, you can do it too. take a break and do what feels good to you. love yourself. loa blogs can help you up to a point. they can't spare all their days for you. start taking responsibility. find manifest methods that work well for you. love yourself. meditate. i’ve talked a lot but I would like to add that, if someone tells you that you are the cause of the circumstances you are experiencing right now, that you created the conditions in which you live, please tell them to shut their fucking mouths. no such thing. i was blaming myself again, thinking what a disgusting monster i am just because this “you create ur reality” thingy. but the truth is that creation is already over. good luck!

MY FAV SUCCESS STORY TO EXIST!!!! 😭

I literally cried when this girl texted me saying she is living her dream life, I was so pround, I am pround 💗

Backstory, she first texted me 12/15/2022

She told me everything about her circumstances, they were really bad ones, and she was 12 at time and this made my heart so broken (she revised her age) since her parents were really toxic and disgusting ( I am not going to say much about her old story).

So I told her all about the toxic home I lived and how I manifested it away too (my success, my failures).

So, time passed and 01/feb I got this text!

I literally cried because I was so happy for herrrr 💗😭😭

"How she did it?"

She focused in her inner Self being the only reality and ignored all circumstances!

"and i would love to you to add those youtubers and blogs" insta: - kriston jackson youtube: - lana blakely tumblr: - @becomingthatgirl111 — other sources abt loa: - joe dispenza, edward art"

I literally cried so much and I am so happy for you my angel, look how you did it! You were 12 and revised your whole life! 💗💗💗

And that are people out there who don't believe that it is possible to manifest things. Look at this girl 💓

You did it amazing love, I am so pround of you. You are deserving of all the best things in the world. I wish you all the fun in life. Thank you sm for sending me this, I feel so appreciated that I had helped you, but who did all of this was YOU! 💗💗💗

✉️You all, everything is possible!

#neville goddard #law of assumption #loa tumblr #loa advice #loa blog #manifesting #success story #living in the end #loatumblr #Lotuses success

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nyxlaufeyson · 10 months

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36 Questions

Main Masterlist - Marvel Oneshots - Loki Oneshots

POV: Third

Ship: Loki [Marvel]/Judith Ford [36 Questions](you could also read it as loki/Original female character)

Type: Ima go with angst but also kind of fluff?

Wordcount: 1,669

TW: Alcohol, old lies being dug up

Synopsis: Loki found out that his wife of two years has been lying about her identity, and their therapist suggests a game of thirty-six questions in an attempt to save their marriage.

A/N: So, I'm a nerd and I was like, what if I put Judith and Loki together, Loki in the place of Jase?! And I love it. It's perfect. It may not be many peoples thing, but I figured I'd share it and maybe, just maybe, someone will like it. Liar meets liar? Tell me i'm not the only musical and marvel nerd here.

You CAN go into this fandom-blind for either!!! I would advise you to go listen to the podcast musical [36 Questions] though, it's really good!!! ANYWAYS: ENJOY!

Also I posted this on AO3 back in April but idk maybe some of you here want to read it. Again, it's okay if you don't know who Judith is. Pretend she's an OC.

Loki sat down awkwardly on his sofa, glass in his hand. Judith lounged in a chair across from him, twirling her hair in her fingers. They had hit a break in the conversation, Loki letting his mind wander.

Judith smiled as she watched Loki eye her. “For the record-” She started, snapping Loki out of his gaze. “Hm?” Loki mumbled, bringing his eyes back up to hers, causing her to chuckle.

“For the record what?” Loki asked, eyes tired from the information the past day had brought him. Judith looked at him, smirking. “You just undressed me with your eyes.” She said, and Loki was taken aback.

“I did not.” He scoffed, and Judith raised her eyebrow. “You did.” Loki broke eye contact, looking at the wall. “I- I looked at your shirt.” He lied, and Judith tilted her head a little. “Let it be known that sparks flew.” She said, sultry.

“No sparks. No sparks. For the record-” He said, defending himself. “-for the record, my eyes just happened to glance down at Natalie’s shirt-” “Judith.” She corrected him, causing him to pause for a moment.

“At Judith’s shirt because it’s completely see-through! And her nips are like, totally out there for everyone to see.” Loki finished, a grunt sounding from the floor, where Loki’s alligator, Henry, lay.

“So they are…” Judith amidited, looking at the alligator. “So you see how that could be awkward.” Loki justified himself, still avoiding looking at her.

“Right. Because it’s like, ‘Whose tits are these, anyway?’” Judith joked, grabbing a glass of alcohol and taking a sip.

Loki looked at her again, sighing. “You’re jesting, but actually-” He started, but Judith overtook him. “Are you going to let me borrow a shirt?” She asked, nonchalantly.

Loki narrowed his eyes on her, thinking. “Wait. Was this part of your plan?” He half-asked, half-accused.

Judith scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Lokes. I made this storm happen, because I’m an X-Man now. Is your stuff upstairs? Assuming the roof hasn’t blown off?” She stood up, gesturing to the stairs.

“Second door on the left. Third drawer in the dresser. Please don’t poke around.” He said, and Judith began in the direction he had told her. “I left my phone down there as collateral. Feel free to toss it out the window if you catch me snooping.” She yelled out, disappearing.

“Okay, but hurry up, please. I don’t have all night to do the questions. And I’d like to be up at a reasonable time tomorrow morning. I have a lot of stuff to…” He called, running his fingers through his raven hair. “...burn to the ground.” He finished by himself, whispering.

The alligator began to rustle around, grunting. “Just- I don’t want to hear it, Henry, okay? You saw how I tried to deflect. She’s unstoppable.” Loki defended himself to his pet, annoyed when the doorbell cut in, endlessly ringing until it cut out.

“Thank you, doorbell. Glad to hear you weigh in on this too.” Loki sighed, rubbing his forehead. “35 questions.” He got up to go get a bottle of whiskey, popping the cork and pouring some into his glass. “I’m not gonna get through four.”

Loki leaned onto the counter, taking a sip of the drink. “For the record this is self-destructive, for the record I’m aware of that. For the record I’ve been picturing her body, draped over the sofa wearing nothing but her hat-” He looked at the sofa, imagining Judith’s body plastered over it. “-For the record…” he hummed, looking back down. “I’m screwed.”

He went to another cabinet, unconsciously grabbing plates and silverware. “For the record this can still go my way, for the record I can keep my pride.” He said, gathering his confidence. “All I have to do is keep us focused on the questions, each one of her responses will remind me how she lied…” He trailed off, getting an idea. “That’s the answer!” He said, humming in realization. “That’s what I’ll do…”

“I’ll use the thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, questions as a life line.” He said, standing up. “And of course I have sympathy for the pathological liar who did this to me, and yes I admit, I wish I could touch her…” He glanced back to the couch, before refocusing himself as he set out the plates and silverware.

“Bu the questions will make one thing clear: there’s nothing left of my old life to spare, no matter how much I may-” He quieted as he heard footsteps, leaning himself back onto the counter.

“Ta-da!” Judith said, smiling. “What’s up?” Loki asked, a bit alarmed. “What do you think?” She asked, posing. “About what?” Loki asked, oblivious, still caught off guard. This whole night had caught him off guard.

“My jersey. Go Sea Wolves!” Judith cheered, and Loki realized his jersey was covering her torso. “Yeah, haha… Go Sea Wolves.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway… I was just setting the table here. I don’t know why I did that. That’s weird.” He said, looking at the table.

“It makes perfect sense to me.” Judith said with a shrug, smiling. “It’s kind of like a weird… first date! Which is why we really ought to have more booze…” She said, looking up at Loki with her gorgeous, tempting eyes.

“I have whiskey-” He said, gesturing to the bottle he had just popped. “-But, um, did you- did you want wine?” He asked, scratching his head. “Do you have wine?”

“Yeah. The glass shattered on the chiller last night, but I think the reds are okay. I’ll just uh- yeah, I’ll get them. I’ll be right back.” Loki said, walking towards another door, before turning to the alligator. “Stay with Judith, Henry.” He said before exiting.

Judith smiled and crouched down to the alligator. “Hey, Henry. I can’t imagine all the horrible stuff you’ve heard about me.” She said, standing back up and walking towards the counter. Henry crawled towards her, and she smiled.

“Well, it’s all true.” She said, sighing as the alligator crawled up to her feet. “But you don’t seem like the type of alligator who holds a grudge.” She said, picking up the bottle lying on the counter. “You’re not a whiskey drinker, are you?” She asked, earning no response from the creature.

“No… You keep your wits about you. I like that.” Judith poured herself a glass of whiskey, welcoming the pungent smell into her nose.

“For the record I did not expect this. I really thought that it would be a harder sell. I came up with this plan at 4 a.m. on Interstate 10, how was I to know that it would work so well? For the record…” Judith looked back to the alligator, a sad smile plaguing her lips.

“I haven’t thought a lot about the way I’ll answer. I guess I’m still afraid that I might lie. If only I could make him see, if I was given the choice: Of telling him the truth or sticking knives into my eyes- I’d pick the knives.” Judith hummed, voice raising in pitch near the end as her eyes widened. “But I’ll survive.”

“I’ll treat the thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, questions as a pastime… thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six,questions just like last time…”

“And maybe it’s wrong to say, but his defense and distance will not sway, me from believing, this is possible.” Judith said, glancing back at the door that she he had let her in through.

“If he didn’t love me anymore, then why the hell did he open the front door? I think it’s a sign that he-” Judith started, Loki entering the room once more.

“Hey.” He said, and Judith jumped a little, startled. “What’s up?” She asked, voice a little higher than usual.

“There’s a good chance that this wine is terrible.” Loki said, handing her a glass bottle. “I- I’d settle for drinkable.” Judith said, her usual persona restored.

“I make no promises. Ah, you lit candles.” Loki said, staring at the candles Judith had unconsciously lit as she was trapped in her mind's irritating circle.

“Yeah, I thought it would help set the mood.” She shrugged, grabbing a chair. “What’s ‘the mood’?” Loki questioned, furrowing his eyebrows. “Hopeful?” Judith suggested, pushing a chair over to Loki and sitting down on her own.

“Just like our first date, when we sat on your carpet, drank two bottles of wine.” Judith said, reminiscing the memory. Loki drew in air around him as Judith placed her hand on his shoulder, leaning into him a little.

“This is different… Two years have gone by, my whole life was a lie.” Judith sent him an encouraging smile. “But there’s something; that feels so familiar, we’ve been here before.”

“Staring at each other” Loki said, looking into Judith’s eyes. “Suddenly caring for each other.”

“Moving on to, question two.”

Loki grabbed the paper with the questions written down on them, finding the question. “Would you like to be famous? In what way?”

“We’re asking thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, questions to each other.” Judith said, staring at the wine she had poured out.

“Tonight’s thirty-six reasons why, you and I, cannot be healthy for each other.” Loki warily replied, remembering his reasoning.

“We’re asking thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, questions tonight.”

“Thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, questions for the second time.”

“Thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, questions for the last time.”

Loki stood up from the table, looking down at Judith. “I said I’d have dinner with Judith. One thing.”

Judith nodded, continuing for him. “We say goodbye to Natalie. Let me in, hear me out.”

“Thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, thirty-six, This will be the last thing.”

Tag list (Tell me if you want to be added/removed and what you would like to be added/removed for!): @iceeericeee

#loki #loki fanfic #fanfic #marvel #36 questions #judith ford #loki x ofc #loki x judith #crossover #musicals

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pa-stella · 2 years

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Flufftober 2022 - 27.10

Prompts | @flufftober

This is based on @jyushibat’s idea. Thank you for inspiring me! I took some liberties so it might be different from what you had in mind. I hope it's not a problem! Also, this took a different turn while I was writing it. Less romantic, more............... whatever is happening here. It's more Jakurai focused than what I had predicted. Weird.

Title: Yesterday and You Fandom: Hypnosis Mic Pairing: Jakurai/Hitoya Prompt: Reunion Words count: 1450 Contents: T-rated, mention of alcohol, mention of death, Hitoya is basically a therapist here.

I see your face, it's everywhere

I close my eyes, but you're still there

Reminding me of things we used to do

A long tired breath escaped Hitoya’s lips as he played with his almost empty glass. The bittersweet notes of that song and the alcohol weren’t helping his mood at all.

Accepting a case in Shinjuku hadn’t been one of his best choices. He knew that part of Tokyo well enough to walk around without getting lost, but wherever he went giant posters and led screens would show him the known face of an old friend. Could they still be called that? Friends?

Far were the times when the two used to spend afternoons playing basketball or reading in silence, when the most important thing was a red number on a final test. The same times when kind smiles and calm words were enough to cool down any sort of argument. The same times when they’d look at each other a second too long and their cheeks would redden a little…

He emptied the glass in one last sip and refused the bartender’s offer to refill it.

They had both made many mistakes that ruined their friendship but, in retrospect, Hitoya knew that his inferiority complex had played a large role in their distancing. He had taken all the grudge and the pain from the past and poured them in his career, reaching the highest point of satisfaction. But then, when the rap battles had started, all the feelings from his childhood had resurfaced. He had wanted to show him that he wasn’t living in his shadow anymore, that he had changed… but he had lost again and it hurt in the same way a lower grade did back in high school.

Has Hitoya really become a different person? Why was he still trying to impress Jakurai?

He was too tired to answer those questions or, maybe, he was trying to find one more excuse to avoid them.

After paying for his expensive whiskey, the lawyer stood up from the high stool and made a move to leave. He stopped at the entrance to zip his leather jacket up, but his eyes settled on the last thing he expected to see in a luxurious bar in the middle of the night.

That wasn’t a billboard, a screen or a hologram. No. Jakurai was really there.

I wonder what your heart is saying

When you hear a jukebox playing

The song that brings me yesterday and you

An hour had passed since the end of his shift, but he was still driving around the busy city. The doctor was tired, however there was something that made it hard for him to go back home that night.

He had lost a patient during the afternoon. The surgery had been successful, without mistakes or doubts, and yet… the young man’s heart had stopped anyway. It happened while they were moving him back to his private room. All the attempts of reviving him had failed and Jakurai, still wearing the bloody gown, had watched helplessly as life disappeared from his eyes.

He stopped the van at a red light and sighed loudly.

His knowledge, his talent, his skill… everything had been useless. How much did he still need to improve to prevent those things? Or was that proof that even he couldn’t fight against fate?

Somebody once told him that, no matter what others would say, he was just a human with limits and flaws. He chuckled remembering those words spoken with venom, those icy eyes burning with resentment. The very same eyes that had glared at him during the last rap tournament.

Jakurai sighed once more.

He missed those days when they would chat for hours about nothing in particular. Those days when Hitoya’s tenacity would inspire him to work hard as well. Those days when he would spend nights thinking about all those silly and unique things his friend had the courage and ability to do.

If he had been more open and honest about his thoughts at the time, if he hadn’t been so worried about what was right and proper to think and say, would their friendship have lasted more? Would they have faced their personal tragedies in a different way?

Jakurai shook his head a little. The physical and mental fatigue of that day was making him dwell in the past. He noticed a dim lit bar and, without thinking, he parked right in front of it. He knew alcohol wasn’t good for him (Hifumi-kun had kindly shown him the videos of how bad it affected him), but maybe something light wouldn’t have the same effect.

He waited for the quiet song to finish before turning the car off and entering the bar. The warm air invested him as soon as he went beyond the entrance, making him stop to take his coat off. A small movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he raised his head slowly.

It seemed as if fate had decided to play a little more with him that day.

After the initial shock, Hitoya just shrugged. “Jakurai.” He murmured.

“Hitoya.” Jakurai sounded surprised for once. “What brings you here in Shinjuku?”

“Work, obviously.” The lawyer sighed. “If I had time for a holiday, I wouldn’t be here.”

Jakurai just chuckled.

“What about you? What are you doing here?” Hitoya asked then.

This time the doctor didn’t answer and moved to the bar counter instead. He sat on one of the stools calmly before being approached by the bartender. “I’d like something…”

“Alcohol-free.” Hitoya finished his order while sitting down by his side. “And another glass of whiskey for me, thank you.”

“Hitoya…”

“Listen, this is a nice place. I don’t want you to destroy it in a booze induced rage fit.”

The bartender took Hitoya’s money with a worried face before getting to work.

“Last time we met in a bar like this, it didn’t end well.” Jakurai commented with a sad smile. “Are you sure you want to join me?”

Hitoya chuckled bitterly. “We might not be friends anymore, but it would be cruel for me to leave you here when something is clearly wrong.”

Hesitation filled Jakurai’s chest. Was it right for him to talk about what had happened? “It has been a long day at work.” “Uh, really?” The lawyer thanked the bartender as he placed two glasses in front of them. “Let me tell you this. Alcohol is not the answer.”

“And yet…” He pointed to the glass half-full with whiskey.

Frowning, Hitoya turned to look at him. “Always so clever, huh?”

“...am I?” The question came out in a whisper as Jakurai took a sip of his own drink. The taste of black teas and spices lingered on his tongue.

“What happened?” Hitoya asked and the doctor really wanted to talk about that, about the thoughts he had while driving… but at the same time it was the last thing he wanted to do. He had no right to complain about something unfortunately so normal in his field. He had no right to keep bringing old memories up.

So he just smiled in his usual kind way. “As I said, it has been a long day. Nothing happened. I apologize if I made you worry.”

Different emotions appeared on Hitoya’s face, but in the end he just looked furious. “This is still your problem, Jakurai. You can’t expect people to understand you if you don’t talk.” He huffed. “And you should know by now that if you hide something, it won’t disappear.”

“...”

“What the hell am I doing here…” Hitoya murmured to himself in disbelief. He chugged the rest of his whiskey, but a hand placed right on his tight stopped him before he could get up. “What?”

“Hitoya.” He hesitated again for just an instant. “Please.”

The small pleading shocked the lawyer. He did not expect that. He was ready to tease Jakurai a little, but when he looked at him in the face, words got stuck in his throat. For the first time in decades of acquaintance, he saw despair and helplessness in Jakurai’s eyes. He hated that sight.

“Ok, fine!” He sighed while looking at his empty glass. “I didn’t even savor it…”

Jakurai chuckled. “I’ll pay for another one.”

“That is the least you can do.” Hitoya replied. When Jakurai tried to move his hand away from his leg, he held it there. They looked at each other again and, after some long seconds, Hitoya posed the same question as before. “What happened?”

Jakurai took a deep breath before finally beginning to talk. “A few weeks ago, I met a new patient…”

#flufftober2022 #hypnosis mic #jakurai jinguji x hitoya amaguni #jakurai jinguji #hitoya amaguni #t rated #writing? in this economy?#hypmic #hitojaku #for anybody curious: jakurai is drinking an alcohol-free old fashioned

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thetruthaboutnolan · 8 months

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So I see and hear my name being brought up A LOT recently. I also see that people have been witching hunting for me on a lot of blogs. You people are worse than you claim I was haha. Deranged Obsessive Stalker Fans is like the tip of that iceberg.

Any who, decided to make my first non RPC related blog just so you people have somewhere to stalk and direct all your hate to. Granted, I'm really only going to log on to laugh and keep track of nonsense and yes anons are turned off. So either block this blog or stop being cowards but I suppose only one of us can be brave. In the meantime let me answer a few questions that I've seen recently. Are you INSERT BLOG HERE?

Nope, none of them. As I've stated multiple times, I don't have a personal blog or do any RPT, RPH-style stuff. I actively avoid all those tags given how toxic and apeshit they are which is proven when my name was so much as uttered. Haven't thought about you all in years and now I feel power, I feel above all these 40+-year-old trolls, well I am above them let's be honest I can run two groups both passing their two year mark in a couple of months, work a demanding job, have a fiancee, run classes (more on that later), and take part in AW tournaments out of state, and be dog dad without turning bitter and ugly.

Did I attempt S██████?

Yes, thank you guys for that. Yes, both attempts were because of the RPC HERE and that alone. It is well known I'm bipolar and even now I'll skip the meds here and there when I feel fine and know I'll just take them tomorrow. That is why it kind of makes me laugh that there was Nolan trigger warning. Was that for you or me? I love the talk of caring about mental health and positivity but then when you get told someone you don't like actually almost ends it all because of your actions and lies it's basically THIS.

Have you seen the recent stuff?

I have and again 98% of it is stuff I've never heard of, don't know these people, never knew these groups existed. Even showed it to my fiancee and even he laughed while saying I've been a busy boy. There is one person I wanna call out though because even without the posts I can link to and the screencaps I have saved which they provided ZERO PROOF OF THEMSELVES, I can discredit their ass with Google.

@katherine-mcnamara Like ........................ ahhhhhhh I'm going to be nice, my therapist has been helping me with my tendency to destroy someone that comes at me in general, let alone with obvious lies. I could go into how you are more emotionally unstable off meds than I am and how you don't have a single thought inside your head that a friend didn't give you and the chronic 'freshmen trying to make the seniors think she's cool' vibes. Or even the other dramas buried in the tags about you. But I won't since I still have an atom of respect for you.

Now, I didn't know anything about this Gonzo person you claim is me. I had people on another blog reveal it to me that he was the creepy pedophile you and your friends sicced on a poor girl back in 2012. How the screencaps about it were on a TUMBLR RP but your claiming it was Jcink now. There was talk of him coming back over and over but never that he was using my alias. You also say you know it was me from OOC discord interactions (this is what gotcha). Then you kind of bounce the timeline saying it was before I came to tumblr (early 2014 by the way) so I'll be generous and say 2013 - 2014. You also stated in a now deleted post that I 'was known for being in many jcink and discord servers even before coming to tumblr' bare in mind that was early 2014.

NOOOWWWWW for those of you who have my discord username the one I stopped using for RP back in 2020 I now have a discord specifically for tumblr RPs. Actually sold it to a guy I met on DBD for 20 bucks like a month or two ago. I ask you to check the creation date of that account which you can do simply by right clicking my name and click on Profile. *dramatic drum roll*................. that's right!!! March, 2017. Now please, open any search engine webpage and type in 'When was Discord made.' I'll wait.......................................what?!?!?! May 13, 2015.................. Something about these dates .... the math ain't mathing.

I'll do you better. Now please all you 30+ year-old RPC members recall with me. It's 2014 til let's say, randomly, May 12th 2015. If your group had an OOC space of any kind. What were the two most popular and used ones. If you said OOC side blogs off of the main or Skype groups, Venmo request me for your ten US dollars.

Now lets cover the gap between when discord was made and when the ONLY account ya'll can even remotely link to me was made. so 2015 til 2017. I had my first ALT+DELETE attempt after leaving WOTNA which according to their blog looking through the archive for it, was AUG 27 2015. Now at this time I'm completely unknown only had drama on this site and can only find my alias mentioned on any group back then being WOTNA and ALR where I was right before here. Now, I completely disappear for most of this year. I wonder why ....yeah.... that. When I do come back the first mention of me is on Mount Prospect, no drama and I was only there for like 3 weeks. Jo did steal my characters by keeping them as skeletons after I asked they be deleted, just saying. Then Raven's RP. I tried to join it she being the horrible person that she is cusses me out for semicolons and lets someone use my bio to make my character with a different name and very slight edits. Then silence for 6 months and .....I moved sequence from its 2013-2014 jcink forum to here and for like 3 years it was impossible to be anywhere else for more than a week beforing getting kicked out an a rather uncomfortable message that basically was 'you didn't do anything HERE.... but....". I do wonder based on what you can see..... how interesting that the original home for Sequence has similarities to what was 'stolen' from Raven but you know I stole everything for it and not had something that actually predates the creation of their so-called stolen materials. Its truly a mystery only forces we can't begin to comprehend can truly solve.

Do you hate women?

Nope, 90% of my posting partners identify as female. This started because after Raven's assault on me I called them a bitch. I also was using she/her pronouns for them as that's what they used and allowed me to use when cussing me out over grammar for my app on their site. Didn't know what RPH blogs were back then or that they had one with they/them as their pronouns. But those two things combine got one of the 'he's called them a bitch, he hates women!!' narrative going. If ya'll remember that actual origin how many of you would flip that it wasn't sexist today? After that it just got added to when I'd join a group, someone handed the link to Raven's post and they'd kick me then claim 'he was sexist to us women'. Even today If I join another group and they eventually see that crap, most don't care but toxic ones do. I can't not wanna plot or ship with the first female character that comes to me without an 'oh you do hate women then' comment. And I thought I was the one forcing plots on people?

Are you RPing on Discord?

Yes and no. I have joined Zero group RPs. people that have apologised to me privately while having gone apeshit on me publically have opened 'indie servers' for us to post on together. And yes, I let the narrative I roleplay on discord go without it specifically being indie with those that asked if I would for a reason. to see you crazy fans do your crazy fan thing, and it worked. I do run two classes though on my business discord. One for webdesign an another teaching the use of the Midjourney bot both basic and detailed prompt formatting and for getting a consistent character and using it to create art for our characters along with face swapping and even getting vids/gifs from other AI with those images.

Do you use They/Them Pronouns?

I do actually. At first it was simply because I like the 'Nolan who are they' vibe. But then started to correct everyone in real life with them and now everyone uses them for me and I do as well. So yeah, all you who have been using He/Him since 2020 are hatefully misgendering bigot monsters. And I am waiting for the apologies to rain in. I apologized for misgendering Raven all those years ago but you all ignore it to this day but I won't ignore yours and like with anyone else it is owed.

How many accounts do you have?

Like............ 50+ on here. I make a new email and blog for every RP I join and I've been on a lot and only had 'drama on four, three made up drama after I left. Apparently, that count is higher. active accounts though...... well 6 for one of my groups, 4 for the other, and 1 for the three groups that aren't mine that I'm in so 13 total I believe.

The Nolanverse?

Honestly this makes me laugh. None of the people who actually know me and actually have interacted with me made that up. This comes from this new guard of players who created it and its funny especially since back in 2013 not wanting to use my real name I thought of one I could use and the Christopher Nolanverse for batman was a thing and where it came from.

#rpt #rph #rpc #rp talk #later losers

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mybitchingandmoaningsafespace · 11 months

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28 years ago two humans decided to fuck in an old Ford Ranger. Around 9 months later, yours truely escaped the womb. Those two humans decided they hated eachother and I became a pawn in their game. Through all of my life my paternal grandparents have been a constant. I could almost give them credit for raising me. My grandmother passed when I was 12 or 13, and took my world with her. Now, my bond with my grandfather is the strongest bond I have with anyone in my life.

My parents seperated when I was two, a few years later their divorce was finalized. My mother got remarried to a man she met when he was about to go into a diabetic coma. He had 3 daughters from two different women and my mother took over their parenting. These girls sexually abused me, but I was too young to understand at the time, all I knew was I wanted to be accepted by them. Eventually,my nother divorced this man, as he was cheating on her. She had several boyfriends and was known in the town for her promiscuity. Several years ago she married ny current step father, who has been an absolute blessing. I got a new step sister, who I get along greatly with. My father went on to remarry a wicked witch, who made life a living hell. My father took her side, no matter how emotinally and mentally abusive she became. When I was 10, they had a child together who I raised more than they did. I continue to love that child with all my heart. The relationship between myself and my father and stepmother was always tense and my mother was my rock. At 13, I said I'd rather be dead than go back to my fathers house and was put in a psych ward for attempted suicide. During my stay there, was the first time I found myself attracted to a female. At 15, I found my first love. A boy who was just as damaged as I was. We damaged eachother even more with our on again off again dating and toxic behaviors. At 16, I had my first lesbian experience with my best friend. At 17, I was sexually assaulted by a guy my best friend was pining for. I lost my best friend and a part of myself all in one night At 18, I quit splitting my time between my mother and fathers households and ran away to stay with my mother full time. I was finally able to get enough distance to stop running back to the toxic relationship that had carried me through my teenage years. Life was finally looking up. I did a lot of soul searching and working on deciding the person I wanted to become. This meant coming to grips with parts of my past that werent pretty. Eventually, I started to rebuild my relationship with my father. My mother, who was once my best friend, became my enemy. We didnt have a common enemy anymore, so I became the person she hated. When I moved out to move in with my husband, she turned her anger on my stepfather-who does not deserve the treatment he gets, but refuses to leave her.

At 20, I feel in love with a new man. I was ready to give my heart to him. But he was still stuck on his old relationship. In a series of painful events, we split ways, and I met my now husband. We came up with great plans for our life, until life got in the way. At 24, I started to gain a lot of weight and get very sick. At 25, I was diagnosed with Crohns Disease and Cushings Disease. At 26, they removed a tumor from my pituitary gland in the hopes it would fix the Cushings. During all of this, I was struggling to hold down a job. My husband was trying to be helpful and supportive, but due to his own trauma, really didnt (and doesnt) know how. Although, we signed up for eternity, through sickness and health, neither of us planned on this.

Currently, life is a struggle as I am having issues with my health and my job again. Finances are shit, our home is falling apart around us, and everyday is another balancing.

This page is just going to be my bitchfest page, a diary of sorts. Maybe one day, Ill show it to my therapist and save us both some time.

If you have nothing kind or supportive to say, scroll on.

#diary #cushings #crohns #trauma #bisexual #marriage #mental illness #chronic illness #invisible illness #parental abuse #parental issues

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wiry-psychiatrist · 1 year

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5/28/23

(CW vent as always)

So uhhhh, he/they pronouns, am I right? I think it’s time to reintroduce myself. Hello to the zero people that follow me, my name is Maxwell (Max) (yes, I stole my cat’s name, don’t worry about it,) I’m 20 years old from somewhere on the planet and I’m a trans man? I'm still workshopping the last part there but what do we think?

Now here’s my problem: I’ve moved back in with my parents, an hour away from all my friends or anyone that would possibly genuinely support me, and my bedroom walls are pastel pink. I miss college, solely for the fact that I could mostly act and dress how I wanted, and I didn’t have to tell anyone anything I didn’t want to. I saw my parents maybe once a month, and I could put on a charade for that long. I enjoyed my job, I was actually friends with my coworkers, and some of them even used the right pronouns for me (I didn’t push it on purpose bc I’m not ready to defend my identity to bigoted customers yet.) I’m not gonna say I'm miserable at my first adult job, but it is definitely a stark reminder that the majority of the world is not as accepting as working at a coffee shop, and there's a very likely chance I won’t be respected in my identity at my workplace. I have absolutely nothing in common with any of my coworkers anymore, and now I see my friends as much as I used to see my parents.

I’m afraid I’ll never be able to live the life I want to live, I’ll never be able to be myself around my coworkers or leave the clutches of my parents (I don’t want to come out to them at all, I hate telling them anything but I’m the only child so I can’t just run away and never see them again, although that would be great.)

Pride month is rolling around again, and the irony is definitely not lost on me. Combined with all of the transphobic violence ramping up again, the last thing I feel right now is proud. I’ve never been to pride, but even though this is the first year I could probably get away with going, I’m not going to bother because I’m too scared. I wish I wasn't like this. I wish people saw me as a man in any capacity, I wish I could be around new people who only know me as how I want to be known, not as who I was forced to be. I wish I would be taken seriously if I did try any attempt to be myself. I feel like I’m playing a character 24/7 and it’s exhausting. I don’t have anywhere I can be myself anymore now that I‘m back with my parents. I need to move out, but my parents don’t see why I would want to spend the money on my own place, with furniture and everything, when I’m probably gonna travel for work (just to get away from them.) The only excuse I would have is to shorten my commute to my current job, but the city I work in is even more republican and bigoted than the one my parents’ house is in.

I can feel myself slipping back into depression, I didn’t realize how much better I felt when I was at school. It’s only amplified now that I know what some semblance of freedom feels like, now that it’s stripped away. I didn’t realize how much of a support system I had built up, of friends and a therapist nearby, until it’s gone.

This was supposed to be a happy post about me finally beginning to accept my identity in my own head, but the weight of the world stops for no one I guess. I’m gonna go research apartments now.

#vent #sorry gamers

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divinefireangel · 3 years

Text

They Just Don't Know You

Soft Yandere! Seo Moon-Jo x F! Reader

Disclaimer: This is just a work of fiction. If this piece of fan fiction is offensive to any celebrity, fandom or culture please let me know so I can take it down. Also note that this is my version of a character or celeb, which will vary from person to person.

Author's Note: A 2nd longer fic for our lovely cannibalistic psychopath. I hate that I'm attracted to him. Someone please be my therapist. Or psychiatrist. Honestly doesn't matter. My brain is fucked anyway.

Copyright: Please note that this is my work and if you want to publish this on any other platform, take my permission before doing so. Taking an author's work and posting it somewhere else without any intimation is just disrespectful. I readily welcome suggestions and criticisms. That being said, Happy reading! 🤍

Warnings: 16+ and written for female reader, but all can read. (nothing specified with respect to appearance, etc of reader). Except that I've mentioned reader is short, cuz LDW is tall 🥰. There is a brief mention of sex, but no actual smut. Reader kinda highkey hates on her parents and younger sister. Read it to know. Age gap between reader and Moon-Jo. Slight obsessive thoughts. Manipulative words. I tried to put plot twist in the end, probably you won't notice it 💀. Please please tell me if I need to add more warnings. Do not read if you start to feel uncomfortable. I apologize in advance 🥺

❗❗PLEASE READ WARNINGS ❗❗

Pre-Requisite / Summary: Just a fic based on the song They Just Don't Know You by Little Mix. After watching Strangers from hell I related this song to him for some reason. Reader and Moon-Jo are in an established relationship. And reader's loved ones don't approve.

2.3k ish words My longest fic till date 🥳

" You know that he's too old for you. You can settle for younger, much younger guys for your age sweetheart. If you can't find anyone eligible enough, we will find one for you. And you don't even know if he has intentions of marrying you. What if all he wants is just a fling or some time pass relationship. Hmm? What are you going to do then? "

Sipping her tea silently, Y/N sat next to her dad on the porch swing, listening to all the criticisms he had about Moon-Jo. All his words did was boil her blood. But what could she do when they don't walk in her shoes? They don't know how safe and content she feels when he kisses her like she's the only girl for him in the entire universe. And no point in explaining that to her father anyway. She's tried. And failed. Multiple times.

"Are you done with your tea?" She asks her dad, in desperate attempt to try and get away from him and his words because she knows, and even he knows that it's going to end up in a fight if they continue to speak on the same topic.

Humming yes, he hands her his tea cup which she takes to the kitchen so she can help her mom with dinner. Placing them in the sink upon entering the kitchen, Y/N drags her palms down her face in frustration.

" I could hear what he said you know. Your dad. He's not wrong. Seo Moon-Jo seems like he'll break your heart in three. And we're only looking out for you Y/N. You don't have to go through heartbreak when you can very well avoid it." Her mom finished slowly.

" Why. Why is it so difficult for you to accept the fact that I'm actually in a happy relationship for once in my life. So what if he's much older than I am? He's a dentist. A doctor. A very good profession and he's known and well respected in his neighbourhood too. " Y/N said loud enough for her dad also to hear.

Huffing in annoyance she left the kitchen to go upstairs to her room. Or rather the room she shares with her sister. Of course the door is wide open. The younger rascal is always here for the drama.

Ever since Y/N came out to her family about her relationship with Moon-Jo, her sister has become the favourite child, for obvious reasons. And now eavesdropping with the door wide open? That's a new low. But what else can Y/N expect from such a low life who is literally thriving off her own sister's pain and suffering.

When entering the room, Y/N realizes how big a mistake it was to visit her family. And she did not need such snark from a younger, less experienced child.

"Are you that blinded by " Love " that you don't even see how weird his hair is? A man who isn't an idol or actor doesn't need such long hair. He's clearly a fuckboy. Or man whore. Whichever is right. " She said with disgust.

'She's just jealous. She's just a jealous bitch. They all are.' Y/N thinks to herself.

" At least one of us gets laid regularly. And just so you know, it's absolutely heavenly when he makes me cum over and over on his fingers and his dick-" Y/N said as her tone slowly got lower and darker and her emotion angrier.

Screaming and covering her ears, the younger girl ran downstairs to her mother, no doubt to tattle on her older sister. Rolling her eyes, Y/N started packing her things, all of them, in a bag she took down from the top shelf of the wardrobe.

It's really difficult to leave one's family, but it is clearly getting more and more tiresome to love them nowadays. If it's so wrong to date him, why does Y/N herself not see it? She's a logical and smart young lady. Does her family hate that man so much that they don't even want her to be happy? No matter who she's with. And is it so bad to date a man who's older? Richer? And cares more about her than all of her family members combined?

Wiping the fallen tear stains from her cheek, she just thinks to herself ' They just don't know him. They just don't know him like I do. '

Sending a text to her lover, saying that she misses him and that she's coming back home sooner than planned, Y/N carries her bag through the front door, her parents and sister ignoring her as she leaves and walks out that door one final time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Once reaching their shared apartment, Y/N collapsed into her lover's arms the moment he opens the door, crying her eyes out. Seeing his lover in turmoil, shedding a tear or two of his own, Moon-Jo carries her to the living room couch to cradle her like a child who needs attention.

" They- They said -"

" Shh my darling. I know. " Moon-Jo said, shushing his girlfriend and giving her a shoulder to cry on. Once she's calmed a little, her sobs turning to sniffs, she lifts her head to meet his gaze.

Seeing her sad, tear stained eyes always upset him. More than anything in the world. Running his long slender fingers across her cheeks and jaw, he removes her hair from her ponytail with his free hand and rests it on her thigh.

" Tell me. Please tell me that you won't break my heart like them. That you won't try to tear my world apart like them. " Y/N looked desperately at him, wanting so badly to know that he's not just using her.

Those words, that slipped out her mouth, shocked Moon-Jo, to say the least. What did he do wrong? What did her family fill her head with?

Tilting his head to a little, he looks into her red eyes, trying to read her mind for a moment, all the while she just looked at him with the same desperate expression.

"Please tell me that you will be there when I need you the most. " Y/N whispered so softly, she herself barely heard it. But the end of the sentence, she started crying all over again.

Taking her head to his neck, he stroked her hair and her sides, trying to calm her down.

" Darling. I promise with my everything, that I will never leave you, I will never ever let you go. That I will do anything, anything necessary to prove my love to you. "

"No, oh dear no. That's not, you don't have- have to do anything at all to make me believe you love me. I'm sorry I asked such a stupid question. " She sobbed out.

Shushing her softly again, he rocks their bodies back and forth, till she's calmed and fallen asleep there, in his arms. Knowing that his arms are her only safe place for her from now on, he takes her delicate figure to the bedroom.

Placing her on her side of the bed, he lays down on his. Staring at her stunning face, he feather touches her face with his fingertips, memorizing every curve, every little detail on her, like a sculptor admiring his work and giving it the finishing touches.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

" So, I did a little digging on your sugar daddy. "

" Why?! And he's not my sugar daddy. " Y/N said in disbelief. No. Not her dear best friend too.

" I know you said not to and I'm sorry. But I am worried about you. He made you leave your family Y/N. " They stated with worry and sympathy.

" No. He didn't make me leave them. I left them by choice. They don't see him like I do. And clearly, they hate that I'm happy with him. " Y/N finished as they sat down at the lunch table.

" Y/N..... "

" What? Even you don't want me to be happy? " She questioned her friend in disbelief. Laughing sarcastically Y/N shook her head.

" I've heard rumours! Okay? He was in the orphanage that had that severe fire explosion. And most of the culprits from that incident are MIA. What if he's one of the people who caused it?! " They said in a whisper, worried that the neighbouring people can hear their conversation.

" Do you really think that? All of that is just a rumour. And he's told me about it. He's told me everything. Unlike my parents who so desperately tried to tie me down to an arranged marriage. "

" He's not good for you. I know you deserve better. Okay he may make happy and all but what if he leaves? What if he just uses you and drops you like you were nothing? We're just trying to make sure you don't get hurt Y/N. Physically and emotionally. " They finished.

" This, all what you said, is cheap talk. But it'll eventually wear down because when we get married and have kids and all that in the future, you're all going to look like fools. And I will proudly say ' I told you so '. "

" If that's the case then I am the happiest person for you. Hopefully I won't have to be the one to say ' I told you so'. "

" Wow. I, just- hah. Wow. Just wow. " She paused.

" You know, I really hoped you would be more supportive or at least tolerant enough to have patience and support me with my decision for my love. " Y/N said loud enough for eavesdroppers to hear audibly.

Of all the people she would have to drop, never even in her nightmares had she fathomed that her best friend would be one.

Getting up from the table, she picks up her bag and leaves without another word, and goes to the only place that has love for her and that accepts her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Reaching home, Y/N notices the place empty. Maybe he's at the clinic?

Shrugging off her bag and jacket she sits on the couch for a moment, before her restlessness takes over and she begins pacing in the living room.

Why are people being like this? Do they hate her so much? They barely know him. Why are they treating and accusing him to be such a criminal! He's not. He takes care of Y/N so much. He loves her so much. He provides for her. He's affectionate with her, more than he's told he thought capable. He's become her ride or die. And she, his.

They don't know him like I do. They will never love me like he does.

They don't know about the love they have. The just see what they want to see. Bloody society dictating whom to love and whom to not. Is it so hard to see the love they have for each other? Can't they just let it be. They don't know the turmoil she's gone through recently; they don't know how well he's taken care of her, kept her happy and same enough to not let her intrusive thoughts get the best of her.

Her thoughts interrupted by the door clicking open. Smiling, Moon-Jo enters with a box, surely containing sweets from her favourite bakery. How can you not love someone so considerate, who does things for you without even having to ask.

Seeing the sad look upon his lover's face, Moon-Jo's smile fades into a frown.

" What's wrong my dear? "

Smiling sadly Y/N just shakes her head, conveying that she doesn't want to talk about it.

Placing the box of sweets on the coffee table, the two hug each other, feeling of comfort taking over them both. She can just stay here, forever, in his arms till the world ends.

" Babe. What's wrong? You can tell me anything. Anything at all. I'll take care of the problem. " Delicately Moon-Jo cradles Y/N's head in his palms, making her face up to him, their height difference evident.

Sighing, she moves to sit on the couch, motioning him to do the same. " It's just people. And what they say. My family was one thing, but my best friend, the person I chose as my family " Pausing Y/N breathers the tears back in, " They were doubtful of you today. How can I live knowing that no one will approve of us? " Y/N questioned looking at him.

" Does their opinion really matter that much? So much so that you are skeptical of my affection to you? " Coldly, he moved back from his seat on the couch.

" No! No. Gosh that is not what I mean. Not at all. I love you and I know that you love me. So much. So much so I would die for you. But there are other people whom I care about. Who's opinions matter to me. And I don't want to let them go. As happy as I am with you, I need them too. They give me joy in a different way, that is important. "

" Do I not make you happy? Are you not content with the love I give you? Is it not enough? " He asks carefully.

" That's not what I meant! You love me more than anyone I've known. "

"Then what's the problem? You don't need those people who don't love you. You have me. You will have me forever and ever. I will never leave you. And you will never leave me either. We'll be with each other till the end of the world darling. "

Nodding with a small smile you looked down at your feet.

Unhappy with your action, Moon-Jo pulls your face up by your chin to look at him with such force, it scared you a little, making your heart skip a beat in fear.

" Do you not love me, babe? " He asked tilting his head to a side, his expression mildly offended.

" I do! I love you. So much. " You finished with a soft tone, cupping his face with your hands.

Grinning like a Cheshire Cat, Moon-Jo leaned down to capture your lips with his. Reacting immediately, you kissed him with as much energy and sincerity you could muster, as you head filled with thoughts of doubt.

Had your parents been right? Had for friend been right? Had they all been right all along and you too blind to see?

No. It can't be. He loves you. He's said that so many times. And you love him.

You love him.

You.

Love.

Him.

...

Do you love him, or have you been illusioned into loving him?

#lee dong wook #lee dong wook imagine #lee dong wook x reader #ldw #strangers from hell #strangers from hell x reader #hell is other people #seo moon jo #seo moon jo x reader #seo moon jo imagine #seo moon jo x f!reader #yandere seo moon jo

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one-rosy-sock · 3 years

Text

Coming Undone | Abner Krill x fem!Reader (1/2)

Go to the {Ao3 Link} for more info...

Fandom: The Suicide Squad (2021) Rating: T (M for future chapter) Summery: You’re a psychiatrist. You should know the warning signs when a relationship with a patient is becoming problematic. But you refuse to consider this, because Abner Krill is a lot of things, and violent is not one of them. Warnings: PTSD, childhood abuse, trauma, brief mention of past suicide attempt.

Notes: no use of y/n Disclaimer: Author is NOT a real therapist. I do not own DC comics. __ The first time you met Abner Krill, he was recommended to you by a colleague at Belle Reve.

It had been several weeks since the convicted metahumans defeated Starro, that giant one-eyed starfish. Sometimes it amazes you to no end what strange things exist in this world. The Corto Maltese coup and monster defeat held onto headlines for several weeks until the next big thing came to top it. Seeing such exciting news affect your patients wasn’t unusual, but to have a high profile patient be a part of such news was a first, you’ll admit.

As for you, well, things were pretty much the same. You see your patients during the week at your office. You’re a licensed psychiatrist, and oftentimes you see men and women who have been convicted of a felony or are ex-prisoners themselves. It wasn’t a dream job for many women, much less anyone, to counsel people so troubled. You aren’t like everyone else, though. No, you might not have x-ray vision or super strength, or any super fancy gear to punch bad guys, but you do have a gift not many have: A good ear and an open heart.

And a prescription notepad, but you are determined to make your sessions more than just a pill dispensary.

You are aware of who Abner Krill is. The Polka-Dot Man. One of the metahumans who went to Corto Maltese and defeated Starro. This has partially immortalized him in the media as a superhero, despite his past as a prisoner. Some of your patients were metahumans too, but none as powerful or as widely known as the Polka-Dot Man. His identity and those of his teammates had been concealed from the general public. As of last week, you know his real name.

His appointment’s in the morning on a Tuesday. Your secretary came by as you were straightening up your office to let you know he had arrived. You fluff the couch pillows, throw blanket over the back, tissue box on the side table, a mild scent infuser on your desk. The century-old computer at your desk whirls to cool itself off. Earlier you'd taken the time to shoot an email to Ms. Waller confirming Mr. Krill's appointment.

You follow your secretary up front. She goes to her desk and you step into the waiting room.

Though foolish, you half expected to see Abner in his super suit. The polka dot suit and headgear. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of khaki trousers that hugged high over his hips, and a somewhat flashy, silk button-up tucked neatly into the waist. And, dare you say, a fanny pack. His outfit looked straight out of the 70s or 80s. You don’t know the definitive difference between the decades. But his shirt looks clean and pressed, the collar tucked down nicely. He has one leg over a knee, bouncing it rhythmically as he watches the fish swim around the tank in the wall. It looks like he tried to read a magazine, but stopped halfway, finger wedged between the pages.

“Mr. Krill?”

He jerked in response to his name, swinging his head up with a guilty look gleaming in his eyes. You think of a puppy who’s been caught peeing on the carpet. His expression, or perhaps the way his face was structured, reminded you of a puppy too. His face was somewhat sallow, somewhat droopy. Lines indicate a lot of frowning. Like a sad, droopy cartoon dog. His face narrowed down from his eyes, making his red cupid’s bow mouth seem small. A strong, straight nose dominates his face. His big eyes seem dark and questioning. Like a scared, lost child.

Krill quickly shoots up like a bean sprout, shaking his hands out. The magazine drops to the floor. He swears, bends down to pick it up, and anxiously fusses over righting it on the coffee table. You watch the way the glossy purple cuffs wave as he moves about in jerky, quick moves.

“Good morning, doctor,” he greets warily, avoiding your gaze and staring at your shoes.

“You must be Abner,” you smile. You reach out your hand. In a painful, pregnant pause he visibly wavers as he stares at your hand as if you’d stuck out a gun at him. Finally, he reaches out to take your hand.

He has a strong grip. Sweaty hands.

Hastily, he pulls away.

“Nice to meet you. Why don’t we head on back?”

He nods. His legs are long yet his steps uncertain, reminding you of a gangly adolescent. He follows you down the hall from the waiting room and awkwardly stands by as you open the door to your private office. You hear him pat his thighs as he waits. Like a shadow, he follows and sticks close but careful not to touch. Barely making a sound.

After your office door clicks shut, the two of you sit in your respective places. Your desk chair has a high back, cloaked in a fraying, multicolor knitted throw blanket. A bit garish against the dull beige walls and simple yet whimsical desk decorations beside you. There’s a poster that reads It’s OK to feel this way: over a circle divided by colors and sections, listing different emotions.

You pull your knees up and begin to take off your shoes.

Your patient stares in visible confusion.

“Would you like to take your shoes off?” You ask, setting your shoes aside as you straighten up in your chair. “I find it easier to relax without them.”

“Um…” he trails off, his downturned mouth pursing as he considers this. The tension rolling off him makes him stiff and hard to read. All you’re getting from him so far is how much he doesn't want to be here.

You watch him while occupying your hands with things on your desk so he doesn’t feel pressured to make a decision. From the corner of your eye, you watch him swallow, Adam's apple bobbing, and he slowly reaches down to untie and slip off his oxford shoes. He sets them neatly beside his feet. Hands tucked in his lap, sock feet on the ground. Looking up at you somewhat imploringly.

“This is a safe space, Abner,” you smile at him. You have your clipboard and pen in your lap, but you make yourself relaxed and as welcoming as you can. Note-taking can be done later. Visibly, at least. Don’t want to make him think you’re already assessing him before y'all begin to talk. Can’t force him to talk.

Ex-prisoners often struggle with reforming to civilization after release. He couldn’t be forced to attend therapy here despite the outside forces that pressured him to. If he wanted to walk out, he could. Abner was so tense he seemed to be walking on eggshells. He struggled to relax his shoulders, like his limbs were too long for his body. During all this, he hadn’t met your gaze one.

“Whatever we talk about won’t leave this room, unless, for instance, you said you plan to hurt yourself or someone else.”

This gets a reaction out of him. A grimace, a shake of his head. “No, I wouldn’t…”

“Of course not. You’re a superhero now, right?”

He grins. It’s brief, boyish, sheepish. He’s studying the design of your clothes. You consider that progress from your feet.

“You were recommended to me by Dr. Rooney at Belle Reve,” you begin conversationally, baldly, wanting to get a feel of where he was coming from. Your colleague had said Krill was not a violent inmate, but was often verbally bullied by other prisoners. He tended to avoid crowds, thus mostly avoided. More than once he had been on suicide watch. Casually, you glance down at your clipboard. Born in Philadelphia to Augustine Krill--father unknown--and tried and convicted for first-degree murder as an adult in the city of Metropolis. He was incarcerated at Belle Reve shortly after turning eighteen. He was in his early forties now.

You look back up at Abner. He had that sad puppy dog look again, staring at nothing in particular with his neck hunched.

“Did you and Dr. Rooney get along?”

“D-Doesn’t your notes say?”

You make a face. “I want to know what you think of Rooney, not what he thinks.”

Abner didn’t answer right away. “He was okay.”

“Okay,” you echo, licking your bottom lip as you cock your head up. “Okay is better than nothing.”

“We mostly spoke about my mother.”

“Oh?”

“She experimented on me and my siblings. She wanted us to become superheroes,” he said. His voice held much more confidence than anything he’d said so far, but his expression remained unchanged. It was because he kept words void of emotion.

“I see.” Yes, you did see. You had anticipated the topic of his mother coming up if you didn’t ask him about it first in future sessions. Dr Krill was listed in his files as a scientist at S.T.A.R. Labs, and having six children whom lived on site with her. CPC had been called a few times, rebuffed every time by various means other than being convinced nothing was wrong. The whole thing was fishy, especially after the untimely deaths of three of Dr. Krill’s children. The whereabouts of the other Krill children were unknown. All investigations into S.T.A.R. Labs had been terminated by higher powers, even after Abner’s arrest and psychological evaluation.

Abner continues, to your surprise. “I pictured Starro as my mother.”

“You did?”

“It makes it easier, when I convince myself that my enemy is her. I don't like killing.”

You pick up your pen and tap your lip, looking down at the way he was fidgeting his feet. “Did you regret killing your mother”

Abner’s knee stopped bouncing. “No.”

“Do you regret killing the other scientists at S.T.A.R. Labs? The--”

Abner grimaced and brought his hands to his head, tugging on fistfulls of black hair. “I-I didn’t mean--I-I--”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to answer that today,” you placate with a soft tone, putting down your pen, fingers rubbing along the edge of your clipboard. After a moment of heated silence, you set your things down on the desk and stand up. This makes your patient crumble in on himself, trying to hunch low enough to shield some blow. You smile sadly where he can’t see. “Abner, do you see my poster here? With all the emotions?”

He looks back up, glancing from you to said poster. His attention is answer enough.

“Whatever you feel in this room is valid to you and to me. Not now, but in the future I’d like for you to give me short but detailed descriptions to how you feel on certain things. It's okay to say something you think is taboo or unorthodox. This room doesn't have ears or a head to judge. Do you think you can do that?”

The couch makes no sound as he moves to better see the circle chart of words. Timidly, he nods.

“Great,” you smile sadly and sit back down. “Let’s get back to that later. Today, I’d like to talk about something other than your mother.”

Abner tilts his head. You must be doing something to exceed his expectations, because now he’s looking at you and not at you. “The Corto Maltese mission?”

“No. I want to know about you. I want to talk about Abner Krill. Who are you?”

His blank stare makes your heartache a little for him.

The following silence, where all you can hear is his ragged breath, the whirl of the monitor, and the soft mist of the incense humidifier, is thick. You can cut it with the tip of your pen. The sound of his voice as he speaks is almost staggering. "I am... I am my mother's son."

“No."

He flinches.

"Your mother does not define you. What you think about your mother and how you feel about her should not determine your sense of self or your future. You liked defeating that monster, right?”

Abner nods.

“You’re a superhero because you took action, not because she moved your hand. What you say here today, and any day, should be the same. Do you think you can do this for me?”

“I don’t understand…”

“I want to know the real Abner,” you smile. “Not Dr. Krill’s son.”

He still can’t make eye contact. The fidgeting starts back up. “But, what I am is because of her.”

“Not unless you choose otherwise. Starting today, you and I are going to help define Abner Krill. First, you are not your mother’s son.”

“But I am?”

“No. You are not your mother’s son. You’re Abner Krill, superhero. What does Abner Krill the superhero like to do?”

Understanding slowly started to dawn on him, visible in his eyes as he lifted his slanted brows. Recovering from trauma was no walk in the park, but the two of you had to start somewhere. Rooney over-fixated on Abner’s fixation on his mother and the abuse, and after years of obsessing over it to “fix” him, it seemed to become all Abner could think about. No one had really given him proper trauma recovery therapy, or helped to treat his PTSD. You wanted him to take the first step into self-evolution. No one could do it for him. You want him to define himself other than his mother’s son. Seeing himself as a superhero was perhaps the start of it.

“I-I don’t know,” he frowned. “I like to read…”

“That’s great!” Your enthusiasm startles him. “What sort of things do you like to read?”

“Well… Ah, I-I uh... I like the classics….”

The rest of your session with Abner was mostly casual. The safe topics you steered him to visibly made the man relax. He spoke about the fictional worlds he enjoyed immersing himself in. He liked the classics because they were “soft”. Sweet romances where the only real worries were who’s going to the ball. He didn't like tragedies or novels about war or great violence. With some coaxing, he opens up to talk about his favorite foods, animals, celebrities, songs-- You ask about his (non-virus related) talents or any hobbies he might’ve picked up at the prison or since he’s been out. Steering him away from the topic of his mother confused him in the beginning, leading you to assume he had anticipated mostly speaking about her. He’d been prepared like he might prepare to go into battle.

You know he won’t be able to just brush his mother aside; his virus was because of Dr. Krill. He blamed his 20+ years of incarceration at Belle Reve on his mother’s experimentations. He blamed himself. He hated her. He hated himself. Feared her. Feared himself. It was an inner wound that would never heal, you know this without a doubt, but you hope with time it becomes easier to manage as he takes control and independence of his new life.

“Did you ever go to school, Abner?”

The phantom smile on his face falls, but you haven’t lost him as he turns to you. Looks at your shoulder. “No. We--my siblings and I--were… homeschooled.”

“Right. Well, you at least know what homework is?”

“Yes. Of course. Am--Do you want me to--?”

With a hand gesture you hope is placating, you smile and gently cut him off. “Don’t worry, I’m not assigning you an essay to write or a month-long project to present. I’m not that cruel,” you chuckle. “But I am going to push you a little. Can you try that for me?”

He looks as if you’ve asked him to consider sacrificing his firstborn. Thankfully, he nods as he plucks a loose string off his knee.

“I want to see you biweekly, so schedule with Patrica upfront. Maybe this Friday or Saturday?”

“I-I can do that, yes ma’am.”

"Now, it's your choice to come back or not but it would make me really happy if you did."

His back straightens. "Yes. I'll be here."

“Beautiful, Abner. Beautiful. Sometime this week I’d like you to do something you normally wouldn't do. Go on a hike, join a gym, take a class on cooking or arts and crafts. It can be simply looking up a food recipe you’ve never tried before and making it. Tell me about your experience. If you’re around strangers, how is your relationship with them? If you see something new, how does it make you feel? This isn’t an order, Abner, just a… strong suggestion, mm? All I’m asking is for you to do something new and spontaneous. It can be at home or outside. Your choice.”

Abner licked his lips. It had taken a great deal of effort to convince him to come here at all today. Today is the first time speaking to him, but you’ve had his file for a few days now. You’re a little grateful for that. There was a lot to read. However, it took outside forces such as one Amanda Waller and fellow ex-prisoner teammates to get him to come here. You suspect someone dropped him off if he didn’t take a cab himself. He had no driver's license.

“Ah… Okay. Um, yes miss. Ma'am. Doctor! Ah--”

“You can call me by my name,” you reassure, tilting your head to him. “This is a safe space for you and I. We may be doctor and patient outside that door, but here, we can be as familiar with each other as we'd like. Like old friends.”

He turned to you with a look that sent a thunderbolt of sensation down your spine. Surprise, awe. A silent question gleamed in his puppy-dog eyes. He doesn't respond, brows raised high as he just stares at you.

You cover for his lapse. “I’ll see you in a few days. It was wonderful to finally meet you, Abner,” you say, looking at him without pretenses to hopefully show your honesty. He had an incredible gift that could help save a lot of people, and from what you've learned from recent character evaluations on him he had the makings of a fine superhero. First thing first, he needed to adjust to civilian life after years of being locked up, and years of having nothing but unresolved trauma. All the while, you hold back a rueful smile at his demeanor. You won't say it aloud of course, but he was so cute. Idly, you wonder about his sexuality- but you can ask that another day. For now you wanted him to be a little more daring to try new things and focus on something other than his mother.

You stand up and shake his hand. His grip is a little looser this time, lingering longer, but he moves away quickly, gathers his shoes, and you see him out. His scurrying reminds you of a startled elk. Large yet quick, stumbling over his long legs. Running from you as if you held a rifle instead of a purple glitter clipboard.

It was hard to believe this man had committed mass homicide.

#abner krill #polka dot man #the Suicide squad #abner krill x reader #polkadot man x reader #reader #therapy #chapter one

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soulmate-game · 3 years

Text

Useful Part 2

fluff with a little hurt and comfort. If you want answers as to the lack of angst, look through my recent posts for an explanation.

—* — * — * —* —*

“Wait, you have a WHAT?” were the first words that the rest of the Gotham-based vigilantes heard when they finally were able to track down where Damian had gone. Dick looked over at Bruce, who was noticeably tense. No surprise there, the man had just found out that he had a second biological child. One who was apparently a superhero already, without his intervention, and also apparently had a tragic background in the League of fucking Assassin Assholes. Not to mention that Damian’s track record with meeting siblings wasn’t great, even if this one wasn’t actually new to him. Nobody had any real fear of Damian relapsing on his no-kill rule, they knew he had matured far too much to be at risk of killing for something as immature as sibling rivalry anymore.

But there was still fear. Because this new Wayne was an Unknown Factor, and as a rule the Bats hated Unknown Factors. And they had no idea what the relationship between the two had been before they had been separated, or what it would become now.

“That wasn’t Damian’s voice,” Dick helpfully pointed out the obvious. Bruce only frowned, doing his best (and failing) to hide his anxiety about what they would find. Silently, the group inched forward to the edge of the abandoned building they were on top of so that they could look over at what was happening. What they saw was a girl, presumably the same one who had been in a ladybug onesie and had fearlessly begun to ask them to leave Paris— until she had laid proper eyes on Robin and fled, that was. That girl was sitting down next to an unmasked Damian, who had his arm around her shoulders and let her lean into his side. He even smirked cheerfully at her question before continuing to speak to her.

“A dragon-bat. I knew you’d love hearing about him, I’ll introduce you when you come visit the Batcave. His name is Goliath,” Damian admitted smugly. Despite the familiar attitude and pride behind his words though, his spying family couldn’t help but notice that he kept periodically rubbing the girl’s (they really needed to find out her name) shoulder in reassurance. None of them missed the tear tracks on both of their faces, or how red the girl’s eyes were. Clearly they had missed something big.

But nobody wanted to try to figure that out yet. This scene was too precious, too breathtaking for them to interrupt just yet. They had never seen Damian this vulnerable around someone outside of their little circle before, someone from the Time Before Bruce, no less. Most of the time, only Nightwing was able to see this side to Damian. And usually the roles were reversed, with Damian being the one consoled. They had never seen him in the position of the comforter before. The pillar of support.

It really cemented just how far he had come.

So they watched silently as the girl flinched, pulling away a bit and hunching in on herself. The laugh she let out was small and overflowing with self-degradation.

“You make it sound as if the rest of your family actually wants me to visit,” she replied sourly. Damian gently cuffed her over the head, frowning.

“Two things,” he held up two fingers from his free hand. “One: They will. They accepted me, and I was— well, you remember how I used to be. Once they actually meet you, and process the fact that there’s another Wayne now, they will bombard you with more welcoming than you will know what to do with. Two: It’s Our family, Marinette. Not mine, ours.”

Well, at least they had a name now. But it seems like they had bigger issues now, like Marinette’s clearly damaged sense of self. Jason and Tim traded knowing glances; it wasn’t hard for them to guess where, or how, she might have been damaged enough to think so lowly of herself.

They watched as Marinette shook her head.

“I don’t know. It’s one thing to try to… to get to know you again. We used to be close before… everything,” she haltingly argued, voice small and frail and uncertain. But she never once looked away from Damian’s eyes, trying to convey as best as she could what she was feeling. “But they’re different. They don’t have any reason to trust or like me, Dami. And I’m bad at, well everything, but especially,” she waved her hands frantically as if indicating the whole situation they were in. “I mean, listen to me! I can barely articulate right now, and I’m talking to someone I’ve known my whole life! I’m a mess. Nobody wants a mess.”

It was Damian’s turn to snort, and he pulled her right back into his side. “Please. If anything, that’s exactly the type of child Father goes looking for. We’re all a mess. Especially Father, trust me.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” she accused suspiciously, but sank into his sideways embrace anyway. Damian chuckled.

“No, I’m being honest. He’s terrible at emotions, not that I really have much room to talk. We all are pretty bad with them. But he’s the most obvious when it comes to that issue,” Damian smirked over at his sister conspiratorially. “For example. He still tries to tell people that he works alone, and pushes people away because he has this intense desire to protect, but doesn’t know how to say “I don’t want you to get hurt, stop worrying me,” so instead he says “Go away, I don’t need you,” only for us to see through that nonsense and remind him that the amount of people in his team is in the double digits already. He doesn’t want to admit he cares about us and is vulnerable—”

“Sounds familiar,” Marinette teased with a watery grin, startling a short laugh from her twin. He nudged her a little roughly (but not to roughly) and playfully glared at her. Marinette just giggled.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied with a grin before waving his free hand in dismissal. “Anyway. Another example. He has no idea how to tell a stranger, “hey, I’m your father and I will not reject you. In fact, I’m completely willing to adopt you right this moment and whisk you away to Gotham and relative safety and hire an entire team of therapists to help you and buy you half the world if you asked for it,” so instead he and the rest of our emotionally constipated family just lurks on the edge of a building in broad daylight eavesdropping on us and expects us not to notice.”

“Wait what,” Marinette’s gaze instantly whipped up towards the sky, taking only half a second to locate the aforementioned eavesdroppers. Everyone except Bruce at least had the courtesy to duck down and pretend not to be there when they noticed she had seen them, leaving Batman standing seemingly alone on the concrete roof. Marinette blinked once. Twice. Then turned to Damian. “I’m gonna blame the fact that I didn’t notice them on emotional turmoil, because there is no way I’ve gotten THAT rusty.”

Damian smiled, but didn’t laugh. He knew that was a deflection to try and distract from Marinette’s quickly resurging self-consciousness. Her hands were already trembling again, and the fear from only minutes ago had resurfaced. The insecurity. He could practically see the words “I’m not good enough,” written in her irises.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispered, standing up and pulling her with him. “If anyone has to worry here, it’s me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Marinette whisper-hissed right back, eyes wide in disbelief and confusion. “You’re— You! Mister Perfect!”

Damian rolled his eyes, and his self-deprecating smirk matched the laugh Marinette had given just a few minutes earlier. “For the League, maybe,” he shrugged. “Never the Wayne family. Which is why I know you’ll be fine. If they put up with everything I’ve done and still call me one of them, they’ll accept you with barely a second thought.”

Marinette’s next argument was cut off by the sound of a dozen soft footfalls stirring up dirt not far ahead of them. The BatClan had landed from the rooftop.

Marinette gulped.

But if there was one thing— one thing she still remembered from her days as Marie Al-Ghul, it was how to fake pride and confidence. She straightened her shoulders automatically, lifted her chin, and pulled away from Damian’s supporting arm around her shoulder. Damian let her.

A little bit of old resentment flared up in him as he saw Batman walk up close enough to comfortably talk with them. Resentment that he no longer held onto, but that had haunted him nearly every night of the first two years he spent with his dad. The realization that maybe his twin was the one that was meant to be a Wayne. Marie had the blue eyes, the compassion, the more specifically detective-oriented mind. The calm head. Sometimes. Marie was exactly who he imagined when he thought of a naturally born member of the BatClan. Stubborn, clever, morally just. She had risked immediate death just because she refused to fight him, for crying out loud. Because she didn’t want to hurt the boy who used to be her best friend. The only ally she had ever had, growing up.

Meanwhile, he still had issues reigning in his anger sometimes. He had too much blood on his hands, he was more of a battlefield tactician than a long-term strategist. Still stubborn, but also completely unaware of the pain he brought others with his words or actions a lot of the time. He used to be such a rage fueled little demon, and thinking about how his sister fit the classic Wayne outline more thoroughly than he did had made him destroy more than a few practice dummies in frustration.

But now, looking at Marinette trying so hard to appear strong and proud when he knew she was still so shattered inside, relief overpowered the old and dull resentment. This was what she needed, he could sense that easily. She, just like him all those years ago, needed Bruce and the others to start to heal her and reforge what the League had badly molded.

“... Marinette, I suppose?” Damian nearly facepalmed at his father’s awkward attempt at a conversation starter. Marinette herself was clearly too keyed up and overthinking things to even register any amusement at the lame attempt, merely nodding with an overly serious expression on her face.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Monsieur Wayne. Or that’s my name nowadays, that is,” She stumbled a little in her response before clenching her fists and forcing herself to continue as calmly as she could muster up. “My birth name was Marie Al-Ghul.”

Bruce’s eyebrows visibly furrowed underneath his cowl. “Was?”

“I…” Marinette finally looked away, shame creeping back onto her face. “I was explicitly told that I was stripped of the Al-Ghul name and would be killed if I ever dared lay claim to it again. So I not-so-legally changed it. And I was later adopted.”

Several sharp gasps or the hiss of breath through teeth bit through the quiet breeze. Nobody was necessarily surprised, Marinette could see it when she looked through her eyelashes and examined the winces and sympathy on the faces of the vigilantes before her. Batman’s shoulders were stiff, as if someone had paralyzed only his shoulder blades.

“And the people who adopted you?” Batman pursued. Marinette couldn’t read his tone very well, but it sounded vaguely angry so she quickly raised her hands in a placating gesture and her eyes widened significantly.

“They’ve been amazing! They don’t know anything about my past, or who raised me, but they are endlessly patient with me. I mean, honestly! Sabine caught me when I was trying to steal one of her gold bracelets in Hong Kong— and I know I’ve never been as good of a combatant as Dami, but I’ve always been better at sleight of hand and stealth so honestly that’s impressive— and she saw my dirty eight-year-old face and for some reason decided, ‘yeah I want this one as my daughter’ and roped Tom right into it and next thing I know they somehow tailed me to my hideout? I still don’t know how the hell they managed that, but Tom had a huge plate of steaming buns and I was so hungry and suddenly it’s two years later and I’m adopted and we’re on a plane to Paris—” Marinette threw up her hands. “I still don’t fully grasp what happened sometimes.”

She belatedly seemed to realize that she had just gone on an entire breathless rant at the speed of sound, and slapped her hands over her mouth before lunging into a deep bow. “I apologize! I spoke horridly out of turn!”

To her surprise though, she was met with a soft laugh instead of a scolding. She jerked in surprise, whipping her head up only to see Batman holding a hand over his chin to hide his large grin. It only took another second for the boys behind him to laugh a lot LESS softly. Nightwing strolled over casually and swung an arm around both her and Damian’s shoulders, playfully nudging her brother with his knee.

“I think she fits right in, don’t you little D?”

“Of course,” Damian scoffed, though his eyes were playful. “She is a Wayne by blood. She ‘fits in’ more than you strays.”

“Dami!” Marinette whipped back to him and puffed out her cheeks. “That was uncalled for!” she barked. Damian held his hands up in surrender.

“Relax,” he said as soothingly as he could manage. “They know I’m joking,” he dropped his hands and a knowing smirk took over his face. “And besides, now you’re relaxed so my plan worked,” Marinette could only blink at that. She… did feel more relaxed, actually. “Also. I told you you’d be accepted easily. They already consider you one of us.”

“Wha— there’s no way—” she frantically looked at each of the older men around her, but each of them just shot her a smile or grin and a short nod. Her shoulders and jaw both fell, and it broke a little of everyone’s heart.

Marinette looked so utterly shocked, bewildered to be accepted as if it was still something profoundly foreign to her. And there was that disbelief in her eyes, that distrust that screamed that she expected some sort of lie here. That told that she thought this would all crumble away at any second. If anyone had any reservations about bringing her into their inner circles, it vanished right that moment. She needed support, or she’d crumble away and they all knew it.

“How about we start by talking about the situation with Hawkmoth?” Red Robin spoke up, walking forward to stand beside Batman. “I assume that’s a little more in your element?”

Damian silently vowed to thank Tim later for that. In a silent, completely anonymous way of course. Couldn’t have Tim thinking they were friends or something now, could he? Marinette instantly straightened up and nodded, her confidence returning with a little more sincerity this time.

“Yeah. Yeah, let me transform again. It’ll be easier to explain.”

—*—*—*—*—*

It was three weeks later, on Marinette’s third now-weekly visit to the Batcave, when the question finally came up. Jason had asked to spar with Marinette for the first time, having seen her in action as Ladybug and wanting to test the girl when she didn’t have superpowers to rely on. Damian hadn’t been down in the cave to warn him, and the result was Jason’s gut sinking as Marinette scrambled as far away from him as she could, eyes wide and chest heaving in the beginnings of a panic attack.

“Shit,” Jason muttered before he quickly knelt down and did his best to talk her down, to calm her until her breathing slowed and her pupils were back to normal. It wasn’t long afterwards that Marinette started hugging herself, refusing to look at him. But he wasn’t going to just back down, he wanted to solve this issue. If even the mere suggestion of a spar was enough to set her off, he needed to figure out why and fix it.

So he carefully lowered himself so he was sitting only a foot away from her, resting his arms across his knees casually.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Didn’t think it would be a sore subject. That’s on me.”

Marinette just shrugged, but didn’t answer him. She just buried her face in her arms and took a shaky breath.

Jason let the silence linger for a while before trying again. “Does this have to do with certain Asshole Assassins?”

That startled a slightly hysterical bark of laughter from her, and she had to wipe away a few tears when she raised her head and finally turned it in his direction slightly. Not enough for her to be looking at him, but just a subtle turn to show that she was listening and speaking to him. “Yeah.”

“You know, you never told us why you got disowned,” Jason tried to make his words as casual as possible, but wasn’t surprised when Marinette still stiffened and took a sharp breath. He didn’t push. The stage was set, and he’d wait until either she took the opportunity to open up or told him to leave well enough alone. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and her foot tapped on the ground a bit. Clear signs of her anxiety around the subject, and Jason’s hopes vanished a little. He would probably have to wait longer for her to be ready to share.

But, to his pleasant surprise, he was wrong. She took another few minutes to gather her thoughts, but she did eventually open up to him.

“I refused to fight Damian,” she admitted. “It was… We were seven. It wasn’t supposed to be a fight to the death, but it was a very important spar. We were using live weaponry, and we were told to fight until we couldn’t anymore. Whoever fell first would be relegated as a mere soldier, and have to fight for status like any other assassin in the League. The winner would officially be named as G— as Ra’s Heir. I didn’t want to fight, because I knew Damian would win but I also knew that it wouldn’t be as easy as Ra’s probably expected if I gave it my all like he wanted. I knew both Damian and I would be heavily injured if I did as he asked, and it wouldn’t be worth it. If I misjudged anything, any single hit, I could have accidentally injured Damian permanently and ruined his worth in Ra’s eyes, and that wasn’t an option. I didn’t care that throwing the fight was as good as giving up my life, because at least I could be sure that Damian kept his. I could make sure that he was treated well, or as well as anyone could hope for in the League anyway. I could, with only a few words, make sure he became indispensable. Ra’s and Talia never liked me as much as Damian anyway, I figured… I figured it was nobody’s loss,” She swallowed heavily, clenching her eyes shut. “I was always just the spare. The extra. Damian was their crown prince, the one with actual value. Even to me. I saw him, and I saw everything I wanted to be. I… I tossed down my weapons and let him stab me, because I figured I owed it to him for being such a failure in comparison to him. That I owed it to him to do everything I could to make things easier for him, since I was just an unnecessary obstacle—” strong arms wrapped around her, and she turned to sob into Jason’s chest as he just silently held her.

“Idiot,” Damian whispered, making Marinette jump. Her twin sat only a few feet away, though only Jason would have known when exactly he had gotten there with them. He shook his head at her. “I never would have gotten as far as I did without you,” he whispered, looking up at the cave ceiling. “You were the only real rival I had. When you left, everything was either too easy or nearly impossible, nothing was the same as trying my best against someone who was just as good as me. And when I got here and met the others, I didn’t think any of them were worthy of taking your position, you know,” he scoffed a bit as he got lost in his memories. “That’s why I hated Tim for so long, I think. He reminded me of you so much that I wanted nothing more than to punch him for daring to replace you—”

“Heh, the Replacement twice over, huh?” Jason joked. Damian chuckled with a small eye roll.

“Plus, he just has a really punchable face,” Damian added, trying to distract from the emotion behind everything he had just admitted. “Part of me thought you were dead. The other part refused to believe that. And seeing Tim and how some of his mannerisms were the same as yours,” Damian shrugged a little. “It stung. Especially that second year, when I started to regret that you never had the chance to come here and join them with me. Meet them with me.”

Marinette sniffled. “... Who are you and what have you done with Dami? He’s never this sappy.”

Damian flicked a pebble at her head with a good natured glare, successfully diffusing the serious air a little. Marinette wouldn’t ever be normal, and it would take a while before she was no longer fragile, but she could get there. Especially now that her bridges with her brother had been mended, and and a whole new family had cropped up to help support her.

She was glad Damian had convinced her to try, again.

#maribat #platonic daminette #sibling daminette #bio!dad au #bio!dad bruce wayne #ml x dc #mlb x dc #Useful

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abugeatbugworld · 2 years

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More Ant Headcanons 🐜

I touch on a lot of these in one of my stories which is still a work-in-progress. Someday I'll finish that bad boy, but right now Leave Her Alone is priority. And I haven't updated that one in over a year so :')

🐜 Flik and Atta were in the same class growing up. They got along okay until about fifth grade and were even partners for a science fair project infamously known as the Exploding Mushrooms Incident, which went horribly wrong due to Flik secretly tampering with it in an attempt to "improve" it and resulting in it (literally) blowing up in their faces. After that Atta refused to speak with him for a while, partly due to the fact that he cost her her perfect report card score, but mostly because at that point the other kids started to notice something different about Flik and it wasn't cool to be his friend. She started to be nicer to him again after his parents passed away and her mom basically made her, but their friendship wasn't truly solidified until one fateful day...

🐜 The summer after seventh grade, the grasshopper gang, at this point led by Hopper's father, showed up to Ant Island earlier than expected to pick up their offering. In an unfortunate series of events, Flik and Atta ended up stuck outside the anthill together and came face-to-face with a young (but just as mean) Hopper, Molt, and Thumper. Okay, Molt wasn't mean. He was just along for the ride. Of course it was Flik's quick thinking and wit that saved the two of them, and after that him and Atta remained good friends (aka Atta considered him a friend and Flik was hardcore crushing on her in secret) for a while. However, eventually the stress of Atta's royal responsibilities combined with Flik's unfavorable reputation among the council members led to them growing apart in their late teenage years, mostly as a result of Atta distancing herself from him. The events of A Bug's Life begin when they're both about twenty seasons (the ant equivalent of years) old.

🐜 Cornelius was Atta's private tutor for royal affairs, and he was hard on her to the point of being borderline emotionally abusive. The only reason she made it through her childhood somewhat unscathed was because she had her secret therapist, Dr. Flora, to help balance out all of his harsh words with her kind and encouraging ones.

🐜 Also, Cornelius and the Queen 100% have a not-so-secret thing for each other, which made Atta even more resentful toward him and also made her feel like she couldn't be honest with her mom about how he was treating her. After all, Atta's dad passed away from an illness just after Dot was born, and ever since then she just wanted her mom to find someone who makes her happy.

🐜 My personal favorite: Flik used to help his mom out with nursery duty before she died, so he knew Dot when she was a baby. He was her favorite nursery worker and she pronounced his name like "Fwik" 🥺 She doesn't remember this when she gets older, but he does and it's part of why he feels so affectionately towards her <3

#a bug's life #pixar #disney pixar #headcanons #personal #text post #flik #atta #dot #the queen #cornelius #there's a little of the grasshoppers in here too

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pedropascallovebot · 3 years

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had to repost this because my internet is awful but huzzah i have returned from a writing hiatus i have been doing nothing but reading sambucky fics and i decided to curse the world with a bucky x reader even though no one asked me to. you may now put me in exile.

Bucky likes the smell of the candles you burn in your apartment, even though he swears to you that you have to stop forgetting to blow them out before you go to sleep. He knows that your record player in the corner collects a bunch of dust. He remembers laughing when you had defended yourself when he joked about your devastatingly low vinyl count- "I swear, I do use it! But look me in the eye and tell me Spotify isn't more convenient." He likes the various little crystals and stones you have scattered on your windowsill, even if he doesn't know anything about that stuff. Bucky really likes your bookcase, though. You told him upon his first visit to your place that you thrifted it for an absolute bargain, and it appears that it's been put to good use, given there's not a single place on the shelf for another book to fit without stacking some on top of one another. Most of all, he likes that you’re there. He’s only known you for a short period of time, and he gets that nothing is really official yet… but he likes you. He can’t say it out loud to himself yet, but his therapist definitely knows your name.

All throughout his horrible, miserable, no good bad day, Bucky is thinking about how warm and safe your apartment feels, and consequentially, he's thinking about you. He knows he's got it bad, but there's little to be done about it when his brain starts screaming profanities at him whenever he dares dwell on the thought of your face for too long. He misses you, though. Especially when he's nursing some embarrassment and frustration caused by a group of anarchists pushing him out of a moving truck. He wants so desperately to call and check to see how you're doing, what you're up to, but by the time Sam's got him back home it's nearly one in the morning and he shouldn't wake you. Right? He should lock his door, hang up his jacket, and settle in for a long night of doing nothing but scrolling through the guide of all the weird movies his cable company is playing. He shouldn't be halfway down the stairs of his apartment building to walk across town in the middle of the night to come see you.

But it's inevitable that he ends up at your front door. That annoying yelling in his brain is back, telling him that he should just go home before he knocks and wakes you up, but his hand is already rapping on the wood and he can hear scrambling from the other side of the door. It was only then he realized it might of been a good idea to call ahead, because God, what kind of person is answering the door this late, and who's to say you don't already have someone there already, and fuck, fuck, fuck, it's not too late to just hide behind the big artificial tree that the apartment complex put up for decoration-

You open up right before he can entertain that thought. You look like an absolute angel, he thinks. You’re in some t-shirt that’s way too big for you, and your eyes smile when you see him. But from what he can tell, you're tired. Maybe he did wake you up, and he feels that familiar pinch of guilt in his chest.

"I was, uhm.. in the neighborhood," he starts, his hands very focused on the loose thread of his jacket sleeve. "figured I'd stop by and see how you were."

And there goes your eyes again, kind and soft and welcoming, something that Bucky isn't really used to feeling yet. He's being ushered in, and suddenly realizes the television is still on. The guilt subsides knowing he didn’t wake you.

"You should absolutely be sleeping right now, but I'll let it slide because I miss you," you smile, and Bucky knows he's a goner when you press a kiss to his cheek before shutting the door behind him.

“So should you.” Then, a quiet “I miss you too.”

"Want some tea? Or some coffee? I've got the kettle going with some hot water and I was planning on making some sleepytime tea, but I think I've got a few packets of that instant espresso crap buried if you don't wanna wait for the coffee pot to brew..."

You trail off into a comfortable silence for a minute as he watches as you grab a box of the celestial seasonings that you always kept in stock, the one with the bear sitting by the fireplace. Feeling inclined to help, Bucky attempts to step foot in the kitchen and grab a couple of mugs before immediately being banished to the living room, where he then listened to your rant about how he looked like he just got run over by a moving vehicle, and how he should sit down. Well, you were kinda right. You go to drop a couple of teabags into hot water, but not before you warn him to get on the couch before he falls asleep standing up.

He doesn't follow directions very well, because his feet lead him over to your bookshelf, where you've got some sort of scented wax over a tea light. Eyes trailing over the numerous books you have, he recognized a few. A Farewell to Arms, Main Street, and the two copies you had of The Great Gatsby. He knows you have a love-hate relationship with Harry Potter, but all seven of the books sat at eye level, a bit faded from countless rereads as soon as the weather got colder and you needed something cozy and familiar.

His gaze is caught on one book in particular; one that he thought about earlier today, before a teenager punched the living daylights out of him and before Walker and his unbearably chirpy sidekick made his day go from bad to worse. The Hobbit sat tucked away to the left of The Lord of the Rings, and Bucky reached out and gently pulled it from the row. It wasn't the same cover as the one he had at his apartment- yours had drawn trees and mountains, with runes lining the edges of the illustration. His own copy had what he assumed was a still from the movie adaptation, something he never bothered to watch. He still felt compelled to buy the book when he saw it sitting on the shelf at a store.

"I already called dibs on the Star Wars mug," you joked, heading out into the living room carrying two mugs of tea. "You're gonna have to drink from the-"

"Can you read to me?"

He does feel bad for interrupting you, but to be fair, the words slipped out before he could even stop them. He feels his nerves swell up a bit before you answer him, and the book in his hands feels heavier than it should.

You set the tea down on the small table at the end of the couch before switching on the lamp, offering the room some light which was previously only provided by a few candles, the kitchen, and the glow from the television. You switch that off, too, and the nerves that Bucky was sure were radiating off him melt away.

“Only if you stop standing ten feet away and come cuddle me while I do.”

When you spoke, it took Bucky all of two seconds to make his way to the couch, grabbing the blanket he knows you love and draping it over the both of you as you trade him his tea for the book.

“Teasing me about wanting to read The Hobbit is off the table, doll.” Bucky drapes an arm over your shoulder, making himself comfortable. “A friendly reminder it sits on your bookshelf.”

He hears you giggle and he’s in absolute awe of how much he wants to kiss you. Sure, you both have done plenty of that over the course of time he’s known you, but there’s something about you sitting in his arms with a book he knows so well open in front of you. Home.

“I’ll admit, it’s been a while since I’ve read this, my knowledge of Middle Earth is a bit spotty.”

“I’m willing to bet it’s been even longer for me,” he jokes, but there’s still a sting when he says it. Bucky pushes it aside.

“Alright, old coot. Let’s start from the beginning.”

“The dark filled all the room, and the fire died down, and the shadows were lost, and they still played on.”

It takes Bucky all of five minutes and a few sips of tea to get him tired before he’s placing his cup down and resting his head on your shoulder, and you’re almost down for the count, ready to retire to your bed. But you only have about ten pages until the end of the chapter and Bucky is way too good of a pillow to even think about moving. The dwarves start to sing their song, and if you’re remembering correctly, this is when things really start to get good. You debate if you want to continue, but then you look down and see Bucky absolutely zonked, and your mind is made up. You yawn and set the book on the table before reaching over and shutting off the lamp, attempting not to wake up the sleeping figure next to you.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #falcon and the winter soldier

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vergess · 3 years

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@autismserenity said: Your tags are the most American thing I’ve ever read, we are truly so screwed here

May I interest you in a more complete, and more excruciating, explanation of what I spent the last 18 months doing?

It is, I need to emphasize, fucking nasty. Don’t feel obligated, especiallly if you’ve already had A Day(tm).

There’s a lot of disease, a lot of worker abuse including sexual and racial abuse, a fine portion of letting people die for not being white enough for real medical care, all leading to homelessness.

For NDA reasons, because my former employer was just as vile as any tech company has ever been, I cannot be super specific about who I worked for. However, I can say that we handled the records and patient contact for all COVID testing for several states, as well as 2 of the 5 largest metros in the US, and several dozen smaller ones ranging from the approximate population of San Francisco, down to little towns, as well as the testing for several public school systems and at least two government agencies that I am not at liberty to disclose.

I tell you this for a sense of scale. When I say shit like, “my boss was more than happy to let thousands or hundreds of thousands die” I am not exagerrating for effect. We handled hundreds of thousands of tests a week.

Again, I need to emphasize, government agencies. Ones you would know if I named them. Ones everyone in the country knows.

And we were in charge of getting their test results from the already over swamped labs back to the patients, who often were not allowed to quarantine while awaiting results.

The fastest we got our turnaround time to on any consistent basis was about 30 hours. Often it ballooned well into weeks.

There were a number of factors for this, but the big one was always understaffing.

The staff we did have were treated like trash. One of the big selling points of this company is how “trans friendly” it is to work there. That is a lie. Every trans employee on payroll had their dead name displayed to all other staff, and until I personally changed the system setup on my arrival, patient facing trans people’s dead names were displayed to patients.

Remember that thing about “hundreds of thousands of tests a week”?

I was able to change the way patient-facing names were displayed. I was not allowed or able to alter the way internal systems displayed trans people’s names. But I was assured that it’s fine, because once you get a legal name change, you’ll be given new system accounts with your new name!

Your old accounts with your dead name would still be displayed and associated with the new ones though.

This is the “trans friendly” working environment. We were allowed to be out of the closet, as long as we were willing to put up with that. And any attempts to get it altered were the result of those nasty little transgender ingrates not being thankful enough.

Meaning that by asking to use our own fucking names we were already in the disciplinary shitter.

Another big selling point is the ~racial diversity~. The CEO was a man of colour, and so were like four other people on staff!! Wow!!!!!!!

This, too, was laughable.

Once numbers started coming in about the care gap for COVID between English and Spanish speakers, and our Southwestern US service area began to have a separate and brutal backlog just of Spanish speaking patients, my employer encouraged me to interview potential hires who speak spanish.

Fair enough! We all wanted to do our part to help close the already massive mortality gap.

So, I found candidates, did interviews, hired them, trained them, etc. But I don’t speak Spanish. As a result, I appointed 2 assistant managers who do speak Spanish to assist me in managing, you know, like the job name.

So when my super contacted them directly, completely skipping me on the chain of command, and told them to stop all of our Spanish speakers from translating helpful simple messages to send to patients, and instead start translating medical and legal documents, they very reasonably assumed I was in the know and went ahead with it.

TO BE CLEAR, that could have ended my life, theirs, basically everyone involved. Everyone in the company would have been completely fucked. At that point, my subordinates, the people for whom I am wholly responsible, were doing everything from practicing medicine without licenses, to encouraging spanish speaking patients to enter contracts that no one on the fucking executive tier could even read.

The moment I found that out, I and the A.M.s immediately started trying to get actual medical translation services to do our documents. We collected them in a neat folder. We queried translation services. We got quotes. We contacted my super and the CEO, about this over and over again for months. In the late autumn, we received approval for one of the translation services.

The CEO decided at the last minute that having people with no medical or legal training draft medical and legal forms was fine and good actually, and refused to sign the contract or send the documents for translation.

The excuse I received was that the COVID emergency HIPAA relaxations would protect us.

That’s not how that works.

Throughout all of this, Spanish speaking employees were told to either keep doing medical and legal translation work, or lose their jobs.

Oh, did I mention everyone was working between 30 and 80 hours a week, and all of us were marked as “contractors” so the employer could tax evade? Don’t worry, we filed complaints with the labour bureau.

So the entire department was let go, and “rehired” as temps through a temp agency, which because it was a temp agency could keep them marked as contractors regardless of the facts.

This change was presented to all of us, myself included, as the company getting a new accountant to handle payroll.

So if you’re keeping score, we’ve covered racism, queerphobia, medical negligence, fraud, and a frankly uncountable number of deaths.

Let’s talk about the sheer negligence towards employees ourselves. If you’ve worked in near-death medical care before, or any number of emergency services really, you know that the standard benefit suite includes either a dedicated therapist for your staff, or access to peer support groups with other emergency and medical servants through your employer’s benefits program.

Do you know what our mental health benefits were for this company?

The CEO got on a fucking zoom call with us all one (1) time, and said that if we were feeling suicidal or traumatized by the work, to talk to him about it, and he would be our therapist.

Do you know how many people per fucking day we had to contact only to be told they had already died because our understaffing delays killed them? He doesn’t. He never listened when we told him.

But let me put the cherry on the “Oh baby, you can talk to me, oooh” sundae.

Anyone who “looked” or “sounded” female, regardless of actual or assigned gender, was subject to constant flirtations and slimy, overly personal compliments about our appearances. Fortunately, at 3 levels removed from the CEO (Executives > Department heads > Managers > Employees), most of the people under my management had relatively little contact with him.

I was not nearly so lucky.

The CEO of this company has a watersports (urination) fetish. I know this, because he told me so and attempted to get me to join him in it. I have no idea how many other people in the company he did this to. I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do, risk losing my job to find out? I have a fucking family to support, people.

Not that it mattered.

Eventually, all of these abuses became too much for my subordinates. Productivity fell off a cliff. Delays were getting worse and worse. In a medical emergency like this, delays=deaths.

So, like a fucking idiot, when the department heads reached out to me to ask what they could do to improve productivity, I shot down their frankly insulting suggestion of raffling a $20 amazon gift card to patient facing employees, and instead suggested a very simple, “enroll us with a peer support group, every single person in this department has PTSD from working in this pandemic.”

They were confused by my assertion of PTSD. I was asked to compile a document of complaints, concerns, and weaknesses in our patient facing services.

I and the A.M.s did so. It was roughly 40 pages long, with each page given a known problem, the reasons why it was a problem, and some potential solutions that might inspire further solutions or be able to be implemented. We submitted it. There was no response.

A week passed.

I had been working 80 hour weeks for most of a year. I hadn’t even been able to take weekends. I took my first sick day, in a company with “unlimited vacation days.”

I received a call at 3PM.

I had been fired for “differences in communitcation.” If you’ve ever seen that “Problem Women of Color in the workplace” chart? Yeah.

So had most of my department, including every transgender member of the department, and several of our extremely limited in supply Spanish speakers, who were presumed to be “on my side.”

Some of them, I barely even knew beyond the formalities of the job, and they were punished anyway.

I lost my insurance, and as a result I lost access to my medications.

But the real problem? I lost my house. And not due to lack of payment.

I lost my house, because when I got the job we waited 6 months for stability’s sake, and then readied to move out of the area. I got a mortgage on the basis of my employer’s written guarantee to the bank that I would continue to be employed for the next year at a minimum.

With the mortgage approval in hand, we entered a sales contract on our existing home.

We got and accepted an offer just days before I was fired. To keep our house meant paying a 25,000 dollar broken contract fine. We didn’t have that. We had a 10% down payment for a modest fucking place in a cheaper area, which is less than half that.

But without a job, my mortgage approval was also voided, meaning we couldn’t buy a house either.

All of a sudden, we were homeless during the plague, because my employer wrote and signed a letter to a bank guaranteeing my future employ, and then changed his mind when too many people died due to his own negligence.

Oh yeah, one last thing: the job paid less than Pandemic unemployment Assistance.

...After that, well, it’s homelessness until just last month. I... if you’ve never been homeless it’s.

It blurs. Everything is happening constantly, except for all the ways in which you are endlessly, mind breakingly bored. Bored, overloaded, and always uncomfortable.

Obviously my health would have declined regardless. Malnutrition, stress, everything.

But I was also unmedicated.

It was hell. I was in hell. I don’t know if I can recover from it, to be honest.

I bounced back from being homeless as a child. Children are as resilient as they are stupid, and the monstrosity of homelessness was little more than a vaguely remembered loathing and a panicky fear that it would ever happen again.

A child who is dying is worthy of sympathy, even if it is meaningless coos from passers by. If they have family, they may be able to rely on them too.

An adult with the indignity to die homeless and crippled, according to the average passer by, is worthy only of disgust and perhaps even punishment for being such a worthless waste.

My reward for nearly killing myself in a desperate bid to help stem the tide of COVID was the destruction of not only my life, not only my entire family’s lives, but the lives of every single family of every single employee who worked with me.

And you know what’s worse?

Each one of us still did more to limit the lethal impact of COVID than the entire united states government.

It breaks something in you, going through that.

It makes you realize that hope is a fool’s game.

But, I have ever been a fool, and so, I continue to play.

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foster-the-world · 3 years

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Bad Day with an unexpected ending

Woke up to my Mom calling because my Grandma passed away. 99 years! She had a good run and I’m glad she gets some rest. However, it’s still sad for us. At CVS I started walking toward the card aisle to buy her a Halloween card - when I remembered. She was a cool lady. They are going to spread her ashes over my Grandpa’s tomb - per his request. She took care of paying for her cremation over a decade ago. She wasn’t one to leave work for anyone else.

Then I got my Med Math exam back. I missed four and I was only allowed to miss two :( I have two chances to retake. The problem is I have no idea what I got wrong. They aren’t releasing the correct answers or telling us which one we missed so that we don’t pass on the test questions to next semesters students. I had plenty of time to do each problem three times and felt like every response was correct. Which leaves me with no idea what to study. The Professor said almost everyone’s mistakes were “silly.” Which is not helpful. The Professor scheduled a study session for Thursday and a retake for Friday.

Of course, the retake is during the Grandma at daycares funeral. Her family (the other daycare teachers) asked me to give a speech on behalf of all of the children/parent’s she’s cared for. I don’t feel like I can miss it and don’t feel like I can pass up a chance at the retake. I emailed the Professor. Fingers crossed they give me another option. I have no idea what they will say. I honestly cannot imagine telling her family I am not coming. I also don’t think I can risk not having two more chances to retake. They claim you are kicked out if you don’t score a 90% by attempt #3.

Bee’s biological sister (6.5 years old) father sent us pictures of Bee’s sister with her biological Mom today. None of the six children have EVER met her. She hasn’t had contact with her family (some of whom are raising some of Bee’s siblings) in a decade. He didn’t really make it clear but I guess he reached out to her via Facebook. I am her Facebook friend and after not posting for over a year she has been posting a lot in the last week. In fact, this weekend she sent me a message (a first) that asked how I was. When I responded she did not write back. The Father said the visit went really well. Apparently she is interested in meeting all of the six kids. We would like Bee to meet her/have a relationship with her. I would prefer if the first meeting was only Bee, us and her Mom. I am not sure she will handle it as calmly as her sister did. If there’s any risk of her not responding well I’d prefer she’d have some privacy - instead of her six siblings watching. I would imagine Bee’s 16 and 13 year old brothers may feel the same. Although I don’t know. The Father (of Bee’s sister) said he told her he would help her meet all of the kids. We’d also prefer to talk to her without the Father’s involvement at first. I have no idea what the Great Aunt who has one of the siblings (and helped raise another) would think. Or the Great Grandma. I would like to get their opinion first. Honestly, I would love to get Bee an adoption therapist first. We have been meaning to do that anyway. This feels heavy and we don’t want to get it wrong. I don’t think will have time for that. I’m predicting some big emotions after any meeting. Bee is known for big emotions in general. But maybe I’m wrong. The Dad seemed to think there was only positives for his daughter. They are planning to see her again next week, I think. I do think it would be a good thing for Bee overall. I just want to make sure we handle it properly. It feels like a lot to process for anyone - let alone a four year old. The sister’s Dad said the Mom is sweet. Child like. I’m also unsure what language to use when explaining this to Bee. What if she doesn’t show up? What if she only shows up once? These concerns don’t mean I don’t want the visit to happen. I just want to have good language to prep her. I know we can’t avoid Bee having emotions but I do want to offer some cushions for those emotions. I have no idea what her Mom’s life has been like beyond what I read in a court report. She never showed up for any court date, visits, etc. The caseworker did see her for vacation approvals. He said her mood varied. If anyone has any experience with anything like this please let feel free to share any advice. For context, Bee will be five next month.

Now I’m all hyped up and can’t sleep.

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herstarburststories · 3 years

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You Have A Home

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: After a call from Y/N, Sam comes back town to help -- and brings Dean with him.

Requests: N°1 heyhey, could you do a Sam x reader where they went to college togehter and later meet again and they realise their feelings for eachother...xx + N°2: can you do a college sam headcanon with medicine student reader

A/N: This was fun! The monster here is mentioned in season 6, when the boys ask Bobby for advice on how to kill it. This is my first Samgirl long imagine, with Dean being the flirty he is. I wrote this almost one year ago, so it's more crude and I'm nervous to be posting it! And my piece for @cajunquandary 's 600 challenge, my prompt was monster of the week. Dividers by @talesmaniac89!

Dean's eyes remained on the road when the bitter statement left his body, tangled with a wry chuckle, “I can't believe you are still in touch with those people.”

“Those people?” Sam arched elbows, slightly skeptical by his brother's tone, “They were my friends, Dean.”

“Sammy, all our friends? Dead. They all die. Or worse.” He glanced at him for a moment, pursing his lips together. It might not be an easy assignment, but was part of the job. Sammy had tried to run away plenty times and always came back, when would he understand? “We don't get to have friends. You should've learned that.”

“They are not our friends, they are my friends. Also, they don't know about the hunting life, they aren't in harm.” Sammy hissed once the other locked his green eyes on the road again. Dean sighed, moving one hand away and up from the steering wheel in a rendition gesture.

“Whatever you say, man. I'm just warning you, this doesn't usually end up good for them.”

Sam scoffed, Dean could get on his nerves sometimes, “We saved many people that got to have a good life.”

“Yeah, but those people didn't know us before that. I told you when you left Stanford--”

“I didn't keep contact, okay!? I just... I just still have a phone that they have the number of. No social media, no calls on birthdays.” Nervously gesticulating, he added, “I know how to keep them safe, Dean.”

“So, old friend?” The eldest Winchester asked after the few minutes of silence that followed Sam's outburst, “Female old friend?”

“Yes. (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Dean smirked, and Sam to rolled his eyes at his behavior, “Keep it in your pants.”

He'd let out a malicious laughter before turning on the radio, the first guitar sounds of AC/DC playing in the background.

“I think you'll be the one not keeping it, Sammy.”

“Hello?” The woman in nothing but a towel who had opened the door greeted them with a question, her brown eyes glaring at the two men with clear confusion.

Dean had no shame to check her out, innerly celebrating that she was still wet from her shower. Perhaps visiting Sam's friends wasn't that big mistake. “Hey, you.”

She grimaced at Dean for two seconds before turning her attention to Sam again, sudden recognition written on her face.

“Sam? Sam Winchester?” He nodded, smiling that light-hearted boyish grin at her. Not caring about her dressings, she just threw herself at Sammy, hugging him tightly. “I missed you!” She pulled away only to hit his shoulder. Her short stature didn't match Sam's, but he'd still make a grimace at her attempt of slap. “Why didn't you call? God, your hair grew a lot. Listen, I have some scissors.”

“Tried that, didn't work.” Dean interrupted their reencounter, trying to get in the conversation. An usual lopsided grin on his face, “Dean Winchester, Sam's brother.”

“Layla, Sam's friend.” She gave him a friendly smile in return, opening space for them to pass through the door before closing it, “Come in, I need to change in clothes.”

“I wouldn't even dream of that. Seriously.”

Layla would just wiggle one of her brows at Dean's comments, not impressed by it, “Ele é sempre assim? (Is he always like this?)”

Thankfully, Sam still remembered a bit of his friend's native language. He just chuckled, managing to apologize for Dean's typical Dean behavior, “Unfortunately. Sinto muito. (I'm sorry)”

“(Y/N) is in the kitchen. I'll be right back.” Her accent was thicking stronger duo the comfortability around Sam. Excusing herself, the caramel skinned girl leaded upstairs.

“What did she say?” Dean asked, side glancing at the path Layla had just gone on, not even sure of which language she'd just spoken, much less what was said. Sammy didn't bother replying, satisfied to grin at his obvxion brother. “Dude, come on!”

“Sam!” A well-known voice filled the room as the image of (Y/N) appeared in front of them, dressing your loyal cook's avental. You didn't think twice before jumping on Sam. “I missed you, giant!”

He, like always, caught you with a light-hearted laughter, “I missed you too, cupcake.” You two spent a few moments like this, enjoying each other's warm and long lost touch, until Dean cleared his throat. You finally went back to the ground, embarrassed by having a stranger to see that level of intimacy between you and Sam, “This is Dean, my--”

“Handsome brother. Hello, cupcake.” Dean was so going to tease Sam for the rest of his life for it.

“You really live up for Sam's description.” You giggled, heading towards the kitchen “Come in, I'm baking.”

“So, you and Layla still live together?”

“Most of the time, yes. You know how she is, comes and goes. Never wanted to stay in a place for too long and got a job that supported that.” The boys followed you, Dean examining the kitchen and trying to discover what you were cooking through the smell, while Sam couldn't take his eyes on you, “Apparently, just like you.”

Even though your back was facing them as you checked the food, the bite didn't pass unnoticed, “I had to leave, (Y/N)”

“I understand that, Sam. But you never called or texted. It was like I--” You quickly corrected yourself, “We never existed for you.”

“It's not like that.” Sam sighed, how could he justify? He knew you wouldn't buy a simple excuse. You were smart, and knew him too well to swallow a 'I went on a trip with my brother and just decided that college wasn't my deal' and leave it for that.

“I'm here!” Layla declared, arriving into the room with an excited smile, it was good to have the gang back together. Although, the tangible tension almost made her go back to the shower, “Am I interrupting something?”

“A sitcom DR.” Dean answered with sarcasm, spreading his figure on the chair when you turned around with an apple pie in your hands “What about we talk about the ca-- Is this pie?”

“We heard a scream followed by a loud roar and (Y/N) stayed near the camping part because there was still a signal and I went looking for who it was. When I got there, the thing ran away. Jorge's body... No human did that. His chest was cracked open irregularly, as if it was done by an animal and his heart looked weird. Like it was squeezed and drawn on up somehow?”

“We got a Samia.” Dean stated, relaxing on his spot. Some sault, rosemary and fire would do the job just fine, “Let me guess, it left a clawn near the body or inside it?”

Layla nodded, “Right in the chest or what lasted of it.”

“Are you okay? Finding the body in that state.” A comprehensive manner englobed Sam's question, whom noticed the normality with his friend described finding a shattered body.

“Just some guts.” She shrugged, a grimace was all the reaction they'd get. Crying wouldn't help, neither being terrorized as they expected her too. “I've seen Grey's Anatomy enough not to care about it.”

“Well, I'm literally a medicine student and I am still not okay with that. Especially after you made me go and check the body.” You argued, glaring at your best friend who'd only roll her eyes in response.

“I needed a professional to say if he was dead or not!”

“You need a therapist.”

Dean got up, looking straight at Layla. Time to play the hero in shining armor, “Don't worry with that, we will take care of it.”

Frowning, you were the one to respond, “Do you work for the police now or?”

“Are implying that we investigate it by ourselves?” Your best friend added.

Dean couldn't believe his brother. How the fuck did he let them get inside without saying they didn't know about the hunting business? It was a luck shot that they didn't think much when he said Samia.

“Nope. Not you two. We will do it.” The blonde one said, pointing at them with a smirk.

“I agree, we will do it.” Layla replied, matching his taunt smile.

“Sam, I'm not letting you and your brother do it by yourself. Jorge was my professor, I knew him. Besides, we found the body.” You got on your feet and crossed your arms, waiting for a response. Sam always had a sort of hero complex, ready to help no matter what, but there was no way you'd be letting him go into danger with his brother. Getting in your dormitory to kill a cockroach back then or facing an idiot during a bar fight to protect one of your friends was something, but this? They were talking about looking for an assassin. What if something happened to him? You were the one who called. All on you. The thought of Sam getting hurt for any reason was unbearable, but because of you? You weren't willing to do that.

“You would be in danger, (Y/N). You both.” He tried to explain, internally hoping you'd accept his reasoning and let it go. Sam didn't want you to become one of the friends who knew about this life, you deserve more. He already lost one woman he loved in this city, he couldn't lose another.

You huffed in frustration, “Just like you will!”

“It's different.” As he was terrified of, you insisted. Arms crossed still and eyes locked with his, determined to get something from him. Sam was smart enough to know that you would keep it going. Perhaps he could give you a short explanation, “Me and my brother, we are used to this. We hunt things like that.”

Layla tilted her head to the side. The way Sam talked remembered her of animal hunting, although she highly doubted that was the case, “Little more explanation?'”

“Monsters are real. Vampires, werewolves, spirits. The list goes on. Call us crazy. Roll the credits.” Sarcasm saltered every word of Dean's as he gestured up and down with a cocky smile. Everyone glared at him, a special furious look from his brother, “What? I thought they knew what we did and that's why she called.”

“Sam?” Your voice was fragile when you said his name, a demonstration that you would believe him through the fear of the truth, but that he had to say it.

Sam laid his hazel eyes on you. God, how he wished he didn't have to confirm anything, to break your vision of world so abruptly, “Dean is right. Supernatural things are real. I know it sounds--”

“Unbelievable? Problematic? Scary?”

“Yeah, all of them.” Sam offered you a humorless smile, then holding your hand the way he used to when you were nervous about an exam, “But I wouldn't lie to you, cupcake.”

The silence was broken by Layla opening a bottle of Whiskey, pouring them for the three people in the room besides herself. You rolled your eyes at your best friend, while Sam wore a tiny smile and Dean was astonished.

Noticing the eyes glued, the latina just shrugged “What? If you are gonna tell me that Dracula is real and you are a sort of Buffy's apprentice, then we will need some alcohol.”

“Why did you call?” Sammy asked, his brows knotted together, mouth slight open as he waited for your response. “You didn't know what I did. And he wasn't my professor at Stanford. Then why did you call, (Y/N)?”

You could make up a hundred excuses. Lie and say he was the one friend besides Layla that you had somehow a way to get to. Appeal to the excuse of 'I felt something weird about the death and you said I should call if I ever had a problem of any kind'. But for as much as you felt horrible for using a death as a pretext for calling him, that was partially the truth. You already had put yourself into a mess of monsters and a drained heart, it couldn't be scarier than being honest to Sam and to yourself.

At least, you hoped so. But your heart was rushing like when you saw Jorge's body. Jesus, when did love become so morbid?

You took a deep breath, oxygen barely achieving your lungs, and then started to talk.

“I wanted to call you the minute that you left, Sam. I almost did a million times.” You answered, looking down at the bottle of a sort of plant that he was putting in a dark green bag. “I thought about what you could be doing, what was so important that you couldn't send me a message. But you just didn't want to call, I guess.”

“I wanted to call, of course I did.” You scoffed at his statement, looking up to match his eyes, “(Y/N), I'm serious.”

“You didn't even come to Jess' funeral, Sam. Layla said that maybe you needed to leave to clear your mind, that was too much to deal with. But I was so worried, and sad and confused and I wanted to talk to you because you would understand, you always did. About anything. And I wanted to give you some sort of comfort, but--” You lifted your hands and shrugged your shoulder, a broken chuckle leaving your body. “But you weren't here.”

“You stopped leaving messages after two weeks. Calling was gone when it made a moth.” You sniffed. Sam's lips curved into a pure, cautelous grin. God, he was always so sweet. “The emails took two months.”

“You were never good with dates. I gave you a calendar in your freshman week.” Your teeth met your lower lip. He didn't answer, only nodding at your affirmation, omitting the fact that he still had the calendar between latin books and pieces of newspapers, “Yet, you remember all of it.”

Sam leaned forward, holding your hand with all the delicacy you would expect from a sculptor. It had been too long since he hugged you, and his touch made all your skin tickle with warmth. “I missed you too, (Y/N). I thought about you all those years.”

“So, Cupcake?”

"Let's focus on the case, Dean."

“Then you can go back and eat your cupcake?” He remarked with a grin. His brother just huffed, pointing the flashlight through the trees, “So, Layla…”

Sam rolled his eyes, like he usually did when Dean started being too Dean for his liking, “Dean. The case.”

Before he could make another teaseful comment, a roar invaded their audition. The hunters gave each other a quick glance before heading towards the direction of the noise.

Shaking the salt and rosemary mixture in his hands, Dean smirked, “That's it. Time to shine, cupcake.”

“I have to admit. Being patched up by a doctor is better than by Dean.”

A surprised, half relieved laughter came out your body as you finished another stitch on Sam's arm. That boy was unbelievable; openly talking and making jokes about his brother, who was also being patched up by your best friend in company of a bottle of whiskey, while he spoke about Layla's name being a rock song. You were working on a large wound on his shoulder-- which you were sure that was full of dirt from the forest.

Medicine student, but I'll take that complement.” You winked at him, gaining a soft grin from Sammy, “I was expecting more blo-- Why are you smiling? I'm touching a recent wound. It doesn't look dangerous, but I'm sure it is supposed to hurt. A lot.”

Sam's answer came out easily, the bare, vulnerable truth: “I'm happy you are here.”

You looked at him, his hair longer than before, but the soft simper remained on his face. You bit your lip to hold a giggle; her heart dared to hope. What he expected when he said things like this? A quiet contentment spread through his expression while he watched your reaction.

“You should have come home sooner.”

His mouth formed a line, “I don't have a home, (Y/N). It's just Dean, me and the road now.”

“No, Sam.” Shaking your head lightly, you intertwined your fingers with his. His life was dangerous, you couldn't afford the luxury of waiting even more to share what you had finally admitted to yourself in the moment he walked through the door. It didn't seem like the easiest, simpler situation. But the only hard thing you couldn’t go through was to be away from Sam Winchester. He lingered on you for years, you were done letting him run away. It was time to hold his hand and walk together. “You should've come home sooner. To me.”

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detectivereyes · 3 years

Text

Save Your Tears for Another Day

i wrote this text post about the idea and said someone else should write it because i haven’t been in a writing mood and then @aliceschuyler offered to write it.. and then the fic started to write itself in my head so i wrote it after all. but look out for alice’s fic too because i’m sure it’s going to be great!

word count: 1k

read on ao3

The first time TK Strand got bad news that was so bad that his brain shut down was when his parents announced they were getting divorced. They sat him down when he was 7 years old and calmly explained that while they still deeply cared about each other, they could no longer live together.

And while his mom stroked his arm, giving him a sympathetic smile and his dad tried to cheer him up by saying he would get to have two beds, two houses, two of every toy, TK couldn’t hear any of it. Too many thoughts spun around in his brain until his parents stopped talking and he whispered a small “okay.”

When they both got called to his school a week later after he picked a fight with a kid in the lunchroom, not much thought was given. Easily finding excuses for why he picked a fight; he’s a good kid, it was just a bad day.

The next time he got bad news, he was 14 and his parents both had to work on his birthday. It didn’t even matter who he was supposed to be with that week, as the schedules often never worked out as planned anyway and usually led to TK crashing on a friend's couch.

But when his father found out he was working a double shift over TK’s birthday, followed by his mother’s gaining a new case last minute, it was hard not to be let down realizing that he would be spending another birthday alone.

His parents both tried to let him down gently, reassuring him that he was a big boy now so he could handle it and they would make it up to him. And in both cases he merely shrugged and didn’t murmur a word. Not that his parents thought much of it, instead remarking how well he always handled bad news.

That night while sprawling out on his friend Jake's uncomfortable futon, he didn’t think twice when Jake told him that he had something that would make him feel better; easily swallowing the small white tablets like they were always meant to slide down his throat.

When he was 17, his dad told him that he was getting another divorce. Owen tried to mask the pain as he explained that Tracy decided it wasn’t working anymore and moved out last night, leaving them both without saying goodbye, but TK could see he was hurting too.

Again he found solace in searching for the bottom of pill bottles and shot glasses. And when a similar conversation happened with his mom as she explained that her and Enzo would be ending things, he found that bottom.

He knew for sure he got his parents attention when he woke up in the hospital and they were both sitting by his bedside. Unshed tears pooling in both their eyes, his parents spouted off apologies and promises that things would change. Still he remained quiet, only agreeing when it was proposed that he move in with Owen and start at the fire academy as soon as he graduated high school.

Things did change, and things got better. Living with Owen for most of the time meant that someone was always keeping an eye on him. His father got almost too good at reading his mood, and could now sense what would happen when TK shut down. Even over small things, Owen would be sure to keep him extra close after he found out something that brought his mood down.

And time apart from his mother also turned out to be a good thing, with Gwyn also picking up on TK’s mood swings when they did get together.

Therapy helped too, with his therapist giving him helpful ways to sort through the storm of ideas whirling in his head, and coping mechanisms to help with any urges that came after.

They were tips that helped him work through failing his academy test the first time, and when Gwyn accepted a head position at her law firm, meaning she would be away more than she would be at home.

TK struggled to apply it when his proposal to Alex turned into a break up. He was able to utter a few words before leaving the restaurant but his brain went blank after that. He only realized what had happened when he woke up on the floor of his apartment and surrounded his entire team, including his dad.

He tried to remember everything he had learned once he got to Austin. He fought the urge to completely shut down when he saw the results for the pill bottle he found in his dad’s office and uses the time in between that and Owen getting home only to confirm his suspicions to process his thoughts. And it helped him work through his conflicting feelings about Carlos, and getting the news that it had been a kid who shot him.

Though TK can’t help but shut down after Tim’s death, and no one blames him. He may not have known the paramedic well, but that doesn’t make grasping at the fact that one moment he was here, living and breathing and the next he was gone. Carlos, however at this point knows it’s coming and was fully prepared to guide TK through the maze of thoughts.

The next time he completely shut down was when Gwyn informs him that she’s leaving, again, and that his brother is actually his half-brother. It’s enough to concern his mom, and he wanted to fight it and keep talking. But instead he goes quiet, and explains that everything is okay.

He knew that his parents would be rightfully worried about him, he’s worried about himself, but he had enough faith in himself to know he’d pull through. He silently works through all of the urges by himself until his day decides Gwyn leaving is no longer his biggest problem.

And a few months later, Tommy tells him and Nancy that she isn’t coming back. Or she tries to tell him, but TK realizes what she is attempting to say before she can get the words out. He wants to tell her that he understands, and he can tell Nancy is saying as much but he can’t quite get the words out. Instead holds back the tears and goes through the motions of holding his teammates hands; not saying a word.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tk strand fic #my fic

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