#The Assessment Form Asks About My Anxiety

[shewroteaworld]

Unsub Bait

Premise: For the fourth time, brilliant sunshine!reader is asked to bait the unsub. For the first time, Spencer has a problem with this.

Word count: approx. 2,000

Tw: canon-typical discussions of violence

Author's Note: Welcome to the second installment of brilliant sunshine!reader (meaning highly intelligent sunshine!reader) x Spencer Reid! While you don't have to read my first brilliant sunshine! reader fic to understand this one, I would highly recommend reading it. It's titled "I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't." Hope you enjoy! :) <3

“Here’s an overview of the first phase of the operation: (Y/N) will go undercover as a college student at Yale. She’ll get acquainted with the unsub at Speakeasy, the New Haven bar where he assesses potential victims. We’ll apprehend him in the act of attempted kidnapping.” Hotchner listed for the team.

You’d played unsub lure almost a comical number of times. Once? That’s a once in a million task required to capture a once in a million unsub. Twice? You’d only have two nickels, but it’s weird that it happened twice, right? But four times? 

You’d already joked to Hotch that you should add “professional unsub bait” to your resume. 

It would’ve been more comical if it wasn’t so scary. 

You took a deep breath as you stared at the photos of the victims on the mahogany conference room table. Melissa Grey. Audrey Bernstein. Alivia Johnson. You could see your 21-year-old self in their eyes. You remember being so young and full of anxiety; you were near graduating from MIT. You couldn’t sleep at night from worrying if you had already lived up to your potential and would spend the rest of your years a washed up gifted kid– an academic has–been. After graduation, you proved to yourself your worth.

The college juniors in the photographs had their lives cut short by the unsub before they had the opportunity to find out what amazing places their brilliant minds could take them. You were about to allow said unsub to nearly kidnap you. 

That is, if you didn’t blow your cover. Then, he would hold you hostage or attempt to kill you as soon as possible by skipping his usual "kidnap and torture" routine.

Rationally, you knew your field experience more than prepared you for this task. Also, you knew your team had your back. They always kept you safe and healthy. The one time you were put at serious risk, you had to fight to be left alone after the case closed. But, you’re not sure if all the facts in the world could adequately calm your adrenal glands.

“Is this necessary?” Spencer suddenly interjected.

You turned to Spencer in surprise. “It’s the quickest way. We have twenty-four hours,” You said.

The unsub had a pattern; a girl was dying once every two weeks, and, when the the local and Connecticut police force combined failed to contain the situation, the BAU was brought into the case 36 hours before the next killing. With his eidetic memory, you were certain Spencer couldn't forget the time restraints if he tried, hence why you were stunned by his sudden brazenness. However, given Spencer's traumatic relationship history and your budding romance, Spencer's behavior was a lot more likely.

You and Spencer had been dating for a couple weeks. Despite being certain the team had their suspicions, you kept your relationship on the downlow. Strong boundaries were a good thing to keep when your relationship was in its fragile, formative era. Plus, you both agreed it was best to keep a high level of professionalism. 

This was the first time Spencer broke protocol.

“I think there’s another way.” Spencer continued. “It’s unsafe and illogical to put anyone’s life into considerable risk if there’s another viable option.”

“Are you implying I’m being rash, Reid?” Hotchner asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Usually, Spence would look away and take a breath. He’d at least have the decency to act timid, especially given the fact the entire team pulled multiple all-nighters in an effort to catch this serial killer. Instead, he leveled with Hotchner’s glare and asserted himself further. “I just think we’ve gotten a little too comfy using (Y/N) as an unsub lure. The more we do, the more probable a disaster will occur with her in the line of fire.”

“Spencer,” Morgan cut in gently. There was sympathy in his eyes. “We’ve done this with (Y/N) before. We’re good at reading her. And she knows the drill. We’ll keep her safe.”

“Yes, because that’s something we can certainly guarantee when she’s 3 inches from a serial killer.” Spencer deadpanned. 

“Reid. A word.” Without waiting for Spencer’s reaction, Hotch left the meeting room. With a hard look in his eye, Spencer filed after Hotch. You were relieved he was still obedient despite being ornery.

For a few moments, the team sat in silence. 

Rossi broke the spell with the scrape of his chair. “Well, I for one, am going to take this impromptu intermission as an opportunity to grab coffee. Any requests?” Rossi asked. 

“I’ll take a barbajada.” You joked half-heartedly. 

“Very funny, (L/N). Any requests the office Keurig can complete in less than five minutes?” 

The team rattled off their go-to office drink orders, but it faded to white noise. During your friendship, Spencer would always care for you when you had to lure the unsub. He’d be more attentive on the jet ride in and out. He’d check in on your mental state directly after the unsub was arrested and always called you once you got home. Once, after the particularly stressful unsub encounter, he sent you links to PTSD articles and even offered to help you schedule an appointment with a specialized therapist through the FBI’s mental health services.

But he’d never once intervened with a plan for you to go undercover. You knew Spencer Reid was nothing if not rational. He knew Hotch valued every member of his team. He knew Hotch would never send you undercover if it wasn’t necessary to stop a killing spree before more young women became statistics. 

Therefore, you knew Spencer was thinking about Maeve. 

You stood. 

“Where you going, Beauty Queen?” Morgan asked.

“Just heading to the restroom.” You lied. 

You walked down the hall and crept up the stairs. You tiptoed down the east wing of the second floor to avoid clicking your heels against the concrete. 

You crept to the side of Hotch’s office. You pressed your back to the wall.

Hotch said something indecipherable. An angry Reid answered.

“And all I’m saying is, she is not a cat with nine lives! She has one life. One precious life, that I think we’ve been a little too careless with.”

“Reid, you know I would never risk putting (Y/N) in harm’s way if it wasn’t the best course of action. She’s experienced with this. The team is experienced with this.” 

A beat of silence passed.

“Promise me that if you have so much as an inkling her life is in danger–”

“We’ll do everything in our power to get her out of there.”

“That’s the thing! ‘Everything in our power…’ It’s not enough. How many times have we told families we did everything we could when all they have left is a body bag?” 

Your heart froze. Both of the voices lowered. You could only catch bits and pieces of Hotch’s speech. You were never an eavesdropper, but despite your better nature, you crept around the corner towards the door.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone to an unsub, Spencer. I know how it sticks with you. I know how it changes the job. But you have to trust us– the team. We’re going to protect her. And we’re going to be there for you,” Hotch said. 

Spencer sighed. "How did you do it?" Spencer's voice cracked. "After Haley, Hotch? I’m not sure if I can survive this.” He sounded seconds away from tears. 

At that moment, you knew you would not sleep comfortably at night if you continued to be a fly on the wall.  You tiptoed back down the east wing and waited for Spencer at the bottom of the stairs.

Ten minutes passed before Spencer appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Spencer?” You called. 

His hazel eyes were tinged pink. He walked down the stairs nonchalantly. “Hey, um, would you mind if we discussed part of the case file real quick? Privately? It could help, um…” He cleared his throat. “Develop your persona.”

“Yes, of course.” 

Spencer didn’t look at you as he power walked down the hall towards the janitorial closets. For the first time since you started dating, he didn’t adjust to your walking pace. 

He flung a door open and yanked you inside. 

Carelessly, Spencer slammed the door behind you. Before you could get a word in, he pulled you into a bear hug.

“Spencer.” You whispered. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

He nuzzled his nose into your hair. 

You stood in the statue of a hug for two minutes.

“I can’t lose you.” Spencer whispered.

“You won’t.”

Spencer pulled away from you. He bent down to look you in the eye. He squeezed your shoulders. His eyes danced with emotion. There was a deep ache, a whirlpool of sadness that you knew a lifetime may never heal. What perplexed you was the hardness that you could only read as anger. 

“I…” He sighed. He hung his head. He dragged his palms down the slope of your shoulders to your forearms. It was like he was taking a cast of you with his hands. 

“I’m not dead on arrival. I’m still here. I’m coming back on that jet ride home with you. I’m going to be okay.” You reciprocated his shoulder squeeze. “You’re going to be okay.”

Spencer shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I care about you. It’s a part of the girlfriend package.” Spencer pulled you into another constricting hug. 

 “I can’t fathom how difficult this must be for you.” You whispered.

Spencer pressed his forehead to yours. “Promise me when you go out there, you won’t worry about me. I want you to only focus on you, your surroundings, and making sure you get out of there.”

“I promise, Spencer.” You said, though you weren’t sure if that would be the truth.

“And one more thing,” He said. His irises were so close to yours you could pick apart the layer of green and brown. “As soon as you feel unsafe, you call someone. If you have any inclination he’s going to overtake you–”

“I call the team.”

He took a step back and ran his hands through his hair. “I know you’re strong. I’m not trying to insult your field work.”

Your heart cracked. “Spencer, love, I know that. I’m so happy you care about me. I just wish this situation hurt you less.”

He dropped his hands to his sides. His brows furrowed. He stared at a random point to the left of your face.

“Can you do something for me? Before we leave?” He asked, still not meeting your gaze.

“What is it, Spence?”

He took a deep breath. He met your eyes again. “Dance with me.” 

“What?”

“Dance with me. I…” He inhaled deeply. “I never got to dance with Maeve before she…I barely even got to hold her. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” 

You closed the distance between you and Spencer. You cupped his face in your hands, and he instinctively leaned into your touch. His eyes shone with tears. “I’ll dance with you for the rest of my days, Spence.” 

He whipped out his phone. He turned on a slow jazz song you played for him last winter on an impromptu hot chocolate date. 

Your heart skipped a beat. You could go on that same date again, but it would have a whole new color to it. 

He slid his phone onto a cleaning supply shelf. He pulled you to his chest. Your head nestled right beneath his collarbone. You wrapped your arms around his mid back.

You danced, bodies pressed together like puzzle pieces, in silence until the song ended. The symphony of emotions didn’t cease with the final brush of the snare. 

Spencer continued swaying with you.

“I’m going to be okay.” You whispered.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “You can’t promise me that.” He held you even tighter. “But I can promise you I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you come home to me.” 

Author's Note: Hello to all my new followers! I'm so glad you're here! I'm so grateful for the overwhelmingly positive reception to "I'll Hold Your Weight When You Can't." Hope you enjoyed this piece as well!

I hope you have a great day or night wherever you are in this crazy world.

xoxo,

shewroteaworld

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds

[leighsartworks216]

Just A Trim

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I had this idea like this morning or last night, I don't remember. And then I was not physically/mentally able to write until the sudden Need To Write hit me and I cranked this out

When writing this, I noticed I kept making references to Tav being shorter, but bc I want this to be enjoyed by everyone, I took them out. Pls let me know if I missed any instances of it tho

Ending loosely inspired by this scene from Big Fish

Warnings: scissors, brief references to low self-worth, anxiety, pure fluff

Word Count: 1,287

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Astarion didn’t trust his hair with just anybody. Pulling on it during sex? Okay. Playing with it while cuddling? It takes him a bit to actually trust someone enough to enjoy it. Washing it? Absolutely off the table. Cutting it? Out of question, and he’d probably insult you for asking.

So when he came to you, frowning and grumbling, and struggled through grit teeth to ask if you would please help him cut his hair? That meant something.

You tried not to let your glee show as you dropped whatever you were working on and followed him into your shared bathroom. He plopped onto the edge of the tub like a pouting child who’d just got a good telling-to after misbehaving. He held the scissors up for you to take.

“If you cut my ears, darling, I’m going to make you regret the day you were ever born.” He glares over his shoulder as you step into the tub behind him, rolling up your sleeves and taking the scissors. “And don’t you dare do anything funny. All I need is a simple trim. I assume you’re capable enough to manage that?”

You smiled as he growled at you like an annoying customer. You lean down and gently kiss his cheek. “I promise I’ll only take a little bit off.”

There’s an unspoken conflict on his face. He’s not sure he actually wants you to go through with this… But he’s sort of out of options. Any salons nearby closed before the sun went down, and he definitely did not trust any of your past traveling companions to do the job. No. He’d just have to trust you. He sighs and faces forward. “Just… be careful.”

“I will, my love.”

It had been difficult to notice during the course of your adventure together, but his hair did grow. Not as fast as yours, but curls that delicately curled around the edges of his ears now almost completely covered them, like strangling vines. You’d heard him cuss too many times when a strand got caught in his earrings and tugged when he went to brush the hair from his face. The curl that lay persistently over his forehead now brushed his upper eyelid. Very frequently, he would huff and fight to push it back, with nothing to show for it.

With gentle, smooth motions, you combed your fingers through his hair. Your nails lightly scratched at his scalp, running from his hairline to the nape of his neck, and carefully untangling any knots all the while. You heard his quiet sigh, and saw his shoulders begin to relax. You pressed a kiss to his head.

Assessing his full head of hair, you figured out where to begin. You separated out a section, trying to determine how long it used to be, so you knew how short to cut it now. He tensed again.

“I’m going to start cutting it now, okay?” He hummed, short and anxious. You pressed a hand to his shoulder. “Relax, dear. I’ve got you.”

“It’s difficult to when you have the means to turn me into a glorified clown.”

“But I won’t.”

He sighed. “I know.”

You wait for him to relax again, and he nods slightly. You take the scissors to the first section of hair. With a shink, a small clump of hair falls into the tub. The sound certainly doesn’t fill him with confidence, but he trusts you won’t mess it up too bad…

You begin talking about your friends, about the letters they’ve sent lately keeping you updated with their lives. Apparently, Gale sent some interesting information regarding potential cures for his vampirism - though most of it was only on temporary remedies. “In good time,” you’d assured him when he groaned. Stepping into the sun again would be nice, but an end to his sanguine hunger would be better.

It takes a while to cut all his hair, especially with how meticulous you’re being. You give special attention to the hair around his ears, making sure not to nick him. You step out of the tub and in front of him while you cut the stubborn curl there, where you catch it before it can fall into his lap, and deposit it in the basin. He can’t help watching you then. You have such determination and focus on the task at hand. Only once the curl is trimmed do you actually see him staring, and you smile and peck his lips. He rather enjoyed that.

As you go through each section, you consistently run your fingers through his hair. It’s the most relaxing bit, and he’s certainly glad he asked you for this. He would die before Gale ever got his grubby mitts anywhere near his hair.

By the time you finish, his eyes are closed. He listens to your chatter, to the random tunes you hum, to the way you hold your breath as you make a cut. It’s rather peaceful, despite the underlying nervousness to it all. He can’t see himself. All he can hope is you make him look nice.

You brush your fingers through his hair to knock loose any stray strands. It falls like snow by your feet. Satisfied with your work, you begin running water for a bath, kicking the hair down the drain before you plug it to fill the tub.

“Done, love?”

“Mhm!” You lean around to kiss his cheek again. “You can take a bath, wash all the hair off, and I can get you some fresh clothes.”

He grins. He stands and turns to face you, taking your hands in his and running his thumbs along your knuckles. He’s worried, anxious, but he tries not to let it show. “How do I look?” he asks with a careful bravado, tilting his head to the side, chin upturned, like a haughty nobleman.

You let go of his hand to cup his cheek. He automatically leans into it, mask slipping ever so slightly to reveal his worry. “You look beautiful. I think I did a rather fine job.”

“‘Rather fine?’ Oh, darling,” he lilts, “for your sake, I’d better look the spitting image of perfection.”

“You always do.” It’s earnest. A solid fact to oppose the teasing of his words.

He cannot prevent the true smile that tugs the corners of his mouth as he leans in to claim yours, tasting and nipping and teasing with soft sighs of content. You are much too good to him, but he doesn’t say that out loud, lest you lecture him and treat him to endless spoils until he believes it himself.

He reluctantly pulls away, but his lips continue to brush yours. “Bathe with me.”

You open your eyes to study his face. “Are you sure?”

“Undoubtedly.”

A mischievous spark glints in the corner of your eye as you grin wickedly. “Do I get to wash your hair?”

He chuckles. “Don’t push it.”

You hum. “Would you wash mine?”

“Whatever you want, my love.”

“I want… to turn off the tap before our bathroom floods.” You pull away and he has to laugh as you wade through the water to stop the steady stream. The warm water reaches just below your knees. You sigh, but the annoyance is dampened by your grin. “Look what you’ve done - distracting me like that. Now my pants are all wet.”

“All wet?” He makes a show of looking you up and down. “I don’t know, love. I see quite a few dry spots.”

Without warning, he steps into the large tub, still in his own clothes, and grabs you, pulling you down with him into the water. Your laughter fills the house. Astarion has never been more in love.

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @sylverqueen_cosplay @yarn_yogi @tototini @teardropcup @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive

#fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #fluff

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I'm a student about to start my second year, and me and all my friends are really nervous. It feels like first year was really rough for everyone all over the place and we're all really hoping for a better second year this year! Have lecturers been noticing that too? Do you think it's because of COVID?

Oh my god yes. Jesus yes. It's absolutely the covid effect, and we're expecting to see the disruption for the next five or so years, tbh - the current 18-21 year old undergrads went through the most important years of high school during a lockdown. That not only interrupted academic development (home schooling during a time of stress, massive disruption to exams and exam-taking skills, etc), it also enormously hit emotional development (mid to late teens have the highest socialising needs of the human lifespan, and no one could meet and interact with each other.) And that latter point is having a much bigger effect than the former.

Current undergrads haven't been able to develop the same resilience, the same approach to andragogic education, the same interpersonal skills for dealing with lecturers/fellow students. University is not like school; in school teachers are giving you the knowledge, and gradually encouraging you to try and use it to formulate your own opinions. In university, we're supposed to give you the framework to then go out and do you own research. The bulk of your education comes from you, not us; we're more like facilitators.

But, we're noticing that there's a far bigger skew now towards needing to get the answer right. Anxiety is higher, and so the fear of being wrong is much more crippling for these students, and that in turn means they're less willing/able to take charge of their own education and are more passive with it, wanting to just be fed the right answers so they can rote learn them and get the Good mark. And the disconnect between that and the reality of what lecturers are expecting is pretty big, it turns out, and is causing even more anxiety and stress. Record numbers of my students have started asking me to give their assignment drafts a quick look over, just to see if they're on the right track. Which, you know, I'm more than happy to do; but I do think it's a notable pattern change from three or four years ago.

If you're worrying on a personal level though, Anon, I have some Handy Tips if they're any use!

Remember: the idea of uni is that you are doing your own research and learning on the topics your lecturers describe. They're giving you the basics, but they're expecting you to look up examples, case studies, other research papers, etc. They want to see analysis. That's what gets you the good marks. If you simply describe the information you got in lectures and don't add anything, you'll struggle to rise out of a basic pass.

What's the fundamental point of your particular course? It's important to know this, because it'll tell you how to focus your assessments and exam answers. Just within the environmental sector, you could have Environmental Science (focus: academic exploration and research), Environmental Conservation (focus: applying the academic research to actual management and solutions), Environmental Impacts (focus: philosophy and ethics), etc. In all three, you might be given a paper about the latest IPCC report, but in the first you would focus on exploring all the research papers that formed the conclusion on climate change, in the second you'd focus on case studies around the world and the applicability/feasibility of the shared economic pathways that are going to fix the problem, and in the third you'd focus on the human impacts of both the problem and the proposed solutions. You may of course include elements of all of those, but your main focus should be chosen appropriately.

Keep your notes with copies of the lecture slides in nice ordered folders. Keep a bulleted list of the topics covered in each. This makes it far easier to go and double check the right info when you're stressed out

On that note, the best note-taking system is to add notes/comments to the lecture slides where you record clarifications and things the lecturer said (INCLUDING CASE STUDIES). Don't bother duplicating effort by writing what's on the slide.

I truly do know this is easier said than done, but don't leave your assignments until the last minute. Are you struggling with motivation? You need a study group. You need to body double.

And finally, the biggest: CONTACT STUDENT SUPPORT IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING. Every time I go to an exam board and we get to a student who has failed stuff, the first question the Academic Office asks is "Has this student been working with Student Support?" Even if they aren't that helpful in your uni, working with them means they know about the things you're struggling with, and that you've clearly been trying to work around the problems. That makes the Academic Office far, far more likely to take a lenient view of a student, rather than going "Well, clearly they just don't care then, withdraw them from the program." Your Student Support should be able to help you with counselling, study buddies, a support worker that can help you organise your time and interpret your assignment briefs correctly and give you interim deadlines, etc.

Oh, and remember to schedule in rest and downtime, just as much as study time.

And... honestly, you learned a lot in your first year. The learning curve is less steep in second year, even accounting for the academic rigour increasing. By now, you're basically used to things like referencing, routines, assignment formatting, etc. There are no more surprises, really. Now's the point you can get the bit between your teeth and run.

Anyway: good luck! And enjoy it as much as you can. University is hard, no doubt about that, but it can and should be fun as well.

#asks #the professional world of careers and tasks

[nomniki]

stuck in your web ━━ jake sim ⟡ spiderman au

★ wc 1.3k warnings none note @soobnny u inspired me to write this while i was on the plane i’m actually insane my brain is rotting w spidey bf jake (proofread but idk if there r any mistakes rip sry pookies)

Not even your blankets could stave off the whisper of cold wind that followed Jake in through the window, a chill that was just as quickly chased away by his embrace. He slid in beneath your comforter, a drawn out sigh leaving his lips, one of which you learned as you turned around, was split and crusted with blood. Your hand found his cheek in the darkness, the other reaching out blindly for the light switch.

“No, don’t,” he grumbled halfheartedly, pressing his forehead between your shoulder blades in a lazy attempt to hide the lasting damage of his latest fight.

Your fingers closed the switch and you turned your bedside lamp on despite his protests, propping yourself up on your elbow to better survey his injuries. Jake had made a terrible habit of assuming that slipping into your bed and just having you in his arms would solve all his problems, emotional and physical. As much as you despised the fact, that wasn’t true.

“Let me clean you up?”

You asked softly, brushing his bangs away from his face lazily, wincing as you felt his ordinarily soft hair crusted with something— blood, or dirt, you weren’t sure. In times like this, it felt like there wasn’t much you could offer Jake, and an inescapable feeling of helplessness swelled and formed a lump in your throat. He’d reassured you time and time again that your company was enough, but you figured the least you could do was clean him up to the best of your ability.

“No, let’s just go to sleep, I’ll do it tomorrow,” Jake mumbled, his eyebrows furrowed cutely and his words muffled by the soft cotton of your pillow.

You rolled your eyes, and gathered the motivation to slip out of bed— Jake let you go without any coherent protest, and you padded into the bathroom. The routine you’d adopted was methodical and you had to admit there was something therapeutic about it— saline solution, a glass of warm water, a flannel and the Hello Kitty bandaids Jake claimed to hate but never stopped you from putting on the lesser of his injuries. His arms wound around your waist as you perched on the edge of the bed, pulling you close enough that he could rest his cheek against your thigh.

“I’ll sleep easy knowing I’ve helped you, even a little,” you hummed quietly, running your hand through his hair, trying not to tug when your fingers caught on whatever it was that had gotten stuck, presumably during his fight.

“You’re helping me by being a good cushion,” he huffed, his breath fanning warmly across your bare skin and it was almost criminal how endearing he could be without trying.

“Jake.”

He sighed dramatically, shuffling to sit up in front of you, still in his spider suit— the webbed material had become oddly familiar under your fingers and it was with practiced ease that you peeled the suit away from his skin. Your heart was caught in your throat as you revealed planes of tan skin, terrified you’d come across an injury that couldn’t be fixed with pink—patterned plasters and a gentle kiss. Jake reached for your hands, grabbing your wrist and bringing your trembling hands to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m fine, really— just a couple scratches.”

His reassurances did wonders to comfort you, and you swallowed down the anxiety in your throat, nodding and offering him a small, sleepy sort of smile. You traced the ridges of his collarbones, your fingers dancing over divots and muscles that contracted instinctively under your gentle touch. Jake slumped, relaxing into your assessment of his injuries, and it gave you a rush like no other knowing you were the only person he trusted with this.

“Keroppi or My Melody?”

You asked, a laugh dancing on your lips in the form of an amused smile as you held up his options— a square plaster with Keroppi depicted on the beach, or My Melody sat with a character you didn’t know the name of.

“Keroppi,” Jake murmured after a moment of contemplation, and you averted your attention from his pretty face to focus on peeling the paper backing off the plaster.

There was a cluster of small scratches along his ribs, raw and aggravated, and you frowned— Jake’s thumb reached up to push gently at your frown, and you bit the tip of his thumb playfully. He laughed, and the sound of it was the only plaster needed to soothe your worried heart.

“I can barely even feel ‘em, you don’t need to look so worried.”

“‘s my job to be worried about you, Jake.”

Jake let out a quiet huff, his bottom lip jutting out in a stupidly kissable pout, “it’s not your job, but it’s one of the many reasons why I love you.”

You were grateful to be sat with your back to the lamp, knowing the blush on your cheeks wouldn’t be illuminated.

“I love you too.”

“I know.”

You went through the motions of cleaning the rest of his injuries— thankfully, none of them were more than shallow scratches, and some warm water and a cloth had them mostly sorted. His torso was an array of carefully arranged Hello Kitty plasters, at least twelve pastel coloured, cartoon faces staring up at you with unseeing eyes. The only injury you hadn’t dealt with was his split lip, and Jake frowned when he realised you’d insist on cleaning that too.

“Ynnie, can’t you just kiss that one better?”

He pleaded, looking up at you through his lashes with the puppy—dog eyes that ordinarily would entice you into folding to his whims. You shook your head, placing your palms against his cheeks and squishing gently, forcing his lips into a pout. You leaned forward and kissed him softly, allowing the tension to bleed out of your rigid shoulders once you’d seen for yourself that he was truly okay.

“I can’t kiss it better, but I can kiss you anyway,” you murmured against his lips, pressing another chaste kiss against them before you pulled away, the warm, damp cloth in hand.

You cleaned the small cut as carefully as possibly, and if a minute or so of that time had been spent admiring the slope of his cupids bow or the criminally enticing pink of his lips, that was between you and God.

“Your pyjamas are in the wardrobe,” you prompted him— they were technically yours, but they had become a staple of Jake’s post—fight routine.

He rolled out of your bed still pouting, nearly taking your duvet with him before you tugged it back, hiding a giggle behind your arm. Jake threw his spider suit into the depths of your closet with the internal promise to grab it when he woke up, and suited up instead in fluffy Cookie Monster pyjama bottoms and a shirt he was sure had once been his. When Jake crawled back into your bed, he flopped onto your chest with no regard for your need to breathe.

“If college doesn’t work out, I don’t see why you couldn’t pursue a career as a mattress,” he mumbled, situating his cheek against your chest and ensuring he could feel the steady pound of your heart against his ear, “actually, that’s a terrible idea— I think if you ever let anyone else lay on you like this, I think I’d throw up.”

You let out a huff of laughter, your hands tangling in his hair like they belonged there, your eyes crinkled in amusement. Jake’s weight was familiar, and you relaxed under him, fumbling blindly for the duvet to pull it over both your bodies.

“Not a career path ‘m considering, so you have nothing to worry about,” you whispered against the top of his head, your statement punctuated by an unfairly soft kiss. Jake propped his chin up on your sternum, looking up at you expectantly.

“Goodnight kiss?”

You rolled your eyes in feigned exasperation, and leaned forward enough that your lips met in a sweet kiss, though you were mindful of the split that would take at least a few hours to scab over.

“You’re such a baby.”

“Your baby.”

“Yeah, mine.”

#jake sim x reader #jake sim x y/n #jake sim x you #spiderman x reader #spiderman au #enhypen imagine #enhypen oneshot #jake sim imagines #jake sim oneshot #enhypen jake #enhypen x engene #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen x gender neutral reader #enhypen x y/n #enha imagines #enha x y/n #enha x reader #enha x you #jake sim scenarios #enha scenarios #enhypen jake sim #sim jaeyun x reader #sim jaeyun x you #sim jaeyun x y/n

[archaeology-findings]

I know this isn't what I usually post, but I want to share my journey of getting an autism diagnosis.

I want to show everyone who might be considering seeking a diagnosis the actual steps, to help de-mystify the whole process.

I know that I despise unfamiliar situations, and therefore going into a process where they hide each next step from you can be very anxiety-inducing. I couldn't find much information online about the actual process, only that I needed to ask my GP for a referral, then go to the assessment. It didn't help that none of the articles referred to the changes to this system that covid has made.

The process I'm sharing with you may not be exactly like yours. I'm trying to get a diagnosis on the NHS in England, post-covid and while most doctor's surgeries are experiencing severe staff shortages. I am also an 18 year old white female, so your experience might be different than mine.

My first step was to make an E-consult on my local surgery's website. I would have preferred a face-to-face appointment because it's a lot easier for me to interpret tone and get my point across this way, however they're not really offered anymore, especially for this type of appointment. Making the E-consult was quite hard, because you have to jump through a lot of hoops to find the right option for a referral, and even then I don't think I picked the right one.

The next day, I received this text, so I followed the link to download the questionnaire. It turned out to be the first ten questions of the Autism Spectrum Quotient questionnaire for adults. Since it was only a scan of the document, I printed it off to fill it out then scanned it and sent it back.

The next day, I received this response:

Obviously I had selected the wrong option, which is easily done since none of the options in the E-consult were explained. In true socially-anxious fashion, I put off responding to this for a few days but I eventually did and explained that I would like a NHS referral.

I then got this reply the day after:

The form was in the format of a word document so I completed it on my computer. It consisted of some personal details then a more in-depth list of symptoms for which I had to describe my personal symptoms. My mum and I filled it out together and I sent it back the same day.

This morning, I received a reply:

I am choosing to assume that this is a typo and that they meant to say ASD, since I don't show any symptoms of ADD (attention deficit disorder) and I did not ask for a diagnosis of ADD. Hopefully I will be contact by the ASD assessment service soon and I can confirm I was referred for the correct disorder.

This is everything up til now, I will reblog with updates as they occur. On the whole I'd say I'm fairly impressed with how fast my GP has responded to me, so I'm hoping this continues to be the case.

#actually autistic #autistic adult #asd #autism diagnosis

[theweeklydiscourse]

The Case Against Immortal Darklina: How Do You Finish Shadow and Bone?

How could you end Shadow and Bone in a satisfying and conclusive way? That is the question I have been asking myself since I finished Ruin and Rising for the first time and I have come up with many alternatives over the years. But as I have developed my understanding of storytelling, I feel that concluding the character arcs of Darklina in a satisfying way must consider the question of immortality posed throughout the series. This question often goes hand in hand with what Shadow and Bone attempts to say about power, but I feel that it’s assessment of immortality is far more compelling. Therefore, much of my ideas for an ending are centred around the natural conclusion of Aleksander’s character arc along with Alina’s role as a hero.

As appealing as the idea of Darklina being sexy immortal rulers for all of eternity is (and believe me, it is very tempting), my ideal ending for the two of them is a bit different. In my opinion, I believe that a satisfying ending would be a happy one, and I don’t think that could happen if they stayed immortal. I’m a sucker for romance and I believe that the two of them need to find some form of balance in order to conclude the story. Darklina is already the most compelling relationship in the trilogy, but I believe that the conclusion of that relationship is depressing and lacklustre in canon and ultimately does not address what both characters need. Both of them struggle with a want versus need dilemma that is either unresolved by the end, or contradicted. Therefore, to get to the bottom of this issue we must begin with what is is that they want and what they need.

The Existential Terror of Being an Immortal Shadow Wizard

Aleksander’s goal is to lead. Aleksander describes himself as the only one who can liberate the country from the King’s tyranny and incompetence, but it is not lost on me that there is an inevitability to his words. It is a conclusive statement that signal Aleksander’s deeper understanding and feelings in the nature of humanity.

Aleksander sees no other viable option for leadership aside from himself and it’s understandable why he believes that. In this passage, he says that someone has to lead and through that leadership they will be able to end “this” which I can infer is in reference to the war and the persecution of Grisha. He’s spent the past few centuries carrying the cause for Grisha liberation as one immortal man. Although we can imagine that there were many others that helped him along the way, at the end of the day, he is the only person who can continue the movement. So after witnessing atrocities, injustice and oppression, it is clear as to why he is so insistent on being the one to lead the country. Because after all these years, his motivation to liberate Grisha has never wavered and has remained strong even in the face of generations of incompetent and greedy monarchs.

However, this sentiment he reveals in Shadow and Bone hints at the greater anxiety he has about progress being lost and all of his efforts going to waste. Aleksander fundamentally does not believe in humanity and is cynical about their capacity to change, as such his goal is one that would position him as a constant figure who could oversee them for eternity. This anxiety is expanded upon in Ruin and Rising. In one passage, Aleksander verbalized what I believe to be his thesis statement as to why he is doing all of this.

Based on what he’s seen, the things he has experienced and the setbacks he’s faced over the course of centuries, he looks to the future and sees the death of mankind. He sees the death of his people, his nation, his family and friends and stares directly into the abyss of eternity. But continuously living in a thousand moments for hundreds of years is something that wears away at his spirit. He is deeply cynical (for good reason) and has lost any faith that the otkazat’sya will ensure that the hard earned progress he achieved stays for good.

His sacrifices and struggles are lost to time while his souls is ground into dust. As such, he must always be there to make sure that progress is maintained. Aleksander only trusts in himself to carry the movement forwards and thus, bears the burden of liberation alone. While he’s not entirely wrong to be cynical, and concerned for the future. He ultimately condemns himself to a life of loneliness and ache that causes him to desperately cling to the possibility of an immortal companion.

This is why I believe that an ending where he stays immortal would not solve his problem. Even if the Grisha are liberated and they find a place in Ravkan society, the anxiety that it will all be taken away one day will still plague him. These fears push him towards control because he bears the weight of an entire community and cannot risk leaving their safety to the uncertainty of a future without him.

*sigh* Trust me, I can’t believe what I’m about to say either but..

There was a scene in Ruin and Rising where…Mal actually makes a pretty good point.

I know, I know. I don’t get it. I just know there’s no way to live without pain—no matter how long or short your life is. People let you down. You get hurt and do damage in return. (…) That’s weakness. That’s a man afraid.” (Ruin and Rising, Chapter 14)

Aleksander can talk all he wants about how he’s been able to bear immortality, but he cannot conceal the fact that this apathy and detachment comes from a place of fear. Therefore, he must confront that fear of pain in order to overcome the obstacle of his eternal suffering.

“Why?” The word was a wail, a child’s cry. “Why would you do this? How can you do this? Don’t you feel any of it?”

“I have lived a long life, rich in grief. My tears are long since spent. If I still felt as you do, if I ached as you do, I could not have borne this eternity.” (Ruin & Rising, Chapter 15)

This passage occurs just after Aleksander kills Alina’s mother figure Ana Kuya and her mentor Botkin. He uses this act to make a point to Alina about the futility of seeking connections with others, but in doing so reveals the fear Mal speaks of.

“I remembered the Darkling’s words to me: There are no others like us, Alina. And there never will be.” (Ruin & Rising, Chapter 4)

If him and Alina pursued a relationship, it would still be only them. Aleksander is correct in saying that there are no others like them, but at the same time reiterates why that fact is extremely depressing. “And there never will be.”? So what does that leave us with? The idea that they’ll only have each other for the rest of time and that there is nothing they can do about it? I don’t want this ending for them. If they only have each other, they’ll only descend into a cycle of misery just as Aleksander and Baghra had before. Accepting Aleksander’s terms would mean accepting a life far removed from the community they both desire. Although Aleksander has accepted this isolation for the sake of Grisha liberation, his actions are still motivated by desperation and control.

It’s an understandable mindset to have, but what if there was another way?

The Other Way

My ideal ending is one where Alina and Aleksander cease to be immortal. Not that they lose their powers, just their immortality, placing them at a similar level as the other Grisha. Also, (it might be fanciful but) I imagine a scenario where their powers are halved and randomly distributed to people across Ravka just as Alina’s were in Ruin and Rising. There must be a renewal of hope as the new Sun and Shadow and summoners manifest across the country and thus, a responsibility placed upon Alina and Aleksander to teach them. Perhaps with Alina’s newfound hope and Aleksander’s wisdom, they could potentially educate the new generations about themselves and the history of Grisha. Making sure that the mistakes of the past and their sacrifices are not lost to time.

What if overseeing Ravka for eternity was never the answer? What if there is wisdom to be found in experiencing grief and pain from one’s connections to others? For Darklina to accept eternity would be for them to accept apathy and codependence and I don’t think that would solve their problems. I have always liked the idea of two lonely individuals finding a place in a community they were removed from for a long time. Aleksander created the Little Palace, but so long as he numbs himself and detaches himself from potential pain, he can never truly join the people he loves.

It’s just that I don’t think Alina joining him in eternity is the true solution to the problem. I feel that in order for there to be a “happy ending” or at least a satisfying one, Aleksander must come to terms with his cynicism about humanity and perhaps regain hope for the future. I like the idea of them coming together and deciding they want to give the new generations of Grisha what they never had and let their community embrace them in full. Maybe I’m being a bit fanciful (considering that I don’t really suggest alternative to the leadership situation in Ravka) but I think that on an emotional “happy ending” level I think that the two of them deserve to not only find belonging, but to choose to have faith in future generations.

#shadow and bone #lb critical #alina starkov #s&b critical #the darkling #s&b netflix #s&b salt #aleksander morovoza #darklina #anti leigh bardugo #aleksander morozova #grishaverse #grishaverse meta #pro darkling #malyen oretsev #anti baghra #close reading

[actuallyadhd]

Hi, I think I may have symptoms of adhd? It wasn’t til a read an ask from another blog about medicine and symptoms for adhd that I started to ponder why I always struggled in social situations. I don’t lean on having long drawn out conversations where I’m on the receiving end. I don’t comprehend what people are saying in most social interactions. I just hear word jumbled up and can’t form a reply back because I can’t process fast enough. It’s gotten worse as I get older. I don’t know how I made it through college. I’m also schizoaffective w/ anxiety and depression at times. I’m not lazy but I seem to place objects all over the place and at the end of the day my home looks like a war zone. I don’t watch t.v at all . I use to read more content. I don’t even like reading my mail. I lose interest because i can’t follow along. I hate noises like when someone is in the kitchen going about the day. I don’t read much anymore because I have to read over a couple of times with sentences. When I do engage with someone I just act like I know what there saying and act like I’m listening. I do impulsive things and act and say things I regret. There is a part of the day where I can shut up and sit steal. I interrupt conversations because I’ll forget what I want to say. I have delayed reaction or response to what is being asked of me and it pisses me off when people expect me to answer them quickly .I hear voice hallucinations and you can probably hear me through my door talking with funny bones ( name of my hallucinations ). If all these things sound familiar could you confirm that I may be on to something where I could actually receive some help for . Thank you. This is my very first inquiry about the condition adhd. 

DEFIANT

Sent March 3, 2024

A lot of this does sound similar to ADHD, yes. However, your other conditions could be causing those symptoms. It's also possible that those conditions are just making the ADHD symptoms harder to deal with. It is always worth talking with a professional about the possibility, to see if they agree that an assessment is warranted.

-J

#adhd #actually adhd #asks #kingofkingsschizo #is this? #questioning if ADHD

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 23: I Stay When You're Lost, And I'm Scared, And You're Turning Away

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You just want to disappear.

Warnings: ANGST, depressive episode, panic attack, talk about suicide & suicide attempts, talk about self-harm, mention of self-harm scars; this chapter is heavy, so heed the warnings and take care of yourselves!

Word Count: 4.2k

A/n: I wasn't sure whether I should post this or not because it doesn't do much for the plot, but it does a lot for character development. This is very personal and I think it will be very personal to a lot of you as well. Still, be careful because these topics are not at all light. (also, check out my previous post from today if you like my writing, especially the angst and the spice, and if you're curious about my original work. I've linked a second blog for you to follow <3)

You surprisingly sleep through the night. You must have been so exhausted the night before that your mind didn’t have the strength or time to conjure up a nightmare before deep sleep took over. When you wake up though, reality crashes back in. And you know that’s when the actual nightmare begins.

Michael has his arm draped over your waist and his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck. He’s still sleeping peacefully when you open your eyes and the sun greets you through the thin curtains. 

Gently, so as not to disturb his slumber, you shift slightly to get a better view of him. The lines of worry that had etched his face are softened in sleep. 

You lightly brush your fingers through his hair, feeling the soft strands dance around your fingers. The sound of his steady breathing and the rise and fall of his chest against yours create a gentle rhythm that calms your anxiety. 

You are so close, your foreheads almost touch. 

“You’re starin’,” his groggy voice fills the room. 

You blush. You got lost in the sight of him, and you lost track of time. “Guilty as charged,” you murmur. 

He chuckles softly. “Knew it.”

“Can you blame me? You’re quite the sight to wake up to.”

Michael stirs, his eyes fluttering open. His gaze lingers on your face. “I could say the same ‘bout you,” he says.

His hand moves to gently caress your cheek, his touch tender and comforting. He draws circles on your cheekbone and your eyes flutter shut. 

“How’re ya feelin’ today?” he asks.

You take a moment to assess your emotions. You don’t understand what’s happening inside of you, you only know that you’re drained. Sleeping the whole day away sounds like something you wouldn’t say no to. At least when you’re asleep, you don’t have to face reality. 

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“That’s alright.”

“I guess I’m just…thinking a lot.”

“Is there anythin’ I can do?”

“Can you just–” you inch closer, “Hold me?”

Without hesitation, Michael wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. His warmth envelops you. He’s laying on his side the same way you are, but your head still fits perfectly underneath his chin. You hold your arms to your chest; it’s a silent plea for him to wrap his arms around you as a cocoon would form around a caterpillar, and he does so.

He holds you tightly but gently as if he wants to shield you from all the worries and troubles that have been weighing on your mind. 

You tremble. The tears come suddenly and without warning, but they burn in your eyes, clog up your throat and make it impossible to control your emotions.

“Fuck,” you quietly curse to yourself.

The dam breaks and the wave crashes into you. Tears are streaming down your face and onto Michael’s white shirt. You want to apologize, but you can’t talk. Every time you open your mouth, a broken sob comes out, your breathing shudders and you feel your limbs growing heavy with pain. 

“Hey,” he whispers when he realizes that you’re crying. “What’s wrong?” 

Michael brushes his fingers gently through your hair, trying to ground you. But you struggle to find the words to explain what’s wrong because you simply don’t know. You feel as though you’re drowning in a sea of pain and sadness.

“I don’t know,” you sob. “It’s just…it’s too much.”

You don’t want to be awake. Right now, you don’t even want to be alive. You want to rot and never leave the house again. You want the world to end so you won’t have to worry about anything or anyone anymore. It’s such a selfish train of thought, but the demons are drilling into your brain, and if it weren’t for Michael, you would have run. You always do when you’re hurt. It’s a coping mechanism.

He shushes you. “It’s okay…”

You shake your head, unable to talk. Michael doesn’t know what else to do but hold you close as you cry. Your sobs pick up momentum and grow louder to the point you don’t know what air is anymore. You don’t know what’s worse, not knowing why you’re crying or feeling so consumed by pain and self-hatred, it consumes you whole and makes you cry even harder for the sole reason of making you cry. You’re not even having flashbacks, the emotions just burst out of you and there is no way to stop him. You didn’t dream, but you woke up and now find yourself in a living nightmare where everything has gone to hell. 

You wish you could go to hell so that just for one moment, you wouldn’t have to be alive. Just for a little while, you want to disappear. It’s not like you want to die, not at all, you just need a break, and if that means falling into a coma until things have calmed down around you, you would take that opportunity over anything else. 

The tears die down eventually. You’re not sure for how long you cry, but there comes a point where your body physically can’t produce any more tears and your sobs turn dry. You’re shaking, quivering even, and your body trembles in his arms, but as the tears subside, the air returns to your lungs in sync with his heartbeat. 

Michael reaches for the box of tissues on the bedside table and hands you one. You shift to blow your nose, drying the tears on your cheeks in the process. Laying side by side now, he can look at your face, and the helpless look in your eyes breaks his heart. 

He gently reaches out to touch your face again. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face that got stuck to the tears that already dried, and your eyes flutter closed at his soft touch. 

“Wha was that all about?” he asks, keeping his voice quiet because he knows how vulnerable you are, and he doesn’t want to sound like he’s pressuring you into anything. 

Whatever your state of mind is, you’re not capable of dealing with any more stress right now. He’d rather walk on eggshells around you than hurt you, even if it’s unintentionally. Michael knows better than that. 

You exhale through your mouth, your bottom lip trembling as a stray tear slides down your cheek. “I don’t know,” you repeat what you said before, calmer now. 

You cried all of the strength you had left out of your body and now you’re just empty. You can’t even feel the pain anymore, that’s how numb you are. Maybe you lost your soul and now you’re emotionless. And maybe that’s better. Like this, you won’t hurt anyone. Like this, you can’t be hurt. Once you’re broken, it’s irreparable. 

But you’re not broken, are you? You just have to look at Michael for the demons to get a slap in their faces. Still, it hurts so badly to be numb, the pain turns into a  thudding of guilt that feels like toxic waste on your skin. 

He alternates between stroking your cheek and running a hand through your hair. Your breathing steadies, but he continues. He gives you time. 

It all crashes down on you, and you realize what is happening to you. It happened once before. You got punished for it and you thought taking the easy way out would fix things, but it only made things so much worse. Even then, you couldn’t manage to escape. 

“Talk to me,” Michael says. “What’s goin’ on in that little head of yours?”

You sniffle.

“You can tell me anythin’. I won’t judge.”

You know he won’t. He’s the last person that would judge you for feeling a certain way, and he somehow always understands the scramble that is your brain. You’re not sure how, but he does, even when your words don’t make any sense.

You’re too tired to fight it. “I wasn’t doing so well as a child,” you confess.

He tilts his head a little to hear you better. “Okay,” he answers, signaling that he’s listening so you won’t misinterpret his reaction.

You gather the last of your strength before you continue. “I mean, I had to pretend I was okay, but I was drowning under the weight of pleasing everyone but myself,” you say. “I tried not to let my father’s words get to me, but I did anyway because I was a child and I believed what he told me. And eventually, I started hating myself the same way he hated me–” You take a deep breath to stop the burning sob in your throat. “I was in a bad place,” you say, “and…and I got very sad.”

Why is it so hard to say a single word? It’s not ‘sad’. That’s not what you’re feeling. That’s not the feeling that made you so miserable. 

His eyes soften visibly. His hand stops moving, but he continues holding your head. “Are you depressed?” he asks without missing a beat. 

Depressed. He doesn’t even play along, he says it as it is, and somehow the revelation hurts like a punch to the gut, rendering you unable to breathe. 

You shrug. It’s a loaded question that isn’t so easy to answer. You don’t even have an official diagnosis. Your therapist told you she thinks you have it, and that you have much more than that, but you never saw a psychiatrist for a clinical assessment because you were taught that asking for help is a bad thing. His words have stuck with you from the beginning, and it is hard to put down such an integrated mindset. You want to be strong, but you can’t always be. Perhaps that’s why you had been so delusional and dissociated from the reality of your situation for four years before Michael came around. 

“You don’t have to put a label on it, y’know?” His thumb resumes its circular motion on your cheekbone. “It’s okay to feel like shit sometimes. No need fer a reason.”

You shift to lay on your back, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes. “I used to hurt myself,” you state. “Because I thought things would get better. I used to, uh, get drunk before school…” You wipe your cheeks. “And I smoked a lot, more than I should have. And I did a lot of other things I’m not proud of. Things that would hurt me…”

“Oh,” it almost sounds pained as he moves a little closer, yet granting you your space. “Jesus, love, I–I didn’t…I didn’t know.”

How could he? You never told him. You never told anyone before him.

You don’t even have to say it out loud. He may know your body inside and out, but just like he hadn’t noticed the scar on your temple, he hadn’t paid much attention to scars other than your stretch marks before, and even those he didn’t consciously see. 

He takes your wrist into his hand and looks down on it. In the faint sunlight, it takes him a while to spot what he’s looking for, but when he does, his eyes close for a moment. You know that face; he’s trying not to cry, and it makes you cry again. Your tears must have recharged during those five minutes of not shedding a single one. It’s a new record. 

Instead of recoiling or looking at you weirdly like other men that picked up on your scars, Michael wraps his hand around your wrist and holds it close to his chest. 

“Did ya–” he takes a deep breath, “Did you ever think the world would be better off without ya?” he asks. “Like life wasn’t worth livin’ anymore?”

The rain of your tears turns into the size of a hailstorm. 

“Did you–” 

You can’t let him finish because then it will become real. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Once.”

One might think attempting suicide will end you up on suicide watch for quite a while and make it possible for a victim of abuse to get the help they need, and pull them from their abusive family indefinitely, but when there is no proof, they blame your distraught state on some kind of mental illness and try to numb you. 

You can’t talk, you’re a victim, so as soon as you get to go home, the cycle repeats itself from the beginning, and it only gets worse from there on. Not all systems are like this, but the one you fell into as a kid did work like it, and your father even managed to cut your stay in the psych ward short because “it was just a childish mistake”, and then he took his anger out on you at home, making your already shitty situation so much worse.

He doesn’t judge you. Michael wipes your tears, still holding your scarred wrist close to his chest, and then he finally speaks again. “I used t’ feel helpless too,” he says, his eyes meeting yours. Instead of pity, you only find empathy. “My father…given the circumstances, I think ya know tha he was a bastard,” his voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m a Kinsella. I was born into this family. So I thought I had no right t’ feel this way, ever. ‘Cause I was told to always be strong.”

“What happened?” you ask. 

“I just couldn’t deal anymore, and I thought it’d be better if I wasn’t here anymore. Y’know, just for a little while, I thought...”

“Being dead is better than being miserable?” It’s not often you find the right words when it comes to your feelings, but you seem to hit the nail right on the head with this one. 

The tear that escapes his eye and slides down his cheek lands on your index finger as your hand softly caresses his face. He nods. You don’t know what to say. It sounds so familiar and yet your lives couldn’t be different, especially the trauma of your respective childhoods you both had to endure. And even though he claims he wasn’t alone, deep down, Michael has always felt that way because he always had to somehow function, no matter the context. 

“I didn’t try,” he tells you, “but I was very close to doin’ it. I can’t tell ya why I didn’t do it, so I can’t give ya the moral of this story, but…but maybe you see that yer not alone. There’s a lot of people that feel this way,” he says. “Your pain is real. And the world wouldn’t be better without ya in it ‘cause then I would have never met you. That’s somethin’ I can’t possibly imagine.”

You whimper. His words hit deep. 

“Hey. You’re good, my love. And you deserve t’be loved. You survived somethin’ horrible, and that shows how strong you are.”

You open your mouth, but your voice breaks before you can speak. 

“Shh–” Michael bridges the gap between you. 

He pulls you back into his arms, your head resting just underneath his chin, your leg draped over his as your weight now rests almost entirely on top of him. You nuzzle your face into his chest, inhaling his scent, and your sob turns into a whimper. 

His hand comes to rest on the back of your head. “I’ll just hold ya ‘till you feel better,” he says. 

“But I don’t wanna burden you,” you whisper. 

“You could never burden me.”

You choose not to fight this time. Instead, you let him break your fall with his arms, resuscitating you with a simple touch and making sure you don’t fall apart. 

You’re not sure when you fall asleep, but the soothing motion of his fingers in your hair causes the exhaustion to break into you like a tidal wave. Michael looks down to find your eyes closed and your breathing steadied, and he grabs the blanket to drape it back over you. In response, your fist closes around his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline. 

A few hours pass by. You’re dead asleep in his arms. If it weren’t for your shuddered breathing every once in a while, he would have gotten worried, but you were so out of it, he doesn’t blame you for falling back asleep. 

Michael stares at the ceiling, rubbing your arms and back, and occasionally moving on to your hair. The room is quiet. He rarely gets moments like these, and while you are both hurt, he cherishes this moment with you. At least here, you’re both as safe as you can be, holding on to each other. 

When his phone rings, he almost smashes it. You stir, and he can tell you’re on the verge of waking up. He covers your ear, whispering something along the lines of, “Shh, it’s just a dream.” You believe it.  

His phone has been blowing up with texts from his family for hours, so he silenced them. He must have forgotten to do the same for calls. In a moment of desperation after seeing Birdy’s name pop up, he turns off his phone completely. 

Looking down, you’re more than peacefully asleep, and he leans down to kiss your forehead. He needs to focus on you, and he needs to focus on the meeting with his solicitor that he had to reschedule for the second time due to life throwing bricks his way continuously and making it impossible to be on time for anything. Now Jamie is dead, and he neglected Anna’s case because life has been so goddamn messy lately. 

Michael gently brushes a strand of hair away from your face. He wishes he could shield you from all the pain and confusion, but life is rarely that simple. All he can do is be there for you, and he somehow has to make sure he doesn't forget himself along the way. 

For now, though, he decides to let you sleep. He continues to hold you close, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back.

The room is quiet, and the world outside feels distant. In this moment, it's just the two of you, and even though nothing is the same as it was, you have each other and that is at least some sense of familiarity that gives you both a sense of direction. It doesn't help you to decide what to do, and it doesn't stop Michael from thinking about what's right and wrong and what he is willing to sacrifice for love and family, but it gives him hope that you'll be able to face it together as a team rather than apart. At least like this, he can keep you safe. 

The circus is over. You lived years pretending everything was okay because for once in your life, you had a plan. You had control over your life. But your plan was never really a plan and more of a dream you didn’t know how to fulfill, but you pretended you did. 

You put smiles on people’s faces in the café in the hopes you would be seen. You wanted to be entertaining, someone people liked because no one ever did before. Sarah came into your life and she’s ever since treated you like an equal. She’s your friend. 

For a long time, you thought you had to fight for it, and you still do because she still doesn’t know the truth, she only knows the picture she painted of the person you pretend to be on the outside to people who don’t know you. She knows you, but she also doesn’t. Michael does, but there is no one else but the man who caused you this pain in the first place and the rest of your immediate family who knows who you are and what you’ve been through, and their perceptions are very different. 

The life of the party you pretended to be is gone. You’ve returned to the same sad and empty shell you were before you moved to Dublin, something you tried to avoid by leaving in the first place, but you didn’t heal. You didn’t allow yourself time to work through your issues. You didn’t show the people around you who you are and the different colors that reflect off the mirrors of your soul. You kept spinning, but you were locked in a cage. 

With Michael, you allowed the broken bird to break free. You can’t fly yet, but he has made it his mission to try and fix your broken wings so you can be free again. There is no one else that could understand you quite like he does, you think, and it makes you wary of telling Sarah or anyone else the truth. 

Birdy called you an enigma before, and maybe she wasn’t entirely wrong about that. You even are a stranger in your own body. 

Michael busies himself with untangling your hair when you suddenly roll off of him in your sleep. He pouts. Your warmth leaves him, and you take the blanket with you. 

He inches closer, slides back under the blanket, and hugs your body close to his from behind. He should probably set an alarm, but it’s still morning and you could both use some more rest, even if it’s just him lying in bed with you and listening to you breathe as you sleep. 

With each passing moment, each rise and fall of your chest and steady beating of your heart, he finds himself falling more deeply in love with you. You entrusted him with all you have and all you are, and he vows to hold it dear to his heart, protecting you with his life. He won’t shatter your heart because he knows you would never do the same to him. Not anymore, at least. You’ve come too far to give up now. At least you have each other.

He brushes a gentle kiss against your neck. You let out a soft noise, snuggling further into the pillow under your head. 

Michael chuckles, nuzzling his face in your neck and inhaling your scent which is now a mixture of the laundry detergent he uses for the sheets, his cologne, and the natural smell of your skin. 

“I love ya,” he whispers into your ear. 

You’re still asleep, but that doesn’t stop you from smiling at his words. 

The sky outside opens up and the rain soon starts to patter against the window. While a storm is raging outside, Michael keeps you warm in his arms, and you allow yourself to rest for a few more hours before having to face whatever else the day has planned for you. 

He lets you sleep the whole day. You’re well aware it’s bad for depression, but you just need a day to rot, and Michael doesn’t leave your side throughout. He tries to get you to eat when you wake up, but you’re not hungry. You feel like you’re stuck in a ball of cotton and you can’t get out. 

And then it happens. After moving, you had a rough time adjusting, and you’d get these panic attacks in the middle of the day before your mind would conjure up a picture of your father or project the words he used to say to you into your mind, and it triggered your fight or flight response. 

You sit up. It feels as if a rubber band has wrapped its claws around your soul and is contracting the muscles that are keeping you alive. You press a hand to your chest. Your heart is hammering. The sensation only makes it worse, and your skin tingles, making you want to scratch it all off while struggling for breath. 

Michael is by your side in seconds, his eyes filled with worry. He moves closer to you, gently placing his hand on your back, trying to provide some comfort and stability.

“Hey, hey, it's okay,” he says, his voice soft and soothing. “I'm here. You're safe.”

He watches you carefully, trying to gauge the best way to help you. He knows a thing or two about seizures and panic attacks, but yours are different from his. 

“Focus on your breathin’,” he says. “Take slow, deep breaths with me. Inhale... and exhale. That's it. You're doing great.”

You try to focus on his voice and his steady breathing, trying to listen to his heartbeat as his hand gently rubs circles on your back. The storm outside rages on, but the only thing that matters to him is helping you find some peace.

As you begin to steady your breathing, the tightness in your chest starts to ease, and the tingling sensation subsides. You can still feel the remnants of anxiety lingering, but it's more manageable now.

When you’ve calmed down enough to accept physical contact again without feeling like you’re on fire, he pulls you back against his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” your murmur. 

Tears are flowing freely from your eyes, but you’re too tired to care. 

“You have nothing ta apologize for,” says Michael. He rubs your shoulders. “Just know I’m here for ya.”

You can only muster a faint, “Thank you.”

So, you stay like this for a little while longer, until it’s getting dark outside and Michael urges you to take a shower. Then, he finally tucks you back into bed, and you don’t feel so bad for closing your eyes anymore because he settles in beside you and you know he’ll fall asleep with you.

The texture of his beard against your bare shoulder offers a welcomed distraction, and it doesn’t take much longer for your eyelids to flutter. You can hear him whisper, “I love you,” again, but his touch pushes you over the precipice of sleep before you can say it back. 

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight

#tw: mental illness #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella x female reader #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella #kin amc #reader insert #chaos theory #charlie cox

[jojolovesdogs00]

Witch's Curse

Relationship: Wanda x Reader

Chapter 1

After being called by Director Fury, you were waiting anxiously in front of the elevator, tapping your feet, trying not to fidget. You knew this was it, you just had to get through the door and then you would find out exactly who you were working for. A small part of you was nervous about that fact... The thought of having to work for the Avengers seemed unreal even though you were one of SHIELD's top agents.

The elevator dinged open and you walked inside. It opened up into a long hallway lined with doors. At the very end was a door with a nameplate reading 'Director Fury'. You felt your stomach twist into knots as you approached the door. This was where it would happen, right here in front of Director Fury. You could feel your palms sweating and your fingers shaking.

Taking a deep breath, you reached for the handle to open the door. As you turned the knob, it swung inward, revealing what lay beyond the door.

You saw him straight away. Director Fury looked like any other old man standing by the large desk. With his bald head and a eyepatch, he looked quite intimidating but the look in his eye gave you shivers down your spine. His piercing gaze made you take a step back involuntarily. Your heart raced as he stood up to face you and you couldn't help looking down at your feet so as not to make eye contact. There was a moment of silence before he spoke.

"Agent L/n?" The tone of his voice made you snap your head up again.

"Yes sir." You squeaked out, forcing yourself to keep your head still.

Fury stared at you intently, assessing your response. "Well, Agent L/n," he continued. "I am sure you have heard many rumors about me."

His question took you by surprise. It certainly wasn't a question you expected. You didn't know how to respond. All your previous thoughts about being an agent disappeared. All you could think about now were rumors about how many people Fury killed, how many people he destroyed without batting an eyelash. How could you answer such a question? Was it a test? Would you fail because you couldn't even talk in front of your boss?

Luckily, Fury answered your unspoken question. "Don't worry about those rumors. Those are mere rumors."

He held up his hand and started talking again. "Let's cut to the chase: I want you to bring someone home with you." Fury told you flatly and bluntly.

"Who am I bringing sir?" you asked.

"Scarlet Witch." He said simply, like the question shouldn't bother him. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited expectantly. "Do we understand each other Agent L/n?"

You nodded your head. Your mouth was dry as you tried to remember how to form words. "Yes sir...". Scarlet Witch? Bringing her home? That was a big deal... Didn't she attack Avengers member last time? Had something happened that required Scarlet Witch to come back from exile? Did he plan to use her against stronger enemies or was he going to lock her up somewhere? But you hadn't seen or heard anything about her since Kamar Taj so why would she show her face here? Or would she come back willingly? If not how tf you could bring her back? The thought made you sweat a little.

You felt your heartbeat speed up again as Fury studied your face closely. What was it that he saw? What kind of expression did you have on your face? Did he see hope? Did he see terror? Fear? Were you thinking of running for the exit? Did he see confusion? Anxiety? Did he sense your anxiety or was there another emotion lurking underneath all the fear and panic? He sighed when he realized nothing was showing.

"Alright, Agent L/n." He said with a sigh as well. "Come find me in my office when you're done."

Your eyes widened as he dismissed you. "Um... Yes sir!" You replied hastily, bowing once as quickly as possible. You turned on your heels and left the room, heading straight towards your office in a rush. You weren't sure what tf you should do. 'How could you bring Scarlet Witch with you' you started to think. What would happen if she didn't like it? Would she be angry, would she murder you like she did with Kamar Taj members? Then you remembered that she was still human, she had a lover and showed compassion towards him. Also you remembered about a magic book. Rumors said she was influenced by this magic book. So, maybe she'd be willing to cooperate with you.

It didn't take you long to reach your office. You stepped inside and shut the door gently behind you, letting out a sigh and rubbing your hands together nervously. 'I can make it' you promised yourself. 'I can bring her home... yes I can.' you added mentally, taking a few deep breaths to calm your nerves. You leaned against the cool glass and closed your eyes, hoping that you could calm down enough to focus on your mission. 'Clint and Nat worked with her once! I can talk to them.' you decided. After a moment, you pushed away from the wall and grabbed the handle. You took another deep breath before swinging the door open and walking towards Barton's office.

#scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #female reader #lesbian #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x y/n #marvel x reader

[iplaywithstring]

In 2020 my daughter (then 13) told me she had been looking at some stuff and she thought she might have ADHD. I had not considered this possibility before she brought it up, but with about 5 minutes of reflection, it made sense. We were already running on the assumption that my husband (her dad) has ADHD and our home had a lot of adhd-friendly ways of doing life and honestly some signs (time blindness, fidgeting, hobby-hopping, distraction) were overlooked.

Being that it was 2020, everything was slowed down and backed up, but being people with privilege, we were able to pay for a private psychologist to do a full assessment. It took about 3 months and ended up with a generalized anxiety disorder diagnosis and an evaluation that boiled down to "she probably has ADHD but she does really well in school so deal with the anxiety first and see if that fixes things". Took that to our GP, who basically said "I don't know what to do with this" and prescribed Prozac, which increased her anxiety so we stopped it and asked for a referral to a psychiatrist.

It took almost 18 months to get the appointment - meanwhile she had no supports, no treatment, and no follow up from her GP. At that appointment, the Dr revised her diagnosis - she absolutely has ADHD, but she's good at school, so no need to treat it. However, because she didn't respond well to the prozac and she "gets really sad sometimes" (that was actually the question he asked, no probing, or clarifying, just "do you feel really sad sometimes", to a 15 year old!), prescribed a mood stabilizer because she might have a mood disorder (bi-polar disorder). My husband (who was there for the appointment - I wasn't able to go) was so shocked and confused he just said thank you and left.

We did not fill the prescription for the mood stabilizer. No issues with taking medication when needed, but she showed no signs of excessive mood swings - she had also just had her first break up a couple weeks before the appointment. While waiting for the follow up (where I planned to advocate for treatment for the actual thing he said she had, not the theoretical maybe thing she might struggle with) I saw ads for a private clinic specifically for ADHD diagnosis and treatment. I was nervous - I've got medical trauma (it comes with chronic illness) and did not want to be seen as shopping around for pills for my kid, or ignoring medical advice, or any of the other things that would make getting her treatment more difficult.

So my husband went first - made an appointment, filled out the forms, got a diagnosis and treatment plan. It was so easy and affirming and validating for him, and since starting the treatment he's been so relaxed! He might also be able to stop his anxiety meds (he also has a GAD diagnosis, which might be wrong based on how inattentive type ADHD works).

My daughter had her first appointment this week, it felt so good. She was heard and understood. Her experience and struggles weren't overlooked. She was validated. The NP doing the appointment even mentioned how it's harder for intelligent kids to get diagnosed because they are able to mask so well and too many people just look at school performance. She has a follow up next week to go over a treatment plan. The NP even said she would look at medications not in pill form as my daughter has issues swallowing pills.

I can't express how excited I am. She's 16 now, in grade 11, and things have been so much harder on her in the last year. I'm hopeful that between the treatment plan and coaching, the transition to university will be gentle and she won't face the same breakdown so many people (especially women) with ADHD go through in early adulthood. I'm hopeful this will help her to see her strengths and to not feel so overwhelmed and broken most of the time.

It took far too long and was much more difficult (and expensive!!!!) than it should have been to get to this point, but I am so glad we have a plan now and that she feels good about it!

#this is my life #adhd #parenting

[dafuq-lyrehc]

I haven’t spoken about it much here, but it is the main cause for my mental distress. Besides a car accident being a traumatic experience and me realizing that my intense desire for perfection is so incredibly deep rooted that the thought of me doing something wrong makes me want to vomit and cry, my state is also actively trying to fuck me.

I am a medical marijuana patient and my state has a 0 tolerance policy for marijuana when it comes to driving. So every single med patient in the state is basically a walking dui, bc if the police find out your a patient, they can do a blood test. But if you’re a regular user (like me), there will be marijuana in your blood even in you haven’t used it for an extended period of time. I consume almost everyday bc anxiety and the horrors.

So when I got into my car accident in January, I sustained a concussion and the police officer did a field sobriety test. I failed bc I had a concussion…. But the officer took my blood anyway and if the 3 letters I got in the mail from defense attorneys are any indication, the state will be trying to charge me with a dui even tho I WAS NOT HIGH. I don’t drive while high. The thought of it makes me so anxious that I haven’t even tried it. Completely sober, I’ll get paranoid that I’m intoxicated somehow and am swerving and such (when I’m not) and I’ll get so in my head and panicked. So I don’t drive high.

In addition to this, I got a letter from the state requesting I get some forms filled out by a health care provider to assess if I am unfit to drive bc of some kind of condition, including a substance abuse disorder. If I don’t turn in the forms by Feb 29, they’ll start the process of suspending my license, and if they’re not in by March 30, my license will be suspended.

Well, I finally got health insurance last year after not having it for years. The only doctor I’ve seen since getting health insurance is a dermatologist bc I’ve got a chronic skin thing that causes lots of pain and discomfort when it flairs. I saw a primary care doc for the first time after my car accident to follow up. And I can’t seem to find a doctor who is “comfortable” filling out these forms for me. I asked the state what I should and they told me to go to an urgent care if I can’t get one of my doctors to sign the paperwork. I went to an urgent care and they told me that they legally cannot fill out the forms. So my current plan is to just try and get an appointment with random doctors to see if they will do it.

I’ve been trying so hard not to let the looming depression consume me, but the depression got hands. It feels inevitable to lose my license, and I’m just so fucking tired. I feel like I’ve been in this survival mode for my whole life and I try so hard to do the “right things”, but it doesn’t seem to even matter.

Unfortunately, the self harm and suicidal ideation are back. ✌️ I’m trying so hard, and it feels like the effort has never gotten me anywhere. Like maybe the issue is I should just lay down and take it. Surrender and submit. I know it’s the depression talking, but like I said this depression got hands. Can’t drown my demons, they know how to swim. And I’m barely treading water

I also feel so guilty for feeling this way. The accident showed me that there are actually a lot of people in my life who care about me, and I don’t want them to be disappointed. I don’t want to waste their support and let them down. I just really don’t want to be here. Never have, maybe never will

#like please I’m so tired #just let me rest #tw mention of self harm #tw depression #update

[whump-card]

Sunless Lives: Arc 1

This is a long-form story with 36 parts and 68k words (unless I rewrite the ending again. Don't let me do that). It’s about a team working for a government agency that is tasked with hunting and capturing vampires, the Vampire Investigations Unit, or VIU (said like ‘view’).

When a captured vampire escapes and attacks researcher Simon McKenna and their team captain wants to cover it up, agents Matthew Beck and Gina Ruiz must help Simon recover alone, and in the process uncover his dark past. And that's just the first arc - things get wilder from there! This story contains elements of SA/noncon, but in this arc the worst is offscreen backstory. 

Part 1: I Should Have Seen This Coming

~3130 words (A double feature! Most chapters are around half this length)

CW: Negative self-talk, anxiety, home invasion, vampire whumper, vampire feeding, attempted noncon, noncon kiss, broken bones, head injury

Next, Masterlist

~~~

They got the call while they were headed for the processing facility, the vampire in their custody.

Christian Isles, a gruff man in his 50s and their team captain, listened to his cell with a furrowed brow before twisting around in his passenger seat to announce to the three others in the van:

“Processing center is overwhelmed. Some big bust over on the north side. We’re taking him home with us for a few hours.”

Matthew Beck, the pale, husky agent in the driver’s seat, looked in the rearview at the armored vehicle following them. It contained the latest capture by their Vampire Investigation Unit - or VIU - team, Edward Finch. The vampire had fought like hell before suddenly surrendering, putting them all on edge.

“Are you sure we can hold him?” Matthew asked, “I know a previous assessment had him at grade C, but after that fight -”

“We can hold him,” Captain Isles declared, “And it won’t be for long.”

The two young women in the backseat, agents Amber Wynn and Gina Ruiz, glanced at each other. They were familiar with their captain’s ‘we’ll-do-it-ourselves’ attitude and knew that this meant they’d be awake even longer than they already had been. No other team would be called to assist.

“You gonna radio Simon about that, Cap?” Amber asked, looking back to her boss.

“Yeah, yeah,” Isles huffed, “He’s not going to like this.” He grabbed the transmitter off the dashboard and clicked it on

“McKenna, processing is backed up, we can’t take Finch there yet. We have to hold him at base until they’re ready.”

A moment of silence passed, and Matthew could hardly imagine what Simon was thinking. The whole team knew their researcher had… history, but only Captain Isles knew the full extent. Given the events of today…

“Seriously?” The response finally crackled out of the radio.

“Yeah, seriously,” Isles replied, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice, “and he’ll be completely under control. We'll take care of everything, you can just… make yourself scarce.”

“Captain, I don’t have much up-to-date information on him, are you sure our facilities can hold -”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

There was another pause, as if Simon was debating whether to add his next comment.

“He surrendered after he heard my voice on the radio. Are you sure -”

“It’s fine, McKenna!��� Isles snapped, “Just hole up in your room, you don’t have to come out until he’s gone, alright?”

“Yeah… yeah,” said Simon, cowed, “Please take every precaution.”

Matthew finally butted in on his own radio. He didn’t have the guts to talk back to Isles directly, but he tried to be on Simon’s side when the Captain’s harsh nature got the better of him, as it often did with Simon.

“McKenna, we will follow every protocol, alright? You can even come and check that we’ve done everything correctly.”

“Thanks, Beck, but I’ll stay out of the way.”

Captain Isles returned the transmitter to the dash with an air of finality.

Amber leaned forward in her seat, eyes narrowed at Isles.

“Captain, I get that he’s a couple years younger than the rest of us, but telling him to go to his room is pushing it a bit, yeah?” 

“He’s the only one that has a room, if any of you lived on-base I’d be sending you to your room all the time too!” Isles joked.

Amber sat back, clearly deciding to not push it further. Gina, ever the silent type, rolled her eyes at Amber, eliciting a small laugh from the other woman. Isles chose to believe it was for him.

~~~

Captain Isles radioed the armored truck, informing the final member of their team, Devon Barre, as well as the VIU truck driver, of their change of plans. When the two vehicles arrived at the VIU base - an imposing brutalist building in the heart of DC, four stories tall with subterranean levels to match - the transfer of Finch from the truck to the small cellblock went smoothly. The vampire was still mostly sedated from his initial capture. 

The cellblock had four B-grade certified cells on floor -1, small metal-plated rooms outfitted with a cot and toilet each. The only points of entry were a ceiling air vent too narrow to even think about crawling through, and the heavy metal door with a small reinforced glass window.

Matthew peered in through the window at Finch, dumped unceremoniously on the cot inside. The vampire’s long limbs dangled off the thin mattress, and his previously perfect blond hair stuck up in disarray. The sight gave Matthew a sense of satisfaction - another vampire, off the streets. He jumped when Captain Isles clapped his hands together.

“Well! I know you’re all tired after chasing this scum all night, but we’re not done yet.” He scanned their group, honing in on who looked the most awake.

“Wynn, you stay here on guard.”

Amber’s shoulders slumped a little as Isles continued.

“I know, I know, but we promised to take extra precautions, right? Everyone else, go take care of your gear, shower, get some sleep. Beck, I want you back here to relieve Wynn in an hour.”

Matthew nodded.

“Yessir.”

He shot Amber a sympathetic glance as she settled onto the bench outside the cell door. She waved halfheartedly as the rest of them headed for the locker rooms. Along the way, Matthew took a detour to their team’s communications room, but found the workstation empty. Captain Isles stepped in behind him, resting a hand on Matthew’s shoulder.

“He’ll be alright, Beck. Better to give him his space, yeah?”

Matthew nodded, reluctant.

“Right.”

In the locker room, the three men peeled off their gear - sidearms, UV flashlights, and bulletproof vests - and showered. On their way out they passed by a couple agents from other teams who congratulated them on their capture. Then they headed for the bunkroom. Unlike Simon, they all had homes to go to, but Captain Isles had made it clear that they were to remain on duty in the building until Finch left their custody.

Matthew had asked both Isles and Simon about Simon’s housing situation before. He received cryptically brief answers from both of them, but he got the picture. Simon had run-ins with vampires on his previous team, back when he was a field agent, not a researcher. Some of them got away, and held a grudge. Living in the fortress that was the VIU building was his safest option. Matthew felt sorry for the guy. It couldn’t be easy, living in a basement, unable to leave, waiting for the day the final vampire on his list is captured. Not that Matthew spent a weird amount of time thinking about what Simon might be feeling. Definitely not.

Matthew did his best to get comfortable in a bunk that barely fit him and set a timer on his phone for 45 minutes. Then, unbelievably exhausted, he fell asleep almost instantly; he didn’t even have the energy to wonder what Simon would do when he could finally go outside, and whether Matthew would be there.

~~~

Matthew’s alarm ripped him away from sleep what felt like seconds later. He silenced it quickly, whispering apologies to the groaning and hissing agents nearby it had also woken up. He pulled on his boots and slipped out to the locker room to gear back up, then headed down to the cellblock.

When he arrived he found Amber asleep sitting up on the bench, her head awkwardly flopped to the side.

“Wynn!” he whisper-shouted. She jumped.

“Ss’sleep! What? Shit!” She stood up quickly, almost losing her balance. “I can’t believe I fell asleep!”

Matthew caught her arm to steady her.

“It happens, we were all exhausted. When did you fall asleep?”

“A little while after Finch woke up, I think? He started talking shit so I was trying to tune him out, and I guess I tuned him out too well.”

“He’s quiet now though, huh?” Matthew stepped over to look through the window, and froze, ice running down his spine.

“Amber.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s gone.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth, then shouldered Matthew aside to look through the window.

“No, no no no…” she spun to face him, her big green eyes wide with fear.

“Matthew, he was talking about Simon. Where is he?!”

~~~

“Thanks, Beck, but I’ll stay out of the way.”

Simon waited, but no reply came. He eased back in his chair in front of the communications workstation, taking deep, controlled breaths. He relaxed his hands, and color flooded back to his light-brown skin where it had gone white at the knuckles.

He’ll be locked up. Yeah, he’ll be in the same building, but…

Simon started as Christian's - Captain Isles’ voice came through the radio again, but it wasn’t for him, he was just updating Devon and the driver in the other vehicle. Simon couldn’t listen to it any longer, he ripped off his headset and stood up sharply enough to send the chair rolling away behind him.

Childish. You’re being childish. There’s nothing to worry about.

He walked - walked, didn’t run, didn’t flee - to the elevator and pressed the call button before immediately deciding it would take too long and spinning around to take the stairs. He started down too fast before seeing someone else coming up and slowing down, putting on what he hoped was a pleasantly neutral expression and nodding at them as they passed.

God, be normal. They already think you’re weird.

His pace picked back up as he reached subfloor 3. There were two apartments down there intended to be temporary safehouses for victims. One had been converted into his permanent home. He pressed a shaking hand to the handprint reader and the door silently unlocked. Once he was inside and the door was locked again behind him, he let out a long breath into the dark. His heart slowed. He was safe. No one could get in here unless he let them.

Do what Christain says. Just stay here.

He clicked on the lights. The apartment was tiny, but it was all he needed. To his right was a couch, coffee table, and television, with a treadmill behind the couch and a short, overflowing bookcase on the far wall. To his left was a postage stamp of a kitchen. Straight ahead was the briefest of hallways leading to a bathroom and bedroom. The whole place had scratchy wall-to-wall carpeting, except for the linoleum kitchen and bathroom. This far underground there were no windows, so Simon kept a UV lamp on the desk in his bedroom and tried to read a book under it for a while every evening. He mostly ended up doomscrolling on his phone instead.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep despite being awake for over 24 hours, Simon sat on the couch and opened up his personal laptop that mostly lived on the coffee table (another prime doomscrolling location). He pulled up a VIU training lecture recording and hit play. Only ten minutes in and he could tell the instructor didn’t know what he was talking about.

That isn’t what initiations are for. That isn’t how the hierarchy works. That isn’t what they do with bloodbags at initiations, that isn’t what they did with -

He slammed the laptop shut and pressed his hands to his face.

Breathe. Breathe. (He’s probably upstairs right now) Shut up!

Clearly, he’d picked the worst possible thing to distract himself with. He turned on the television, tuning in to some inane morning talk show. No, that was a lie - the four personalities on Morning With Marissa were like family to him, he’d listen to them talk about anything - fashion, celebrity gossip, the latest kitchen appliance. On that particular morning, the subject was a new self-help book that one of them had written. As he watched, the familiar voices soothed his anxiety, and his eyelids grew heavy.

“- and I swear, two weeks! Two weeks was all it took -”

“Marissaaaa, you’re so kind!”

“Truly, folks, even if you think you don’t need this book? You do!”

“All I wanted was to record my dear mama’s advice to me when I first moved out…”

Sleep crept over Simon before he could stop it. He had hazy dreams of vampires with familiar faces selling him self-help books and overpriced blenders.

~~~

Thump-thump-thump.

Simon awoke, inhaling too sharply and coughing because of it.

“That’s all from us today, tune in tomorrow and see us-”

Thump-thump-thump.

Someone was knocking on his door. Was Christian here? Was he late for work? He’d fallen asleep on the couch again, his button-down and slacks were all wrinkled. He turned the TV off and scrambled to his feet, still half-asleep, and opened the door.

Whoever was on the other side shoved the door inwards, knocking Simon off-balance. He stumbled back, his eyes rising to meet those of Edward Finch.

Edward Finch, in his apartment, closing the door behind him.

No one could get in now.

Simon felt like the blood was draining from his body, like he’d already been bitten. He wasn’t dreaming, and he knew it. Ed’s face was too pleasant, too politely pleased, not the leering horror Simon would dream about. Something about how casual Ed looked kept Simon eerily calm.

“Ed, wh… Why are you here?” Simon asked. His voice was gravely from sleep, which covered the tremors in it.

“I came to see you, of course!” Ed declared, “My good boy.” His eyes squinted as he smiled wide, baring his fangs.

Those words snapped Simon out of his stupor.

Fucking MOVE.

He turned to sprint away into the apartment. There was a panic button behind the television, he just needed to reach it -

Simon felt hands hit his back and he was tackled to the ground, Edward on top of him. Something cracked within him on impact, and pain lanced through his ribcage in a small explosion. Ed grabbed at Simon’s hair, but it was mercifully too short for him to get a grip. Simon twisted, ribs screaming, throwing Edward off to the right, and he heard a thunk and a grunt as the vampire collided with the heavy coffee table. Simon somehow got his feet back under himself and took another desperate step towards the TV, but a cold hand wrapped around his right ankle and pulled it to the side, sending him tipping to the left. He went down and his temple slammed into the edge of the kitchen counter. The crack reverberated through this body like a lightning strike. The room warped, and he felt the floor slam into his back, his spine taking the brunt of the hit this time. A heavy weight landed on his hips, and Ed loomed over him. Simon grabbed Ed’s wrists as they descended towards him, but only succeeded in uselessly holding on as Ed clawed at his shirt, ripping it open and sending popped buttons flying. Ed twisted his arms out of Simon’s hold and pinned down Simon’s wrists in turn. Then he lunged down and bit. Hard.

Simon finally screamed. There would be no neat twin pinpricks of fangs here, Ed’s full set of teeth tore through the skin. It felt like he was actually trying to rip out a chunk of Simon’s trapezoid, not just drink his blood. Maybe he was. Simon’s legs kicked uselessly against the carpet. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. His single cry died out and he struggled to take in new air. Any and all self-defense training he’d taken had evaporated out of his skull. He could feel the blood slowly draining out of his body as his limbs weakened and his vision darkened and distorted with tears.

This isn’t supposed to happen. Not here. It’s supposed to be safe here. Chris promised…

Simon’s thoughts unraveled as staying awake and breathing became his brain’s priority.

After what Simon knew was dangerously too long, Edward unlatched. Simon heard another uncontrollable, weak noise leave his own throat when Ed’s teeth pulled out. Ed shifted to put his face nose-to-nose with Simon, dripping blood onto Simon’s open lips. There was the toothy, gloating grin that Simon would dream about.

“How about,” Edward said slowly, “We see what else we can get up to before the cavalry arrives?”

Simon tried to speak, to say anything, but he could only make shallow, sobbing breaths, and choke on the drops of blood. Edward stood, still holding Simon’s wrists, and yanked him upright. Pain burned through the bite wound and what was likely a broken rib or two, and between that and the blood loss Simon nearly passed out as Ed held him upright, switching his grip to one hand on Simon’s upper arm, confident he would receive no resistance at this point. He started pulling Simon towards the bedroom, and Simon felt a new wave of adrenaline kick in.

No. no no no no no.

Suddenly he saw it, something he could do, even in his weakened state. As he was pulled past the television, he made a controlled crash into the protruding corner of the wall where it turned into the hallway. Out of Ed’s sight, his right hand slid down the wall and hit the panic button.

Nothing happened.

Simon sobbed as Ed tugged him back upright.

“Come on, clumsy.”

Simon tried one last effort of resistance and went completely limp, but that only made Edward pull him back up and hold him with his back against Ed’s chest, one arm around him like a seatbelt. Simon quickly realized this was a far worse, and far more intimate, position to be in. He pawed at Edward’s arm, but it was useless.

“Cozy, hmm? Let’s see here…”

Guessing, Edward opened the bathroom door first. He tutted in disappointment, then opened the bedroom door.

“Here we are!... Wow, you really don’t decorate. I hate what you’ve done with the place.”

He dumped Simon onto the bed. Simon tried to kick his legs and crawl backwards, away, to put any amount of distance between them, but Edward easily pushed his knees down and climbed on top of him. He trailed a hand down Simon’s exposed chest, and the faded lines there.

“Oh, I remember these…”

CRASH!

“SIMON!”

Matthew.

Simon sucked in a full breath, finally, and bellowed, “HERE!” His voice cracked. God, he sounded stupid.

“Oh no!” Edward laughed. “Looks like we’re out of time. Here…”

He leaned down and kissed Simon on the lips. Simon jerked his head to the side, and Edward’s mouth left a long smear of blood across his face, mingling with tears. Then the vampire got up off the bed and calmly walked out into the hallway, his hands raised.

“I surrend-OOF!”

He was tackled by Matthew, quickly followed by Gina. Simon struggled up onto his elbows and watched them tussle on his hallway floor. Then he realized -

They can see you.

They’re all going to see you.

~~~

~~~

~~~

Next, Masterlist

Taglist: @angst-after-dark

#whump writing #whump #whump fic #vampire whump #whumpee #vampire feeding #vampire whumper #cw negative self-talk #cw anxiety #cw home invasion #cw attempted noncon #cw noncon kiss #cw broken bones #cw head injury #sunless lives #sunless lives arc 1 #my writing

[dearestspirit]

safe

-> jean x gn!reader

-> fluff, reader is specified to not have a vision

-> wc: 1039

-> note: happy birthday jean <3 i made up a bunch of stuff about the knights of favonius to fit this because why not. also she's a little ooc/flirty in this but i don't care i like thinking about her being confident and having a love at first sight moment with someone so. here's that

you are a simple person. life in mondstadt was also simple: wake up, work, pay rent, so on and so forth. on days off, heading outside the city gates was something you loved to do. the breadth of nature greeting you was fulfilling each time. and even despite your lack of vision or knowledge in terms of weaponry and combat, you had managed to find safe trails to explore; or at least you figured out the best way to stealthily travel.

whistling, you enjoyed the feeling of the fresh breeze. shoes scuffing in the dirt, you could already see windrise in the distance. you figured that would be your destination today. it had been a while since you'd been there, despite your appreciation for the area's beautiful scenery. you held tightly to the pack strapped over your shoulder, full of everything you felt you needed. and even though you weren’t an experienced fighter, you still had a small dagger attached to the belt on your waist. for safety’s sake, of course.

you just didn't expect to ever find yourself in a situation where you’d need to use it.

until you're stopped, frozen in your tracks as a samachurl and a few slimes surround you. you were sure there'd be more hilichurls to follow the little shaman, already hearing the faint noise of their wild yells. gulping, you frantically tried to unsheathe your dagger, hands shaking. you'd never really trained for any sort of combat scenario, which is apparent by the way you clumsily point the blade towards the group of enemies. it's as if they can sense your fear and uncertainty, not even hesitating to inch closer towards you. with a swing of it's staff, you squeeze your eyes shut before you can feel the impact of it's electro energy.

that is, until a strong arm wraps around your waist, pushing you backwards. you land on your butt in the grass with an 'oof'. bewildered, you open your eyes to see a burst of anemo easily slaying the monsters that were trying to attack you. almost as soon as they had appeared, they were gone, so were the hilichurls that had followed the samachurl. chest heaving, you look around, eyes landing on the acting grand master of the knights of favonius.

she leans over you, reaching a hand out. her body catches the light of the sun behind her, framing her with a halo of brightness. in this moment, she truly looked like an angel. with warm cheeks, you graciously accept the help. jean rests a hand at the small of your back, steadying you as your legs are still wobbly with anxiety.

"are you alright?" she asks, carefully trailing her eyes over your form to assess any damage.

"i think so," your voice is a little shaky as you exhale. "thank you so much, acting grand master."

"of course, though there's no need to be so formal. why were you out here all alone?" jean asks, an eyebrow raised.

"well, i was visiting windrise…" you mumble, embarrassed that you had to be saved.

"i see," jean nods. "though it is beautiful out here, it's not uncommon for groups of monsters to be found. if you wish to keep coming here, you should seek guidance to help protect yourself."

"yes, i'll consider it," you sigh. "i'm sorry to have caused so much trouble for you. i'm sure you're busy enough as it is."

jean smiles gently, shaking her head. "it's quite alright. it's my duty to protect the people of mondstadt," she steps back, now that you're able to stand on your own. "if you're interested in getting some actual use out of that dagger of yours, i can see about getting you assigned to training with the knights of favonius."

"the… the knights?" you gulp. "i'm not sure if it's that necessary, is it?"

"you wouldn't be on the front lines or anything," she chuckles a bit. "there are lower rungs of the knights that provide these sort of combat lessons for civilians like you, who don't have someone close to them who can keep them safe on their travels if they must leave the city."

"oh, yes, that makes sense then," you nervously rub at the back of your neck. "sorry, i'm not well versed in that sort of thing, but… it does seem useful. i like going outside the city, and i've only gotten by by being stealthy…"

"consider it, then. if you come by the headquarters later tonight, i can help get you signed up and sorted," she looked down at you, grabbing one of your hands. "maybe you'll even get assigned to the unit i check in on from time to time."

"o… oh! that'd be nice." one of your palms comes up to rest on your cheek, hoping you can hide your flustered expression.

her cheeks are a light pink, though you aren't sure if it's from the sun or exertion of fighting or if she actually feels a hint of joy at you being around. with a gentle sigh, she brings the back of your hand up, placing her lips against it for a brief moment. you have to do everything in your power to not faint, feeling as if electricity is coursing through you.

"i have to return to the city, but if you'll let me, i'd like to escort you back. i'm worried that some more monsters may show up if they figure out some of their forces got wiped out here." she tells you, and you can see the concern in her eyes.

"i wouldn’t mind that at all!" you say, a wide grin on your face. "thank you for being so courteous."

"it's nothing, really." her smile beams. she holds out her arm for you to take.

interlocking your arm around hers, you two share conversation as you stroll along the trail. you come to find out that lisa and kaeya had convinced her to go take a moment to herself when she came across you– part of you feeling guilty for disrupting her time off, but the other part of you grateful for the new sides of her you got to see as you two got closer.

#jean x reader #jean gunnhildr x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

[sadisticwoof-dcmk]

the light we see in each other (it's a whole symphony)

Here is my @shinranweek entry for Day 3 (And there was only one...)

Summary: Mouri Ran accidentally barges into an occupied music room. Too bad it's the only room that has the piano she desperately needs to practice on for her upcoming recital.

Rating: Teen and up (for swearing)

Word Count: 16,139

Read the whole thing on AO3

THURSDAY  

Mouri Ran pushes open the door to the music room.  

From the darkness, the smell of Chinese takeout hits her in the face, and she rolls her eyes. Of course, whoever was in here last would not have aired out the place. That would be too courteous.  

Stepping inside, she carefully feels up the wall for the light switch, holding her breath when the light flickers uselessly for a few seconds before the room finally becomes visible.  

She slumps against the closed door and closes her eyes.  

What a harrowing day it had been.  

First, it had been her neighbour's alarm clock shrieking at her through the wall at five in the morning. Then, when she was finally falling back asleep, her upstairs neighbours decided to start their morning routine of yoga and burpees. Frustrated, she had rolled out of bed, washed her face, fixed herself to some breakfast (only left with the crust of the loaf), gotten dressed, left the house, realised she had forgotten her bus card, went back, caught the second bus, and arrived just in time for her lunch time class. It was also around that time she noticed that her phone had not been charging, so she had to relocate to the library instead of going to the café she had been thinking about.  

And oh yeah.  

It started raining.  

(She can only thank the fates that she keeps a spare umbrella in her bag for emergencies like this)  

While in the library, she had gotten the email reminder about her upcoming piano recital, which sent her anxiety back through the roof, because oh god- She had a recital to do in a few weeks’ time, which would generally be fine, if everything in her life was also on the same wavelength as her.  

But of course, life can't be that easy.  

(She tries not to let her mind wander to the collapsed form back at her apartment)  

Once she deemed her phone to not be on the brink of death, she had packed up her things and bolted for the music department, on her desperate quest to find a room with a piano.  

So caught up in her stress that was her day, she doesn’t expect the empty room to talk to her. “Um... can I help you?”  

Mouri Ran lets out an ear-splitting screech.  

Eyes flying open, she grabs the nearest object (the folded umbrella still in her hand) and yeets it across the room to the source of the voice.  

Her best friend had always lamented about how she must cheat at carnival games, because “those are rigged, Ran” and “there’s no way you can knock the pins down”, but look at her now Sonoko - her aim is solid and true.  

“Ow! What the fuck? ” the man shouts (oh god, that is a man in the room).  

Heart pounding in her throat, she stares, horrified, “H-How what? How did you get in here?”  

“Through the door? How else would I get in here-” he groans, massaging his nose. “What the actual fuck?”  

She takes in the groaning man’s appearance; a crumpled dark brown jumper, flailing jean-clad legs with yellow Minon socks acting as a beacon, messiest case of bed hair she’s seen on campus (and she’s met engineering students), and reddening nose on a vaguely familiar face.  

She’s quite sure she’s seen this person before, maybe a year or so ago, in one of her classes – except she’s very much certain none of the classes she had taken involved music.  

Halfway through her assessment, it suddenly dawns on her that she had just assaulted her poor fellow student with her grey umbrella (it is decorated with various versions of Hello Kitty, a joke gift from her dad which she claims to be her one prized possession), and a tiny squeak escapes past her lips.  

“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry- Are you okay?” Ran asks, dropping her bag to the floor and scampers towards him. “That’s a silly question, that would have hurt- Um, is anything broken?”  

“I’m fine- ” he cuts himself off with a grunt, “I’ve surprisingly had worse.”  

She winces. “Well, I’m glad that it’s not broken, and nothing seems to be bleeding...”  

He waves her off, grabbing a water bottle from his bag and pressing it against his nose. “Honestly don’t worry about it. I needed to wake up anyway.”  

Ran can’t help the snort that falls from her lips, “You were taking a nap?”  

“I had to stay up last night helping the police with a case- didn't get much sleep.”  

And that is what does it for Ran. The explanation answers all of her questions.  

Cases. Police. Familiar face.  

Kudou Shinichi – Saviour of the police, honour student, the one that accidentally set off the fire alarm that time in her first year. The three things that he is famous for.  

(Sonoko had told her that prior to the Fire Alarm Incident, he had been famous because he was the cool student from the States. Ran had witnessed him drink coffee through a straw that morning, so she wasn’t sure how reliable Sonoko’s claim actually was, but since she was a lovely person, she gave him the benefit of the doubt)  

Oh. She had hit Kudou with her umbrella.  

“I too would take a nap in this room. It’s smart,” she says faintly.  

“Thanks,” he hums. “So why are you here? This doesn’t seem like your usual crowd,” Kudou asks, readjusting himself in the stained beanbag (she is pretty sure that had been relocated from the campus library) and plugging in his laptop at the wall.  

Ran gestures at the keyboard at the other end of the cramped room, “I have to practice, and all of the other rooms were taken.”  

“The piano?” he blinks, “Mouri-chan, I thought you were in Ed?”  

She wants to gape at his words, because how on EARTH does he remember that. “I have to know how to play the piano if I want to be work with Kindergartners.”  

Kudou pulls a face, “I forgot about the singing we were forced to do...” He looks up at her, awkwardly hovering, and he startles. “Oh my god- You've just been standing there.”  

She laughs at the absurdity of it all. “I hit you with an umbrella. I think we’re fine.”  

He shakes his head, pointing at the bench by the piano. “Please sit! I- Uh- Listen, you need the piano?”  

“Yeah...” Ran carefully lowers herself onto the seat, “The exam is in three weeks, and the keyboard I had been using broke.” Broke is nice way of putting it. She had come home one day to find the stand had collapsed on itself, the keyboard finally having given up on life. And she had just used her savings to buy herself a better laptop (the old one moments away from overheating and burning holes through her bag).  

Kudou cocks his head, his finger tapping against the water bottle. “I had to get out of my apartment for a while, so I booked this room, since no one was using it, and everywhere else was full.”  

Ran can relate. She had spent the past month and a half alone in her apartment, trying simultaneously type out her assignments while practicing for her recital. She’s a little sick of staring at the same four walls. “I get it. It can get a bit overwhelming.”  

She glances at her watch, shoulders slumping. “I should get going. I need to find another piano in the area and hope that there isn’t anyone else using the room.” She mimes throwing something, “Otherwise it could get messy again-”  

“Stay!”  

...What?  

Ran raises an eyebrow and fixes him with a bewildered stare.  

Kudou flushes (actually flushes ) and stammers out the rest of his words. “I- I’m not using the piano. You can use it, as long as you don’t mind me being here?”  

“Kudou-san.” She wonders if the umbrella knocked some of his braincells out of alignment, because what is he saying? Who in their right mind would offer someone to use their room, especially if that person assaulted them with a household item. “You have no reason to offer that- You were here first! I’ll look somewhere else-”  

“There isn’t any room left- I checked,” Kudou presses his lips together. “I really need a room- I don’t like being in the open, like in the library, so this was the next best thing. But obviously you need to actually use the piano here.”  

Oh. That makes sense.  

“So if you don’t care that I’m here, you’re more than welcome to use it.”  

Now, she has a choice.  

She could either politely refuse and refer Kudou to the nurse (the idea becoming more and more ideal) and try to find another piano on campus, even if the thought of leaving the room to find something else is becoming more and more unappealing.  

Or-  

“If... if you’re sure. I would be grateful if I could use this practice room with you.” And maybe this way, she won’t flunk her piano exam coming up. Hopefully.  

He clears his throat. “That’s fine by me.” Now that the ball is back in his court, he seems to have lost some of that nervous energy. “I’ve booked the space from five in the afternoon. On the weekend, I have it from three, if you wanted to come in as well.”  

She runs through her calendar in her head. Monday and Tuesday she has her receptionist job at the medical practice until five-thirty; Wednesday and Thursday she finishes classes at four; Friday she has classes in the morning, and then has to go train her kids at the Karate Dojo in Beika, which doesn’t finish up until seven; Saturday she spends her day studying and typing out her assignments; and Sunday she has to go teach the kids again in the morning, followed by her piano lessons with her teacher in the afternoon.  

Ran feels the panic in her chest slowly dissolve. “I wouldn’t be able to get here until the evening for most nights during the week- How long did you have the room booked for?”  

“Doesn’t matter. The department is always open. I would probably leave before eleven, considering it’s the last bus, but it’s up to you. If you catch the train, you could stay until you’re ready to go.” Kudou shrugs, “Although I suggest leaving before six in the morning, since someone else has it booked at that time.”  

“Thank you so much, Kudou-san.”  

The other student nods, “No problem. Feel free to get set up- I think everything is there for you to use.”  

Ran relaxes in the chair. She has no idea how she managed to get lucky, a keyboard and someone who is kind enough to let her use it. She powers on the keyboard, playing an arpeggio as she adjusts the volume. She lowers it enough so that it wouldn’t distract Kudou (or worse, embarrass herself in front of him with the many mistakes she knows she will make).  

Once she is satisfied, she pulls out her music from her bag, setting it on the stand and flicking to the correct page. “I uh-” she says, flustered, “Let me know if I’m being too loud- I don’t want you to- I wouldn’t want you to have to hear my playing-”  

He waves her off with the same kind of indifference he held when he had let her stay in the room, “It’s fine, Mouri-chan.” Letting out a yawn, he opens up his laptop and makes himself comfortable in his beanbag.  

Ran swallows. She supposes there’s no harm in it, especially if he doens’t care.  

She runs her fingers across the keys, playing through her warm ups.  

What an interesting few weeks it will be. 

FRIDAY  

“Not going to throw your umbrella at me this time?” Kudou asks drily the moment she closes the door behind her.  

She startles, whirling around, “Oh don’t scare me like that, Kudou-kun!” She should not have lowered her guard down just because she couldn’t see him from the window in the door. Holding up her insulated water bottle, she adds threateningly, “I could have clocked you with this.”  

He shifts in the ratty beanbag and grimaces at the imagined pain, “Yeah, please refrain from doing that. You would have a murder scene on your hands.”  

“Are you not a detective?” She places the water bottle on the floor next to the keyboard and sits in the uncomfortable plastic chair, hauling her bag into her lap. What the hell does she have in her bag- oh the book that Tashiro-chan lent her. Right.  

“I refuse to solve my own death.”  

Ran looks over to him and grins, pulling out the red music folder and placing it on the stand, “A real shame.”  

His lips twitch into a small smile before averting his gaze. Stretching out in the beanbag, he uses his foot to snag the strap of his bag, deposited haphazardly a little while away, and drags it across the floor back towards him, almost knocking over his iced coffee in the process.  

She laughs quietly. The floor has a brown stain near the full-length mirror that she assumes is from a similar accident, so what’s one more stain to add to the collection?  

Kudou hums victoriously as he fishes out a pair of sturdy-looking headphones from his bag, sleek black with silver detailing which catches in the light, and jams it onto his head.  

Ran opens her mouth to ask him, to double check that it is okay for her to practice playing the piano, but considering he had seemingly ended the conversation, she prays that she hadn’t misinterpreted his words from yesterday.  

Oh well.  

He could tell her if he wanted her to stop.  

With that, she powers on the keyboard and left hand splayed across the keys while the right dances across the control panel, adjusting the volume and turning the plastic sleeves of her folder to the correct page. If he had his headphones on, she could probably afford to have it a little louder than yesterday, considering she could hardly hear herself, feeling far too self-conscious with him listening.  

She shoots one last look at Kudou, curled up in the corner of the room, brows furrowing at whatever was on his screen, and begins to play her warm ups. 

SATURDAY

She arrives earlier today.

Glancing at her watch, a gift from her parents for her twentieth birthday, she purses her lips. Surely going into the practice room at four o’clock, a whopping two and a half hours earlier than the previous times, would be fine. Kudou had told her that he had booked the rooms from three in the afternoon after all.

There would be nothing wrong with her showing up early – she wants to take full advantage of the allocated time she can spend in there.

She wants to be there early so she can use the piano.

Exactly.

Ran pivots on the spot and walks quickly away from the music department.

She just needs tea. She remembers seeing a tea shop on the way, and Sonoko had raved on about a new type of flavour that had dropped which she “needed to try or else life is meaningless Ran!” or so she claims. Her best friend tends to be on the dramatic side, so she takes every Suzuki Statement TM with a grain of salt.

With a goal in mind, she marches down the beaten path, a crow squawking at her in what she can only assume as judgement hidden in the trees above her, and finds herself standing in line inside the small shop.

It’s a cute little thing, with cream painted walls and pale pink accents, gold trimming around the windows and displays, white tables and mint green booths along the edges of the shop. She admires the cloud-like light fixtures while she waits for the couple in front of her to finish ordering.

She notices a few students crammed into the seats, a drink in one hand, pen in the other, eyes glued to the screen of their laptops. The place is definitely somewhere she would gravitate towards if she needed a space to study outside of her house.

But she also has a strange attachment towards the music room on campus, with its washed-out yellow walls flaking in places, the air-conditioning unit that is slightly too noisy, the beanbag that was stolen from the library (Kudou seemed far too pleased with admitting to the theft when considering that he himself was a detective).

---

Fifteen minutes later, she finds herself back at the music department with a drink in hand, the sweet flavour bursting in her mouth with every sip. She shakes the purple-tinted tea with a thoughtful nod. She will have to pass on the glowing review to her friend.

Shuffling through the building, she taps her student ID at the security points, making her way down the staircase, the natural light disappearing as she delves deeper into the building, replaced by the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling.

She walks around the corner and blinks at the sight of Kudou pacing the hallway in front of the bathrooms, phone in hand, talking in hushed tones.

He catches her eyes and he pauses, murmuring something to the phone before lowering the device from his ear, “Hey Mouri-chan. I have to finish this call- feel free to get set up inside. I shouldn’t take too much longer.”

“No problem,” she nods, passing by him with a small wave. She unlocks the door to the room, careful not to spill her drink, and dumps her belongings by the keyboard.

He hadn’t said anything about her being early, nor did he seem upset by it. She could work with that. It’s nice to know that he hadn’t been kidding when he said it was okay for her to be here, in his space that he had procured for himself.

Ran places her drink on the small wooden box someone had left in the room, the perfect size for her to keep her phone and cup within easy reaching distance. Pulling out her folder from her bag, she gives one last look out the door, half curious as to what the phone call could be about.

Maybe a case? A classmate? A friend? A partner?

(She pretends that the last one doesn’t send her stomach into knots)

Time to start practicing.

---

(Half an hour later, the door opens, and she immediately stops playing, head turning.

Ran watches as Kudou pads inside, settling into his corner. Cautiously, she asks, “Everything okay?”

He startles at being addressed, but he quickly meets her gaze. “I’m okay, Mouri-chan. Just a friend needing help with something.”

“You got it sorted?”

“We figured it out in the first five minutes. They just proceeded to talk my ear off for the next hour.”

She laughs at his miffed expression. “Sounds like a wonderful friend.”

“Not when you’re trying to study, but what can you do.” Contrary to his words, he looks pleased.)

Read More

#ShinRanWeek2022 #detective conan #dcmk #dcmk fanfic #kudou shinichi #mouri ran #ShinRanWeek #ShinRan #how many times can i reference 'there was only one...' ?? #more times than i should

[jaynnie-jane]

For years I have asked my mum to "just listen".

She has wanted to finish my autism assessment (without me foing back) at the place that straight up verbally assulted me. I have continuously said to her "I don't want to give them money, I don't want to have anything to do with them".

She has constantly pushed to finish the process there. The other night I said "fine, it's your money, do what you want". But then I did some more reading about how other places assess autism.

The thing my therapist said to keep in mind while going through the process is that "this isn't to get a diagnosis, this is to help you understand what's going on".

Mum has been fixated on the diagnosis, despite my therapist AND doctor saying to her it's not about that.

Today was hard. Trying to say no to her in a way that she understands for a reason she is okay with is really hard. She believed that by me completing it through the current people she was "saving" me from further hurt. She wouldn't accept for what ever reason that what happened to me should never have happened, while also agreeing it was negligent.

We ended the argument with her saying "well you need to communicate better!".

A bit later I was reminded of just how solidly unheraing she is. I was mid league of legends game and she came in and said "can we talk?" My response was "I am mid game, I will come up when it's finished"... sure, I didn't say no and in retrospect I could have added a time estimate in there. Perspective taking after crying for an hour and while playing ARAM is not my strong suit.

Instead of saying "how long?" Or "no worries" she pushed it and tried to do it there and then...

I have spent so much of my life feeling hurt by and feeling guilty for being hurt by others. My early childhood was full of lessons about not challenging my parents in any way shape or form otherwise they would get upset.

So, over protected, taught to fear the world and taught never to upset my parents or else I would feel guilty for making mum feel like she had failed as a parent...

When that is considered it is little wonder to me that I have anxiety issues, general guilt for being alive and an innability to keep saying "no" when pushed by the ones I love.

Combine this with the amazing, attentive caregiver that mum was from 0-4 I also have freaking high resilience. When I fall in a heap, I'm still able to function in a very short period of time. Unfortunately that combo means that I consistently fall through the cracks of support frameworks.

I don't believe anyone owes me anything, and as difficult as it is I also believe that people have a right to change their minds .

I also believe that or relationships to work, you gotta stop overly protecting the people that you love and you absolutely need to be able to communicate openly when shit changes.

The MOST important thing I have learned is that we have to know how to take responsibility FOR hurting someone when we do. It doesnt matter if I ment to or not. I needed to learn how to hold that responsibility and that "sorry" just as well as I hold that compassion for myself of "I did the best I could".

So many people out there say that you should only apologise if you plan to change your behaviour.

My mum apologised for not letting me be the one to make the decision/ not hearing me/ being preoccupied with doing what she strongly believed was right. Do I expect or want her to change? No. I know that this behaviour comes from a good place (sure it makes it difficult at times for me). I don't want her to stop caring, I don't want her to feel as if she's not allowed to say anything. Would I like for her and I to be able to talk things through a little better? Absolutely!

I believe that every time it comes up, I can (and do) become a little more resilient to this specific behaviour. I also want to work on being a better advocate for myself in these types of relationships.

Awareness and working together is all I ever really want.

[fashournalist]

Celebrating Small Wins: Reflections on the First Five Years of my Career

Time flies indeed. As of last Sunday, it's been exactly five years since my "first day in the real world." I know I still have a long way to go, and so much to learn, but I want to appreciate the progress I've made in the past five years.

I've had several part-time jobs back in college but it was on August 20, 2018 when I first reported to work full-time. I was a Media Writer (aka Broadcast Monitor) at Asia's leading media intelligence company, Isentia. Whenever I reached the office, I texted my parents "Happy place na" to let them know I got safe.

I stayed for two years before I got laid off, which triggered feelings that led to this article. (And an open letter to my colleagues/friends on my personal blog)

Looking back, I will always be grateful for my time as a Media Writer. It wasn't easy, I spent countless hours beyond my shift because I wanted to give my best in each of the 41283 summaries I've done for two years.

For five months, I commuted from Los Banos, Laguna to Ortigas everyday, and vice versa, before we were finally able to rent a 5 sqm room in Manila. That was the only room we could afford back then.

There were struggles and days when I wanted to give up. But I've also grown a lot, gained meaningful friendships, strengthened my faith in the Lord, and developed my work ethic.

It was worth it.

I remember often feeling so drained and tired on my way home, but I still looked forward to the next day so I could do my job again. I love learning new things everyday, and this job gave me that opportunity.

If there was one word that would describe my work ethic, that would be Passion. I always put passion and love in every task that I did.

More than a year later, I'm astonished that Isentia has recognized that passion. My teammate and friend Morris Manalaysay nominated me for the Isentia Awards Q1 recognition (without me knowing) and on Nov 21 2019, I was Manila's Isentia Awards Q1 winner alongside colleagues from different countries. That was my first career milestone.

I was so happy Momi got to see this day before she went to heaven. She was so proud, and I'm grateful I got to tell her it's all because of her and Dad that I get to survive each day and reach these milestones. All that I am and all that I ever will be, I owe it to them.

Isentia has been very supportive during my Mom's fight with cancer and raised funds for her, too. When Momi died in 2020, they also supported me in my grieving. I took a break and they only asked me to go back when I was ready.

When I was laid off, my separation anxiety was so strong, especially since I've been close with my batchmates and team friends as if we were high school classmates. (I'm glad we're friends until today even when we're in different companies already.)

Good journeys come to an end, too, for new and better chapters to unfold.

Chapter II

Getting laid off was bittersweet. I said goodbye to a job that I loved but it also led to better opportunities. I've been a Content Writer at Sevron Safety Solutions, worked on various projects for over a year. I got to do things I never tried before and wrote almost everything from blogs, social media posts, courses for The Knights of Safety™️, email campaigns, assessment tests for applicants, pillar pages, cluster pages, technical documents, and more. But my favorite task of all was writing the life stories of my colleagues, which was compiled into an internal book. As a storyteller, creative nonfiction is my favorite form of writing.

I'm also grateful we always aimed to change the world and save lives in each task. This meant a lot to me because I value meaningful work. Dale Allen was possibly the most passionate CEO/founder I've ever worked for. We had a therapist and life coach, too, Markos Yiannis, who had been so helpful in addressing our concerns, whether it's personal or work-related.

But one day, I was included in the layoffs again.

Chapter III

And that was when the plot twist happened. I returned to Isentia! This time, I was reporting to Isentia Singapore. Thanks to Ms Lady Ochel Espinosa, Regional Insights Director for Emerging Markets in Southeast Asia for encouraging me to apply for the role of Senior Insights Analyst in 2021. It was my dream job since 2018. I applied for the role of Insights Analyst in 2020, but I didn't get in. When I got laid off that year, Ms Ochel invited me to apply again, but I was already hired at Sevron. It was my "the one that got away". I'm grateful I got to pursue it in 2022. My favorite task was being part of our PH Elections white paper which was featured by media outlets. My favorite SG client was AIC.

However, I later on realized that as much as this was a truly great opportunity with so much learning and growth, what I really wanted to do was content writing instead of media analysis. I'll always be grateful I reached my dream of being a Senior Insights Analyst, but I realized it wasn't for me.

So after a year, for the first time, I resigned.

I love the company. I love the team. But I had to go. And find my passion.

But no matter where my career takes me, Isentia will always have a special place in my heart.

Chapter IV:

I applied to several Writer job openings. There was this one opening for Content Writer, but during the interview, they said the role was actually article moderation. Then I went through three challenging interviews and thankfully, I passed as an Article Moderator at iOPEX Technologies. Three months later, I became a Senior Article Moderator. And in my sixth month, I was recognized as the Top Overall Performer and agent with Top Attendance.

As much as it's fulfilling to be recognized for having good performance, I'm just as grateful for maintaining a good attendance. I have five rides to the office every day, encounter some floods along the way when it's raining, commute as early as 12AM, 3AM, 4AM, or 10PM depending on our shift, and so far, I've never been late yet since I started in February 🥹 I'm not saying I'll never be late, although that's the goal, but I just feel grateful and lucky that I was never late yet. Grateful, because everyday is a struggle, but I'm surviving it through God's grace. Lucky, because I know there are things outside our control that make tardiness inevitable and valid sometimes, but so far those things haven't affected me yet. So thank you po, Lord.

I believe in celebrating small wins just as we treasure huge milestones, and each time we report to work, each time we punch out after a long tiring day, each hour that we meet our quota, those are daily wins worth celebrating.

I'm glad to be back in the world of news, just like in my first job. From monitoring to moderating :)

There may be struggles and challenges, but I appreciate the job and the team. Very blessed to work with proactive teammates who happen to be good friends as well. (By the way, we are hiring! Let me know if you want to apply haha I doubt if anyone will read this lengthy story time but just in case, I'm putting this out here).

I was looking for Content Writing, but I found something else. And I enjoy it.

I realized, my adviser was right. it's okay to be open to new opportunities other than my passions. I shouldn't limit myself to writing.

What they say is true: you'll never know until you try. (I'm still writing everyday now, though, but in my journal or my verbose Instagram stories which are literally stories because of their long captions 🤣)

I'm grateful for each job I've had and currently have. My Dad and I were also able to transfer to a much better, bigger apartment unit (about 21 sqm?) since October 18, 2020. Thanks to the severance pay from Isentia 😅 Indeed, "All things work together for the good of those who love God." (Romans 8:28)

There are plenty of dreams that are yet to be fulfilled, but for now, I want to cherish the fact that I'm already living what I only once dreamt of.

I may not have been (or not yet?) a startup founder and CEO, or UNHRC/UNCHR diplomat, or New York Times bestselling author, or Miss Universe (😅) just like my younger self dreamt of, but I'm still thankful for the progress I've made. It's not much, but to my younger self, this is already a miracle. Sometimes imposter syndrome hits me, but I fight it by appreciating my hard work.

I look back at my first job, the struggle of commuting from LB to Ortigas each day, the struggle of squeezing ourselves in a 5 sqm room, the struggle of making ends meet, and I just feel so blessed to be where I am now. We haven't reached financial freedom yet but little by little, we're on our way.

To my future self, I don't know where you'll be, but I hope I've made you proud as well.

At the end of the day, all wins, big and small, are because of God's grace. His faithfulness carries me through every single day. As always, without Him, I can do nothing.

To everyone who's been part of this journey, thank you for the memories and lessons you've shared with me. And thank you for the moments we have yet to share.

To Momi, how I wish you're still here to celebrate our small and big wins but I know you're watching over us everyday. I'll do my best to keep making you proud up there. 🥹

To Apa, Dad, I'm so glad you're here with me. All that I accomplish each day is a result of how much you believe in me. I have many dreams in life but my greatest dream is to see you live up to 104 years old.

Thank you Lord Jesus for sustaining me in the first five years of my career. I surrender to You the bigger picture and the little details that make up each day.

Here's to the journey that lies ahead and to the growth that awaits ❤️

(PS. If you've read this far, message me an emoji. I just want to conduct an experiment char haha I'm just curious who was patient enough to read all this but I doubt if anyone will read this all 🤣. It's okay though. I had fun releasing this out of my chest 🥹)

#reflections #career #careergrowth #firstjob #throwback #workanniversary #article #blog #personal #thoughts #storytime