#because neither of them have ever been diagnosed

[forsworned]

ok, but hear me out. Poly!tf141 on undercover mission. Reader is dressed up, think very club type attire or so. Paired think of the audio "favorite" by Isabel Larosa 👀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀˗ˏˋfavorite ft. poly!tf141ˎˊ˗

꒰ঌa/n໒꒱ okokokokokokokok i finally finished anon im sorry it took me so long, i was trying to make sure it made as much sense as possible but its a fucknnn wrapppppp , i hope u like it ;-; reblogs & comments are appreciated!!

꒰warning(s) heavily suggested polyship, alcohol abuse, violence, titty bar???꒱

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀˗ˏˋrequests are openˎˊ˗

Pulsating rhythms of the club thudded against their tightened sternums as they impatiently waited for her appearance. On one side, Kyle and Price sat on hightops, sipping slowly at their top shelf whiskey's. Price sucked his teeth at that. Damn them all to hell for their overpriced liquor.

Kyle chuckled from behind the rim of his glass at his Captain's displeasure.

"Fuckin' tossers. All o'em." Price's mood was quite piqued already. This mission for sure was going to get him diagnosed with hypertension.

"Relax, boss. She can handle it." Kyle's voice is smoother than the fine, fiery amber liquid they were downing. Price could admit that it was damn good whiskey.

"Not talkin' 'bout the duck." He retorted, finishing his glass and pushing it away from him. He teased the end of his stache between his fingers.

Kyle simpered at him. "Oh yeah? 'Suppose y'talkin' 'bout the whiskey then."

Price's icy blues peered up at his Sergeant's honey gaze, a half smirk curled up on his lips now.

"Damn good whiskey."

Kyle and Price both chuckled at that. Clearly they were both on edge and neither of them were willing to admit to that. It wasn't easy knowing that she was compromising all of herself for the sake of a mission while they sat their twiddling their thumbs like a bunch of sods.

"'re y'two gonna keep actin' like a pair of plonkers, or y'gonna do wha' y'were assigned to do 'n' keep watch?" Simon's rasping voice was heard over the comms.

Johnny snickered from his seat at the bar." Ahh, give 'em some slack, L.t.. It ain't easy watchin' oor wifie shake 'er ass in fron' of a bunch of--"

"I can hear you, y'know?" Her voice like a dream (the prettiest girl they've ever seeennn), pulling them out of their squabbling.

"There she is." Johnny's murmured, glancing over at her figure appearing between throngs of men. The bright strobe lights casting shadows over her form, highlighting her curves. Every stride more enchanting than the next as she bounced through the crowd so effortlessly. She balanced two whiskey glasses and a bottle of Glenfiddich on a slim black tray as she approached her two teammates.

Did their eyes deceive them, or was she really wearing that?

"On the house, boys." Her tone is ribbing, playful with a hint of a gentle chide. The curve of her red painted lips, and the feline-like eyeliner that cascaded over her tightlined eyes made her that much alluring. Their eyes traveled down her frame, carefully analyzing the black bodycon dress that fit her like a second skin.

The outfit was undeniably slutty. Black strings wrapping around her chest and over her shoulders. The neckline was low, revealing her cleavage while the length of the skirt just barely brushed against her ass. Their eyes stopping at the thigh-high black, latex boots she was wearing.

How long had she been hiding these outfits from them, they didn't know. And knowing her, she would never tell.

"On th' house, you say?" Kyle's gaze heavy on her. "Says who?"

She tilted her head to the side with an impish grin. "Says me."

Price's mouth seemed to have been full of cotton because he couldn't even manage a word. That satisfied her. "Enjoy, boys."

She sauntered off to the next set of patrons, and Price had to readjust himself for a moment as he shook his head with an incredulous look.

"Trousers gettin' too tight?" Simon jested over the comms. That earned a few chuckles.

"Where'd she get tha' lil thing anyways?" Price attempted to derail Simon's taunting.

Johnny's eyes never left her form from the moment she stepped out on the floor. She was working her magic with all the patrons, speaking the native language while he listened in on how it rolled off her tongue like it was her own as their haughty eyes undressed her—it was enough to make his skin crawl. "No idea, but 's makin' me kinda jealous."

"Ditto." Kyle shook his head as he poured his Captain and himself another drink.

"Le's get this shit over with." Price picked up his glass, clinking it against Kyle's before they both downed it with ease.

And boy was it not fun for any of them. Johnny's job really had to be the comedic relief for the night because the way that their collective blood pressure was raising right now was enough to send them into cardiac arrest.

Simon sat in the control room with his gun in his holster, knife in his left hand as he observed every individual body in the room. The mangled body to his left, slumped on the floor for the night as he flitted through multiple CCTV to track her movements and get an idea on the deal that was about to happen.

The mission? It involved an international weapons deal between the Mexican cartel and an arms manufacturer from Russia. They had to infiltrate the club that the cartel owned and [name]--very, very much to their dismay--was the bait.

Kyle, to no one's surprise, was the first one to break the silence.

"The boys are gettin' restless." Kyle eyed the crowd that seemed to be growing by the minute as more and more people came in for some late night fun. The cartel member's body language indicated that they were getting restless.

Price was already on edge. His fingers were gripping the Mexican Pine wood of the hightop table. Every second that went by felt like an eternity as he watched her shake her hips up against one of the cartel members and laughed as a bottle of vodka was passed around between them.

Simon grunted, watching more individuals come in. "Gonna be a bloodbath."

Johnny stayed quiet, but his brows were furrowed with worry. His baby blues watched her as she took a shot with one of the cartel members in an attempt to be flirty while he pressed a hand against the small of her back. Johnny couldn't hide the way his face contorted in disgust.

"Quit bouncin' y'leg, Johnny." Simon warned. In an instant, Johnny's actions are halted like a guard dog on command. He sucked his teeth.

Price's jaw ticked when he laid his icy glare on her taking another shot and laughed coquettishly while the cartel member's hand went up her skirt. "For Christ's sake."

Kyle gave his Captain a sympathetic grin. It was hard being the only one under control.

"Le's have another." He sighed, pouring them both another drink in a weary attempt to calm their nerves. Well, really Price's nerves.

As the night drew on, the club gained more traction. Her movements becoming more risqué as she allowed the men to grope her and squeeze her.

"Gonna lose my bloody shite here." Price muttered, the way they tried to get under her skirt as she laughed it off, her back pressed up against one of their bodies. She was good. He had to give her that much.

Simon turned his attention away from the screen, taking notice of the slight beads of sweat dripping down Price's temples.

He was sweating now too. To be so comfortable with these bastards as she played them like a fiddle. Price's heart was thudding in his ears. He couldn't breathe.

"Gimme an update on somethin', anythin', Simon." Price was practically pleading at this point. A small edge to his voice as he spoke with neediness, referring to the deal that was suppose to be made tonight.

Simon let out an exasperated huff as he kept his eyes on the group, laughing and sharing drinks.

"Still nothin' yet." Simon grunted, scrolling through several camera angles. A cigarette was pinched between his lips, and he pulled from it as he turned to look over at Price. It had been two hours of Price stewing in his seat with nothing to show for.

"She sure as hell ain't making it easy..." Price mumbled, running a hand over the back of his neck.

Kyle was observing the situation with a smirk. "Sure as hell not..." His mouth kicked up at the corner. She was being very provocative with them, trying to get them off their game.

"She's doin' a'ight for herself, ain't she, boss?" Kyle asked while Price remained stilled, almost intentionally provoking him a bit, which in its own respect was quite cruel to do but he couldn't help himself. The Captain was seething in silence, a small twitch on his mouth being the only indication that he had heard what his Sergeant had said.

Simon leaned his cheek against the cold wall of the control room, watching her play the men like a puppet master. Her words and touches were calculated.

He took another drag from his cigarette, trying to keep his nerves calm as Price felt like he was wasting away on his seat. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips and he silently thanked the cartel for installing such HD quality cameras so that he could at least savor this moment.

Three hours in, and there was no sign of the deal being made. Simon wondered if they all wasted their time being her back up.

"She might a'well be dancin' in a stripper's club," Price grunted, his back still stiff as he remained seated.

Simon bit back a laugh. "T’be fair, it is a titty club."

"Shut the 'ell up, Simon." Price turned over as his head pounded in tandem with his heartbeat. His jaw was clenched tight, blood boiling in his veins. "That does not change the fact that she is bein' taken advantage of."

"Right..." Simon muttered, taking another puff from his cigarette with a side-eyed smirk.

"Jus' wait until we have a debrief for this mission, you cocky bastard." Price grunted. It was an empty threat. Like the way a father would reprimand his naughty kids.

Kyle and Johnny could be heard chuckling over the comms and that seemed to alleviate the tense mood once again.

It wasn't until Simon noticed the shift in body language that sent his senses into overdrive. An instinct that he never ignored as he carefully analyzed one of the members who was leaning against the bar. He turned to the barman, ordered a round of drinks for him and his friends. In the distance, he could see [name's] lithe body swaying gracefully in and around the throngs of men. A slow, confident sway. His attention immediately shifted to the bar, catching glimpses of the body language between the cartel members and another girl they could barely keep their mouths off of.

She looked a lot like their [name]. The same build, the same hair and a similar fit. It made his stomach turn a bit.

This was the part of the mission he hated. It was when things started to get real—when there were a lot more moving pieces and when a slight error could cost her, them and the mission.

One of the members was speaking to the girl, he couldn't hear what his words were but he could read his body language clearly. He was starting to connect the dots when the girl was passed a keycard that was gently pushed into her back pocket.

"We've got movement." Simon warned.

"Where?"

Price and Simon could practically hear one another's voices on the edge of breaking.

"One o'em is passin' a keycard to woman at the bar. Keep watch." Simon commanded.

Kyle and Johnny stayed silent. But their focus remained locked on the pair, keeping eyes on her as the men around her continued to paw at her.

The barman finished pouring the drinks, and then a few other people passed by the cartel member before he leaned in to whisper her location. Simon took note.

The man and the girl began to walk away from the bar, heading towards a back door. Her body reacted defensively for a fleeting moment, recoiling ever so slightly to the unwanted touch. The door was out of the camera's range. Only the door handle could be seen. The man continued to drag her towards it, his grip tightening as he did. Simon got even more of an uneasy feeling as they drew closer.

Simon's eyes darted to another screen where a meeting was starting to take place and [name] had somehow managed to slip past the members. She was currently situated on the other side of the meeting doors, tucked away in a corner that kept her out of sight from them but gave him a clear view of her movement.

Simon noticed that there was two guards slumped over in the rooms leading to where [name] now was. "[name], do not engage. Do you copy?"

"Copy." Her voice crackled over the comms.

Simon couldn't help but think when the hell she got there with her weapon ready in hand, still in her same outfit from earlier. There wasn't much time to think about how or when she had done that.

"When did y'leave?" Kyle inquired, on behalf of them. A smirk could be heard in her voice.

"When no one was lookin', silly."

Johnny's and Price's jaw ticked in amusement at that.

"Slippery minx." Price muttered. "Weren't you s'pposed t'keep an eye 'er, Johnny?"

"I was." Johnny replied confidently. It was evident that he allowed her to do her own thing. It sure as hell beat gawking at her while other men got handsy with her assets.

Simon fixated on back on the pair from earlier, as they moved through multiple rooms, and suddenly she was thrown into the bathroom, landing on the tiles with a cry.

"Fuckin' military slut. You think I don't know who you are?" The cartel member sneered.

The girl recoiled and shook her head not able to find any words. "¡…n-no, señor! ¡N-no soy un chivato!"* She cried out.

(...n-no, mister! I am not a spy!)*

"Bloody hell, they've got the got the wrong lass." Simon grumbled over the comms realizing that there positions were somewhat compromised. It was natural for cartel members to be weary and hypervigilant about moles, but he had to maintain control over the situation.

The man didn't seem to be buying it as he fished out his gun from his holster. Simon could hear the sound of the man's voice rising over him manhandling the girl through the CCTV's audio system.

"I don't know what you are thinking you little whore, but you shouldn't have come to my club if you didn't want to get used! Don't come crying to me when these bastards finish with you!" The man yelled. His voice was so laced with arrogance and pride that Simon was tempted to get off the comms and put a bullet through his head.

By now it was obvious that the man thought she was [name]. The girl cowered before him in fear, not daring to move as she kept repeating that she wasn't a spy. But his eyes were filled with nothing but rage. It seemed to be the end of the line for her.

Simon's heart was in his throat as he watched the man aim his gun at her chest. He held the trigger down before another man walked in with two more guards.

He missed. He missed!

The girl's chest rose with relief, still trembling in fear.

"¡Maldito imbécil! ¡¿Parece una espía?!"* One of them shouts at the man who attempted to murder the girl just moments ago.

(Fucking moron! Does she look a like a spy?!)*

A gun is brought to his head and he's instructed to let go of her or die instead. The man lets go and backs away to allow the one of three guards to escort him off. The two guards that are left glare down at her in pity as they watch her shudder.

"Vete de aquí."* One of them gestured his head to the door.

(Get outta here)*

The girl tries to get to her feet but she collapses with tears streaming down her cheeks. They help her up and lead her out of the door as they shake their heads, muttering about who the fuck is training their guys nowadays.

"Fuckin' hell." Simon muttered to himself as he switched back his focus to the meeting happening in the room. No one had seemed to move from their positions. "'least tell us when y'r on th' move." His voice was filled with exasperation at [name's] cunningness.

"Sorry, Si."

She didn't mean that.

"How many?" Price asked over the comms, pushing away her actions to the back of his mind. He would deal with her later.

Simon could hear the girl cry as her tears mingled with the music from the club that drifted in and out of the bathroom. The girl was visibly distraught from her near death experience. Simon's lip was curled at the sight.

"Six." Simon replied as he watched the two guards lead her out of the restroom.

"Nine." Her voice interjected. "Those guys that took care of that--little squabble, are coming in right now." It made her heart wrench that she compromised another innocent woman, but with her out of harms way it was easier to focus on the mission once again.

"Sharp eye, hen." Johnny complimented her.

"Thank ya, Johnny." Her voice practically sang.

Minutes dragged by and Simon's eyes were dancing between [name] and the door that the cartel members all seemed to be facing, like they were waiting for the arms dealer to walk through at any given second.

"Any moment now." Simon muttered, keeping his eyes on the entrance for someone to enter, antsy for the deal to begin.

The door was pushed open and a man dressed in a crisp black suit with greased back silver hair and a thin, angular frame entered, along with another cartel member who held his weapon with his finger on the trigger. The man's eyes scanned the room as they approached the other cartel members, who remained relaxed. Simon let out a sharp breath, hoping that they had arrived on time to foil the deal.

"Tango has entered the building." Simon muttered into the comms.

A collective sigh of relief could be heard over their earpieces, but not from Price. His grip tightened on the bar stool as the seconds dragged on. It was hard to contain his breathing when his adrenaline spiked that high but he was managing.

Simon's voice was even and cool. He had trained for this moment. "Standby f'r engagement. Weapons free at m'signal."

"Copy." Price replied.

The transaction seemed ready to go down smoothly as the Russian man slid his briefcase towards the cartel members, who in turn slid over their weapons.

Simon's muscles began to tense, bracing himself for the inevitable gunfire. He was ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Price's hand went to the butt of his gun, checking that it was secure in its holster as he waited for the signal to move in.

The men made their exchange, and the deal looked like it was going to go down without a hitch. But something didn't feel quite right.

Just when it seemed like things were going to go swimmingly, one of the cartel members raised his weapon and fired at the man in the suit. The man dove for cover behind the bar as a bullet shattered the glass door behind him. Chaos erupted as the entire room exploded in gunfire.

Bullets ricocheting off the walls, commands being yelled over the noise the clamor could be heard from both sides as the cartel was scrambling out of sight. [name] took that as her ticket to take care of the Russian arms dealer, but she was gently pinned to the wall.

A familiary honeyed voice in her ear. "An' where do y'think y'r goin', ducky?"

Johnny, Price and Simon move in with ease and efficiency as they neutralized the threats with no remorse. It more than personal at this point, as she ogled the way Simon used his lucky blade against the throat of one man, Johnny breaking the arm of another and Price taking his sweet time over the man that he watched so vehemently put his hands up your skirt. There seemed to be a common theme here.

"Someone call it in." Price let out a exasperated sigh as he shot the last guy straight in the skull without even giving him a second glance. He carded his calloused fingers through sweat saturated locks and his eyes fell on her.

His Sergeant's arms were enveloped around her lovingly as they eagerly tabbed their teammates individual vendettas.

"Done, sir?" Kyle probed playfully as he eyed his Captain and then the other two men. Simon flicked off the blood on his blade on the ground before using the now cartel member's suit to clean of the rest and stuffed it back in its holster, while Johnny's casually rolled his neck from side to side, cracking his neck like he just finished sparring.

The corners of Price's mouth turned up into an incredulous grin as he licked his lips and riveted on [name]. "Y'pull anotha stunt like tha' again, ducky--" He breathed out and shook his head as he took in her puckish grin. "ah fuck it. I've got no fire left 'n me after tonight."

He scratched his temple with the rear end of his handgun. "Y'call it in, Johnny?"

"Done tha' already, Cap." Johnny's tongue was peaking out of his lips as he pressed them in a thin line to keep himself from laughing, but the way the corner of his lips were kicking up gave it away.

"Good man." Price clapped the Scot's shoulder and soon the soft brouhaha of their men was heard, approaching them as they slammed doors of their vehicles ready to clean up the bodies and take them back to base. Simon and Johnny were more than happy to help them drag off the bodies onto the oncoming stretchers.

Price's bleary eyes glanced over at her form for a fleeting second before he headed toward the truck, but not before he pinched the exposed skin of her ass cheek causing her to yelp.

She pouted at him in passing to which he gave her a cheeky grin, gently instigating a smirk from her. Kyle's lips are on her cheek, his subtle stubble scratching her soft skin as she feels his breath against her ear.

"Y'r really in for it this time, ducky."

#cod #call of duty x reader #call of duty #call of duty imagines #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price x reader #captain john price #kyle garrick #gaz x reader #soap x reader #john price #price x reader #john price x you #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #poly ship #poly shenanigans #poly 141

[payasita]

Good job getting ADHD medication! I’m so proud of you :D

thanks so so much im very happy and so hopeful for the first time maybe ever but also it TOOK ME LIKE. A YEAR. A YEAR.

like yall for real?? for real. for real i have been diagnosed since i was like six. (funny story my teacher thought i was on the spectrum so my parents get me tested with the nodes and shit and according to mom, who loves this story, my neurologist did all that and talked to me and then just turned to my mom and went "she's not autistic. she just hates the other kids" but they DID find an adhd diagnosis in there so net win for all of us)

diagnosed since i was SIX. on stimulants until i turned 8, and you know why i got off em? my pediatrician retired. we could not find another who would take our low-income insurance. so i just had to rawdog The Rest Of My Fucking Life. diagnosed when i was six. legally neurodivergent for 20 slutty slutty angry years.

and it still took me like. a few months to get a psych appointment. a few weeks to reaffirm my diagnosis as an adult. a few more weeks for another appointment for meds. he doesnt Want to do meds first, because i must have been doing fine without them if its been two decades, right? i got a job and a car and everything. well gee fuckin shittickers Dr. Brain Guy, just WHAT was my alternative? would you prefer i be maladapted to the point of incapacitation; is that what it takes for someone to be considered? i cheated my way through school. every day after work i sit for an hour in my car because i dont have the executive function to stand up and walk the ten steps to my house. garbage just appears around me. i have three empty bags of hot chip and two cans of sprite on my desk as we speak, neither from today. at that point i hadnt had a debit card for six months because that would have required me to Drive To The Bank, a location that was new to me in this area, so i just did everything on credit. is this all normal? is this fine? am i GOOD, actually, Dr. WeirdBrain?

so we cordially agree that yes i should probably be medicated. i want to do a stimulant. he does not want to put me on a stimulant. "stimulants can mess with your heart," he says, "and you're young, you don't want heart problems." i say ok because i dont want to make him think im just looking for narcotics. even though i am. because they WORK. i agree to try some kind of antidepressant.

the antidepressant gives me tachycardia. i go to the emergency room after reading a heartbeat of, oh, 140 bpm, which is about like double what it normally is and juuuust below the You Are Having A Heart Attack threshold. i get to the ER and the doctor there is very obviously convinced i'm a local addict having some sort of episode. it is the most ironic experience i've had all year and i feel an abrupt and all consuming kinship with those birds in australia that will swoop you and peck at your face for seemingly no good reason.

so yeah, we narrow it down to the antidepressant. as it turns out, these particular meds are known to, semi-commonly, Mess With Your Heart. i have my next appointment with my psych and somehow refrain from pecking his eyes out. he puts me on a noreprinephrine inhibitor(iirc) that isnt actually FDA approved to treat ADHD specifically(i DEFINITELY rc) but it IS given to smokers to help them quit. i dont smoke. i may very well fucking start before this whole ordeal is at the point where someone listens to me

it obviously does a combined total of jack and shit, and the man waffles with this one because he has "had success" using it as treatment for other ADHD patients. he ups the dose. twice. three months on the smoker meds, which are also apparently notorious for destroying your appetite, but they didnt even do THAT. no change to the average amount of hot chip on my desk.

he wants to try quelbree after that. i finally tell him i'm tired of this shit and would like to have more than two hours of usable daylight to function before it all falls to uncontrollable youtube shorts binges and a daily experience i like to call The Weighted Nothings and i would very much like to PLEASE. TRY A STIMULANT.

he's been friendly enough with me over these past four or five or whatever months but at this he gets suddenly very very business-baseline. gives me the whole spiel about the north american shortage. gives me a spiel about how i absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, lose or sell this medication, because they will not refill it if i do. i am sitting here wondering if he he's telling the truth about having other ADHD patients at all like ever in his career, and also, am i nuts or should the "don't sell your prescription drugs" bit apply to EVERYTHING? i dont fuckin know man i just live here

he says he wants a urine test first. its scheduled for two weeks out. i take it.

"hey uh, your piss came back with cannabis in it" "well it'd be weirder if it didn't, we are in california and i am a kitchen manager" "you can't have weed if you want adderall" "fine i'll stop" "we'll schedule you another test in a month" "aight bet" it didnt go exactly like that but this is kind of what the vibe between us has devolved into by this point.

anyway i wait a month and get a good grade in piss. i get the meds prescribed. i go to fill out the prescription

all i really need to say to you are the words "prior authorization error" for most of you to get what happened next.

the psych isnt even aware. i wait another month for our next meeting, which was yesterday. i do not yell at him. he tells me to take it up with the pharmacy, and yell at them. i am going to yell at them.

so i go, and guess what, it actually went through a while ago! NO ONE TOLD ME OR DR. FEEL-BAD OVER HERE. but we can't fill it right now because its a controlled substance so come back in a few hours. hey it's ready where the hell are you? TAKE YOUR METH AND GET OUT

anyway i started it today, reorganized my pantry, and fixed the fire alarm in my hallway that's been chirping at me for a week. i no longer have to wear earplugs to bed.

and with my newfound executive function superpowers, i will be spraying my weed-free piss all over Reagan's grave.

#personal #anyway thanks for the kind words anon #i am going to go lie down #ADHD #long post

[whetstonefires]

Very fun thing actually about Jin Guangyao is he spent so much time and energy passing himself off as normal. The Normalest Guy, Look How Normal I Am. The Very Best And Most Skilled At Normal Things, Like Being Normal And Having Normal Opinions.

Which is great because on the one hand it reflects how he was kind of aware he absolutely was not. (And that by default this isolated him and this was Very Unsafe.) But on the other you see, with all the times he falls into the typical mind fallacy under stress and projects weird shit onto people, he also on some level believed everyone was doing this.

That being a Normal Person who had Normal Reactions to things, like being appalled by brutal violence, was an elaborate social lie everyone had to maintain to keep up the facade of civil society, and actually everyone was basically the same as him deep down. He was just better at it, and also the smartest.

Which is a very long way to say his character arc is heavily tied up with his evolving relationship with and skills at masking. I'm not gonna armchair diagnose him because that's beside the point, the point is that he is trying so fucking hard to be normal, but without a particularly well-developed definition of what's abnormal about him to begin with, resulting in some misfires.

And then you contrast him to some other characters and it gets more fun. One of his direct foils is Nie Mingjue, who literally does not know how to mask at all, not the slightest bit, but is fortunate enough to have been born the exact kind of weirdo his position in life demands, with special interests in 'saber training' and 'destroying evil.'

(He explicitly, per narration from wwx being inside his head, has no other interests and doesn't really understand the idea of having more than one activity you care about, do not tell me Nie Mingjue is walking around with a normal brain.)

So he is (jgy has a point about this, although he actually makes it about the luxury of having moral compunctions) free to totally embrace the conviction that everyone should basically be their authentic selves at all times, and just not do evil things about it.

On the other hand, and this really illuminates their relationship for me, Lan Xichen is absolutely trying to be normal. Like, he does try to excel, he wants to be best and he knows he's good, but as a person he is also trying to be as normal as circumstances allow.

He understands 'being normal about things' as a goal not in jgy's terms as an elaborate social fiction but as aspirational shaping of the self; if everyone is normal about everything then there won't be needless conflict. Living as normally as possible will optimize your mental health and your respect for others, and it's just a good baseline from which to be good.

Which is fine as far as it goes, but means harmless eccentricity (including gay) is to be tolerated and swept under the rug rather than really supported, and prejudices him to instinctively side with Jin Guangyao and anyone else who is pushing for Let's Be Normal About This, even when the people being weird are in the right.

(This is also to a non-zero degree a trauma response behavior; what Lan Xichen experienced as the largest existential threat to him growing up was something along the lines of being perceived as a selfish disruptor of norms, like his father.)

And then contrast that to Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji, who are both very concerned at least initially with how things and people and they themselves are supposed to be, and feel some responsibility for ensuring this supposed-to is reflected in reality.

But neither of them makes any particular attempt to be normal about it.

And then ofc Wei Wuxian, another jgy narrative foil, never attempts to pass himself off as normal. He will sell 'I'm better than everyone ever' and 'I'm scum of the earth' in the same breath before he will try for normal.

Except that he genuinely seems to think his most virtuous traits, his throw-himself-between-victim-and-weapon impulses, are basically normal. If not everyone (who isn't a total shithead) does it, it's because not everyone has his insane confidence they can pull it off.

Which in a good mood he would say is fair, because he is in fact awesome and really good at winning. (In a worse state of mind he would definitely hate on all the selfish cowards.)

Nie Huaisang is probably the most genuinely normal human being in the main cast, probably even more normal than Jiang Yanli, and he's very happy to play that up and present himself as actually even more normal and average than he is, in order to keep expectations down.

Up until his whole life gets fucked and this little pretense turns into the most elaborate and successful mask in the entire book.

#hoc est meum #characterization #meta #masking #mdzs #everyone makes my posts about jgy anyway so i'm just starting with him out the gate #he's such a fun characterization study ngl #jin zixuan is more normal than nhs but i can't honestly call him a main character

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Piece of Paper (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer and Reader discuss Autism evaluations.

Request: reader tells spencer "i think im autistic" and he’s like "wait you've never been evaluated/diagnosed??" and he helps her advocate for an evaluation or some other kind of support? A/N: I’m sorry if this isn’t exactly what you wanted, Anon, but this is the experience I would like to share as a person who was diagnosed as a toddler 🫶 Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader Category: Comfort/Fluff Content Warning: Autism assessment/Anti-Autistic mentions, implied abuse/gaslighting, minor self-hatred, internalized ableism Word Count: 1k

MASTERLIST

The bullpen was as quiet as it ever was. The bustling crowds had passed through and returned to the comfort of their home. All that remained were those with deadlines, no date life, or neurodivergent tendencies.

You peeked across the desk to notice how Spencer’s hyper-focus had finally faded, leaving him now spinning in his chair while he stared at the ceiling.

“Hey, Spencer?” you called, “Can I ask you a kind of personal question?”

His chair came to a halt.

“Sure, but I’m not sure if I’ll have a satisfying answer,” he chuckled.

You floundered for a moment, struggling to come up with an appropriate way to ask your question. Yet, when you did finally speak, you were anything but eloquent.

“What was it like when you were diagnosed with Autism?”

“Oh!” he said excitedly, “I’ve actually never been assessed.”

Immediately, your face began to burn, and your stomach churned with the realization you’d just made a number of possibly rude assumptions.

“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry—“

“I’m not offended,” he reassured you with a smile, “I agree with your assessment.”

You smiled at the wordplay, but the intensity of his gaze drove your eyes back to the mess of paperwork on your desk.

“Can I ask why?” you asked.

Spencer didn’t seem to mind at all that you stared at the desk instead of him. He offered his explanation with his normal enthusiasm.

“My mom wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of psychiatrists.”

Understandable. Neither were you.

“Plus,” he trailed off. You turned to find him staring at the ceiling again. He rocked the chair back and forth as he said somewhat solemnly, “the world isn’t particularly fond of Autistic people.”

The words felt like a blow to your chest. Like your heart had turned to stone or something unbearably cold.

“Ah,” you sigh. You brought a hand to your face to try to hide the disappointment.

Spencer, still looking above you both, didn’t even notice the shift in tone.

“Why do you ask?”

“Nothing,” you replied, “It’s nothing, it’s stupid.”

Even he couldn’t miss the sadness in your voice, though. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, you heard the realization hit him with a gasp.

“Were you planning on scheduling an assessment?”

“I was considering it, but… I don’t know if I should.”

There were a lot of reasons why that was the case — self doubt, fear of the unknown, chronic gaslighting — but you didn’t want to go into all of that. Instead, you chose to sympathize with the plight he’d already shared with you.

“Because you’re right, other people are… not very receptive to the diagnosis.”

Some more than the rest.

Spencer paused for a second, even though you knew he wanted to say something. For a moment, he wrestled with the right words and the right tone to prevent his anger from projecting onto the wrong person.

“Would you be doing it for them?” he asked, “The other people?”

It seemed like a silly question… one you’d never really stopped to ask yourself.

“What do you mean?”

That time, when Spencer started speaking, you couldn’t find it in you to stop him. You stayed silent because you knew he was offering you his unfiltered thoughts on something personal to him. 

“I mean… why do you want someone else to tell you? I don’t want to talk you out of something that would bring you peace of mind, but I would encourage you to ask yourself if that’s really the reason you’re doing it, because that piece of paper can make a lot of things much harder for you. Immigration, medical decision making, adoption, child rearing, hell, even your job… that target on your back will impact aspects of your life that you’ve probably never even considered it would.”

You sat there, soaking in the hopelessness of the moment. You begged your heart to slow down, but it continued racing along with your thoughts.

Ultimately, there was nothing left to be said but, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Did I upset you?”

There was a subtle regret in his voice, but you knew it had needed to be said. That bluntness, that unfiltered honesty had been exactly why you’d asked him.

So, you managed a smile as you thanked him the best way you knew how; by telling him the truth. 

“No, I appreciate your honesty.”

He responded with his own.

“Okay. I’m still sorry, though.”

“Thanks,” you said, although you’d meant ‘Me too.’ 

Spencer didn’t respond. Instead, he turned and scrambled to find a blank sheet among his notebooks. At first, you thought nothing of it. But once you heard him scribble something onto a piece of paper that was immediately ripped from its place, you turned to him.

His eyes remained fixed on the note he’d just written while he spoke.

“At the end of the day, no matter how badly we want to believe things will change… the people who don’t believe you now… they won’t believe a piece of paper, either,” he said.

Then, standing from his chair, Spencer closed the space between you, note in hand. He clutched it tightly between his fingers that were held against his chest.

“But if it helps, I believe you.”

Tears sprung from your eyes so quickly that you weren’t sure what to do with them. You decided to let them sit there, to soak in the saltwater reminder that you were not nearly as inhuman as the others made you seem. And when Spencer held out his hand to offer you the lifeline on lined paper, you took it.

He smiled.

“A doctor’s note, in case you ever need it.”

Spencer returned to his desk without another word. You set the piece of paper down and decided that, when you were ready, you would see what he’d had to say.

Then, when you were ready, you would find the handwritten message: 

“You are the only expert of your life. You already know the answer.”

(Tell me what you thought about this piece here!)

Please also consider reblogging and/or commenting on fics you enjoy to help keep the fandom alive!

Looking for more fics with an Autistic!Reader? Check out my Rec List here!

P.S. Did you know Tumblr might be hiding some of my posts from you? Learn how to change this setting here so you can enjoy my more scandalous works (if you want), including my most recent one, which can be found here.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #autistic spencer reid #autistic reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid criminal minds #autistic fanfic #autistic fanfiction

[system-hottakes]

TW : mentioning we are a programmed system (without any other detail)

Other systems should NOT criticize how different systems manage their own recovery.

We are 6 years into therapy been diagnosed for C-DID and a lot more stuffs but like.. Therapy for Dissociative Identity Disorders just don’t exist in our country. We are way too late on psychiatry, and even getting a CDD diagnosis is a battlefield here. Finding the right therapy is just so rare it basically never happens or you have tons of years to pass on a waiting list.

So yes, we are digging into our own traumas by ourselves (still we go to therapy and never stay alone but with closed ones) because we don’t have a choice and we want to heal ! Yes even if we are a programmed system ! We know this is highly dangerous, we know more than you can ever imagine ! But we don’t have a choice and healing’s not an option, it’s mandatory ! Yes our healing process will be much more complicated and instable, but is this truly worse than doing absolutely nothing ‘till the end of your life ?

If therapy for CDD doesn’t exist here, therapy for programmed system less exist. Basically health professionals don’t even know that’s actually a thing. Neither does our whole country population (only those involved and/or closed ones of survivors).

Stop telling us how we should heal when basically we don’t have many options and you know nothing about our situation here. A lot of countries are factually privileged when it comes to access therapy and health in general.

Stop telling people how they should act on their recovery. You don’t know anything about random people on the internet, you don’t know what they’ve been through and you don’t know what they have to go through in order to access therapy and how they need to manage their OWN recovery.

It depends on where you live, it depends on every individual. Everyone is different, not everyone got the same chances in life. And you should not assume the opposite.

^^ we don't have much to add here, but this is very correct. Do not criticise people for how they chose to recover, don't try to tell them they're doing it wrong, everyone is different and everyone needs different things to recover

#anti endo #did system #system #actually did #alters #did #endos dni #hot takes #hot take #System recovery #Recovery #Tw programming mention

[ingravinoveritas]

Did you see Neil's tumbler post about autism?? I never knew. Did he ever said anything about it before? My son was recently diagnosed, and Neil saying that he's autistic made me feel... I don't know, connection to him in a new way? Recognized? Hopefull? I don't have the words. Just wanted to hear your thoughts on it. I hope i didn't come off as offensive in some way. English is not my native language.

Hi there! I am slightly behind in Asks, so apologies to folks who have been sending them in over the past few days--trying my best to catch up now.

Firstly, you did not come off as offensive at all, so please don't worry! And yes, I did see Neil's Tumblr post (it's here, for those who might have missed it), and it's given me quite a lot of feelings, for reasons that would probably be expected.

I think what immediately came to mind when I read his post was a conversation I had with Neil when I met him back in November at a tribute to Ray Bradbury. I told him how much I was struck by the story he'd read, as it felt very much like an allegory for autism and resonated so much with my own experiences as an autistic person. He seemed to appreciate my comments and agreed with my observation, but never at any point in our conversation mentioned anything about identifying as autistic himself.

Does that necessarily mean anything? Of course not. I know that Neil does not owe me (or anyone else) a disclosure, and the decision to disclose is a very personal one that each person has to make for themselves. But thinking of Neil's post the other day, I'm also reluctant--for a variety of reasons--to say that it is a disclosure, or Neil definitely stating that he is autistic.

When I got your Ask on Friday morning, I was eager to answer it, though I knew I would have to wait because I was at work. Soon after, I had a difficult, emotionally draining meeting with my two supervisors. I ended up crying at work--which I have now realized is a trauma response--and by the time I got home and was starting to process everything, it was difficult not to look at Neil's post and flinch, particularly at the mention of "superpowers." That day, for the first time in a very long time, I could only feel the "kryptonite" part of being autistic. (My personal stance is that I have never considered autism to be a "super power," but something that is neither all good or all bad, and is part of who I am, yet not all of who I am.)

And from the conversation I had with my supervisors, I felt the responsibility and the pressure of other people seeing me in ways that I never intended--and regardless of whether I want to be seen that way. (For context: This was about my work as a professional speaker and people seeing me as an expert in autism/sexuality, when I never use the word "expert" to describe myself and always tell people I don't have all of the answers.)

The reason I mention this is because I feel like people read that post from Neil and--understandably, of course--saw something. They felt the connection that you described, and that sense of recognition. But what concerns me is that it's going to somehow turn Neil into a representative for an entire community, when that may not be something he wants or feels like he can be. If he is on a journey with autism--whether that means self-diagnosis, or a clinical diagnosis, or not having/seeking a diagnosis at all--that's something incredibly personal. As difficult as that journey is for people navigating it privately, myself included, Neil is possibly doing it in the public eye, which means that everything--every achievement and every misstep--is that much more amplified.

To that end, what I often see with Neil and social media is that he is either lavished with praise or torn to shreds (with very little in between). Being autistic means there is another possible dimension to who Neil is, but it can't be the only lens through which we see him. So I'm just hoping fans don't pin all of their dreams and expectations on him--not only for their sake and avoiding potential disappointment, but also for Neil's. To allow him the messiness and imperfection of being human, instead of a perfect role model.

I hope all of this makes sense. I'm still feeling a little raw from this past Friday, but I wanted to be sure I answered your question. Thank you for writing in! x

#mayaws #reply post #neil gaiman #autism #Friday was also the first time in a very long time that I felt that sense of being trapped inside myself #i used to feel it so strongly and all the time growing up #so it triggers the bejesus out of me to have something put me back in that head space #i'm feeling a lot of feelings #just hoping this wasn't too jumbled #thoughts #personal post #discourse

[totallyveryallosexual]

I see a lot of people say that people self diagnose neurodivergence because it's "quirky" or cool or something, which shows a lack of understanding of self diagnosis that I would like to correct.

1. I personally do not think I have autism because I "saw a tiktok and related to it". I think I have autism because I fulfill the diagnostic criteria that I have looked into extensively. I have sensory difficulties. I get overwhelmed by sound, and light, and the wrong fucking texture un my clothes or food. I was made fun of my entire childhood for "taking things too seriously", and I took what people said at face value, because I took things far too literally. I spent my entire childhood figuring out how to act normal, how to say the right thing at the right time so I wouldn't be made fun of or excluded. I am extremely comforted by various types of stimming, but was punished as a child for anything considered fidgety or abnormal. I love biology, and can infodump to you about genetics (special interest) for hours. This is an interest that can be considered abnormal, and it has consumed most of my available brain space for many years. Also, every single autistic person I've ever met has clocked me in about five seconds and immediately told me I have autism. The truth is, people don't self-diagnose themselves with a highly stigmatized disorder unless it is seriously impacting their lives.

2. Autism, especially in girls and bipoc, is often missed. If they can learn to mask it, it doesn't get diagnosed. I got straight A's all throughout high school, and I had teachers tell me that they thought I had autism, but that it was probably fine because it didn't impact my academics or my life. Spoiler alert: it did! People think that when a seemingly functional person claims to have autism, they are hopping on a trend, but most of the time, they are suffering. I was depressed and sometimes suicidal before I figured out I had autism. I got called a psychopath for things that should have been recognized as symptoms of autism, and a lot of the time I believed it because I didn't have any other words for myself. Our society is shitty and if you aren't a little cis white boy, it's much harder to get diagnosed.

3. Diagnosis is expensive, and hard to access! A lot of people don't realize that it's a privilege! It costs a lot of money to get diagnosed, money that not everyone can afford. It's also hard to get a diagnosis because of social stigma, especially if you figure out you have some form of neurodivergence under the age of 18. I'm a month shy of being a legal adult, and I know that while I'm working towards it, it will be a while before I can get properly tested and diagnosed. My mother, who would scream if she ever saw me wearing noise cancelling headphones in public, is not going to help me get a diagnosis. My mother, who has thrown what can practically be considered temper tantrums over me stimming (literally just tapping my fingers against each other) is not going to help me get a diagnosis. The children of parents who aren't ready to give up their image of a perfect child and think autism can be wished away don't have the same access to diagnosis as the children of parents who are willing to work with them and contribute financially, and neither does any adult who has gotten through life alright but struggles financially because They Have A Disability!!!

In conclusion, don't shame people who diagnosed themselves. I absolutely think the end goal should always be to work toward a professional diagnosis, but that isn't always feasible for people, and we can't sit around slowly drowning in the meantime. If you are worried about self diagnosed people taking away resources: guess what, there are no resources!

Self-diagnosis shouldn't be quick. It comes after a long time spent diving through symptoms and diagnostic criteria. But it gives people without access to diagnosis the ability to nonetheless understand themselves better. For me, it means being able to say "I'm overstimulated, I'm going to find a quiet place" instead of sitting and suffering. It means being able to say "I'm going to sit on the floor instead of my desk, because that grounds me and stops me from spiralling". It means stimming when I'm overwhelmed, and stopping when I need to, all without shaming myself or thinking of myself as lesser for not being able to do things I was told I should be able to.

#long post #autism #autistic #peer reviewed autism #undiagnosed autistic #undiagnosed neurodivergent #neurodivergence #neurodivergent

[circular-bircular]

More musings today, this time about “disordered plurality” and what it means for me to be disordered.

I’m not a disordered plural, but I am a disordered system.

Me and my therapist, the one who led to me being diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, have discussed numerous times how my system has saved me. We discuss often how my dissociation is a helpful tool; how my amnesia kept me safe for so long.

We discuss these things so I don’t resent who I am — what I am. I am a disordered individual who struggles with everything but the ‘plural’ aspect. I don’t struggle with having parts, and having them has been, by far, one of the best parts of my life. I’ve discussed with my partner how I wouldn’t change what I went through, no matter how much I may wish to not struggle, because it would mean I wouldn’t be the same as I am now — and I wouldn’t have my parts, differentiated as they are. I wouldn’t be me.

I would be, but… different. It’s hard to explain.

Regardless; the plural aspect is not disordered. I am neither distressed nor dysfunctional due to my system. I love my system. Loving my system has honestly been healing for me, and I’ve accepted and loved my parts long before I was diagnosed.

But I am disordered. I do have distress and dysfunction over my symptoms. My amnesia (which is not due to switching — I’m not sure why so many people think it’s isolated only to switching, but it’s not) distresses me and makes it practically impossible to function sometimes. My trauma flashbacks trap me in moments, leading me to feel I’m stuck in the car as a teenager with my abusive mother when I’m a 26 year old adult who hasn’t spoken to her in over a year. The dissociation leads to me only having driven across a state line for the first time ever, today — wait, nope. Never mind. I’ve done it before, Tavi just let me know. Just… didn’t remember it.

I’m a disordered system. And I love being a system. I just don’t love every symptom of being a system.

#syscourse #I guess #should I just straight up stop using that tag at this point? #fuck it #did #dissociative identity disorder #actually dissociative #actually did #actually a system

[queencolondarkwing]

AngelicaASMR’s current change

This post only about any info posted as of 7/25/2023 (will update in future if needed).

Ok so I’ve been following the Angelica Asmr shit pretty closely (don’t expect me to comment on gwen gwiz too because that girl is a grifter from the start). And as a mental health worker it REALLY freaks me out for her. I worked in a rehab for awhile. For people quitting drugs, but many of them also had bipolar, ptsd, schizophrenia, and similar diagnosises (some people also had the behavior due to being in crisis as well due to loss, recent homelessness, police brutality, etc.). So I know what psychotic breaks look like. I won’t armchair diagnose anything specific because I am not her medical provider, but while I can’t say she has anything for certain - she has a history of manic episodes in the past.

As someone with ADHD, a history of sexual and religious trauma, and c-ptsd like Angelica, I can honestly see how she fell into this. As someone who is also anti-capitalist, I can see why she thinks finding community would be beneficial (not sure why she would choose the Catholic Church instead of something from less individualistic, Eastern philosophy doesn’t make sense to me personally though...) to finding growth in an online era of isolation following a personal loss in her life. It seems weird how she went from talking about her Jehovahs Witness trauma from her youth...to going full on Orthodox, but I’ll get into details on why mentally this is actually super common in a minute.

I can also see how she would become a SWERF after having done OF, since as a former sex worker myself (camming, porn, fssw) who quit doing it after being raped - I can safely say that I myself am neither pro or anti sex work. I’m pro-decriminalization to keep workers safe, but also do feel a bit sick sometimes that MOST fssw on the streets are marginalized people. It is a complicated issue with nuance that non-sex workers have no business taking a side on. However, she is very hateful recently and anti-sex in general. Which is an issue.

She originally joined OnlyFans during a manic episode. So she HAS a history of mental illness and making major life decisions during mania. 

She went from pro-lgbtq to anti-lgbtq. Deleted her old progressive videos. Claimed to be a victim of MKUltra. Started making up delusions around the Catholic Church being anti-capitalist (Catholics individually can 100% be leftists, but the Church itself is VERY Capitalist). She posted homophobic and transphobic tiktoks where she would yell practically incoherently. Lots of staring. Inability to talk without looking away and laughing (she is normally a skilled actress).  Posting WAY more frequently than ever(she reposted 3 deleted videos last night and deleted them by this morning). She posted a video and lots of shorts and is way more active on Instagram. 

 The worst breakdowns I saw working rehab mostly always cycled through 4 topics: fame/self importance, inconsistent political and religious rambling, and sex. Always. Angelica has shown inconsistent spiritual beliefs (she has been mixing up Catholic, Orthodox, politics, and other religions). She has been focusing on sex in the context of trauma and posted a short of her in a bathtub on youtube again. She has been posting and immediately deleting content that has even positive comments on it.

Some medical signs of possible mania and/or psychosis that she is exhibiting:

Paranoia, trouble talking in a clear way/rambling, withdrawing socially (posting more often/online more but also alienating from her former fans), Confused speech, trailing off/lack of focus in videos, Generally disorganized way of thinking, no sign of restraint in expressing self, racing speech, goal-directed activity (seems to have a new anti-sex work goal), distractable/trails off topic, random giggling at nothing at camera like it is a person she is conversing with...etc. Tbh the amount of red flags I’ve seen are alarming.

I hope she gets support and help. And it is one reason I can’t blame her as hard as I would most, because she seems clearly unwell.  It isn’t an excuse. At all. And I don’t blame people for not supporting her going forward, but I plan to keep an eye on the situation for now and am hoping that somehow she can pull out of this shit, because I’ve seen this shit happen to a LOT of people with hard lives. Hell, I’ve even lashed out in smaller degrees and been delusional during my own ptsd breakdowns too, but when people are as far gone as Angelica is...I don’t usually see them come back again to the same state they were in previously. I’m hoping for the best, as a former fan and as a social worker, but Idk.

#angelica asmr #angelicasgrass #angelicas grass #angelicaasmr #asmr #asmr community #mental health #rape #sa #trauma #religious trauma #psychosis #breakdown #break down #mania #manic episode #homophobia #transphobia #mental illness #anti-capitalist #queencolondarkwing

[universeofdreams]

Angels wings watching over her, Pt. 1

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Shuri Udaku x Fem!Reader, Avengers x Fem!Reader

Genre: Sci-fi, angst, a bit of battle scenes, fluff

Warnings: rough language, mention of death, panic, fighting (with hands, not words), Tony has a hard shell, capture and prison cell

Wordcount: 4403

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Summary: Simple day at work, that turns out not so simple as you expected. You were scared for dear life and were basically not yourself until the Avengers come to stop you and in the process of getting better you had the opportunity to meet the queen of Wakanda who is actually a very pretty and genuine girl.

A/n: put my entire ass into the first chapter, ngl. kinda proud of it and I hope you like it too, because there's more badass shit following. ill eventually even create a playlist on Spotify and YouTube for the story. if you like the story, please consider supporting me of leaving me some kind of feedback :) have a lovely evening, morning, noon or night. <3

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Today was a pretty warm day when you got to work at the Hard Rock Café in New York and you saw people rush through the city, even in the subway there was no one relaxed. It might’ve been the weather that made them all feel extra uncomfortable or it was the fact that the attacks on the city accumulated since a few weeks.

Most people were scared for their lives when the evening arrived or heavy and thick layers of clouds appeared on the sky. To say it simple and basic: the battle against Thanos and the blip left scars on everybody, especially on you.

Most of the people came back when Tony sacrified himself just to perform the snap but some didn’t. Why are you asking me? Because some of them died in the time where they’ve been erased from earth.

Your mother, a genius when it came to languages and music, got blipped away too. She wasn’t really old but the doctors diagnosed her with the Huntington’s disease earlier in her life which shortens her lifetime drastically. 

As soon as her daughter, you, were born she checked if you had the same disease but luckily the doctors found nothing, means you’re safe. 

But when she was one of the people that didn’t come back, your dad was devastated. He wasn’t able to speak to you anymore without seeing his wife in you and tearing up. It ended in him, leaving you behind because the memory tore him apart. There was no sleepless night for him and neither was he able to go on with his life, that’s what he wrote in the letter he left for you after you found a nearly empty apartment when you came home from school.

The more important thing is that you were only 17 years old, all on your own. 

Nothing. He left nothing for you, not even money to pay the rent. But your neighbour, a lovely old lady, came to your rescue as she noticed that you were packing your things with the fact in mind that she hasn’t seen your parents in a long time and when you opened up to her, she took you in.

Ever since then, you’ve been living with Mrs. Johnson and worked two jobs while going to college. Julliard was hard to get in but once you settled, life got serious. You spent every day at the conservatory when you weren’t working, unlike today.

Working at the Hard Rock Café gave you the opportunity to promote your music and find friends that love the same thing as you. Working at the bar was one of your favourite job, you’d talk to customers or impress them with throwing bottles around before catching them and mixing their drinks. When you were at work, life was fun.

And as soon as the shift ends, all of the employees that were actual musicians came together and performed things on stage because there was no chance of doing that when they were serving customers.

Sometimes it was hard for you to leave the bar behind, especially when you had no time for working in the next few days and all your co-workers would hug you goodbye. Life was awesome at that point.

When you came home, the first thing you always did was cook. Mrs. Johnson was old and out of respect you couldn’t stop calling her by her surname when you moved in, until she repeatedly said “my child, don’t call me Mrs. Johnson, I’m not that old!” but she indeed was old. Didn’t even tell you her full name, the good old lady. 

Gwendolyn was her name, after all. So you got home and cooked dinner for yourself and Gwendolyn, who reminded you so much of your grandma that you last seen what felt like a decade. Gwenny – that’s what you called her because you took a liking to bad dad jokes – was actually the sister of Katherine Fury.

That’s how you were introduced to Nick. Nick was actually really nice when he talked to Gwendolyn, different than you expected him to be.

People that sat in the Café wore mostly summerly clothing and you wished you’d be able to wear something else than a black button-up and black pants because even though the air condition was on, it was incredibly warm in the building. Was it really warm? Because all your co-workers seemed to be fine and not overall sweaty and hot. What really concerned you were the constant questions if you’re okay and people telling you that you’d look quite pale. 

Even your boss noticed that. And she even dismissed you with the words “go home instead of working when you’re sick.” But you weren’t sick. Were you? No, not that you remembered.

When you hopped on your train it got even weirder. Was it usually this loud on trains? No, it wasn’t. And why were these people talking without even opening their mouths? They weren’t talking. It was all in your head. You hallucinated. Did you? Why were these words so accurate then? A man was talking about that he has to get up because his stop was coming, another one was angry because of his phone and so on and so on. Shit, were these their thoughts? 

Yes, indeed. On your way home your sight became quite blurry and you were constantly overstimulated because there was so much input. Didn’t really end good for you when you passed out in a darker alley.

But when you woke up, you weren’t in the same setting as you remember where you fainted. The dirty and slightly cold street exchanged for a relatively warm and cosy mattress, the fact that your surroundings looked quite like a hospital but way more high-tech and andvanced than the local hospitals could’ve been. 

Slight panic overcame you when you realised that this wasn’t a hospital and there was also no doctor looking for you. You wanted to move but weren’t able to. As soon as you were fully capable of controlling your own body you noticed that your arms were tied to the sides of the bed. Yes, that was a whole lotta panic rising in your stomach, especially when a dark-haired man entered the room, wearing a white overall and looked like a doctor. “You’re going to help me, right?” you asked, the shakiness of your voice implied that you were panicking.

“Yes, sure.” He smiled but the vibe was off. And you should’ve realised that before he grabbed your arm and injected you something but due to the ropes that held your arm in place you hadn’t even have the chance to pull back.

A painful screech left your body when you felt the transparent liquid flood your veins and it felt like it was burning you alive from inside. It burned and your fingers went numb, same as your toes. The fact that they also turned completely white made you worry. And that it travelled upwards… concerning.

“Don’t worry-“ the man to your right said and once again showed his ugly grin. “You’ll feel better soon, as soon as you’re our weapon you’ll do a lot better.” He cooed but as he said weapon, you started crying. 

“I didn’t do anything to you! I don’t even know who you are!” You tried to defend yourself but the man only laughed and left the room and you behind with the burning feeling inside.

Seems like you passed out again. Now you weren’t in the bed, around you were cold stonewalls that seemed to also be a little wet. Your head was leaned against the cold wall as your back was also pressing against it. Someone must’ve dropped you there. Your ankle was in a cuff and your hair was tied up in a messy bun. 

Your body felt extremely sore and your hands ached when you used them so you decided to stay on the ground a little longer, until a guard opened the door and placed a little bowl of food in front of you. ‘Plain rice is at least a bit better than nothing’, you thought to yourself. 

The feeling for time already left you and you couldn’t even tell if it was Monday or Tuesday and you hated it. You didn’t know where you were or if someone even looked for you, if you’re far from home or not and especially what they’d do with you.

A few words slipped to your ears from the hallway which were “Tests, today and let’s see if serum succeeded.” 

So the fluid wasn’t something like saline, it was a serum. There was some weird serum in your body and you didn’t know what it does but judging by what the guards said, you should find out pretty soon. Except that this pretty soon was now. The doctor that you met when you woke up the first time was there too and there were two guards that escorted you with handcuffs out of the most likely some kind of prison cell into a bigger room. 

‘Why was there a swimming pool?’ 

Would’ve been better for you to not ask yourself this, because one of the guards attached a metal ball to the handcuffs which seemed to be quite heavy. You looked back and forth between the guards and the doctor and when the man nodded, the two bigger men threw you in mentioned water.

Your problem was now the ball, that was sinking and pulled you down with it. 

Panic. 

You started screaming, even if no one heard it since the water muffled pretty much all the sounds. 

You’ll die. Will you?

Seems like it. They only wanted to kill you.

What were the intentions of a weird doctor that kidnaps you and injects you some weird serum other than killing you? 

Maybe he was an inmate that wants revenge. Or maybe someone who just hated women.

Everything was possible at that point. Didn’t change the fact that you were scared for dear life. You didn’t want to die just yet. 

And you only had two options, drown or detach it from the cuffs. Second option sounded a lot more appealing than No. 1 and so you started wiggling in the water, trying to get free, when you felt a weird pain in your nose.

The water shot through it and suddenly you were able to breathe. Didn’t change the problem with the metal ball but made it, weirdly enough, at least manageable. Your body stopped shaking and when you tried to move your hands, the cuffs just simply broke.

“What the hell?” you muttered- no blubbered to yourself. 

The ball problem was eliminated and you were able to swim back up to breathe some fresh air. 

“Shit, doc, she did it.” Yelled one of the guards and he smiled. 

His nod said that he knew that this was gonna happen and that this was exactly his intention. 

“Bring her into a maximum security cell and strap her down. No movements allowed or you two shitheads get killed first.” He commanded with a chuckle and left the room again, then everything went black. 

The next time you were woken up was in a jet, next to people that looked as clueless as you might look right now but there were no words that left your mouth, even if you tried to speak as hard as you could.

No words.

“Good evening, young ones.” The man with the dark hair said and referred to all the people around you and probably you. “I am deeply sorry that there was no time for a detailed welcome but I’m catching up on that now. My name is William G. Palm and I am your manager and boss. You’re working for me as my weapons and today is your first mission. I want you to knock out or kill everyone that is in your way. I want those weapons.”

The man stated and you knew deep down that some time ago you had no sympathy left for him but right now all you could do was nod.

“I injected serum that is made out of concentrated angel tears into your veins so you have the exact same powers as those above.” He stated and gave the guards a sign to open the handcuffs of all the girls and boys on the ship. Then, a loud thud. They must’ve landed. The hangar opened and everyone ran, as far as they could. Some were shot, others were able to get further but not far enough, except you. 

You hid behind obstacles and ran in an ungodly speed, the shots didn’t even were close to you. Adrenaline was pumping inside of you and all you could see was red, letting your instinct control you completely. 

People were screaming, most of them were your mates. 

It was a war scene, mass destruction and heavily armed people ran around. But you didn’t look back, running and running. 

Fulfil your mission.

The enemies were trying to get to you but none of them stand a chance. One came close to you but you knocked him off his feet with a punch into his face and tried to get to the weapons inside the building. On your way there you had a couple more fights but none of the soldiers were actually able to stop you.

With some weapons you made your way back but were stopped by a certain redheaded woman in black attire.  “Whatever you’re trying here won’t work out, kiddo.” She said and held her hands up.

If you were a 100% conscious at that time you would’ve recognised that THE Black Widow was standing right in front of you, but the manipulated you just shrugged and tried to run past her but what stopped you this time was the hand that met your nose.

“Shit!”, you groaned and turned around to face her. 

“You’re really trying to mess with me, huh?” Was your question that she simply scoffed at. “Hold your horses, wild one. You’re messing with the Avengers.” 

‘Fulfill your mission, Y/n. Bring me the weapons.’ The voice of Dr. Palm echoed through your head.

“I don’t care.” Was your answer as you hat her on her solar plexus and made her stumble backwards. It was your chance to run which you took gratefully.

Little did you know that a shit ton of Avengers waited for you outside and Dr. Palm was nowhere in sight. Little did you know that he left you there, he had the assumption that you were killed like all the other ones and went before he got caught.

“It would be smarter of you if you drop the weapons and come with us.” Stated the dude in blue, white and red clothing and a shield but you shook your head out of irony. 

“Really think that would get me, huh?” 

Who would’ve thought that Spider-Man was the one to knock you off your feet with his taser webs. 

Unconsciousness.

Darkness.

Silence.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You groaned, your head was hurting a lot. Why was it hurting that much? 

“She’s awake!” A male voice said and make you open your eyes in shock and probably also in fear of being tied to something again but this time it was a rather friendly face, a light stubble over his chin and cheeks, rimless glasses sat on his nose and his dark, lightly curly hair was sprinkled with gray.

“Hey.” He smiled. “I’m Doctor Banner, Bruce Banner.” At least a small introduction, so you knew what and who you’re dealing with.  “I know you might be scared but I promise no one here’s going to harm you.” He stated, raising his pinky. “Pinky promise.”

What kind of doctor would say ‘Pinky promise’ you thought, but he didn’t seem so bad so far.

“I did some check-ups on you and your condition was pretty bad, you were pretty dehydrated and your blood pressure was constantly too high.” He explained and showed you some health data. He had evidence, seemed to know what he was doing

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Stark would like to have little talk with you.” He said and exchanged places with Tony, who had a certain black girl by his side. 

“Hey kiddo, how are you feeling?”, the billionaire asked and looked intensively at you, but you just laughed. 

“Like shit.”

“I know Bruce is gonna fix it but I still need you to help me out. Who are you working for?”  “Working? For Hard Rock Café, nothing more?” The tone in your voice was questioning, as if you didn’t know what he was talking about, what was the case right now.

“No, why were you stealing those weapons?” He was stern and now very straight forward. 

“What weapons?” And made Shuri shake her head. “She doesn’t remember, Tony. No need to push her into something, her bpm’s already rising.” The princess stated and had a hand on Tony’s shoulder, trying to calm him and pushing him out of the room.

She now smiled at you and pulled a lightly disgusted face, paired with the words “men…” and laughed which also made you chuckle.

“You need to tell me everything that you remember about the whole thing, okay? Do you remember where you landed or what your mission is?” You shook your head.

“Want me to explain it?” The older one asked and received a small ‘Okay’ from the college-student.

The panther took a deep breath, sat down on the bed next to your legs and started rambling. “When the Avengers were called it was kind of a war-scene, other people your age where shot when they ran for their lives out of a jet-“ She stopped, gathering and sorting the memory. “-and a man was looking at the scene and laughed before he left.”  While she talked, the girl was playing with her hands, seems like she was nervous. 

While you were watching her fiddling with her fingers and inspected the tattoos, something came out of your mouth. “Palm.”

Shuri was looking at you, following your gaze down to her hand. “What?” She was confused, what where you talking about? 

“Doctor Palm.” Your voice cracked as you spoke again, even if you didn’t know where it came from. But Shuri slowly tried to catch up on what you were saying and her face lit up. “That was the man, yeah?” 

Nod. 

“Thank you so much. I’ll be back soon, get better fast.” She smiled and hurried out of the room to talk to the Avengers.

All of the heroes were in the conference room in the compound after Shuri had called in an emergency meeting and obviously they all were nervous and curious. 

“What happened?” It was Captain America, that spoke. “Did the girl try to flee or something?” 

“No. I want you all to look for a Doctor Palm, that’s the man that was with the teenagers back there.” She stated and fought for your right and for your justice. 

Tony was the first one that got to work and tried to find the mysterious man, while Shuri hurried back to your room.

Why was she so worried even if you basically didn’t know each other? For the others it looked quite normal, just a girl helping another girl out but the way she acted was so down to earth, other than expected from the Black Panther. You bet she would’ve had places to be but when she returned, a glass of orange juice in hand, the queen seemed to care so much.

You muttered a “Thank you so much” when she handed you the drink and sat back down at your legs. She let you take a moment to taste the juice and when you hummed in satisfaction, she continued talking.

“Do you remember what happened before that battle?”

“Well- my head feels very weird because I think I fainted a lot- I mean I at least was unconscious often.” You mentioned and she took a mental note on that just to tell Bruce to check up on your blood values in case they’ve drugged you. 

“Also I remember fainting on my way back home-“ And there was the memory of good old Gwenny that would be dearly worried about you by now and tears welled up in your eyes. 

“When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed, just like this one. But my hands were tied to the side and this Dr. Palm injected me something. That’s why I was panicking when I woke up here.” You admitted and took a deep breath, what follows was a big deal for you.

“And then I woke up in a prison cell. The guards later on always drowned me on purpose and I snapped handcuffs in half. Then they strapped me down in a max cell.” You looked away. You usually didn’t talk about what was on your mind but maybe the girl in front of you should know, if the Avengers were going to help you, you know?

But her face was enlightened by shock. She couldn’t peel her eyes off of you and pity was dwelling in the pit of her stomach. 

“Could you do me a favor, queen?”  “Don’t call me queen, I’m Shuri! What is it?” Her smile brought you comfort, even if your mind was troubled. It was so cloudy up there, so so cloudy that you couldn’t focus on your own thoughts.

“I’m living in a flat with an old lady, downtown New York. I don’t know how many days passed since I fainted. Could you check on her?” You begged, again at the verge of tears. “Please tell her that I’d be home soon and she should call Nick, that he takes care of her.”

“Nick? As in Nick Fury?” The queen of Wakanda asked and when you affirmed of her assumption, she once again gave you a big smile and rushed to do what you asked for.

But the answer was no good and Shuri couldn’t manage to tell you this herself, it’d break her heart once again, so she sent Bruce, also with the information about your blood values. 

Yes, you weren’t speaking for the rest of the day. And the day after that day. Just because you didn’t pay any attention to your surroundings that day you were now all alone by yourself. Luckily you had a roof right now and people that at least took a little care of you but when Tony crashed your silent treatment, you didn’t know how to react.

They didn’t find the man they were looking for. The only they managed was to analyse your blood very detailed and what they found was very confusing.

“High dose of chloroform, serum spiked with an identical formular of the super-soldier serum, indeed there were tears of angels in it. And we had some contact to someone who knows a bit about mystic creatures. He said they will look for you.” 

Tony wasn’t very pleased of your stay and you knew by the way how he told you, without any filters or any empathy.

“This is not a motel or something so if you feel alright it would be cool if I’d get my doctor back.” He said and hell yeah you felt unwanted. Why would he say something like this? Didn’t he care?

Why were you even here if he didn’t care? They could’ve left you there-

He could just simply let you go if you didn’t discover how to use what they gave you but that would happen sooner or later. And Shuri wasn’t really happy about Tony’s decision but couldn’t do anything about it. She offered to take you to Wakanda and give you a place to rehab but you declined. 

Why?

You still wanted to graduate.

You still wanted to be a normal person even if it seemed impossible right now. 

After Tony’s snarky comment you told Bruce that you felt alright and that you’d want to leave, much to his dismay.

You hoped not to walk into the queen on your way out of the building but the last few days weren’t lucky for you and so was this one.

“Hey, hey, hey killer, where are you going?”, she asked, thought that she was dreaming. 

“I’m leaving.” You shrugged and gripped your jacket and your phone a bit tighter, you hated confrontations.

“Whoa, what? Why?” Didn’t she know about how Tony felt?

“Yeah, Stark said I should leave when I’m good, no motel and shit.” 

Her expression and smile dropped. She wouldn’t see you again, would she? Probably not. 

“Give me your phone.” She demanded and you handed her your phone and saw how she created a new contact. 

“Call me, if you need anything. Even if it’s just a friend or a drink.” And you didn’t expect her to open her arms for a hug, which you still gladly took.

Why were the clouds disappearing? 

Why was her skin so warm?

Was that her heartbeat? 

Why was she protecting you the whole time? 

You broke the hug and gave her a little smile, shoving your phone into your pocket and walked towards the exit. She didn’t move a muscle, still looked in the same direction as when you guys were talking. 

The odd feeling of not wanting to leave her alone behind didn’t wash away and so you turned around and called out her name once more.

“Hey- Shuri?” 

She looked – over her shoulder - back to you and watched you.

“You’re very pretty.” With that she received the sweetest smile you owned when you turned on your heel once more and walked off.

Were that butterflies?

When was the last time a girl actually called her pretty?

She couldn’t remember.

With that a smile settled on her face for the rest of the day.

But not for you. When you realised you had no money left and no bus drives out here you only had the option of walking or rather walking at least into the next city. You could’ve asked the queen to give you a ride but you didn’t want to be in dept about anything ever. She would’ve escorted you safely to where your destination was- but you had none, except for New York City. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

NEXT CHAPTER>>

#letitia wright x reader #shuri x fem!reader #shuri udaku #shuri x reader #avengers x reader #avengers x fem!reader #wakanda forever #black panther wakanda forever #the avengers #mcu rp #black panther #marvel cinematic universe #black panther x reader #shuri udaku x reader #shuri udaku x yn

[bil-daddy]

Salutations Mr Bildad, Bildad the Shuhite, Bildaddy sir.

I'm so so sorry to bother you, or be a nuisance, but everything is getting on top of me lately and you give excellent advice.

Basically, the last 12-18 months have been awful - I'm acutely aware that in terms of what's happening in the world I'm pretty blessed 🙏🏻 However within around 12 months experiencing; a miscarriage, 4 bereavements, one parent being rushed into hospital, the other needing surgery (both are doing Ok now thank God 🙏🏻), two surgeries of my own within six months - neither of which have improved what they should have, chronic pain, multiple diagnoses - most of which were unexpected & should have been diagnosed a looonnnnggg time ago, reactions to any& all medications, finding out physio will be necessary for the rest of my life, a very upsetting break up, discovering people who were supposed to be friends can't be trusted...... Let's not forget financial issues due to being unable to work as result of illness etc .... I am losing hope that things are ever going to get better 😔

I'm so so sorry for offloading all this on you but work said they could no longer offer counselling which is infuriating because the counsellor was amazing! Sadly she isn't taking on any private patients for several months so we had to discontinue sessions for the foreseeable 😔

I'm so sorry but I don't really have any other people to talk to right now, my fiancé was my best friend so in a sense it's almost a double loss? Sorry this is pretty pathetic 😪

Yikes. And here I thought @blameless-job had it bad.

So, first off, let me tell you how sorry I am for all your losses. Any of which on their own are extremely painful, but all at the same time? Nobody should have to weather a storm like that. I am so proud of you, just for being here. You're incredibly strong for what you're surviving, even though you shouldn't even have to survive it in the first place.

So don't apologize cause there's nothing pathetic about reaching out for help when you're going through something--or multiple somethings, in your case. In fact, it's exactly the thing you need to do. A lot has been dumped onto your plate, so it makes sense you need to offload it.

I know your former counsellor isn't able to help you at the moment, but maybe they can refer you to someone else, because you deserve a professional (in psychology, not shoemaking and obstetrics) to help you through these tragedies. They might be able to get you a referral.

(If you want to try to find a counsellor on your own, there's NHS Therapy Services in the UK, and SAMHSA National Helpline in the US.)

In the meantime, though, I'll do my best.

If you're worried that things are never going to get better, you shouldn't be. I mean I understand why you are, but the fact is, as dark as this is to say, you might actually be at your lowest point right now. Which means, as awful as things are right now, things can only go up from here.

You got some new diagnoses, which suck to have, especially when they should have been caught earlier, but now that you have a diagnosis, you can start getting treated.

You're six months out from two surgeries and haven't gotten better, but in six more months, or even six weeks, you might start to see some improvement. Plus, once you start the phsyio therapy you now know you need, you can troubleshoot with the physical therapist on how to make more improvements on the issues you had surgery for, as well as the chronic pain. The physical therapist might also be able to refer you to a counsellor as well, if your previous counsellor isn't able to give you one.

But that's just the physical stuff.

It's the emotional stuff that hurts more. Losing loved ones, be it to death, breakup, or just realizing your friends aren't really friends. That kind of pain is even more difficult to deal with.

For the bereavements, it might be helpful remember the good times you shared with these people and the things you loved most about them. They may be gone now, but those memories aren't and they're even more valuable now that they are the parts of your loved ones that are still with you.

And when you're living your life, and you see or hear something that reminds you of them, like a favourite song, or the kind of car they used to drive, that's another way they're still with you.

You might cry the first few, or few hundred times you remember them, but after awhile you'll start smiling more and crying less when you think about them.

For the miscarriage, it's a bit tougher, since you're grieving what could have been, rather than what was. But it's still a loss as valid as any other loss of a loved one, so you have every right to grieve it as such. You have my deepest sympathy for the loss of your child. And the miscarriage is why your fiancé and you are no longer together, you have my deepest sympathy for that, too.

It would be easy for me to say "the trash took itself out" when it comes to ex-fiancés and fake friends, but much harder for you to actually feel that way.

You have the right to grieve the friendships and your relationship ending. To miss them even though they hurt you. To feel hurt, and betrayed, and angry, and still love them anyway, even if you can't be around them anymore. It's okay to hate them, too, if you need to. Not forever. But in the short term, it can be cathartic and exactly what you need.

It'll take time for all these overwhelming and conflicting feelings to fade, and it's possible they'll never completely be gone. But you will learn to live alongside them until you forget they're even there.

You will feel better, I promise you. Een if the light at the end of the tunnel looks like a distant star right now, you'll reach it.

So have an ox rib (platonic) for the journey

Hope this helps, even just a little. Mutuals, feel free to send good vibes @ashbunny2027's way

#bildaddy answers #counselling from Bildaddy #results may vary #bildad the shuhite #bildad the shuhite army #bildaddy #have an ox rib (platonic) #oh bildad we're really in it now #oh bildad the shuhite we're really in it now #bildad my beloved #bildad nation #bildad brainrot #bildad #bildad the shuite

[whiteskullofroses]

Hello,

Loved your Baldwin IV of Jerusalem x Physician!Reader. Can you please write one for Simon Ghost Riley x Doctor!Reader 🙏.

Where the two have been catching the same train for 1 year now for work, in the city. But they never talk but acknowledge each other with a smile & nod.  Until a fight broke out between 2 men which one of them ended up being stabbed & doctor (reader) comes to the rescue with Simon assisting her and is amazed at her competence, assertive & calmness. 

Thank you so much<3

Enjoy:

SIMON GHOST RILEY x Doctor!reader

Warnings: foul language, blood, fighting.

The cold breeze, which fall drew upon the city, kissed your cheeks as you arrived at the train station. There was nobody there beside you and your thoughts. They ranged from your anxiety of the train being late again and that resulting into you being late for work which wouldn't pay off today, to 'will I see him again?'

In four hours you'd be operating on a patient with a brain tumor, a lot of your energy and patience will be required to complete it successfully. You were confident in your skills. Thats what's truly important for a doctor to have. Confidence.

Luckily, the train arrived at exactly 8.25am. Stepping on and grabbing a newspaper to have the time run faster. The train was a second away from passing on to the next station when the masked man finally boarded on.

You moved the paper from covering your face and leered your eyes to his as he sat down and looked up at you. You smiled, he nodded.

Though the two of you have been exchanging friendly gestures for the past year, neither of you ever spoke up. That was usually because there was no time to chat, the train ride to where you got off lasted about 10 minutes, whilst his lasted 5.

When there was a rare occasion like this one, where you didn't have to stay up all night to read papers of different illnesses your patience have been diagnosed with, which were so long you had to complete some reading on the ride, you very introvertently waited for him to reach out.

"YOU BITCH YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME HUH?"

The train was usually packed with people heading out to run their errands but today there was only you, the man with the mask and 2 others.

Both of your heads turned to the drunk and the construction worker.

The drunk guy with a red, stained shirt appeared to be the aggressor when the other tried to calm him down:

"Sir, please sit back down."

That sentence sent the red one over the edge: "SIT DOWN? YOU'LL SEE ME 'SIT DOWN' "

The beer bottle he was drinking from was now broken to pieces as he smashed it on the floor.

You glanced back to the one sitting opposite to you. He was watching them with a death stare. It wasn't until he stood up and ran to the scene that you realised something really horrible went down.

The military man grabbed the drunk and pushed him away from the poor construction worker who appeared to be bleeding.

You ran over as fast as you could and held the hurt ones shoulder: "Were you stabbed?"

The worker was panting, clearly panicking and in pain. "YES!" He shouted out and leaned back on his seat. "Where were you stabbed, sir? In situations like this, you of course knew how to react. Panicking was out of the question, especially when the one hurt is in distress himself. Pointing to his left arm you looked through the ripping of his shirt and noticed it was a pretty deep cut. "Alright sir, please hold your right hand on the wound and apply as much pressure you can."

The army guy was still holding the drunks arms behind his back: "LET ME GO, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

"Watch your mouth." Those were the first words you heard him speak. His voice sounded raspy and deep, like a true military man's would.

He watched you with respect. How calm you were and how you managed to somewhat calm the worker down too.

You pulled a shirt out of your bag and tied it around the wound. "This is so you don't lose any more blood"you explained:"I'm dr. Y/L/N, I'll get you to the hospital with me."

The worker gazed at you with pure gratitude: "Thank.. Thank you so so much!"

Simon's eyes never left you, you were just so magnetic to him. Your skills, your assertiveness. It stuck to him like glue.

The train stopped, the doors opened and Simon threw the guy out. Stumbling to the ground and groaning, he was gone for good.

You looked up at Simon and thanked him.

"No problem. What needs to be done needs to be done."

The doors closed and the train moved forward. The next stop was Simon's. You didn't waste any time, stepping out of your shell, standing up and introducing yourself: "I'm Y/N."

"I'm Simon. You can also call me Ghost."

You nodded and went back down to the workers level to check on his wound.

"It doesn't look that bad." Commenting and soothing the hurt one as the train stopped once again.

"See you."

"Goodbye, Y/N."

THE END.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty

[ghxstyfae]

Heart Eyes ♡ J.B Routledge × Mentally Ill Kook

Warnings: manipulation, paranoid schizophrenia, anxiety, obsessive gf, knife play, spanking, overstim, edging, NOT x reader, daddy kink, casual dominance, etc

Laufey met John B when she was snooping through the cut and probably chasing a raccoon through the forest

JJ and John B stopped her and asked her what she was doing there. It was pouring raininag out and tensions w/ the kooks and pogues are at an all time high

She was wearing a trashy y2k inspired fit, and her her was very long and sorta wavy/curly, neither of the boys recognized her

She told them she got into an argument with her now ex boyfriend Rafe (she of course used some very ***interesting*** words to describe him) and jumped out of his car, then walked into a park, found a raccoon and has been chasing it ever since

"We cant just leave her out here in the rain" "bro shes a kook? What if shes undercover" (jb and jj to eachother, whispering like idiots)

By the time the look back up for Laufey, She has caught the racoon and is now carefully(?) womanhandling it into submission.

Now shes walking back to the chateau beside JB, holding her new raccoon friend all "youre really handsome you know... could kill a girl with that smile" Just openly flirting w him, Jj laughing his ass off behind them

"Oh yeah im sure pretty girl, did you get hurt in the forest? You're bleeding" of course hes just going straight into daddy mode. She just laughs it off "The raccoon bit me when we tussled. Its okay i have antibiotics for rabies at home just in case... you single?" "Jesus fuck. Mhm"

When they got back home, JJ made himself food and John B took Laufey back to find a change of clothes.

"This hoodie'll be big on you but'll fit. You can try these pajama pants" handing her one of his few hoodies and womens pajama pants.

"Why do you have girls pants. I thought you were single" "getting jealous pretty girl?" "Yes."

And he was kinda hooked from that conversation. He knew it probably wasnt good or sane, but he liked the claim she felt she had in him after barely knowing eachother

Maybe it comes from his own traumas, but he adores feeling needed and wanted.

They clicked very quickly, not doing anything inherently romanatic or sexual for weeks/months, just flirting and a lot of clingyness.

The pogues got use to her being around, not that they rlly had a choice because she wouldnt seperate herself from JB.

I imagine very early into their friendship, she explained a bit about her history to him, and that connected them even more. He wanted to be there for her

Laufey grew up in a pretty rich household with three older siblings. Her mother passed away and her father was extremely abusive growing up. He doesn't physically abuse her or any of her siblings now, but the damage has been done.

When she was 13 she was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. At that point she was sent off to a mental institution by her father (in her eyes to "get rid of her")

She explained to Jb that they shouldnt be friends, and she would eventually hurt him, she didnt want that

He didnt care, in a nearly toxic way the didnt care if he got hurt, he wanted her selfishly.

When they finally do get together, they are 4lifers

Laufey is absolutely obbsessed w him

He likes to do little things to take care of her, especially things that help take a bit of stress off her and make her faily life easier

Like brushing her hair and doing it in the mornings, picking out her outfits, making her food and making sure she eats, making sure she takes her meds and picking up the prescriptions, etc, etc.

Some nights are really rough. Its not all sunshine and rainbows especially after Laufey had her first big breakdown while dating him.

It started when she was left alone, and she got carried away even when he came back to her, tryning his best to ground her but instead she just called her dad and guilt trapped him into sending her enough money to buy herself a house to get an apartment on the cut with, and hid herself away in it for a weekish.

Jb realized he needed to take better care of her, he became more intune with her emotions and began to know her mind better then she did.

On rougher nights he would take of her makeup, change her clothes, wash her hair, hide her pills in food, brush her teeth for her, anything she needs

He needs it too tbh. He needs the feeling of being wanted.

Following him around everywhere, on all his adventures without a care in the world for her own safety.

Even when he tells her (in his stern daddy voice) that she'd better stay home and let him go on this one alone, because it would be so unsafe for her

Laufey of course ignored all his warnings, ("you'll take care of me daddy!!") hid herself in his boat, and sneaking up behind him once they were far enough away from the harbour for him to not want to turn back.

She got herself a spanking right then and there (although she enjoyed it)

When they finally go back home in the safety of the chateau, he had come up with actual punishments for her, for whenever they'd be needed. He had learned that edging her, overstimulating her, spanking her, making her cockwarm him, all of those were just incentives to her.

Things like taking away her vibrator, or not letting her wear any of his clothes for a bit, not doing her hair for her, etc

Speaking of incentives, he also has those set for her. The list os mostly things he wouldnt usually do, that make her horny asf.

Like cutting her, biting her (hard enough to draw blood), hunting her in the woods, etc, etc

Laufey adores fighting random cunts that try to hit on JB.

He has had to pull her off of many a drunk stranger at a party before she breaks their face

She actually almost fucked up jj on a bad night where be decided to fuck around and find out

He was drunk and making some stupid quips about some pogue girls checking Jb out. Saying that they were more "his type"

.......

Didnt go well for him😭😭💀

"I swear to god Johnathan if you even think about any of those other skanks id stab them in the kidneys"

And that just turns him on

Might add more to this later, let me know how you feel about her!!

#fanfiction #john b routledge x reader #john b routledge #john b x reader #john b x f!reader #john b prompt #john b #obx fanfiction #obx fic #john b headcanons #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader

[shion-yu]

I Still Think Of You

Whatever proceeded or followed this moment was worth it, if only just to hear Elliot's voice one more time. Cliff and Elliot reconnect nearly three years after their breakup. A complete rewrite of an older story that I wasn't content with and deleted. Also my fill for my @badthingshappenbingo space "I Will Only Slow You Down." 2,351 words, original writing, no TWs, CW depression, chronic illness whump.

The song hit Cliff like a stray bolt of lightning. He was sitting in the outpatient infusion center getting his monthly infliximab when it came on the regional variety station.

Sometimes I'm driving 

Down ninety-five in your car

I imagine it still smells like you

But that was so long ago

And you're gone

Like dust in the wind

Like the tide pulled you in

Like you're never coming back

To me again

To whisper in my ear

"You're my whole life"

And I'm yours

I'm still yours

It was Elliot. The voice was unmistakably Elliot's because nobody else's voice sounded like that: that perfect mix of confident yet wavering and gentle. Cliff knew it immediately because it was the voice that he fell in love with. He also realized quite quickly that the song was about him. All those other love songs that Elliot had written could be excused away as generic, the classic ballad about a faceless lover. Maybe a few coincidences, but never anything like this one that pulled so directly from the time that he and Elliot spent together. 

Cliff had told Elliot so many times: "You're my whole life." At first it seemed romantic. Later it seemed possessive. "I can't be your whole life, not all of it," Elliot had told him the day they broke up. "You need to keep some for you, too."

Cliff wished he had understood what Elliot meant by that back then. Maybe if he had, things would have turned out different. Maybe Cliff would have been more honest, braver. But they were victims of the age old cliche: you can't love another person until you love yourself. It hadn't just been Cliff though. Neither of them had loved themselves, they'd only loved each other. They'd relied on each other too much before the other was ready to carry the burden of another.

That was almost three years ago. A lot had changed since then. Cliff was diagnosed with sarcoidosis. He started law school and then made the difficult decision not to return after the first year. He dated Phoenix, who broke up with him when he dropped out. He never loved Phoenix though. Cliff wasn’t even sure if he ever even really liked him. It was just another poor attempt at hoping that if he pretended to be someone he wasn't, he'd stop being the real, pathetic version of himself that actually existed.

Cliff had been trying to ignore Elliot's steep rise to fame for a while now for his own self-preservation, but after I Still Think Of You hit the billboard 100 it became impossible. Elliot was everywhere: on talk shows and TV performances and magazine covers. The other half of his act, some guy named Alex, always hovered behind him providing bass and backup vocals. Cliff thought he looked like a little kid. He rarely smiled, as opposed to Elliot who couldn’t stop except for when he was crooning so passionately into the microphone that it gave Cliff chills to see. Everyone seemed to think Elliot's permanant smile when speaking was adorable, but Cliff knew it was just a nervous habit.

He watched Elliot sing his heart out on a YouTube clip of Good Morning America. Elliot was always incredibly talented, but his voice had gotten much better with age and confidence. He owned every word and his presence was immense. The announcer described him as a prodigy, but Cliff disagreed. He knew Elliot worked his ass off to get to that point, it didn't just come naturally. But Elliot laughed and thanked everybody profusely. It sounded like the audience was mostly girls based on the squealing every time Elliot said something sweet. Elliot had never denied his sexuality in interviews, but it seemed that didn’t matter.

Cliff didn’t know why he did it. Maybe because he thought there was no way Elliot wouldn't have changed his number by now and even if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t answer Cliff right? Maybe it was because he was lonely and figured he didn't have anything to lose. Or maybe it was because he thought he might die before he ever had a chance to address his single most burning regret in life. Nobody said he was dying, but Cliff wasn't sure. He didn’t leave the house anymore, too sick to have the energy and too self-conscious about his inability to control himself to try. He couldn’t get farther than the length of his apartment without his crutches and he couldn’t skip the oxygen if he wanted to walk further than a single block without his lips turning blue. It felt pitiful, and he spent many nights thinking that if someone offered him a magic pill that would let him never wake up again, he'd take it. 

The text was tapped out, deleted, then rewritten and sent before Cliff could change his mind again.

'I still think of you too.'

He told himself not to wait for a response. Even if Elliot did receive the text, he might not respond. It had been three years since they'd talked after all. Three very long years in which both of them had undergone a tremendous amount of change. Elliot was now successful and brilliant, shining for the world to see like Cliff always knew he would. And Cliff… He was the opposite. He was dull and empty. He had nothing left but a broken body and the bones of all the things he'd ruined over the years. Elliot shouldn't talk to him anyways, Cliff thought to himself - he’d only bring Elliot down. 

Cliff nearly dropped his phone when it rang almost immediately after he pushed send. It was Elliot. Cliff answered in shock. "Hello?"

"Cliff!"

And that was it. Whatever proceeded or followed this moment was worth it, if only just to hear Elliot's voice one more time. 

"Yeah, it's me."

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

Cliff was sitting in Barney's waiting for Elliot to show up. It was their old stomping grounds, the café that they used to visit during late night study sessions when they went to NYU. Elliot asked him to sit in the back, presumably so he could avoid being recognized by any fans while he met with Cliff. Cliff thought maybe if Elliot knew what he looked like now, he wouldn't have even taken that chance.

Cliff tried to clean up nicely, but he was so pale now from a mix of illness and never leaving the house. He wore his oxygen to get here, but he arrived early so he’d have time to catch his breath and hopefully get away with stashing it in his bag while they talked. His crutches weren't something he could hide though, and neither was how thin and brittle his hair was from the methotrexate (although at least it hadn’t fallen out). He was starting to decide this was a terrible idea, that he ought to just go home before Elliot ever had the chance to arrive, but then suddenly Elliot was standing right there in front of the table - in front of Cliff - and it was too late to turn back.

Elliot looked older. More mature. His dark curls were shorter and tamer than they ever were when they dated. “Hi Cliff,” Elliot said with a nervous smile. 

Cliff thought he looked incredible. He wondered if he should stand and give Elliot a hug, Elliot always was a hugger. But instead he just smiled back and motioned for Elliot to sit. “Hello Elliot,” he replied, equally as nervous. Elliot took off his black leather jacket that fit him astonishingly well and hung it on the back of his chair before sitting.

“So,” Elliot said. “It’s been… what, two years?” Almost three, Cliff thought to himself as he nodded in agreement. Surely Elliot had to know it'd almost been three years since Cliff messed what they had up so immeasurably. "Wow."

"Wow," Cliff repeated. "You look great, by the way."

Elliot's flustered face made Cliff worry he'd already messed up. But Elliot just said, "Thanks. You don't look so bad yourself." Cliff was sure that was a lie. "How have you been? I heard you got diagnosed with an autoimmune disease."

Cliff wondered where the hell Elliot possibly heard that. Then again, they had still gone to the same school for their final year of undergrad even if they hadn't been dating anymore. Their majors had no crossover at all though, and any friends they'd shared had obviously ended up staying friends with Elliot, not Cliff. 

"Yeah," Cliff confirmed uncomfortably. "Sarcoidosis." So awkward.

"I'm sorry," Elliot said.

"Sorry for what?" Cliff said.

Elliot rubbed his hands together, glancing down. "Well, I never called after I heard you got sick. That wasn't very nice of me. I wanted to, but we were... You know."

"Yeah. I know," Cliff said. This is so not how he'd hoped this meeting would go, although he had tried not to have any expectations at all about it. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. Tell me about you."

"Me?" Elliot asked with such innocence that Cliff had to laugh. He barely ever laughed this days, but he couldn't help it.

"Yes you," Cliff said. "Like you're not totally famous now."

Elliot blushed and looked flustered. "Stop, I'm not that famous," he said quickly. "I mean I've been so lucky and so fortunate but, famous is a little..."

"Sure," Cliff smiled. "Okay. Successful. You're so successful now. You really earned it."

"Really? Thanks, Cliff," Elliot said, smiling back. "It means a lot to hear you say that."

It was Cliff's turn to be surprised. He wasn't sure why Elliot would value his opinion much. He cleared his throat, coughing a little. "Well, yeah, of course."

They were silent for several awkward beats until Cliff interrupted it by coughing again. Was sitting at a table in a coffee shop seriously too much for him, he thought in annoyance? But it was also the first time he'd left the house for anything but a doctor's appointment in... Weeks? Surely not months. 

"Do you have a cold?" Elliot asked worriedly. 

Shit, five minutes reunited and Cliff was already making Elliot worry again? Cliff had to get the situation under control. He shook his head, pulling a napkin from the dispenser on the table and covering his mouth with it while he continued to cough. He could feel his lungs twitching, protesting in annoyance that they weren't being treated like the main attraction as usual. Cliff closed his eyes and tried to pretend Elliot wasn't right across from him for a second while he weighed his options. He ultimately decided it was less embarassing to wear oxygen than have a full on asthma attack right in front of everyone. "Sorry," Cliff said hoarsely. "Don't think that... I just don't want you to worry."

Elliot looked confused until Cliff pulled his oxygen tubing from the bag slung across the back of his chair and looped it over his ears. "Oh," Elliot said softly. Cliff couldn't read his expression. Pity? Disappointment? "Cliff, you didn't have to not wear that for my sake. I know it's... Things are different now." 

Cliff took several deep breaths through his nose, trying to control his cough. He could feel his head getting a little clearer. "I'm not saying you should care," Cliff said when he caught his breath. "I'm not saying I deserve you to. But I don't want you to think I'm not trying. I am."

Elliot nodded as if he understood. His face was so tender, so gentle and delicate... Cliff pushed away the desire to reach out and brush Elliot's cheek with his fingers. "Like I said. Things are different." 

Cliff relaxed a little, his shoulders falling from their tense position. He rested his chin in his hands and said, "Thank you."

The long minute of silence that followed was still awkward, but not as awkward as the first one. Elliot shifted in his chair and said, "Why did you text me?"

"What?" Cliff asked, startled. 

"You must have had something in mind. After all this time. Why'd you text me?" 

Cliff had asked himself that a million times in the week since he'd sent that message. At first he really didn't know, but now he realized two things. One, his life without Elliot had never been as happy as when Elliot was in it. And two, if he wanted Elliot back in his life, he had to be honest, not like the first time. So, he was honest. "I just missed you." 

"Oh," Elliot said. Cliff half expected him to run away, slap a hand on the table and say he knew Cliff hadn't changed. But instead he smiled shyly and said, "I missed you too."

Now they both looked surprised and a little embarrassed. Cliff had wondered for years what it would be like if he ever saw Elliot in person again. He'd at times wanted to apologize, beg for their relationship back, to convince Elliot he'd changed. But as time went on, he'd gotten more tired. He was still that anxious, guilty person he was before, but he'd had the time to think about what had gone wrong and learned to appreciate what had gone right. Elliot had agreed to meet him, and this was his chance to do things right this time. Even if it was never the same and Elliot wasn't his, Cliff's main desire was to make it up to him now. 

"I was wondering if I could text you sometimes," Cliff said. "I know you're really busy. Just, talk to you every once and a while."

"You mean like friends?" Elliot asked.

Cliff nodded. "Yeah. Like friends." 

He waited for the answer feeling like this was judgement day. There was no other question he was dying to know the answer to more. He only had to wait a second.

"Okay," Elliot said. "I'd like that. Friends." God, that nervous smile, Cliff thought to himself as he melted in relief. No wonder all those teen girls fell in love so quickly.

#shionwrites #oc: cliff #oc: elliot #sickfic #whump #bad things happen bingo #I will only slow you down #chronic illness whump #angst with a happy ending #hurt comfort #male whump #emotional whump

[remnantdecay]

Michael's first and biggest special interest was actually Spring Bonnie. He absolutely adored the character, the animatronic and especially the actor. Spring Bonnie always had bigger roles during holidays then fredbear because Mike would engage with it so much, even as a toddler when they first opened up the restaurant and he couldn't even speak yet. Inevitably, all the other children in the room would follow his lead since William, and by extension spring Bonnie, allowed so much from him.

Growing up Mike's biggest goal was to one day get to be spring Bonnie, like his father. On multiple occasions he'd find some yellow article of clothing hanging on someone's clothesline and would take it home with him without William noticing. Luckily neither will nor mike ever got in trouble for this, but mike did develop a reputation.

For major Christians holidays (the ones Henry's wife, Hayley, celebrated) all of the aftons and Emily's would get hand made clothing for the occasion. William always got purple, but mike always got bright "golden" yellow because he refused to wear certain types of clothes unless they were "a good enough color". After a few years Hayley started having fun with it, always adding a little rabbit embroidery on the inside, except Easter.

Easter, Hayley never felt the need to add rabbits because mike would be so focused on spring Bonnie he'd never even notice. That is until easter 1982.

She had just been diagnosed with something that left her less then a year to live, so she spent that time making all of them fully themed outfits for the next decade of holidays. Mike only got to wear one of them before she got too sick to continue. The Jr Easter Bonnie tuxedo. It's still his favorite thing his aunt ever made for him, even if he can't wear it anymore.

Art by @ricky-tiki-tah

#fnaf #fnaf au #michael afton #spring bonnie #Remnant Decay #friend art

[mysisters-bike]

not sure if this was asked yet but could dylan or eric possibly have been showing traits of bipolar disorder? (be it type 1 or 2) especially with dylan im curious

thanks for sending in an ask! i would say no to both. highs and lows are very normal for all human beings. the reason i say no is that neither of them were ever remarked as having manic episodes, which is a requirement for a bipolar diagnosis. TW: mentions of su*c*dal ideation

a reminder of my qualifications: i have a BA in psychology in MS in forensic psychology and work in a program for at-risk individuals.

for bipolar I, according to the diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders 5 (aka the DSM-5, which is also accessible to any person interested in reading it), the patient must have a mood disturbance that causes social impairment or functional impairment. this can be categorized for both manic and depressive episodes. neither eric nor dylan had crashes this bad despite suicidality. even then, dylan was really the only one who mentioned suicidal ideation. eric’s desire was more for everyone to go, himself included. his writings are angry at the world rather than himself. the other criteria for bipolar I is full manic episodes, which are more extreme than bipolar II, which are defined by hypomanic episodes.

in addition to this, manic episodes for bipolar I diagnosis must last a minimum of 7 days.

for bipolar II, the patient must have had at least 1 hypomanic episode and depressive episode. hypomania is the diet version of mania, honestly. it shares traits with mania, but is less severe and still causes an impairment. again, neither eric nor dylan have a record of mania or hypomania. i am sure one would argue against me that eric and dylan talking about being “gods” are definitive of a manic delusion, but i would argue back that it was symbolic imagery more than it was delusion. neither of their personal reflections suggest a true belief of this, thus not indicating a real delusion/state of altered reality (in my opinion). while dylan’s writing is a little more mentally disturbed in this regard, his writings indicate desire more than they do belief. or perhaps, even more philosophical yearning.

in my opinion, again, neither of them have a record of demonstrated mania. that’s the biggest takeaway here because you cannot diagnose bipolar without the presence of both mania and depressive crashes. the reality of mental health and psychology is that it’s such an intricate science; so many mental illnesses share symptoms with one another that we need to do very precise work to ensure we’re not misdiagnosing patients. our biology, neurobiology, and life experiences all work together to form the ultimate impact we have on our personalities and thoughts. many small factors contributed to their violent conclusion.

based on the information we have regarding their environments, i feel more confident attributing their behavior to emotional neglect, attention-seeking, and falling victim to the egocentric teenage mind.

#dylan klebold #columbine #eric harris #true crime #true crime community