#as a therapist I CAN ASK A GOD DAMN BETTER QUESTION

[cordeliawhohung]

Sun Bleached Flies - Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part ten of "soft spot"

Healing never comes as fast and easy as you want it to, but you try and adjust to your new life as best as you can. The thing is, there is no going back, there is only going forward, no matter how much you wished it was otherwise.

warnings: PTSD, angst, minor comfort, panic and anxiety attacks, spook and simon are going through it.

wc: 6.6k

A gentle breeze danced through the open window of his therapist’s office, bringing the scent of spring with it.

Moist grass, a hint of rain, freshly bloomed flowers; all hints of something new being born. Except this wasn’t new for Simon. Sitting in an overly calm and quiet room in a chair that was too soft as a man who looked too ancient for this earth flipped through notes of their previous sessions. 

This wasn’t Simon’s first time in therapy, and he was certain it wouldn’t be his last. After everything he had endured over the winter, he was required to attend sessions before he would be allowed to return back to active duty. He had only started a few weeks ago, as most of his energy and time had gone into taking care of you, but once you were well enough to go back to work, well, it was time to take care of himself. 

“How was your week, lieutenant?” the man spoke up after finally putting his notes down. His name was Gus, and was ex-military. Or, at least Simon assumed he was, judging by the deep and long wrinkled scars that littered his face and the unceremonious use of his rank. “Anything new?” 

“It was alright,” he answered bluntly. He was never quite good with the awkward small talk that came with therapy. Something about how he was supposed to bare his darkest secrets just to talk about the weather was unnerving. “Spook started physical therapy this week.” 

Usually, Simon never used that nickname Johnny coined for you, but ever since you were taken, he felt as if he couldn’t use your real name. That sharing anything about you was forbidden. Or maybe he was just being selfish, wanting to keep you, even your name, all to himself. 

“At least she’s in some sort of therapy,” Gus said dryly. “She still refusing counseling?” 

He nodded solemnly. “Says she doesn’t think she can talk about it yet.” 

Gus grunted a little as he sat forward in his chair. A pair of frail and shaky hands reached up to remove the oversized glasses on his face before he settled his foggy eyes back on Simon. “Does she talk about it with you?” 

“Tries,” he responded sourly. “She used to talk so much about everything; everything except for whatever was hurtin’ her. Always thought she’d tell me eventually, whenever she was ready. But after this shit? I’m fuckin’ lucky to get anything out of her. Even the good stuff.” 

Instead of prompting him with another question, Gus stayed quiet as he stared at Simon, and he knew what it meant. That man must have been in the business of fixing broken soldiers for quite some time because it never took him long to figure out what was bothering him. Always struck gold on the first shovelful of dirt. Might as well make things easy and give up the rest. 

“Everything that I’ve learned about her past I’ve had to piece together myself,” Simon explained. “Her moms passing she told me herself, but I know her previous partner was a right piece of shit. Judging by the way she hardly ever talks about her father, he probably was no better. She hasn’t told me anything about when she was taken, or what they did to her. There’s some stuff I can figure out. God, there was fuckin’ photographic proof on the damn floor.” He paused for a moment and shook his head as if trying to get his thoughts back in order. “She tries but then just shuts down and I… fuck, I dunno.” 

“And what have you told her?” Gus asked as he leaned back in his chair. 

Eyebrows drawing together and cheeks scrunching under his mask, Simon tilted his head to the side. “What?” 

“I mean, what have you told her? About your past, or your family? Are you making her play the same guessing games?” Gus pressed. 

A lump formed in Simon’s throat so thick he thought he would choke on it. He wanted to say that sharing his past was different. How was he supposed to talk about the torture he endured, the hook tearing through his ribs, the slaughter of his family? How their deaths were pinned on him, and he burnt away the evidence of them; what would you say to that? Or if you knew about his revenge, how he traversed a jungle just to kill a man? 

He grimaced. Hadn’t you already seen his revenge? 

“You’ve been pretty open with me so far, lieutenant, and that’s a lot more than I can say for most of the men I see in here,” Gus continued, “so tell me; what is it that you’re really afraid of?” 

Really, therapy wasn’t all too different from being interrogated. In both circumstances, there was someone trying to poke and prod around inside of his head. And in both circumstances, it was never fun when they poked the right spot. 

“I don’t want her to think I’m like them,” he finally admitted. 

“Her abductors?” Gus clarified. “Why would she think that?”

“I broke a man's arm and shot him as I had him pinned to the ground. Right in front of her,” Simon explained as if he saw Bukin dying all over again. Heard the bone snap and the crunching sound of his flesh grinding underneath his boot. Watched as his head jumped dully against the ground as the bullet tore through his skill. 

“You saved her life,” Gus countered. 

“I was violent,” he spat. 

“So were they.”

“I’m supposed to be better than them.”

“If you were better than them, she’d be dead, son.” 

Silence. The breeze continued to drift through the open window, attempting to kiss Simon’s flesh through his clothes, too kind for him to be deserving of it. He continued to stare through the old man as he waited for him to explain himself. 

“You brought her home alive. You know better than anyone that being soft comes with consequences. Some good, some bad. Be violent, be a monster; be Ghost in the moments when you’re doing your job. When you’re protecting the ones you love.” Throughout his last few weeks of therapy, Simon hadn’t heard the old man speak with such conviction until that moment. Like the man spoke from experience. “Be soft when you’re with her. Share the stuff that hurts. It sounds like you’re the closest person she has. Certainly the strongest. How is she supposed to be vulnerable with you when you’re the one who’s scared?” 

The thing Simon hated the most about therapy was hearing things he already knew but was trying to ignore. Everything would have been so much easier had he let you ramble that night the oxycodone had scrambled your brain. But it was his fault things had gotten that way in the first place. That picture of you that he kept despite his better judgment, leading Bukin right to your door; that was his fault. Selfish of him to hope that you’d be the one vulnerable first as if he didn’t have something to atone for.

Simon let out a heavy sigh as he looked down at his hands. The old man was right, and it was frustrating. “Christ,” he muttered. 

“Start with the small stuff. You don’t have to air everything out all at once. Actually, it would be better if you didn’t. Don’t want to overwhelm the poor girl,” Gus assured him. “Remember, she’s a civilian. She didn’t have the resources and training that you did going into that.” 

He didn’t spend much longer in that office before Gus sent him away to do his homework: figure out a memory to share with you. Sounded easy enough, but when he had spent countless years keeping things to himself so as to keep others safe, it was near painful. But he tried his best to think of something as he made his way back to the apartment. 

You weren’t there when he got home. Not that he had expected you to be, though it still felt wrong. As soon as your wound was no longer needing constant attention, you instantly hopped back into work. He tried to dissuade you from doing so, saying that he’d still have more than enough money to pay for everything, but you wouldn’t hear any of it. Claimed you were tired of being locked up in the apartment all day, even if he was there with you. Though it worried him, he couldn’t blame you, not after everything that had happened there. Every now and then he still found a small, green bead somewhere on the living room floor. 

A sigh left him as he stood in the entryway, staring at Boo who watched him curiously from the couch. The window had been left cracked open, and it looked like the little guy had been enjoying some fresh air. Simon tried to tell you that leaving the blinds open was just asking for someone to snitch that you had a cat in the apartment. You had retorted by saying boarded up windows made for a shitty home. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbled to himself. 

This was going to be a pain in his ass. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“This guy is getting on my fucking nerves.” 

That was the fucking understatement of the year. Méabh lazily leaned against your desk as she glared over at the new branch manager they had hired during your absence. His name was Jace, and he liked to spend his time at work micromanaging all of his employees, including Cheryl, who was able to wire money with her eyes closed after so many years in the business. The poor woman looked like she was one more annoying comment from smacking the overbearing manager. 

“He told me I didn’t ask enough security questions on the last transfer I did as if I didn’t ask all the ones that popped up on the screen,” Méabh continued in a droning grumble. “I wish Anna was still here. She did her job and wasn’t a complete cunt about it.” 

“Just be glad that you only work part time,” you teased while trying to focus on your paperwork. 

“Yeah, for now,” Méabh whined. “I’ll be going full time over summer holiday. Means I’ll get to see this prick twice as often.” 

Really, it wasn’t Jace’s hawk-like gaze, or even his annoying nasally voice that got on your nerves. It was his shoes. While most of the girls at the bank wore flats to save themselves from achy feet, Jace wore terribly loud dress shoes. Whenever he walked, it sounded like he wore high heels with the way they clacked on the floor, and with how much he stomped around it was impossible for him to sneak up on anyone. 

“Are you almost done?” Méabh then prompted. “I wanna get out of here.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know,” you chuckled. 

“Thought I’d do the noble thing and keep you company. You know, unless you want Jace to read over your paperwork before you submit it,” she retorted with a playful roll of her eyes. 

“How kind of you.” 

Luckily for Méabh, or perhaps the both of you, you had just typed up the finishing touches to your work. Not even a minute later the whirring of your computer died down as you shut it off for the night and stood from your desk. However, you made the mistake of pushing with both your hands, and you winced as a zapping pain shot through your left shoulder. Even after all those months, your wound hadn’t fully healed. 

“You alright?” Méabh asked as you gathered your items. 

“Yeah,” you said, slightly winded. Glancing quickly over at Jace, and poor Cheryl who was still stuck listening to his ramble, you looked back at the young girl before nodding towards the door. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Without saying goodbye, or saving your co-worker, you and Méabh slipped out of the building unnoticed and into the fresh spring air. Or, at least as fresh as it could get in the midst of London. It had been months since you last smelt real fresh air. When had it been, back at the end of August when you and Simon had gone on holiday? With the beautiful seaside and mist that tasted like salt? Or was it…

No. No, that couldn’t be right. 

“Need a ride?” Méabh prompted. 

You pulled your head out of the frigid water, dusted the sand off your knees, and smiled politely as you adjusted the blazer that perfectly complimented your pristine work clothes. You always had a way of bringing yourself back to reality if it meant avoiding an awkward conversation. Always so calm and put together, even with fragments of a bullet still stuck in your body. 

“No, I’ll, uhm, just walk home. Thanks,” you excused as your eyes glanced out at the busy streets ahead. 

Saying goodbye was awkward. Hell, everything was awkward those days. But like you did with all things in your life, you gritted your teeth and bared it before starting your walk home. 

It was strange trying to remember how you used to fit into the world before everything. Sure, you never quite fit in beforehand, squeezing into places too small for you to exist in, but it had become home. But not then. Your edges had become warped, curling in on themselves, retracting into your body. Your piece of the puzzle had shrunk, but everything else stayed the same size, leaving you stuck with a gap that separated you from everyone else. 

You were a watcher; a stranger to the very earth that nourished you. You could hear the seagulls rummaging through a pile of rubbish left beside the bin, and you could see the vibrant valley flowers that took up the window of the florist's shop on your left, but it was… blurry. Fuzzy, like the tingling sensation that plagued your arm every now and then when the blood flow was bad. You tried to focus, do anything to make the imagery around you feel sharper, but the faces of pedestrians were empty, like nobody around you was real, least of all yourself. 

And then you were home. 

It was difficult to tell how long you were standing outside of the door, staring at the empty wood as if it was a mirror. You had just sort of appeared there, like some sort of ghost. Without taking your eyes off of the door, you dug your hand into your bag and blindly felt around for your keys. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the view Leon had before kidnapping you. Before drugging you and taking you to that fucking basement. 

No. Bukin. Simon told you his last name was Bukin, and you weren’t going to give your dead captor the pleasure of using his first name as if you had been friends. 

Eventually the keys ended up in the lock and you entered the apartment. A heavy aroma of seasoned chicken filled the air around you, and you heard quiet cursing coming from the kitchen. You rounded the corner and were greeted by Simon cooking at the stove and Boo trying his hardest to trip the poor man. The critter stareed up at him with big, begging eyes as he followed your lovers every step. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, quickly glancing away from his work to look at you. 

“You two look busy,” you chuckled, tossing your bag onto the counter. 

“I’m busy,” Simon corrected before tossing a playful glare down at the poor cat by his feet. “He’s a menace.” 

Humming, you stood next to Simon and glanced at what he had on the stove. It was pretty common for you to come home from work with dinner already started, if not finished. Simon had become something of a chef since taking care of you, and he had some pasta boiling and some chicken frying. He had started eating a lot more protein and carbs since going back to the gym, attempting to gain back the strength he had lost while captured. 

“He’s just a baby,” you said, reaching a hand towards the hot pan. With careful fingers, you tore off a small bit of the chicken before blowing on it a little to cool it down. Boo had already stretched up to reach up your thigh by the time you had bent down to give it to him. After a few deep sniffs, he eagerly took it in his mouth and ran off. 

“Spoiled rotten, he is,” Simon mumbled. 

“He was being so patient,” you cooed, watching as Boo scarfed down his treat in the corner of the kitchen, as if afraid someone would take it from him. 

“Patient, my arse,” he chuckled. 

A dull beep sounded from the stove, which Simon quickly pressed a button to shut it off. With a twist of the dial, he turned the heat off of one of the burners and you heard the sound of boiling water quiet down before he moved it towards the sink to strain it. As hot steam billowed upwards, you turned your attention towards one of the cabinets where you found yourself reaching up for it. A small stack of china sat on the lowest shelf. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had actually set the table yourself. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, sweetheart,” Simon said as he sat the still steaming pot on the counter next to the sink. 

Shooting him a weird look, you continued in your pursuit. “I can handle getting plates, Simon.” 

And you did. Grabbed two plates right off the shelf and held them in your hands as you looked at him as if in a challenge. But you understood why he was still so… skittish. He had spent the last few months doing everything for you. Bathing you, dressing you, making your food; he did it all. It almost felt more vulnerable than bleeding out on cold grass. A burden, that’s what you had become. Just another pet for someone to take care of. And Simon didn’t mind it, you knew that; he never did. Still, it was difficult to rot away in that apartment in good conscience knowing he was caring for someone who more than likely should have been a corpse by the ocean. 

Saying nothing, Simon turned his attention back to his work as you walked towards the dining table. You hadn’t even made it halfway there before something crumbled inside of you. A shooting pain ran up and down your left arm, searing your nerves and burning away your flesh. A tingling numbness settled over your hand and the plates you tried to hold so carefully slipped right through your fingers where they shattered on the ground at your feet with a deafening crash. 

Your gasp was cut off by a short whimper as your hand reached up to press against your old, yet still aggravated wound. You kept the pressure there as if trying to keep yourself from spilling on the floor, and you looked down at the mess you made. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you cursed. You pulled your hand away from under your arm and looked at your hand as if expecting blood. 

“You alright?” Simon asked, heavy footsteps trailing across the floor behind you. 

“I’m fine,” you spat, words sharp enough to tear through flesh. 

The footsteps behind you stopped, and it forced you to realize the bite in your tone. It also made you realize how your hand trembled and heart stung as if you were afraid, as if you had been running. In an attempt to calm your nerves, you let out a heavy sigh before looking down at the mess you made. A terrible mosaic of broken glass and a now slightly chipped wooden floor spanned the area around your feet. You had ruined two perfectly good plates, damaged the floor, and you were the one snapping? 

So much like your father. Being angry at the mess when it was your own fault. 

“I’m… fine,” you tried again, softer this time. Empty. “Sorry, I… didn’t mean to…”

When Simon continued to walk towards you, you half expected him to reach for you, and some strange part of you didn’t want him to. Didn’t want his touch. Couldn’t stand it because you knew you didn’t deserve it. Instead, he knelt on the ground next to you, large fingers carefully picking up the bigger pieces of the shattered plates and gathering them into the palm of his hand. 

“You don’t have to clean up my mess,” you said softly, lip trembling as you knelt down next to him to mirror his actions. 

“I know,” he replied simply. He still cleaned anyway. 

Anger was a weird thing for you. It wasn’t often that you felt it without some other emotion accompanying it. Confusion. Frustration. Grief. Shame usually followed shortly after. Truth was, you were angry all the time those days, and it was worse than almost any other emotion you could have experienced. When you had first started your road to recovery, you felt numb, and when you didn’t feel numb you felt terrified. A part of you wished you were still in that stage because you could at least explain why you felt that way. Some sort of self preservation mode your body had forced itself into in an attempt to smother the trauma you had endured over several long weeks. The anger that hid itself away in your chest was something you couldn’t explain. You didn’t know why it was there, but you wished it wasn’t. 

So you stayed silent as you assisted Simon in cleaning up the shattered plates. It had remained mostly in several large chunks, but there were smaller, more fine pieces that you’d have to use a broom for. You hated that your hands shook for each piece you reached out for. 

“I broke one of my mum’s vases when I was a kid,” Simon said unprompted. You found yourself pausing. As you held what pieces you had gathered in your hand, you glanced over at him, and he must have felt your gaze because his eyes flickered to you before focusing back on his work. “Was an accident. Kickin’ around a football in the living room when she told me not to. I tried to hide it from her until I could fix it, but she knew immediately it was missing.”

“Was she mad?” you asked. 

It felt… odd. Strange. Nice. In all the years you had been with Simon, neither of you had really talked about your pasts. All you had gotten or shared were fragments. And there he was, picking up your mess, showing some raw part of himself you had never seen before. 

“Upset, but not mad. She never got mad, even when she should have,” he replied, voice unwavering. 

A thick lump had formed in your throat that was difficult to swallow. Something fuzzy tingled in the back of your mind, like something was trying to rip a chunk of flesh out of you; a memory. Teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek, you swallowed again before speaking. 

“My… father broke a lot of plates when I was younger,” you admitted, staring down at the chunks of china in your hands. “Usually to get a reaction out of my mom. They were her mother’s, my grandmother’s, plates. Eventually she had to end up buying plastic plates when he had smashed them all, but that didn’t stop him from throwing them. He was always…”

So predictable. 

Hadn’t you just said that not too long ago? After the shattering of a bowl? More broken china to stain the ground, the carpet, in that basement. You remembered his glare, Erik’s glare - Adakskin - when you told him he was predictable. And you were right. He had done everything you knew he would. A broken dish was always followed by pain. It didn’t matter. It never did. A broken dish was always followed by pain, even if you were the one breaking it. 

Eyes watering, you coughed a little as a sharp tickle formed in your throat. Simon, whose eyes had been on you, glanced over his shoulder to see a fair bit of thick steam and light smoke rising out of the pan he had been cooking chicken in. Cursing, he stood to his feet and quickly tossed the pieces of china he had gathered into the trash before moving the pan off the heat. 

And just like that, you were back. Still kneeling, still cleaning, still quiet. Your life had become nothing but a blur of time; living in the past and present at the same time. Even at work, at home, with Simon, the past held onto you so violently you weren’t sure you would ever be able to shake it off. You tried telling yourself you could - that you would - but once again you were cleaning up a broken plate. Always cleaning but never clean. 

“Hope you like crispy chicken,” Simon sighed. Spatula in hand, he attempted to scrape the burnt meat off of the pan. 

Once you ensured every single shard had been picked up, you turned your attention towards the kitchen for a split moment. You attempted a smile, but it felt too big on your face, so you got rid of it the moment it formed. 

“I’m gonna change out of my work clothes,” you said instead, crossing through the kitchen to head towards the bedroom. “I’ll, uh… I’ll let you get the plates this time.” 

He didn’t say anything in response as you vanished down the hallway, but he kept his eyes on you. His lips tightened into a thin line for a moment before relaxing once more and turning his attention back to dinner. He knew this stage of healing was going to be the hardest. The body had a way of mending wounds that the mind just couldn’t mimic with trauma. That conversation had been the most he was able to get out of you in months, and you still looked terrified. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It had been years since Simon had last smoked a cigarette. He used to smoke regularly when he first joined up, especially more so after his family was killed. It was a good way to keep himself awake on missions, or for avoiding nightmares. He quit when the withdrawal symptoms got bad and he had difficulty with cardio during PT. Now he smoked for the alleviation of stress, even if it only lasted for a moment. Or maybe he did it just to keep his hands moving. No matter the reason, it didn’t change the smoke curling in his lungs as he took drag after drag. 

Something had been on his mind since you dropped those plates at dinner the previous night. The empty look in your eyes haunted him almost as bad as the shaking of your hands. It was getting worse. Or, at least, it wasn’t getting better, and that terrified him. He didn’t know what to do to help you short of dragging you off to some therapist, which he knew wouldn’t do any good. Something was building. Something was going to burst, and he didn’t know when, but the pressure was there and there was nothing he could do about it. 

So there he stood, off in some secluded area on base, smoking his cigarette with a jaw so tense there were indentations of his teeth on the filter. It didn’t take him long to finish it, and when it had been stomped into the ground with the heel of his boot, he was half tempted to smoke another. Keeping the pack in his pocket, he released a heavy sigh before marching back towards the building that housed his office. 

Avoiding as many people in the halls as he could, he quickly unlocked the door and shut it as soon as he slipped inside. The air felt stale, like no one had entered to clean his space in his absence, which was probably for the best anyway. He flicked the light on, and it struggled to fill the room, being dimmer than he remembered it being, but it was enough for the moment. With a press of a button, his computer started to whirr to life, and he sat in his chair as he waited for it to boot up. It had great difficulty starting, and he could hear his SSD grind and whine after being shut off for so many months. 

Eventually the monitor lit up, and Simon wasted no time logging in before opening his browser. The last time he had used this computer he had spent all his time and energy searching through houses and apartments and hotel rooms in search of where you were being held. Now, he found himself looking at houses and apartments again, but for a different reason. 

He needed to get you out of there; out of the apartment the two of you had been staying in. Too many bad memories stained the walls for either of you to do any sort of healing. And so he searched and searched and found his frustration growing. A one bedroom apartment for 3,000 a month? Christ, the housing in that fucking city was astronomically expensive, and sure he could afford it, but for a single damn room? 

So he kept searching. It was difficult trying to find someplace that wasn’t halfway across the city from base that was also still close to your work. He’d hate for you to have to take the tube alone, or walk too far alone at night in the city, especially dressed as fancy as bankers usually were. Of course there was always housing on base, but he wouldn’t be able to bring you with because the two of you weren’t married. 

Your wife; they are relocating her.

Even after all that time he could see that woman clearly, whoever she had been, sitting on the floor of the room you were supposed to be in. At the time he tried to shake off the way that statement made him feel. Behind the anger, frustration, and fear, there was something else there. Wife. He had liked the term. He wished it was true. Then he remembered the photos in front of her. Your face; your gorgeous face, trapped in that Polaroid. The tears and blood that stained your cheeks and lips, the way an unforgiving hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at the lens. 

Wife. He wanted that, craved it. But that wasn’t the time, not after everything that had happened. 

Simon wasn’t brought out of his thoughts until someone knocked on his door, where he found himself glaring at the big hunk of wood. He hadn’t been there in months, and most people should have known that, so why was someone trying to bother him? Still, he gave them a gruff order to come in and he was quickly greeted by Johnny’s wide eyed expression. 

“You’re back?” Johnny asked breathlessly as he shut the door behind him. 

Well, at least out of everyone that it could have been, it was him. 

“Not yet,” he replied simply. His chair squeaked as he leaned back in it in an attempt to relax some. He tried to make a mental reminder to use some WD-40 on it later. “How’d you know I was here?” 

Johnny used his thumb to point over his shoulder at the door behind him. “Was on my way to storage to put some files away,” he explained simply, simultaneously shaking the manilla folder in his hand. “Walked by and saw the light peeking from under the door. Figured someone was cleaning, but knocked just in case.” He took a few cautious steps forward, as if approaching a skittish cat. “How’s everything?”

Simon wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question. Things certainly weren’t great, but they could be worse. For example, you could be dead, or still hospitalized. But saying things were great was far from the truth, and he wasn’t exactly keen on explaining every little issue that had been plaguing him as of late. 

“It’s an adjustment,” he admitted instead, “but we’re getting there.”

Johnny nodded, getting even closer to his lieutenant. “Spook doin’ alright, then?” 

Even after all that time, Simon still didn’t like talking about you with other people, even if it was Johnny. Hell, even talking about you to his therapist made him feel tense. But he couldn’t hold onto you like that forever, keeping you caged in the safeness of his arms where you were supposed to be safe. And he had to come to the realization that his sergeant deserved to know. Simon had been there the entire time; through the hospital, through your healing. The last time Johnny had seen you, you were bleeding out on your way to the nearest hospital. 

“She’s back to work. Started physical therapy this week, too,” Simon explained, though he wasn’t sure how much more he could say. 

That small bit of information seemed to mean the whole world to Johnny, and his face lit up. “Good, that’s good! Glad she’s doin’ better.” Then, his eyes darted to the monitor. He caught sight of the rental listings lined up on the screen, as well as their crazy high prices. “Searchin’ for a new home?”

Simon’s attention turned back to the computer for a moment where he let a heavy sigh escape him. “Yeah. Figured it was about time I got her out of there. The apartment. Wanted to get her out sooner, but couldn’t when she was still hurt.”

“It woulda been a lot for her to adjust to at once,” Johnny agreed. 

Things fell silent for a moment as both men lost themselves in their thoughts, but only for a short moment before Johnny adjusted the folder in his hand. 

“Well, I’ll let you continue searching,” he excused himself as he took a step back. “Gotta get this to storage eventually.” 

Simon was one second away from wishing the man well before watching him leave his office, but something stopped him. He knew that if he was alone again, his thoughts would go right back to where they were before. That woman in the room. Pictures of you on the floor. The blood. The Polaroids. That fucking hand that gripped your face - the hand that had no fucking right to touch you. Those goddamn pictures. 

“I’ll come with,” Simon said, already shutting his computer down. 

Eyebrows drawing together, Johnny tilted his head to the side as he paused his retreat. “You sure?” 

There was no room for argument. Everything in his office was quickly shut down and put away, and the two men walked through the halls of the building. There were a few familiar faces that threw Simon odd glances, as if surprised to see him there, or perhaps surprised he was still alive. His name was Ghost for a reason. 

Neither man said anything to one another until they reached the storage room. Shelves lined up like dominos and spanned all the way to the back wall where an industrial sized paper shredder sat. Large white cardboard boxes rested on the shelves with simple flip open tops, each labeled with either a case or date of some sort. Painfully white lights washed out the entire room, causing Johnny to squint for a moment before his eyes adjusted. 

“Hate sorting through this shit,” he muttered as he began to wander through the aisles. 

Simon stood in the doorway for a moment, breathing in the scent of old paper and rotting ink. Usually he never had to go into that room; whatever paperwork that he did have that would go there he’d make someone else’s problem. Even then, he found himself searching, eyes scanning the labels on the boxes. Locations, names, dates, everything. Johnny caught onto his search, and watched him for a moment with careful eyes, but still refused to say anything. 

“Aye, here we are,” Johnny sighed as he flipped the lid off of one of the boxes. He unceremoniously tossed the file into it before shutting it once again. “Right. Ready to get outta here?” 

But when he turned to Simon, he saw the man’s attention was caught by one of the boxes. Salthouse | 8, December. The lid was already opened, and Simon stared blankly into it as if he wasn’t sure where to start. 

“Ghost?” Johnny said softly. 

Simon’s hands dove into the box decisively where his fingers grabbed onto a small, orange envelope. There was a slight thickness to it, like something had to be shoved in there to fit properly, or too many things had been stacked and folded on top of one another. He wasted no time undoing the brass clasp at the top and pouring the contents into his hand. 

A plastic bag full of Polaroids tumbled out of the envelope, and Simon and Johnny were met with the image of your face. Beaten, irritated, and bloody, it was a different image than what they had seen last time, like whoever had collected it shuffled through the images in morbid curiosity. You laid on the ground on your back, no hand gripping your face, but still very obviously out of it. Passed out, probably, or at least on the verge of consciousness. 

He wasn’t prepared for the anger that bubbled up inside of him upon setting eyes on those images again. So many regrets, things that he should have done differently. He should have been stronger, faster, deadlier. Should have made Bukin and Adakskin pay for everything they had done to you with more than just a bullet to the head. Should have ripped up that picture of you the moment he got the chance. 

“Simon,” Johnny said again. It was rare that the man ever used his lieutenants real name, but it left him before he was able to stop it. 

Ignoring him, Simon tossed the orange envelope back into the box before ripping open the plastic bag, nearly scattering the photos all over the ground. He gathered them up into his hands before marching off towards the back of the room, boots hitting heavy against the floor. 

“What’re you doing?” Johnny asked, voice a bit more firm. 

“No one needs to see these,” Simon responded within an instant. “Everyone knows what happened to her. No one needs to see her like this.” 

He approached the shredder that sat against the back wall of the room. It was a large thing, made for shredding stacks of paper all at once with teeth that could eat an entire hand within an instant. A few Polaroids wouldn’t be an issue at all. The thing was, Johnny couldn’t even argue with Simon, because he felt the exact same way. So he stood there and watched as Simon powered on the shredder, gears whirring and whining. 

Without remorse, Simon tossed the photos into the shredder and watched as the metal tore them to shreds with ease. Plastic crinkled and cracked until they were all eaten up and spat out into the bag that stored all the other scraps it had thrown up. The thing was, Simon was never very good at fixing things. No matter how hard he tried to be, he always ended up breaking things. His mother’s vase or a man's arm. He could pull a trigger and end someone’s life and yet he felt something convulsing inside of him at the thought of opening himself to you. 

But this? This felt right. Destroying those pictures. There was enough evidence on your body and in your mind as it was. He tried so hard to be something else, anything else; but in the end, Simon was a brutal man whose hands were only capable of violence; might as well put them to good use.

tags: @ghostlythots @archonsabyss @crowbird @beware-my-thorns @koko-1025 @nessaasstuff @escapefromrealitysm @babygirl-riley @theloneshadow24 @ashableketchup @violet-19999 @paigetaylor628 @curlygirls-world @gaebestie @datlilwrench @ryisghost @suffering-and-happy-about-it @achelois-is-here

find my taglist here

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soft spot #f!reader

[miraclesabound]

That Hits The Spot

Summary: You wonder what Shoresy means when he tells someone he'll be good to them, and you get a demo.

Pairing: Shoresy/F!Reader, background Shoresy/Laura Mohr.

Notes: The lack of Shoresy x Reader fics baffles me, so I decided to add some enrichment to the tag! Also on AO3.

Warnings: Canon-typical language, mention of injuries, alcohol consumption, unrequited (?) romantic interest, Shoresy is NOT a licensed massage therapist

Tags: @pettyprocrastination @magpie-to-the-morning

"Hey Shoresy?"

"Yeah?"

"Got a question for ya." You're sprawled out on his sofa while he grabs a beer for each of you from the fridge. For once, the apartment is quiet - the others are out doing God knows what, and Shoresy told you he doesn't expect them back for hours. "Heard you say something to Laura Mohr and been ponderin' it."

Shoresy snorts. "Didn't your parents tell ya it's rude to listen in on other people's conversations?"

He comes over and sits down, and you grab your beer from him. "How can I not when you're declaring your eternal devotion for the whole stadium to hear, ya nut??" He's already opened your bottle for you, and you take a long sip.

"Nah, but really," you continue, "I heard you tell her 'I swear to God I'd be so good to ya' and I just...wondered what that actually meant?"

He shrugs as he settles into one of the side chairs. " 'S not that complex," he says. "Just, ya know, the standard stuff - foot massages at the end of the day, helpin' her with the kids, glass o' wine or hooch if she wants it...bein' present, you get it."

"I do," you admit. "Sounds fuckin' divine, in fact."

"Ya say that like ya don't have it right now."

Damn him, he's observant. "Nope," you tell him. "This old girl's gotta handle things on her own - which isn't easy when I've managed to fuck up my back and neck." You wince as you sit up. "Doesn't help that every damn chiropractor in this town is booked up."

"Maybe I can fix it?" Shoresy asks. "C'mon, make room..." Before you can stop him, he sits down next to you and has you turn your back to him. "Specific spots or is the whole column fuckin' with ya?"

"Neck, shoulders and lower back."

"Gotcha." He starts with your shoulders, huffing in annoyance when he feels the tension there. "Holy fuck, woman, you been sleepin' on a rock pile?"

You chuckle at his indignation. "Might as well - I think the bed at my place is older than I am."

"Swear to God I'm gonna kick your landlord's ass for that," Shoresy mutters, mostly to himself.

The idea of Shoresy getting protective over you makes your stomach flip - he's never talked that way before. To avoid analyzing that feeling, you crack a joke: "Less vengeance talk and more spinal realignment, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah...lemme just...." He digs a thumb into a sore spot and you yelp.

"Shoresy, what the fuck!"

"Cool your jets, 'm tryin' to find where the actual muscle pull is..." He keeps poking, and you're about to stand up from the couch and shove him away when he lets out a noise of triumph. "Found it!"

"You're full of shit, man, I- oh!" Your protest cuts off as you slump into him - the sudden lack of stiffness in your shoulder makes you feel like a popped balloon.

He makes sure to catch you, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Told ya I could fix it. Want me to get the rest?" You nod, and within five minutes, your whole back feels better than it has in ages.

"How ya feelin'?" he asks as your eyes close.

"Fuckin' divine," you tell him. "I'll give Laura my endorsement for you first thing in the morning..."

You drift off on his chest, so you don't know if you actually hear him say "No rush..." or if it was just your imagination.

#shoresy x reader #shoresy spoilers #shoresy

[steventhusiast]

more autistic steve with ARFID (avoidant restrictive food intake disorder) projection time BUT this time a less hopeless and sad day for steve because i have had a good two days :] CW disordered eating

part 1 / part 2

-

since steve’s current period of bad with ARFID started and he told eddie about it, eddie started a nightly routine for them. every night when they get into bed and lay there on their sides, facing each other, eddie does a little check in. it’s always the same question: how do you feel about today?

it makes steve feel different things every time eddie asks it. sometimes it brings instant tears to his eyes because the day was so hard and he feels defeated. sometimes it makes him avert his eyes and pick at the sheets because he’s embarrassed about how his eating habits impacted the day. sometimes it makes his jaw clench in anger because he’s frustrated with himself and the fact that his boyfriend has to act as his god damn therapist every evening. it usually rotates between those emotions.

but today? today it brings a new emotion forward. fear.

because today has been strangely good. he reached his goals of eating a full breakfast, lunch and dinner. and the thing he’s most proud of is his dinner and the hours after.

recently, his dinner meals have been substituted for safe foods; cheese sandwiches, an apple, a packet of chips and chocolate bars. he feels guilty for rejecting whatever eddie’s cooked every time, but the thought of putting a spaghetti noodle or piece of cooked fish in his mouth makes him anxious at the best of times and nauseous at the worst. tonight though, he had felt hungry. the meal being cooked sounded appetising, and he ate it.

sure, it took him longer than a typical person would take to eat a meal. and sure, it was still a very safe version of a real dinner meal (breaded chicken strips and french fries). and sure, he had to distract himself a bit with the TV while he ate. but he ate. the whole. thing. the smile on eddie’s face as steve ate had made him feel so proud of himself, and the anxiety he’s been feeling recently during meal times had been suspiciously quiet. easy to ignore.

after a meal is usually the worst parts of the day for steve. he hates the sensation of being full, and feeling the food sitting there in his stomach, hates the knowledge that it’s going to sit there for hours while it digests. and sure he still got anxious tonight, but not debilitatingly so. there was no pacing back and forth, no self-harmful stims. he managed to just sit with eddie and cuddle him quietly while he practiced his breathing and watched what was on the TV.

so, eddie as usual asks his nightly question.

“how do you feel about today, lovely?”

steve hesitates and mills over what he really wants to say.

“..good.” he settles on, but feels dread pool in his gut as he says it. eddie raises an eyebrow in response.

“you don’t sound sure.”

“today was good. it’s just..” steve trails off, not knowing how to put his thoughts into words.

“what if tomorrow’s not?”

“what do you mean, baby?” eddie props himself up on one elbow as he speaks, brows becoming furrowed as he puts all his attention on steve.

“you were so proud of me today, for eating well. what if i wake up tomorrow and food feels harder again? i- i want to get better so bad and i’m scared that today was just a fluke or something.” he doesn’t fully think through his words as he talks, he just lets them spill directly from his brain.

eddie looks at him for a few seconds as he thinks.

“well, if tomorrow isn’t as good as today, we’ll still get through it, we’ll still try with meal times, and we’ll still go to bed just like this.” eddie says like it’s the most simple thing in the world.

steve makes a slightly confused noise. how does that answer his question?

“baby, all you can do is keep going for me. you’re gonna have good days, and bad days, and in between days. and i’m gonna be here for all of them, okay? i’m proud of you every day for different things.”

steve looks away from his boyfriend.

“it’s scary to not know.. i want this to be.. over. i miss enjoying food all the time.”

eddie gently reaches out and lays a hand on steve’s cheek, thumb rubbing back and forth soothingly.

“i know. we’re a team though, right? today was good, and instead of being scared tomorrow will be bad, let’s try and be hopeful it’ll be good again.” he says.

steve lets himself be guided back to looking at eddie’s face, and sees a wholly earnest expression there. he nods, takes a deep breath, and offers a smile.

he can try this whole hopeful thing.

#me but if i wasnt scared to jinx things by having hopeful thoughts 💀 #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #autistic steve harrington #steddie drabble #mywriting #cw disordered eating

[lover-i-lover]

Little Spencer

You know something is wrong when Spencer calls you from a damn payphone. Your first thought is obvious, did he shoot op? And if so, where in all of hell is he. "Can you come get me?" his voice is shaky, with a small hint of desperation "Are you high Spence?" you blurt out, sticking a hand on your hip for stability. "What? no, no I'm not high" you expected him to sound offended, not sad and small. He doesn't ask the question again. "Where are you?" you ask, grabbing your keys off the counter. "Main, down on Ashely, by Reliy's cafe" He gulp's. "I'll come get you, but you better tell me what's going on right know" You demand, slipping on your shoes.

"I, I need you" "What?" You struggle to put your coat on with one arm. He needs you, what does that mean "I, need. I'm feel sm-tired. I just need to be home right now" He stammers. Small, he almost said small. Oh god it's really happening. He's regressing. Just like the therapist suggested he should try to. "Small? Are you feeling small honey?" you ask, trying to hide a smile. "Yes, a little. Will you please come get me?" It's the closest he can get to begging in public without getting some damn sassy side eye. You close the door and slide the key in. "I will, one little thing first. Why are you calling from a payphone and not your cellphone?" You ask, enjoying your own word play. You hurry down the stairs. There's a small noise over the line. A whimper. "It's dead" he admits. "Okay, is the team with you?" You ask, unlocking the car and switching the call to your ear piece and tossing your phone in the glove compartment. "Yes" "I need you to stay with them, i don't want you wandering off and getting hurt. Can you find Morgan?"

"Mogan's not here, he's with Rossi" He says. "Who is there? Who can keep an eye on you until i get there?" You ask, turning out from your housing block. It's a short drive, luckly. Only 6 minutes to get to Ashely down on main. You hope Specer is okay "I don't need a babysitter" He grumbles, most likely crossig his arms. "If you need me to get you, then you might need a babysitter. Now tell me who's there" You demand, turning down the street. "Garcia, and JJ" He says, mostly certainly pouting slightly at this point. "Then go ask Garcia for a hug. Tell her you don't feel well and that I've asked her to keep an eye on you until i get there. Tell her I'm worried sick about you and I'm breaking every traffic law to come get you" You instructs, turning down the last street, only 3 minutes now. There's a giggly excitement in your stomach. Spencer's doing what the therapist told him too, he's finally letting the therapy have effect. "Okay, she's in the store I'm gonna go" Spencer mumbles. "Good, I'll be there in 3 , stay with Pen" You say right before the line cuts out. You heave a sigh of happiness, stepping firmly on the gas.

You park right by the payphone, finding Spencer and Penelope sitting on a bench outside. Spencer's dressed the same way he was yesterday, purple button op with a dark grey vest over it and dark blue jeans. Penelope is of course, fussing over him, asking why he didn't say something sooner. You open your arms for him and he melts into your hold. You give Penelope a thank you, nod before taking Spencer to the car. While you knew he wasn't going to be publicly showing off the fact that he's feeling small, you thougt, or hoped he at least looked a little off. No pun intented. Spencer settles into the passager seat, something you've gotten use to. You squeeze his hand, trying to find some clue to his headspace. He doesn't say a word, only gently squeezing back. You smile, either he's too embarrsed to talk, or he can't. You lean over and buckle him in. "I'm gonna take you home now, okay?" You ask, letting your hand run over his knee for a breif second. "Okay..." he mumbles, voice light and bittle as he lays his folded hands in his lap. "Hey.." you coo, laying a hand over his. "It's okay, tell me what's going on" You ask, letting him pull one hand out from under yours. He curls his hand op his chest. "Are you cold Baby?" You ask. He shakes his head lightly, starting to pout. "What's wrong then?" you coax, powering op the car. Spencer whimpers and you chuckle. "I don't speak whimper code Baby boy" you tease. He whimpers again, wiggling his feet. You glance over, what's he really saying? "What? Baby the only thing i think you might want right now, is to suck your thumb, but i know you don't want that because you find it unsanity" You say, trying not to chuckle. He nods, and you let yourself chuckle as he blushes. "There's baby wipes in the glovebox, clean your fingers, carefully under your nails, then go ahead" You instruct, pulling your hand to yourself. You focus on the road as you hear Spencer open the glovebox and grabbing the packet of wipes. He picks out one and begins to clean his hands. Then he takes another one and cleans under his fingers nails. "Aw, look at you. So smart" You praise, rounding the corner. Spencer puts the wipes back, bitting his lower lip. You catch his look of hesitation. You take a moment to decide if you should press or let him comfort himself about it. "It's okay, no one's gonna see you. It's just you and me" You say, laying a hand on his knee. You hear him whine quietly as he slips his thumb into his mouth. You think it might be a good idea to get a pacifier. It's more satiny, easier to keep clean. And you'd have control of it, you can't take his thumb away, but a pacifier you could. You can force a pacifier into his mouth, his thumb? not so much.

Woah woah woah! you are way too far into undiscussed territory. Dial it back for a second. Pacifiers, undiscussed, no consent given. You're gonna have to ask about that. Forced headspace, undiscussed, no consent given yet. You're gonna have to ask about that too. Any forcing a pacifier or anything into his mouth, not discussed! You finally pull op in front of your appartment block. You glance over to find Spencer half asleep with his thumb firmly in his mouth. You hate to do it, but you reach over and gently take his thumb out from his mouth. He whines a bit but let's you pull it out. "You can continue when we're inside, okay? Because right now, we gotta get you home" You wipe his wet thumb on you shirt and unbuckle his seatbelt. He nods and you get out from the car. He follows you closely op to the appartment, mostly because he can't stray far from you cause you've got an arm around his waist. Which is not something you usualy do, but, you wanted to. You get into the appartment and the second the door is closed, Spencer's sucking his thumb again. You focus, very hard to not chuckle. Because that's wildly insensitive. But maybe that pacifier is a good idea. You brush a hand over his hair. "You doing okay there baby?" You ask sweetly, as you guide him to the couch. He nods and you pet his back gently. He lays down on the couch without much proment, his eyes only half open. It's strange sight, Dr. Spencer Reid laying on your shared couch while sucking his thumb.

For one, you never dreamed you would share a home. Never dreamed you'd get Spencer into therapy. Never dreamed of this. You lay a blanket over him, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "Hey, you okay there baby boy?" You knell down in front of him. He's not really reacting to you, so you stoke hos cheek. He leans into your touch. Maybe you should get him into some more comfortble clothes. He shakes his head a bit. "Should i get you into some comfy clothes? Would that help?" You ask, continuing to stoke his cheek. He nods slightly, slipping his thumb out from his mouth. You want to tell him to keep it in his mouth, but you don't wanna push. He wipes his thumb dry on his shirt. "Yeah? okay. What do you say to.......sweats and a hoodie?" You ask, moving your hand to stoke his hair instead. His eyes are still only half open as he shakes his head. "No, okay. What about sweats and a sweatshirt?" You coo, hoping you've struck right with the clothes. He nods, and looks down to his thumb. You smile. "I'll get that for you baby, you just relax and suck your thumb if you want" You encourage. He slips it back in his mouth and wiggles a bit to settle comfortable on the couch. You smile even wider and hurry off to find the promised clothes. Oh, he's relaxing, and he's actually letting you take care of him. This is good. Really good. You find dark grey sweatpants, a black tanktop, and a light grey sweatshirt.

You find Spencer asleep, so you rouse him a bit before helping him sit op. He's still sucking his thumb as you pull the vest off him. It makes it a bit more difficult, but you don't mind. The soft cotton of the vest is a bit worn out and thin in some places. He's wearing it to death. You pull his shirt op from his pants and get to work unbuttoning it. You hear the pop of Spencer pulling his thumb from his mouth. "Mama?" He mutters. "Yeah baby?" You manage to get out in a reasonably coherent voice, or so you hope. Mama. Oh god, you were not expecting that. In any way. This morning he didn't even wanna talk about anything relating to therapy. Now he's calling you Mama. You slide the shirt off his shoulders and down off his arms. "I'm thirsty" he confesses. "Okay" You almost choke. Thirsty. He's thirsty. "I'll get you drink in a minute, what do you want sweetie?" You ask, picking op the tank top and he raises his arms and helps you along with getting it on. You slip the sweatshirt over his head. He shrugs, he's never been good at remreber what's in the fridge. You almost say coffee, but that doesn't feel right. "Apple juice?" You suggest, unbuttoning his pants. He blushes and pulls your hands away. This throws you for a loop. He's okay with you taking your shirt off, but not his pants. You hold out the pants, raising an eyebrow. "Do you wanna you try do it yourself Baby?" You ask, wondering just why it's okay to see him without a shirt, but not okay to see him his boxers. It's not like it'd be the first time.

He takes them from you, nodding. "Okay, you can absolutely do it yourself. Did you want some apple juice?" You ask again, chancing the topic to drinks. He nods and you head to the kitchen. Both to get him that damn juice, and to let yourself have a mini break down. You draw in a deep breath, bracing yourself on the kitchen counter. Juice. Apple juice. You find an old plastic cup you used when you'd broken your wrist and weren't trusted with actual glass glasses. You listen for any rustling. Has he finished changing yet? You draw in another deep breath. Okay, give Spence some juice, then what? What do you do then? it's midday, it's not even close to dinner time. Is it just cuddle time with some Tv? Would that take him out of the headspace? Or would it help? Okay, breathe. Breathe. Give your baby the juice, and let him deicde what he wants to do. You go back to the living room. Surprised that Spencer's not there. "Spence? Baby boo?" You call, setting the juice down on the coffee table. You hear a giggle from under the couch. Oh my. "Oh no!" You cry. "Where's my baby?" You bend down and pick op his clothes and start to fold them. "Oh no, I've lost my little Spencer where could he be?" You lay his folded vest down on the couch. Spencer's clearly hiddning under there, but maybe it's fun. It's gotta be fun. You lay a folded shirt aside, then his folded op jeans. You huff, hands on your hips. "Oh my, where's Mama's baby?" You falsely cry out. Then, Spencer sticks his head out from under the couch, smiling. "Here Mama!" "Oh my, there you are, you scared me" You lean down and pinch his cheek gently. You want to pick him op. But you're not sure you can, or that you'd be allowed to. He looks os cute, so sweet. You reach down and decide to try. If you fail, it'll be a fun mistake.

Spence giggles and laches onto your neck. You get an arm op under his legs, and he wiggles his feet. You smile to yourself, you can total carry him. Even if it's the last thing you do. You lift him op and dump him on the couch. He laughs as he bounces on the couch and your heart melts. You hand him the juice and he grabs it. You settle next to Spencer, watching closely as he finishes the drink in seconds. "Thank you" He sets the empty glass aside. "Your welcome baby" You say. He doesn't say anything for a few minutes, and you just wait. Hoping he'd eventually talk. When you realize he won't, you really wish there was someone there to help you with this. "Do you wanna watch some Tv?" You ask, in a hopefully tone. Spencer begins to pout and shakes his head. "What do you wanna do Baby?" You ask, trying desperately to make him feel happy again. You just want him to feel safe. Spencer shrugs, and quite frankly, you panic. You want to be a good caregiver for him, a good Mama but you've got no clue what you're doing right now. "D-Do you wanna play?" You ask, shifting closer and laying an arm around his shoulders. He pouts properly, violently shaking his head. "Okay, I'm kinda lost here Baby boy, what do you want?" You ask again, gently tugging on him. He turns to you, pouting and almost in tears. Oh no, no no no. No tears. He climbs ono your lap and wraps his arms around your neck. "Hi, hi Baby" You try to not franticly rub his back and give yourself away but you kinda fail. "You're okay Baby" You coax, letting him wrap his legs around you. Spencer rests his head on in the crook of your neck. Is he tired? is that it? "Are you sleepy?" You ask, shifting him slightly.

He nods, and you sigh in relief, petting his back soothingly. "Okay" you say, trying to keep yourself from asking a million questions. Does he want to sleep in your lap? Does he want to lay in bed? Does he need you to cuddle him to sleep? Does he need to lay down on the couch? You're about half way through every posble question when you hear Spencer snorring on your shoulder. Oh, oh. Sleep. He's sleeping. You grab his phone, okay power nap. How long is a normal power nap. What did Spencer say? 10 to 20 minutes, right? Okay, um, 20 minutes. You set a timer. What can do in 20 minutes? Better yet, what can you do with a sleeping Spencer in your lap? You can't do much with a sleeping baby in your lap. Wil the alram wake you too? Yeah, yeah it wil. You close your eyes, you deseve a nap too. You close your eyes.

You wake to a slight tugging, there's no alram blarring. Did you sleep through it? "Mama?" It's Spencer. You blink a few times, trying to open your eyes. "Yeah?" You anwser, shifting and feeling the heavy weigt on you. He leans into your neck, snuggling close the way a cat would. You wrap your arms around him. "Wake op Mama" "I'm awake" You say, pulling his face from your neck and kissing him. "I'm awake Baby" You repeat, squzzing him. He squeals. "Did you have a good nap?" You ask, setting your feet firmly on the floor. He nods, smiling wildly. "Good, good. You hungry?" You get to your feet with Spencer in your arms. "Mama!" He squeals, wrappinng his legs irmly around you. "Mhmm, you hugry Baby?" you ask again, ignoing his squealing. "Ah, mhmm" he half bites into his lower lip. "Yeah, that makes sense it's almost dinner time. And i know exactly what do to make" You say, and you mean it. "I don't get a say?" Spencer half whines, wiggling n your hold. "No, a baby shouldn't have to worry about food. Mama's got it" You coo, setting him down on the kitchen island. Something about his eyes seem different. Maybe it's just the warm kitchen light but you swear his eyes seem more dark. Like you're said something you weren't suppose to. Or that you've said something you should have said hours ago. Which remains unknown as you grab the bag that's been waiting in the fridge since your last therapy appointment. Well, bags. There are 4 in the fridge. Chicken nuggets, fries, and a small mix of veggies. The whole thing can fit in your biggest pan. Oh shoot, what are you gonna eat? Mhmmm.

Oh, make Spencer food, get him to eat while you make yourself something. Yeah, that makes. You pour some oil on the pan, then carefully place the food in different spaces on the pan. Knowing that Spencer's not a fan off food all mixed op. "Mommy?" Comes a small, brittle, voice. You turn in under a second. He's still sitting on the island, pouting slightly. "Yeah?" You answer, nodding. Okay, don't freak out. First Mama, now Mommy. Does that mean something? Don't regressors typically stick to one honorific? Is he just trying it out? Oh god calm down, don't let him see you freak out. He reaches out for you with both arms. You giggle a bit. "Okay" You say, leaving the pan for a moment to hoist him op on your hip. it's not easy to hold him with one arm, but you manage. You need to train your arms, you want to be able to hold him like this without issue. He snuggles into your neck. "Better?" You ask. "Mhmm"

So you have dinner, but you spend every second worrying he's gonna hurt himself with the fork. You decide you need child utensils, and a child plate. Oh god, you need a list. Garcia will help, right? she loves to shop. You will need to explain, and that's if Spencer's okay with you talking to her about it. "Mommy?" he asks from you chest. You've settled on the couch with him atop you. "Yeah?" You answer again, brushing a hand over his hair. "Can i....mhmm" he looks down to his hands. Seeming embarrassed again. You giggle lightly and reach for the pack of wet wipes you brought in from the car earlier. "Give me your hand" He does, like a good boy. This time, you clean his hand for him. Turning the wipe over, you carefully clean under the nail. You bend his thumb and stick it in his mouth. "There you go. I need to get you a pacifier, don't i?" You ask, hoping to coax an answer from him. He immediately starts to suck his thumb, blushing a bit. He doesn't answer, and so you bring a hand down and tap his back lightly. "Baby, how do you feel about a pacifier? I'm serious" He burries his face down in your chest. "Baby, I'm serious. Answer me please" You say. Spencer lays his head sideways, thumb tucked firmly in his mouth. You're first instinct is to threaten to take away the thumb sucking. But, you catch yourself, this is for him, not you. "Is it hard to talk?" You ask, rubbing his back. He nods, glancing op at you for a brief moment. "Okay, Pacifier. No?" You ask, he doesn't react. "Pacifier, Yes?" You ask, letting out a breath as he nods. You run a hand over his hair. "Okay, can you hand Mommy that paper pad and that pen?"

You take it from him and lay it on Spencer's shoulder to be able to write. "I'm gonna write some things down, and i need you to cross them out if you're not okay with it. Can you do that Sweetie?" You coax gently. You see him nod from the corner of your eye and you can't help but smile. After a bit more scribbling you hand the pen and paper to Spencer. You coo over him as he reads it. But when he hunches over the list you back off a bit, petting his back instead. it takes him a few minutes, which is how you know he's really thinking about it. He hands it back to you.

Pacifiers

Teethers

Kid plates and utensils

Bottles

onesies

Toys

Colouring books

Talking with Garcia about your regesstion

Talking to Morgan about your regression

Talking with Emliy about your regression

You smile and lay the papper aside. "Baby, you know if Garcia knows, they others might end op knowing at some point? Are you okay with that?" You ask. Spencer nods. "Okay" You say, brushing a hand over his hair again. Spence shifts to lay on top of you, and snuggles close to your chest. You feel like a puddle under him. This is the best day you've had in a while. It doesn't take long for Spence to fall asleep again. This must be tiring for him. You grab your phone off the coffee table. As you flip open your cover your phones lights op with a million different texts from the team. You're happy know the team cares so much. You stoke his hair and neck as he snores. You go on the round of responses, when you get to Garcia. You decide you need a phone call with your girl. She picks op on the first ring.

"Wonder woman at your servise" Penelope says over the line. "Hey Pen, I just wanted to let you know Reid's alright" You say, continuing to pet Spencer's hair. Spencer does this cute little meow kinda noise. "Aww, is that the mini genius?" She gasps. "Yeah. Um, listen. On the topic of mini genius" You drawl. "Oh god, tell me he's not leaving. I'm begging you" She pleads. "No, no" You say, continue to pet his hair. "He's not leaving, but there's something i want you to know. But you can not tell the others yet" You say quietly but firmly. "Oh my goodness, of course please spill Girl" She happily chimes. "It's not really that kinda tea but, have you ever heard of age regression?"

"Umm, yeah I've more then heard of it"

"Well, Spencer is a little. And i need some help with shopping for little things, it's online but I'd like your help, if you comfortable" You blurt out, hoping that if you got it out fast, then the rejection would be easier to handle. "Oh Mama you are on. Any ideas?" "I'll send you a list of things I'm looking for" You smile. And that's how you two weeks later end op with a 'care packet' from Garcia. A box of two pacifiers, a teether, a blue set of child plates and utensils, a light purple kid's sport water bottle with a bite valve, and the thing Spencer grabbed from the box the second he saw it. A white polar bear stuffie. You sent Penelope a handwritten thank you note.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #little!spencer #cg!reader #cg!reader x little!Spencer #dr spencer reid

[silversweetpea]

Waiting Up

Word Count: 1431

Pairing:  Marc Spector x Reader (very very minor allusions to Steven Grant x Reader)

Summary:  Waiting up for your boyfriend to come home leads to some interesting conversations.

Warnings:  Marc is tired and a little stressed but nothing beyond that.

Author’s Note:  This just in i still miss the boys :(((( also I get sad thinking about Marc preshow returning back to the apartment alone and dealing with all that guilt and grief and how upsetting dealing with everything on his own must have been. 

❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿

“You didn’t need to wait up,” it’s almost sunrise when Marc limps his way home. The man looks like a ghost in his own skin, gaunt and stretched beyond his limits. The sleep tugging at your eyelids retreated at the sight of your partner’s exhaustion and the blanket you had been curled up under as you watched television comes with you when you stand to approach him.

“Of course I did, Taylor Swift is dropping a new album any day now and I’ll be damned if I don’t catch up on the conspiracy tweets her fans make while they’re still fresh.” Marc’s lips barely twitch but twitch they do. You get close enough to wrap your arms around his waist and bring him into your cacoon of warmth. 

Those tired, haunted eyes flutter closed as he rests his head against you at the embrace. Parts of you want to drop the facade and the jokes, to tell him that you would wait for him every minute of every day for the rest of eternity so long as it meant that he never came home without someone to chase away that ghosts that came with him. Those parts of you hold him a little bit tighter in your arms and remind yourself that intimacy takes time.

“Besides, it’s hard to sleep without my favorite hoodie and you took it with you.” That one gets a bit closer to a laugh. You feel the smile on your skin and feel the rush of air that slips past him. “Nice to see it return in one peice.” Nice to see you in one piece too.

“I’ll run my wardrobe by you next time.” Marc whispers, the two of you starting to sway ever so slightly in the open space of the apartment’s living room. You hate that there’s going to be a next time. 

“You better. If you warn me with enough time I can make sure to send you with that soup you like. Good to drink if it’s cold out and the metal thermos would make a good last ditch weapon.” He doesn’t smell like blood at least today, but you can see the way he favors his right side, and after so long together you’re fairy sure you can pinpoint it as a monster of a bruise. You can feel his words on your skin more than you can hear him, and the way he buries his head in the crook of your neck makes it hard to see his expressions.

“You should go to sleep, your jokes suck this early in the morning.” There’s no venom in the words though and his arms had snaked around your own waist when you hadn’t noticed. The sun is peaking through the curtains ever so slightly, the sky turning shades of pink and gold that cast heavenly light on the man in your arms. 

“I will in a minute, want to make sure my guy’s okay first.” You free up a single hand to brush through his curls.

“I’m fine. Suit makes sure I don’t bleed out.” There’s a distance in his tone that makes you uncomfortable. It’s not his fault, you’re not sure it’s even on purpose, but it never gets easier to hear Marc brushing off your concern for his wellbeing. And Gods and Goddesses know it never gets easier to hear him talk so candidly about his own wellbeing. 

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you.” You don’t tell him that the suit doesn’t do anything to help with the things he brings home with him, he doesn’t need a therapist right now. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Not hungry.” It’s less of a scentence and more of a grunt. Avoiding the question. It’s been way too long for sure.

“That’s not what I asked.” You try again gently but Marc lets out a sigh that tickles as it brushes past you. 

“Can we go lay down?” The soft blanket frames his face as he looks to you, soft blue against his dark curls and making it impossible to say no to him. 

“You’re not nearly as clever as you think you are. I can still order breakfast from bed.” The smile arrives in full force as you meander towards the bed, the both of you still entangled within each other, neither eager to be apart after his time away.

“I’d love to see you try.” Your boyfriend yawns and you laugh. You make sure to set your cellphone just out of his reach on your side of the bed before slipping in next to him. 

“Hey, Marc?” He gave a hum of a response as you curled up next to him in the mountain of blankets, his eyes already closed in an failed fight with rest. You think of all the things you want to say to him before he slips into sleep. I’m glad you’re safe. You worried me. Thank you for letting me be here for you. I love you. Please don’t go again. “Are you still staying home tomorrow?”

“Yeah, Steven took the day off work and Khonsu is off somewhere.” The anxiety in your chest subsides ever so slightly. You take one of his hands in yours, thumb resting on his pulse.

“Good, you both need to take better care of yourselves.” Familiar arms snake around you once more, pulling you towards him as he opens his eyes once more.

“It’s fine, I’m okay.” He says so every time, and yet tonight he can’t stop looking at you every time he manages to open his eyes. As if he was worried he would never see you again, as if he almost didn’t. One of his hands climbs up from your waist to rest on your face, cradle your expression as he brings his lips to your forehead. It’s supposed to sooth you, remind you that he’s here, but instead it makes your throat tight with the want to cry. 

“Marc, if I was an avata-”

‘You wouldn’t be.” His voice is tight and you almost feel bad for pushing the topic.

“If I was, and I had to do what you do, would you believe me when I told you I was okay?” You've had to use this argument before and it never gets easier to feel the way he pulls you closer, his pulse picking up slightly faster in the hand that you hold. The silence that settled over the bedroom was heavy in a way that was unique to these post mission conversations. You struggle to meet his eyes in the quiet, to see the raw emotion within them at the situation you’ve proposed.

No matter how many times you bring the conversation up, how many times you turn the tables to make him see what he’s doing to himself, at the mere mention of you taking up a mantle of your own Marc never wants to talk about it. There’s too much fear and anger and desperation that rises in his gaze, eyes scanning you as if trying to force you into this thoughts to see his way in the matter. Even now with his eyes heavy with sleep, one hand on your cheek to gently stroke, he looks more determined than tired. 

“You wouldn’t be an avatar.” He whispers and you bring his wrist to your lips.

‘It’s hypothetical.” Marc shakes his head, finally letting his eyes slip closed again.

‘Even hypothetically, I wouldn’t let it happen.” The warmth in your chest is nearly all consuming. It’s said so surely that it leaves no room for argument. Marc wouldn’t let you become an avatar, wouldn’t let you entertain it even for a minute. It can be easy to overlook his way of loving sometimes, he’s not nearly as vocal as Steven but its just as easy to loose yourself in when you catch moments like this. To see Marc, so tired, so beat down from tasks that he still can’t bring himself to tell you about, limp in your arms and still focused on your safety in a hypothetical situation. It’s nothing short of 

“Well in that case you better take care of yourself so you can keep an eye on me." You nestle yourself further in his arms, deciding that breakfast could wait until your favorite cafe down the block opened up. Marc’s breathing is already slow and steadying out, likely sleeping even as you press another kiss to his cheek. "Don’t know what I’d do without my hero to keep me in line.”

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector imagines #Marc Spector x gender neutral reader #Marc Spector Fluff

[elliesmistress]

THE QUOTE BOOK ✨

For clarification I am bungi, bunjil or bunji depending on how you wanna spell it

RULES:

if you have something you want to add to the quote book, DM me OR reply to this post with the date it happened-

Blue banner means it's a different day

Red banner means it's been said in the same day

30/07/2022

"You're sober this time?" - Kenji

"WHAT?" - Bunji

"I- I- Anyways" - Bunjil

"I preferred you when you're not" - Kam

"It's either crying Bunji or screaming Bunji" - Kenji

01/09/2022

"Your mums a pornstar" - Bungi

Laughs "You are? Wait you are?" - Kam

"I just made you question my entire life" - Bungi

"Your mums a whore actually" - Bungi

"That's ok, your daughter is too" - Kam

*Laughs awkwardly*

"Wait, are you actually?" - Bunji

"No" - Kam

"Oh, was gonna say. That's sometimes how I make my money but nevermind" - Bungi

"Bunji" - Kam

"All of that has to go in the quote book" - Kam

*Laughs* "even better I was recording this entire conversation" - Bunji

"Do you sleep on your stomach?" - Bunji

"No, it crushes my ribs" - Kam

"Can I?" - Bunji

"No" - Kam

"I'm great at riding" - Ramen

"I'm really happy for you" - Bunji

"Thank you" - Ramen

"Can I get one to?" - Bunji

"Only if you ask nicely" - Ramen

"Can I please have a ride?" - Bunji

"I don't know why that was so funny" - Ramen

"I love how I make people so uncomfortable" - Bunji

25/03/2023

"I need to get laid so we can actually do this" - friend

"no, don't get laid, get railed" - Bunji

-----------------------------------------–--------

27/04/2023

"My birthday present to you is a vibrator" - Jay (awe thanks Jay I always wanted one)

Sometime last year

"I wanna get stoned and force myself to watch Joel's death because I wanna experience what she experienced"

@allmyfavoritecolours in the background trying to process this and the fact idk what raj raj is (idk how to spell it fucking come for me bitch)

*processed to watch Joel's death whilst high and continues to laugh and find it funny*

--------------------------------------------------

18/12/2023

"do you feel okay bro" - me

"Penis" - a very stoned Ellie

20/12/2023

"your a faggot" - me

"You specialise in coachie" -my brother

"You specialise in fingering" - my brother

"Dina, looks like if the three main characters from ratatouille had a baby" Paloma

"So your saying she's ugly?" Me

"Yes" Paloma

23/02/2024

@allmyfavoritecolours

"yeah maybe don't get that t shirt" Birdie

"I'll wear it when I do sessions with my therapist so she stops giving me a hard time" Me

"She'll write down in her notes 'traumatized'" Birdie

"Daddy issues" me

"But god damn, in fanfic when Ellie is angry like daddy get over here and rip my shirt off 😍" me - 23rd of FEB

17/03/2024

"How do you make no sense and so much sense at the same time?" - 18th of March, my lovely brother

18/03/2024

@littlegingerperson5

"A giraffe is just a gay horse" Lenny

2nd of April/24

"she was pretty much like you when she was your age, except she was pregnant" - Lene

*laughs uncontrollably*

"Are you pregnant?" Lene

"No, I hope not" me

"I hope you are, your baby would be cute af. I don't care who you do it with it would be cute" Lene

"when you laugh, it sounds like you're orgasming" Lene

#ellie williams #the last of us #ellie williams x you #quote blog #quoteoftheday #book quote #life quotes #don't smoke kids

[star-vessel1237]

Baal!Yuu Miscellaneous

Just some Random stuff involving Baal!Yuu

Baal!Yuu wears the standard NRC Uniform with their head-wrappings and their cloak

They have argued with Crewel multiple times about keeping them

Crewel agreed they can keep their head-wrappings, but must take off their cloak for Alchemy and PE

They mostly hide away their right arm using charms to make it invisible or just having it behind their cloak only having their left arm exposed

They do very well in school, even going out of their way to study subjects above their year

This is mostly because of their obsessive need to gain more knowledge, which sky rocketed after coming to Twisted Wonderland

They practically spend almost all of their time in the library if they aren’t getting dragged into shenanigans with Ace and Deuce

This is also because they try to do their own studying since Crowley is doing NOTHING to help them get home

Don’t get them wrong, Baal!Yuu likes it here. But they have some ‘unfinished business’ to settle back in their home dimension

They also may or may not have started an online business selling study guide pdfs online for money before Chapter 3 (Helps that they got all of the subject courses memorized)

For this interpretation of Yuu, they mostly come off as serious and aloof towards others, spending most of their time alone in a library or in their dorm. But they eventually spend more time with some of the friends they made in NRC after warming up to them, showing them a more generous and good meaning nature

Also, while they’re the most mature out of the first years, this is often contradicted because they have a petty side to them, often using their abilities to their advantage to mess with others

Example:

Ace: Hey Prefect, you here?

Baal!Yuu: Hello Ace, Deuce, to what do I owe pleasure?

Deuce: Grim asked us to help find his tuna stash.

Baal!Yuu: And this concerns me because?

Deuce: He said he “forgot” about where it is. He also said you wouldn’t tell him where it was unless he answered one of your questions.

Baal!Yuu: Again, how am I involved?

Ace: Yuu, be honest. Did you use your weird magic to make Grim forget where he put his damn tuna?

Baal!Yuu: ...

Baal!Yuu: Grim threw out the chili sauce I bought from Sam’s, I’m not giving back his memory until he apologizes or he gets my question correct.

Ace: Geez, and you say we’re immature.

Baal!Yuu restrains themselves from using their full strength when fighting the overbloted students, they know that their own power can brutally harm them if they're not careful

The same cannot be said for the huge blot monsters that are dealt the most of Baal!Yuu’s attacks

I also like to think that when they defeated Riddle their curiosity got the better of them and they used a weaker form of [Leak Information] to partially see what’s going through their mind (i.e. the flashback scenes we see in game)

When they realize this will be a common occurrence across overblots, Baal!Yuu decides to find a therapist that's cheap and can take calls over the phone

They still give some advice from what they have learned over the years to the overbloted so that (hopefully) they can change for the better and not suffer through this, again

Rook’s calls them “Roi du savior” (Translation: King of Knowledge)

Rook started calling them this after Baal!Yuu told them some information about their species(?) of digimon and how some have the title of “Sublime Lord” or in one recent case from their world, “God of Knowledge”

Floyd’s nickname for them is Giant Squid, mostly because he saw them in their regular outfit, combined that with their height and intelligence (Baal!Yuu doesn’t mind)

Malleus and Baal!Yuu didn’t share their names at first when they met, Malleus called them “Baal”, and of course Baal!Yuu called him “Tsunotaro”

Reason: Malleus is a fae (or fairy) and Baal!Yuu is technically considered a demon (digital variety but close enough), both creatures that are known for keeping their true names secret so I thought it would fit for both of them to call each other by nicknames until Chapter 6

There’s more I want to write about this AU, maybe make this an actual TWST x Digimon AU, give the main boys digimon partner and write some scenarios where digimon end up in Twisted Wonderland with Baal!Yuu being the first with more following after, the first incident of this happening post Chapter 1. However, this is all I’m writing for now. Hope you enjoy.

#Baal!Yuu #twst x digimon #baalmon #reapmon #twst malleus #malleus draconia #twst ace #ace trappola #twst deuce #deuce spade #twst grim #grim #twst rook #rook hunt #twst floyd #floyd leech #twst crowley #dire crowley #twisted wonderland #digimon #twst au

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Grandma didn’t get run over by a reindeer (not this year)

Day Twenty Five of WangXian Christmas Stories

A bonus upload from Santa today 🎄❤️

Some things are difficult to explain to toddlers. They may be impressively perceptive and intelligent, but some concepts do confuse them, so early in their mental development. It is better to try to adjust and explain in an age-appropriate way - at least, that’s what the child development therapist had told Wei Ying when he asked her how to approach the subject of his dead grandparents to an increasingly insistent five year old A-Yuan. 

Technically, he didn’t have any grandparents - both Wei Ying’s and Lan Zhan’s parents were gone, but at least he had Lan Qiren as some sort of grandfather figure from the Lan side of the family and it was only a bit funny when A-Yuan kept asking him when he would get a wife so he gets a grandma too. However, on Wei Ying’s side of the family, there were no elders he could contact (technically, there was grandma Baoshan Sanren but only God could tell where in the world she lived), and A-Yuan couldn’t help but be curious. It was natural to ask questions, but the answer was not something Wei Ying could easily convey to a young child, especially since, on a base level, he himself didn’t really know what happened to his parents. 

Everybody told him they were dead, but not why and how, and there were no graves. When Wei Ying grew up enough and learned to look up information and break government databases, he found that there had never been found any identifiable remains of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze - and weirdly enough, they featured as MIA in some places,  but dead in others. It was a bit of a mystery but Wei Ying could never solve it, try as he might have - and though somewhere deep down his soul he wanted to believe his parents were still alive, it was likeliest that they were long gone. 

Explaining all that to a toddler could only be complicated - so, Wei Ying got a brilliant idea one day as he listened to Christmas songs in his car and “Grandma got ran over by a reindeer” came on. Whenever A-Yuan would ask if grandma Wei would come visit for the holidays, Wei Ying would tell him she got run over by a reindeer. 

It worked for the first year quite well. It was even funny, although Lan Zhan sort of disapproved of this version of the story. It was a lie, after all, and he was against it - still, he rolled with it regardless, ridiculous as it was. 

This year, Wei Ying was fully intent on using the same explanation. So, as Christmas morning rolled around and their friends and relatives came to visit, A-Yuan inevitably asked about grandma Wei. 

“She got run over by a reindeer, A-Yuan, she’s in the hospital at the North Pole.”

“Again? How many times can someone even be hit by a reindeer?” 

“Well, apparently two so far, but who knows?”

There were a few knocks to the front door that thankfully provided Wei Ying the perfect pretext to leave the conversation. He was quite sure he left the door open and there was no need for knocking, but he figured maybe some carolers passed by or something. 

He opened the door with a smile and opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out as he looked upon the visitors on his porch. 

“I knew this had to be the house!” the middle-aged woman exclaimed, “It had to be the most festive one, I know good and damn well my son has taste!”

The man she was with sighed fondly, obviously too emotional to speak. Wei Ying stood frozen in the doorway, disbelieving, tearful.

“Mom...? Dad...?”  

“Well, of course it’s us! I know you were like five last time we saw you but we didn’t change that much!” The woman laughed and launched herself in her son’s arms, laughing boisterously. “My, my, haven’t you grown! You look exactly like me!”

“But...how...why now?”

“Long story.” the man intervened as he joined in the hug. “You were too young to know, we both worked in intelligence, things got messy and we had to disappear.”

“Yeah, messy indeed.” Cangse Sanren grimaced. “We lived in like 100 countries under so many different names! That’s what you get when you fake your death, but still!”

Wei Ying was taking too long in the doorway, so Lan Zhan decided to go check out what was going on. Of course, A-Yuan had to follow. 

“Wei Ying? Are you alright?”

But before Wei Ying could say anything, Cangse Sanren fixed him with a scrutinizing gaze. “So, you’re the husband, huh? Well, I’m Cangse Sanren, Wei Ying’s mom!” And with no warning, she pulled the man into a hug. “I’m not mean, I promise! I was just playing!”

A loud gasp came from behind Lan Zhan. “Grandma?!”

“A little one?!”

A-Yuan ran into the woman’s arms. “You didn’t get hit by a reindeer again!”

She shot a curious glance towards Wei Ying, who shrugged his shoulders in reply. Wei Changze tried so hard not to laugh but failed spectacularly. It was a bit uncanny how much it sounded like Wei Ying’s own laugh. 

“I didn’t get hit!” Cangse Sanren finally responded. “The bastard missed me by just a few inches though, close call! I did manage to snatch some gifts from Santa’s bag, though, wanna see them?”

“Yeah, come on!”

---

“Wei Ying... are you alright?”

“I am. I always kind of believed they weren’t really dead. Now it’s just sinking in that they’re not, that they’re here... It’s a bit overwhelming but... I’m happy. I understand they had to make a difficult choice and this was the best outcome at the time, so I don’t hold it against them even if I wish things were different.”

Lan Zhan didn’t know what to do other than envelop his husband in a hug. They stayed like that for a while, away from the party inside their house and into their lit up garden. 

“Your mother asked if it is alright to stay for a few days until they settle a living arrangement.”

“That’s fine by me, obviously. I have a lot of questions to ask. What about you?”

“I don’t mind. They are good people.”

Wei Ying smiled. “Mom seems to really like you. She’s always hanging off you and teasing you.”

“I now see where you got it from.”

“I also got my taste in men from her, so you should be grateful.”

“I am.”

Their lips met briefly before the front door opened and Cangse Sanren shouted from the inside. “You two lovebirds are going to freeze out there! Come watch the Grinch with us, Lan Qiren just lost a bet to me and I’ll dye his beard green!”

“We should go save your uncle.” Wei Ying laughed, taking his husband’s hand. 

“Green suits uncle very well, though.”

--------

And that concludes the WangXian Christmas Stories series! Whew, can’t believe I did it, it was quite the challenge, but I had lots of fun doing it and I hope you did too! 

Thank you all for reading and for the likes, reblogs and kind messages you’ve left for me! They mean more than I could ever express into words and I am infinitely grateful for everything! 

I wish you all the best for the upcoming year and the happiest of holidays! <3 

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #writing attempts #christmas one shots

[the-wolfspider]

[Loading Video File.]

[Video File: Lab Recording O1.]

[Play? Y/N]

*Bowe is sitting at a desk fiddling with a measurment, and sighs.*

Hello. My name is Atticus Bowe-Lopez.

I have recently started therapy, and my therapist told me to make a journal. I hope that a video journal is suitable for him, cause I don’t like writing down my thoughts. Prefer it to be a spill of mush from my mouth for others to interpret.

*He clears his throat.*

Anyway. I reckon I can say anything in this thing cause only him and I are gonna see it.

So, to start off, He told me to answer some questions for him so that’s what I’m gonna do. It’s like having homework all over again.

Ahem

*Thered the sounds of paper rustling before he pops back up in frame.*

Alright. He wrote them down for me, so.

Question 1: What is your greatest fear?

Cheesy. Alright. I’d say my greatest fear is hurting the people I care about. I reckon that’s due to me having done it before and it’s a pattern I fear to repeat over and over. I’m trying to change for the better and yet I still fail. But I’m hoping that if I actually work myself out. That I won’t. That I’ll be able to control myself better. That I’ll be a good husband, I’ll be a good father, a good friend, and not be a jackass like I have recently.

Question 2: if you’ve done something terrible in the past, do you think you should be forgiven?

Okay Damn right from general question and right into stabbing me.

Short answer is No. I don’t think I should be forgiven.

I don’t think I should be forgiven for what I’ve said or what I’ve done in the past few days. I feel like I did stupid shit, terrible acts and yet I didn’t get punished.

Where are the consequences? Is there not supposed to be something to punish me for nearly killing my husband? For running off? For doing a stupid mission that led me nowhere?

…I think I made myself retire now as a punishment. As a way to keep myself from flying off the handle. …Maybe I can limit my Goober capabilities too…I’ll have to ask Lyla..at some point…if she’ll talk to me.

Question 3: Is there anything on your mind you want to talk about our next session?

I mean yeah. I’ve got shit loads. At the moment I’m worried about my situation with Duende. With Lindsey. With Miguel. With Mer. With Everyone.

Im worried about the choices I’m making.

If I’m in the wrong ship.

If I’m going to end up hurting others again cause I’m insisting that I can help.

But everytime I help I screw something up it seems.

…but Im also thinking about Lyla…

We had such a good friendship…but I think she hates me now…and that’s one of my worst fears.

Having an Ai despise me when she knows so much about me.

She’s been missing ever since she encountered duende and I’m terrified of what’s going to happen next. Out of all people she would be the one to be able to deliver a heart wrenching punishment to me…

I cared so much for her that it made me forget she’s one of the things that scare me the most, Especially with her access to so much information about me, my past, and everyone I care for. That if I get on her bad side that she could easily tear me down…god I hope it doesn’t come back to that.

Please let her just be in Maintenance…please I don’t need her to have been planning a way to get me out of here. To get Duende out. I don’t think I could handle that.

I—

*A flame flickers out in the background before flaring up in a huge puff]

SHIT—

[The video Ends there]

#atticus bowe lopez #spiderverse rp #wolfspider🐺 #rp blog #Video Log 🐺

[rassvetsky]

Hello hello my dear :D

I love your writing so i HAD to send a request! This is probably super niche and if you dont feel comfortable writing it thats COMPLETELY okay!<3

So i have a skin disorder that makes red spots appear ALL over my skin and it makes it feel itchy and rough(now in other fanfic its normally that the characters talk about "readers soft skin" and sadly i cant relate to that)

So i was wondering if you could write Sam Wilson x fem! Or Non binary! Reader with a skin disorder :D what prompt you use, if its nsfw or sfw and how long it is, is completely up to you! I would just love to relate to a fanfic again :,)

Much love <3

thank you so much for sending this and i hope i did it at least some justice, because i've been incredibly uncreative and unmotivated for a long time now— i too suffer from a skin condition mostly triggered by stress, which makes the skin of my shoulders and upper back very bumpy (and damn it leaves scars each time) so this was insightful to think about,, most fics aren't that inclusive unfortunately (which is nobody's fault!!) but anyway, i hope you have a wonderful day, and thank you again for dragging me out of my void!!

Fifty Bucks

sam wilson x reader

"It's impossible to feel inconvenienced by anything when Sam Wilson is your personal stand-up comedian and therapist at the same time. He might demand fifty bucks, though."

[1k] | honestly not much, super short and quick anyway, fluff, reader has a skin condition as lovely anon mentioned above, swearing, sam is a blessing and not in disguise at all

reblog and/or like for a kiss, feedback much appreciated! not proofread.

You should've seen this coming.

But it's like your body and your mind operate on completely different terms sometimes, with no connection to one another whatsoever. It's impossible to control how your body might react to something that brews in your mind, and while for some it's not an issue to keep focus on; people that are blessed with one tiny little add-on to their existence like you have to be extra careful sometimes.

And good lord, you can never be careful enough.

As Sam paced around in your apartment, trying to keep your mind off of work stress and the general adulthood obstacles through a sacred quest of finding a show to watch before you could come back to the living room; you were mentally face-palming upon the sight of a red spot on the course of forming on your shoulder, and a few more down your arms. You can't control everything that happens around you, of course, but God, why is it that everyone else seems to be better at handling stress?

When you came back to the living room with a slight pout on your lips, fingers tugging on the material of your t-shirt to reveal a portion of your arms, Sam is perplexed. Remote control in his palm, he turned around to look at you, gaze flickering between your hand and your face. "Everything okay?" he asked, pointing towards the snacks laid out on the coffee table with the remote control. "It better be. I didn't pay for all those for nothing, you better cheer the hell up."

That pulled a chuckle out of you as you shrugged, stepping closer to him with a sigh, forcing the sight into his point of view. "Flaring up a bit, I think," a soft breath left you. "Figures. I was beginning to expect it at this point."

"What's that? Allergies?" he asked, following suit when you took a seat on the couch, relaxing right next to you. "Is it the lobster? Can't be, because I marinated that thing so good that people with seafood allergy could risk death to have a taste. I'm serious."

"No, it just happens." you chuckled softly, heaving a deep sigh before leaning back comfortably. "There isn't much that I can do about it now, it's just gonna itch and drive me crazy."

Sam hummed as a response, before pressing 'play' on the first comfort show that he came across, mind occupied with this newfound information. It must be annoying enough to go through, he thought, figuring that he shouldn't ask many questions— but he's a curious individual, he couldn't help it even if he tried. "Isn't there anything, like— like an ointment or something for 'em?" your slow nod caused him to hum, the intro of the show seemingly catching your attention, but not his, surprisingly, considering the fact that he often possessed the attention span of a goldfish. "Does it bother you?"

"It's not a pretty sight when the timing is wrong," you mumbled while reaching for a pack of sour candies on the coffee table before leaning back on the couch again. The cushions were soft against your back, but not as soft as your bed— which you were beginning to miss. "But I feel like I've gotten used to it, you know? Like, I learn more about how my skin reacts to certain things as time goes by and, well, I'm trying to manage it better."

"Not a pretty sight my ass," he whispered under his breath, causing you to laugh— along with him. "You could have Shrek skin for all I care. Or Avatar skin, whatever fictional world you're into— you'd still be one hell of a sight."

"Shrek skin? C'mon, you're just saying that."

"Watch it, I get real aggressive about affection," a pair of strong arms pulled you to his side and you giggled against the material of his shirt, trying to slap his arms away from you. "God was like, damn, a full package. Gotta balance it out somehow."

It was incredible, how fast Sam could get you laughing. But there you were, laughing at his antics with the show long-forgotten on the screen, his arms secure around you and a pretty smile on his lips. He was a man of acceptance, after all, and you were sure that given the chance, he could restore world peace in a week with his delicious cookouts and wonderfully thought speeches.

"Shut the hell up," you chuckled, shaking your head. "It doesn't even bother me, it's my own skin. Just makes me wish that I was a bit luckier."

"That's a good thing, you know, being alright with it." his fingers found your hair then, giving the area a few loving pats before carding them through your locks. It was as if his tone changed when he started to speak again, and you'd recognize that speech pattern anywhere. "Health-wise, accepting and embracing something kinda works like a placebo, you know? Whether it's a mental thing or, you know, something physical— when you're like, alright, I'm doing this and that to cure this thing, but at the same time, I'm not gonna be all like, damn this thing—"

"God, not one of these speeches again—"

"Listen, you ungrateful brat," his faux offense made you laugh again, as you watched him press his palm against his chest where his heart is supposed to be. "People don't pay therapists for nothing."

"I know, I know." you cuddled onto him more. "M'sorry, go on?"

"I will, for fifty bucks."

"FIFTY?!" you raised your head from his shoulder to look up at him, eyes wide in shock.

"Do you have any idea how expensive therapy is?! Thirty at most, pay up or shut up!"

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson x you #sam wilson oneshot #sam wilson blurb #sam wilson drabble #sam wilson fic #tfatws fic #tfatws #tfatws x reader

[eclipsedcrystalstar]

Moon: If you heard weird noises at night make weirder noises to assert dominance.

Solar: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture. The twins: Awwww- Solar: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything." The twins: Oh.

Monty: Did Sun just tell me they loved me for the first time? Bonnie: Yeah, they did. Monty: And did I just do finger guns back? Bonnie: Yeah, you did.

Freddy: Damn, the power went out. Sun: Don’t worry, I got this. Sun: stomps foot Freddy: What-? Sun: Sketchers light up

Sun: What do we think of Bonnie? pause Moon: sighs Nice pal. Freddy: I think they're gay.

Sun: Solar and I were crossing the street, and this man drove by and honked at us. Moon: What did he do? Sun: They chased him to the next red light, and reached into his window, and- Solar: walking in Who wants a steering wheel?

Freddy, pointing out Moon’s black clothes: Whose funeral is it? Moon, looking around the room: Hmm… Haven't decided yet.

Moon: Tony Hawks moving castle. Moon: I can't remember the name of it, fuck. Freddy: Howl? Moon: aaaauuuuuuuooooo??? Freddy: … Moon: Oh.

Solar: I don’t think the therapist is supposed to say ‘wow’ that many times during their first session with a client, but here we are.

Sun: Oh my stars. Sun: Waldo from the Where's Waldo books. Sun: He wears stripes… Sun: Because he doesn't want to be… Spotted. Moon: I'm gonna hit something.

Monty: I accidentally called God "babe" while I was praying today and it was more awkward than you'd think. Monty: I accidentally called my partner "God" and they weren't even phased.

Solar: What doesn't kill me better start running, because now I'm fucking pissed.

Moon: What the fuck is with english teachers and being like; "write a story about a deep and personal memory that impacted your life". Ma'am, if I do that you're going to send me to the counselor's office.

Bonnie: Mate. You wanna go? Moon: Yeah. Bonnie: …On a date with me- Bonnie: Oh you do? Moon: You're saying that like I fell for a cunning prank. We're literally dating, you egg.

Freddy: Hit the lights! Sun: Got it! Punches the light switch so hard it breaks Freddy:

Monty: Help! I’m drowning! Moon: Calm down. We’re only in six feet of water! Monty: NOT ALL OF US ARE TALL!

Moon: I like wearing oversized sweaters. Not just because they're extremely comfy and cuddly, but because whenever the sleeves are really big, I get to flop them around and smack people.

Monty: When do you usually go to sleep? Solar: Whenever I collapse is entirely up to the stars.

Solar: shatters a window and climbs through it Solar: turns around and helps Sun through it Breaking and entering is wrong Sun. Sun: Okay.

Moon: Do you want to play 20 Questions? Bonnie: Sure! Bonnie: Whats your favorite color? Moon, laser fucking focused: Triangle. Do you like men?

Bonnie: I dare you- Moon: Solar is not allowed to accept dares anymore. Bonnie: Why not? Solar: "I have no regard for my own or others personal safety", as some would say.

Bonnie: Date a tall boy who teleports around the room erratically when he gets anxious. Monty: Bitch, that's an enderman. Bonnie: Date an enderman, then.

Moon: Clownery. Tomfoolery. Absolute fuckery, I am going to revoke your life privileges.

Moon: A pessimist sees a dark tunnel. Freddy: An optimist sees light at the end of the tunnel. Bonnie: A realist sees a freight train. Solar: The train driver sees three idiots standing on the tracks.

Solar: I don't see the big deal. Why can't people just ask people out without all the fuss? Sun: Well, you get nervous and you get butterflies in your stomach, y'know? Solar: Digest them.

Bonnie: You use emojis like a straight person. Sun: That’s literally the worst thing anyone has ever said about me.

#sundrop #daycare attendant #fnaf sb #moondrop #security breach #fnaf daycare attendant #moon fnaf #eclipse fnaf #glamrock freddy #montgomery gator #monty gator #glamrock bonnie

[pepsi1]

P:// fuck me. why am I doing this?

K:// You uh, you said not even the devil could change him but um, but he is differentish. That and umm, I uhh, I want to try and include grandpa in our life. If he's still as bad as you remember, I. I won't push this any further.

P:// ...Fine. I suppose if nothing else, his expertise can aid in your hobbies.

[Phoenix kicks Pepsi, who was just lying in a thornbush, and he wakes up]

"...I thought I was out of your predesignated work area? Do I need to move again?"

K:// Predesignated? Dad?

P:// You are. And I wish for you to refrain from speaking of the boundaries I have set with you. If this meeting goes well, I might intend to loosen them. Stand up, it's time you are introduced to my daughter properly. I'd call her your granddaughter but with your treatment of me and my siblings-

K:// DAD

P:// ...She will act as a mediator as well. I still hold much anger towards you

[Pepsi stands up and dusts himself off which only appeared to make the dirt in his fur more noticeable]

"And with that anger I must ask how many threats are present. I just got a new kid and he's currently in Hell"

[Phoenix punches Pepsi's jaw off and Kitty slaps Phoenix. Pepsi holds his mouth until it is healed and swallows the blood]

P:// WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU SAY THAT! ARE YOU TRYING TO PUSH MY BUTTONS

"You don't have buttons to push, just switches and... Why's your kid got an angry face."

K:// My my my name is KITTY. I brought my dad here to to make ammends with you. I I thought you were smart enough to realize that. Why why are you... Why do you want us to hate you?

"If anyone has a chance at killing me it's him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. But I wasn't trying to make you hate me currently."

P:// Kid in Hell. Explain

"Alright, so not exactly a kid but he was born recently. His other father is umm... Alright first I'm technically a god and gave birth to another god or something. His name is RedBull"

P:// Sticking with drinks, how clever

"Shut it. You know damn well I don't intend to give you his real name. But he aged pretty fast and is currently exploring the realm of his other dad."

P:// in Hell? You mated with the devil?

"More or less. I met him at the edge of the universe."

K:// is is that where Hell is?

"You haven't told her? No. Hell is on earth just in a different realm which I believe you are incapable of accessing but your father is not"

K:// Why why haven't you told me this dad.

P:// ...It's a quirk of this world, the less you know about the supernatural the safer you are from it. But this asshole either forgot that or rationalized that since we're family we would never be safe from it.

"Completely forgot. Anyways ya wanna meet Lucifer? I was told to wait here until he got back which could be in like, fifteen minutes."

P:// I have a poor history with gods. Meeting the antithesis of one or even an angel does not sound pleasant.

"No need to worry, the guy is almost exactly like me."

P:// That does not alleviate my preconceptions"

K:// Can you uh... can you promise our safety?

"Yes. In fact Kitty, you and him have a similar goal. He's also been trying to push me into making ammends with Phoenix. By the way Phoenix he will study you intently because you also bit of the apple and partake of Pandora's box."

P:// ...Why does he want you to make ammends? Better question, are you two even a thing where that would even concern him?

"Oh it was something about you holding me back from true divinity and no, we are not a thing. We're just fathers to the same kid and have fun from time to time."

P:// He has fun, you just indulge in his torture

"Ha yeah. No but I actually am having fun. Sure dude can make me hurt like none other but, he's also kinda just been like a therapist and seems to actually want to improve me. Tomorrow I'm being forced to sit down with the protoborn and a few other gods. Well I guess not forced but still dragged there by Lucifer. Oh speaking of, you are definitely stronger than some who will be in attendance, you wanna come?"

P:// I TOLD YOU I'M WARY OF GODS AND AM STILL HESITANT ABOUT MEETING LUCIFER. WHY THE FUCK WOULD I GO TO A MEETING FULL OF THEM.

"Not a meeting. It's a barbecue."

P:// I CAN'T FUCKING EAT FOOD... wait? A barbecue?

"Yeah apparently it's the least stressful way for gods to get together and just catch eachother up. Paint also hasn't been to it in forever but hey, if the devil is forcing me to improve, might as well make him better too."

K:// Paint?

"It's Lucifer's alias. He doesn't mind being called either but like, Paint is lighter because it does not hold the weight of history that Lucifer does. Also let's be real, dude has a million names. I think he's been cycling through every single one over eternity."

P:// I'm glad you told us that before he showed up.

"Yes or no on the barbecue?"

P:// Let me decide after I've talked to the Devil.

K:// Yes!

P:// Fuck... Ok fine.

"Great! Bee and Caleb will also be there. Can you invite Frita for me?"

P:// they will be but... Wait. I fucking hate you and I would never invite your sister to be in any close proximity to you. You two are the fucking worst

"I wasn't asking you."

P:// Kitty no.

K:// ...But this is what I wanted when we came here. A tiny family reunion.

P:// Not tiny, he admitted to a few pantheons worth of gods being there.

"Most of which are technically family"

[Phoenix punches Pepsi again in the face with enough force to tear his head off. Pepsi's body goes limp before convulsing and regenerating fully]

P:// THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN?

"I'm the god of Nothing. I am voidborn, progenitor of the protoborn and starborn. I learned it like, a month before RedBull was conceived. The protoborn pantheon of gods are technically your siblings."

P:// I really hate you. I really fucking do. Hey y'know what, will my sister Ariel be there too?

[Pepsi's eyes go completely black and in a fraction of a second his claws are digging into Phoenix's metal throat as though it were made of paper, his posture straightened and at a full eight foot height he's holding him in the air, his tail poking hole after hole into Phoenix's chest intentionally missing vital internals. Static fills the air and the foul stench of rotten flesh wilts all life around them in a thirty foot radius. A low growl which shakes the earth is released as Pepsi bares his yellowed fangs at Phoenix. Kitty begins unleashing a barrage of attacks on him which prove useless and every weapon she attempts to use disappears in black smoke. Paint appears and swaps places with Phoenix with a snap of his fingers. Pepsi snaps his gaze to Phoenix but calms down]

"Don't ever mention her again. Understood."

P:// Fuck me. Crystal. When the hell did you get so terrifying

Paint: My fault, perhaps having this wonderful beast realize his true potential before apologizing was a mistake.

[Pepsi drops Paint who promptly severs his head and holds it in his hands]

Paint: Apologies to you as well Mr.Grimm, but it is in your best interest to only possess this head for now.

"Fine."

Paint: You do not bow before the Devil?

P:// I do not

Paint: WONDERFUL! Alrighty, so as I mentiond, this one owes an apology

"And yet I cannot say it"

P:// I can go without it, I don't think he'll ever say sorry to his creations.

Paint: What A Shame. For that is exactly what his alology should be about. His inability to recognize you as more than just his creation.

P:// Drop it.

Paint: As you wish, but know I'll get him to do so in time. As for now, I have heard him talk of me to you. It is a pleasure to meet an automaton that is just as complex as the whole of humanity. A shame however, that you have been built for pain and could not utilize that gift of free will to its full extent. I hoped for more but all I see is the same in me. Anger, hate, regret, and... oh wait. You do have more! What a clever thing to do, throw the devil for a loop. I see your soul. And hers as well!

"Phoenix, I'll catch you at the barbecue. Lucifer, drop it right now."

Paint: Aww but... Okay. That is amazing though. How did you make him as a human?

P:// Kitty. Let's leave

K:// Oh uh, okay

"Meet us at 11 AM, you know where"

Paint: It was nice meeting you!

[medicinemane]

I don't know what you are going through, or how hard you are fighting mentally, but maybe you should seek help rather than posting your impending suicide. Maybe, get off this website, or rather off the Internet in general. You are only making things worse for yourself, by continuing to be here. Seek help. You're saying it might not be a loss, but has anyone actually reached out to you before me? Get help. I'll be praying for you.

Man, I know you're trying to help, but I gotta say this is like the least helpful thing you can say

You know, I'm a big believer in therapy. You know why I'm not in it currently? Cause it's 50 miles to the nearest therapist. Finding someone that does remote appointments that medicaid covers is on my list of things to do, but it's not done yet

You know what I've been doing lately? Trying to get stuff fixed up around my house, improve my situation... much as I may feel awful I try not to stand still cause that's the only way I can change stuff

I'm not meaning to lay into you, but you have no idea how often I hear stuff like this and how much it doesn't help

Like just step back and look at with with me please. I am so isolated that I didn't even feel lockdowns at all, that was just another day for me. You're suggesting that I cut back on tumblr, which is 100% of where I get any socialization at all, when it's not like tumblr's making me miserable, things like isolation and money and the state of things that I'm trying to work on are what's making me miserable

You mean well, but you're making things worse

You know nothing about my situation, you know nothing about why I'm doing how I'm doing or what I'm trying to do about it, and you're trying to tell me to get help... you gonna help me get it? I'd love some, you got an option that doesn't involve 2 hours of travel time plus a tank of gas?

I'm telling you this cause you care, and I'm telling you that you're gonna go to help someone you really care about some day, and if this is the approach you take you're just gonna make things worse

I'm an open book, you can honestly get anything you want out of me. I can tell you most of why I feel like I feel... and listen, that's not your job, I know you've probably got a whole lot on your own plate and you're just trying to help someone you're seeing in passing... but that's not what you're doing

So I really don't mean to sound mean, but you just have no idea how many times I've gotten more or less this exact ask

Feel free to stop by and talk more, hell, if you want to talk about things going on in your life I'd be happy to listen... but this right here is exactly why I have a personal policy of never offering advice unless I'm willing to step in and help see it executed... exactly cause of stuff like this

Also bonus question, what impending suicide?

I've had my belt sitting next to my door and tested it multiple times over the past few months, and like... that's not a good sign, but the fact I've never made any kind of attempt says I'm unlikely to in the near future. Start worrying when I get my hands on a gun, but till then you let me worry about this and if it bothers check in with why I want to blow my brains out

The irony is that being here is one of the few things that's actually making me better. Other than having to see the occasional dumb take from a mutual (and god, news alone'll do way worse), people here are the closet I have to any kind of support system

So I invite you to talk with me more, I invite you to ask any question you want, I'm not mad, just so damn tired of getting stuff like this when... at what point will I be able to just exist in a space while being honest about how I'm feeling? Do I have to totally fix all my mental health solo before I'm worthy of getting any help, or at least some space to be left alone

Sorry for the long reply, but there's just a lot I have to say on this

Hope you have a nice day, stop by if you ever need anything

#mm tag so i can find things later

[starburstw]

December 23, 2023

Today started off okay, then it got kind of rough when I made the decision to play a board game with my husband. He claimed the game would be easy - the fuck it was not. I had questions about the rules, he did not have the patience to explain the rules calmly. I tried my best to stay composed but I couldn't. Then I started getting upset and stopped playing. Right now I cannot look at this man the same way. I don't know if I'm splitting, or this is normal reaction of people being treated badly by their spouse.

When I got upset, my brain started playing the memories of me being yelled at by teachers, parents and people who were supposedly "superior" than me. And boy was that triggering. I imaged that if I ever had another confrontation like so, I will not hesitate to pull a knife on someone. Yes. I SEE RED. I asked my husband if he enjoys belittling people to feel better about himself, no said no. I swear to god, if he said yes back then, things would get really nasty. This is not normal, I recognize it, but I can help this feeling. I feel the same way even after I smoked some weed. I can't stop thinking about physically hurting him, and myself.

Right now I'm writing this down so I can use this as a reference when I see a psychologist, or a therapist, anyone can help me getting out of this mess. Maybe one day I can look back on this and understand what was going on. I can really use some therapy, but damn it's expensive and I don't have the money for it right now. I can only hold myself back as much as possible, stopping things from going South in the most unexpected, grotesque way possible.

#mental health #mental illness

[theghostus]

40th day of 2023; how ironic.

"The feeling that I want to unalive myself today. Now, do I qualify for your time Mr/Miss/Mdm Psychiatrist?"

Do you feel unaliving myself? That's the first question they ask. I actually hesitated for a split second, and due to the need for self-preservation and habit, I lied. So you don't need help fuck off. Don't waste my time. You don't need me. You need a friend, so fuck off.

Yup, that's what my therapist or one-time only said.

So life taught me I don't need anyone else help. Just do it myself. However, not everything can be solved with a friend. They have their own demons to fight. Also, I don't want to give my 2 only friends a panic attack by proclaiming that out of the blue.

Truth is, I felt that ever since I came into this world. Ever since I waited long enough to start to walk, I had to work harder than a normal person. Because sometimes I don't feel I'm normal. I mean, what is normal to me, might not be normal to you. Some people say I'm too straightforward. Some might say I'm too blunt. Either way, I can't please anyone just know how to read the room. Fuck I've been reading the damn room for so long; it's just damn tiring. Although, at times, it's necessary. I get it. Yet, I get the feeling sometimes. It went away for almost over 10 years; however, ever since 2019, it has started to creep up again.

2022 had been a crazy year of trying to find myself, ending my losing the battle against reality. A total of 4 jobs, except for 1 job, lasted me only a week. So technically, it's 5 jobs. That sucks, by the way. I felt I was going crazy. The first one was crazy, like people can't just leave me alone. Here I'm trying to learn, and these fuckers won't leave me alone. Like none of them gives me any fucking respect. In the next one, everyone puts the boss on a pedestal. I mean, if you did something significant, he knowledges but god forbid if anyone pointed out his shit. Yes, I also did my fair share of stupidity over the 6 months. I must give them credit for covering my ass for that. The last straw was when I had to be the messenger of bad news. I was trying to understand how they count their shit, but the big boss decided to change the MF calculation 2 months b4 oath-taking. ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE? Then he told the snr mgr to tell us the NEW way and inform the candidates; one of them, I had painstakingly handheld to make sure she understood and to tell her the revised way of calculating. I was livid is an understatement. Nope. I'm not going to take that BS way of making your staff listen to you and your staff to get abused by the candidates. The big boss did not care for his staff's well-being. I can't understand why my snr mgr could withstand his abusive ways for over 10 years. For the 3rd one, I was alone in the 2nd mth of the job. It was painful. My accounts were so far behind when the accounts asked me for it I was confused as I wasn't taught that. TL was an amazing pinoy. couldn't ask for a better team leader; they don't deserve her. But I felt so alone, and the tasks were piling up, and I was trying so hard to catch up. There were so many acrobatic moves to understand. It wasn't bad environmentally, but I don't see myself forever there. My last job broke my record of 1 week can be summed up with 1 word. Bitch/s. I guess I don't have the stamina to stand for uncultured swine. Work, work, work.

Now we come to the latest episode, Will I unalive myself today? I went for a job preview yesterday at a parks board. Their office is smack in the middle of it. No kosher food within 20m of the building. there are only 2 timings of free buses. oh, and no air-con in the storage room where they kept the boxes and boxes of paper files. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? Even a library full of old books has air-con. Fine. Today I went to another informal/chit-chat session with the snr officers transport office. I admit I like the sense of power having to issue summons. Exciting. However, I felt like I shot myself in the foot again, and the environment would be exactly like the hospital, but I hoped it would be something like the clinic.

Overall I may lose both of them. I don't mind losing the park one, but...I can't cope with the transport one. Hence the episode, will I unalive myself today?

All I want is to be happy.

[maehem-1]

One thing that really frustrates me is that, due to the personality I've cultivated with my irl friends, it's really hard for me to be serious or ever really get them to be supportive when I need it. The only times I really get serious is when someone *else* needs support. I'm the team therapist, it feels like. People trust me with their problems, but I find it hard to do the same. Like, I was talking about some people I'd lost in the pandemic and when I was finished they had the same energy as if I told a joke that didn't land. Not the same sort of response that anyone else would have gotten.

Even when I do get a serious, somewhat supportive response, it feels lackluster. I text some variant of "hey, can I vent," and maybe get a response in 2-3 hours. After I've already:

a) stewed for an unhealthy and/or dangerous amount of time,

or

b) handled myself already

It's frustrating. I already have a hard time trusting people with this kind of stuff, which, mind you, they don't have a problem laying on me. And when I do get a response it feels lackluster. Basically it amounts to "damn that sucks, I hope you feel better" between various pauses of waiting for them to respond.

Like, when I talk to someone in this sort of scenario, there's a sort of process. You gotta validate their feelings. Ask questions. Avoid making it about yourself, but try to relate to their problems if you can. Ask if they're looking for advice. If yes: give the best advice you can. Ye gods anything but just saying "I'm sorry :(" repeatedly. Like, I really try to avoid holding people to my personal standards but please, I'd appreciate a little bit of, if you've nothing else to offer, some gods damned variety. And Jesus Christ, don't try to change the subject unprompted, JULIAN. I know you want to talk about yourself, we can all tell.

Like, I can understand not really knowing how to deal with this stuff, and since I do people gravitate towards my help, but c'mon. How do you think I got here? If someone you care about is looking to you for support you don't know how to give, YOU FIND OUT HOW TO GIVE IT! I DID IT FOR ALL OF YOU! WHAT IS SO DIFFICULT TO COMPREHEND?

Like, my shit isn't even as heavy as some shit I put up with. Just like, some (watered down for consumption) dysphoria, a sprinkling of religious trauma (the conversation wasn't even really about the trauma) and that one time with the pandemic losses. Those are the things I've tried to vent about, a combined 5-7 times in all my years of knowing the lot of em. Never twice in a row to the same person, months apart, while making sure to maintain friendly, polite conversations in the meantime so I'm not a burden. I get bombarded with much heavier shit much more frequently and I'm expected to grin and bear it. I won't air out *what* heavier shit, patient-doctor confidentiality n all. It all feels a little... Idek. Disproportionate.

I've mentioned how hard it is for me to open up about, well, anything. I wish they'd reciprocate a fraction of the amount of effort it takes me to actually put any of it on display, not to mention the amount of effort I put into providing the same service. I only do any of it because I know it will make me feel better in the long run, to open up. It should make me feel better. It's so frustrating that it's almost not worth the effort.

That's how it feels. Like I'm providing a service. Combination Entertainer/Therapist/Get-together Co-planner. Also makes Julienne Fries. Despite it all, nothing would change if I wasn't there. I'm nonessential to the dynamic, it feels like. An add-on. The only thing I really provide that's unique is a vent source, but to the overall group on the surface level I'm superfluous. It's like how, in a medieval town, for example, people would publicly shun the witch, but would make use of her services when they were desperate.

I feel isolated. I'm the only amab in our group, and I'm from a completely different background due to other circumstances. It feels like there's barely any common ground outside of "queers in a hostile environment".

They know I'm transfem, they respect me, but I definitely feel like me being amab, our only amab, has something to do with it, even though it's probably subconscious. I should be the rock, the wall, sturdy, stoic, whatever whatever so on so forth etc. That's what I tell myself, usually, so I have no doubt they believe the same on some level. But like, I want a shoulder to cry on too. I get overwhelmed so much lately. I recently learned about emotional burnout in my own personality type (Myers Briggs is quite outdated, I take it with a whole spoonful of salt) but the symptoms I read were 1 to 1 what I experience. I don't want to be the strong one anymore.

It's just. So frustrating. This is the only place I can use to get this off my chest, sorry.

#cw vent #vent #long post