#the reason i thought 'god i need therapy' was because i was thinking about her. as i do. and i started to picture a life together?

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

God I need therapy

[headspace-hotel]

facts about The Fear, after 20 years of life with her

The Fear is NOT:

an intruder, invader, or some other entity from "outside" You

inappropriate, wrong, or incorrect

a responsibility

a punishment

"irrational" or otherwise able to be understood through a relationship to "rationality"

an "inaccurate" representation of reality

The Fear IS:

an innate part of you

extra-rational—she exists outside and completely independent from "rationality" and does not respond to being judged according to that lens

self-love—her purpose is to protect you and keep you safe

self-sufficient—fear is a 100% whole, complete entity that doesn't "represent" or "reflect" something else

earnest—fear is always a 100% real experience that is exactly as it is felt, and, needing no comparison or reference to any external reality, it is not "dishonest" or "inaccurate"— it asserts a claim about only itself

subversive [not quite the word I am looking for but it will have to do]— is not necessarily beholden to social and cultural norms of what should be feared, how much, and how you should respond. She does not stop existing in the absence or suppression of vocabulary to describe her.

a demand for care— she does not just communicate to you but to the community you are part of; she calls attention to an obligation that this community has toward you, to make sure that you are safe within it and that your experiences are heard and understood.

yeah, so, i've had severe anxiety for my whole life and the way it's been treated and dealt with, and the way I've been taught to understand it, has really fucked me up so I am trying to lay the groundwork for understanding it differently

I think it's pretty fucked up that we're taught to see anxiety as deceptive or inaccurate. Now, obviously the images or projections in my fearful thoughts do not usually "reflect reality," but I have come to see this as...not particularly important?

Teaching an anxiety sufferer to restructure their thoughts to dismiss and contradict "irrational" fear is, in my opinion, the same as teaching a chronic pain sufferer to restructure their thoughts to dismiss and contradict pain with no clear physical source. You might as well speak of "irrational" pain, and pain has the same relationship to rationality that fear has.

"Irrationality" is a quality assigned to fear that is judged by an outside observer, or by the collective cultural biases and hang-ups of a society, as not appropriate to a given situation. This is total fucking nonsense and we should be talking about that, because...well, the first reason is that it implies some kind of fixed standard for what fear ultimately is and isn't for. i like to tell people to watch one of those Coyote Peterson videos where he's going to get a tarantula hawk wasp to sting him, because he's obviously having a strong physical fear response, even though he knows it won't kill him. Is it "rational" to fear suffering and not just death? How much suffering? Sit with that one a little while.

The second reason, which is even more convincing, is that the "rational" brain is not consulted at any point, ever, when a person feels afraid. It's just a response. The fear response is not routed through the conscious, sapient, reasoning brain. And thank God, because if we needed to hear back from an upstairs executive before we could decide whether to run from a lion, our species would be extinct.

Techniques like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy were absolute fucking shit at making my life any better, but fantastic at wrecking my ability to identify my own emotions, because Cognitive Behavioral Therapy for anxiety basically amounts to trying to brainwash yourself into thinking you don't feel the emotions that you do. It's a really neat way to develop bizarre psychosomatic symptoms and start experiencing anxiety through constant body pain, swollen lymph nodes, and digestive issues.

For an institution that pathologizes having "alters," psychiatry sure loves to encourage a suffering person to view normal and ultimately good parts of themselves as distinct, intruding entities to be shoved in a closet somewhere.

And yes. Fear is ultimately a good part of you, a part of you that loves you.

What began to set me free was feeling that acid terror and sickness and rage course through my body and realizing—really realizing—that I was being illuminated with this ancient, powerful force driving me to LIVE.

I want us to make it. I want you to live.

And you know what, I want me to live too.

I abandoned the doctrine of calming down—Lord knows it had never worked anyway—and started really just exploring and existing in the Fear.

How did that feel? Bad. Very very very very very bad and really not productive or helpful at all initially. Which was unavoidable. Necessary. She had been frantically clawing to communicate with me for so long, and I had been shutting her away, silencing her, resenting her presence in my psyche. I started trying to show gratitude toward the signals my body gave me. I started trying to show gratitude toward her—and i guess the Fear was a Her now, this just seemed more respectful.

And it seemed like nothing happened, but several things happened.

I stopped searching for validation. That was a big one. At some point I just...stopped needing a "reason" or justification for the fear I felt (trauma???? neurodivergence???? neurodivergence trauma????) and the fact that I experienced it became completely sufficient and satisfying to me. So much guilt and confusion disappeared.

I also became steadily more confident about my own boundaries, particularly in regards to recovery.

It's awful now that I think about it, but I think I felt this sense of almost moral obligation towards "recovery," as if I needed to "overcome fear" to be Courageous and Virtuous. It made me feel crushing guilt to feel any hesitation about this.

But then this started to change. It became more real to me that was the only person affected by the steps I did or didn't take toward recovery, and there was no moral dimension to it. A therapist couldn't put me in a box I wouldn't willingly go into.

Freedom from these judgmental frameworks is really important to me. I think that I always hated the idea of getting "better" because it seemed like "better" would mean just getting better at submitting to things I was afraid of while everything felt just as bad as it always did on the inside.

And on some level—even though I could never put it into words at the time—I violently hated the idea of "recovery" from some of my fears because it seemed like the ultimate denial of agency. I didn't want to "become okay with it"—the possibility felt dehumanizing. It felt awful.

And I realize now that this is because The Fear represented something I needed to have a right to. Many of my most life-destroying fears centered around things being done to my body, and if I could have pressed a button and been no longer afraid, I wouldn't have, even though it would have spared me so much suffering, because...I needed it to be okay to want agency over my body. I needed it to be right. The Fear, in this case, was a demand that my body be treated as sacred.

I realized that there were many cases where The Fear was a territorial claim of sorts, a demand that certain needs be honored and met—She needs this. This is FUCKING non-negotiable.

And it really...prompted me to look backward on my life and see The Fear differently: not as a responsibility I had failed to shoulder (me?? a little child??? responsible?? Responsible for being brave, when every day felt like facing a firing squad?????) but as a collective responsibility

Because I was not alone in those memories—I was surrounded by adults that saw me suffering, and often dismissed, ignored or ridiculed it. The Fear grew larger and larger; why?—to protect me. Because teachers, nurses, doctors, and camp counselors did not do any of the thousand thousand things they could have done to make that little girl feel safe. Because my well-meaning parents praised me when I was "brave" but I, a little kid, literally couldn't communicate how awful it always felt.

The Fear was not there to torture me. The Fear was and is doing her best to keep me safe. It's not wrong, there's no need for guilt. It just is.

It doesn't feel good. But maybe one day it will feel better.

[cfr749]

Initial Thoughts on Chenford in 6x07

All right... I'm feeling... a lot at the moment, so just sharing my initial reactions before seeing anyone else's. I'm sure my feelings will evolve. Also this turned into a GD essay and I'm sorry.

The Good

Grey acknowledging that Lucy was going through a lot ABOVE & BEYOND the break up. I just wish he'd mentioned the shooting, too. Lucy deserves to be more than her relationship with Tim and I need to actually see that in the future.

Lucy laying out 2 key things in her conversation with Grey - how easily Tim walked away and that he had no right to make that decision for her

Prior to the last scene (see The Ugly below), I thought Tim's interactions with the therapist were reasonably well done; if only therapy was that easy in real life lol

"You've always got a home with me" - I loved this final scene between Lucy and Tamara. I don't really have feelings either way about Tamara at this point, and this still hit me right in the heart.

Smitty's poll made me laugh, but also another solid indicator that these writers / producers do in fact really enjoy laughing at the expense of the fandom and shippers (which, whatever, I don't care that they do, I'd prob do the same; but it does irk me when people act like these writers should be worshipped because of all the things they "give" us)

The Tim

"I'm not depressed. I broke up with her."

"I was her TO." Not her friend, cuz god knows Tim has yet to deal with the fact that he started banging his former Rookie I suppose.

I dunno whether to put this in The Good or The Bad at this point; it depends on where they take it, so instead Tim gets a section all about why he's a dick.

To be clear, I do not like that Tim is a dick. But I actually do kind of like that it is very clear TO THE AUDIENCE that Tim is being kind of a dick. Do I still think people will bend over backwards to defend him? Of course they will.

From my perspective, I love Tim, I understand that he thinks he's doing the right thing, and has lots and lots of trauma. I've never seen Tim as a character that magically healed at some point between Seasons 1 & 5 (please see his storyline with his dad, his ongoing issues with UC work and unwillingness to confront or deal with them, his feelings about therapy historically, his inability to dump Ashley, etc. etc.). He's never been perfect and he doesn't need to be.

All of those things are true. None of those things give him a free pass to be kind of a dick. He still has to take accountability for how he treated Lucy (which, to be clear, was like sh*t).

The Bad

Lucy being petty AF with the invites to Tamara's dinner - let her be ANGRY, but give me villain Lucy over this dumb sh*t.

Lucy having no one other than Grey to talk to.

Others acting like Lucy is actually kind of pathetic (why do these writers love sh*tting on her so much? girl could not be down and kicked any harder at this point) -- Celina / Nolan and the double dumping crap, Lucy thinking Grey paid actors and him telling her she was out of her damn mind

The last interaction between Lucy and Tim. I am so angry for her. I needed to see that from her, but instead it felt kind of like her being dumped / a kicked puppy all over again. We got it, thanks. What's next? Lucy being incredibly happy with the hottest man on earth? I'm here for it tbh. Lucy plotting Tim's murder? Also here for it at this point. LOL.

The Ugly

I could not hate the implication of that final scene with Tim and the therapist and the door shutting more. There was ZERO reason they couldn't have had him show up during the day, and it actually disgusts me that they are pushing this line again, but especially with Tim. I am literally NEVER this dramatic, but in this case I really hope they did that to just get a reaction, because if anything were to actually happen between Tim and the therapist, I'd be 100% done with this ship and show as would a whole lot of the audience (I think). If I kept watching, it would only be to see Lucy be absurdly happy without Tim.

Well, what'd I miss? What did y'all think?

[spacedace]

I had more thoughts about my "Elle is the Ancient of the Speedforce" au idea so I'm gonna dump them here in bullet point format:

Elle decides to formally claim the Flash Fam as part of her Court, no one thinks much of this outside of "Oh that's neat" until it comes out that if anything happens to Elle, the FlashFam becomes the new Royal Family of Speedforce and that due to weird Infinite Realms laws Bart is the next in line for the mantle of Ancient of the Spaceforce

Elle can use any Speedster as a portal. She just decides who she wants to see and just comes crawling put of their chests like a god damn horror movie. It doesn't hurt the Speedster at all (it actually gives them a power boost for a bit) but it is absolutely fucking terrifying to witness this eldritch entity burst its way out of the Speedster in question. The FlashFam uses this as the ultimate intimidation tactic. It's super effective.

Now that they are in direct contact with the Speedforce itself (in a way) the Speedsters can get away with So Much Shit that they didn’t used to. Elle can now just pull them out of her core if they end up going to fast and now that they have someone who has the Ancient of Time on speed dial (ha) they get a heads up on what that particular attempt to fuck with time will result in

Technically Diana & the FlashFam are cousins now. The family reunions get a little wild. Batman has no idea how he's supposed to make contingencies for this shit

Anytime any of the Speedsters are having issues with the Speedforce they call Elle and she helps them figure it out and get it under control. Sometimes to help calm them down she will pull the Speedforce away from them completely

Elle decides that her Speedsters all need therapy. Jazz won't do it because since they're family now it'd be a conflict of interests but a few Yetis from the Far Frozen step up to help.

Anytime it looks like there is something truly world ending about to go down thr FlashFam call Elle to help out. Since she looks like a tiny twelve year old girl it results in a lot of funny moments of the Biggest Big Bads being like "This is all you got?" Seconds before having their faces melted off.

The reason Bart is Elle's heir is because he "inherited" Elle's. (And therefore Danny's) ability to duplicate.

Everyone finally chills out about the idea of Bart being Elle's heir only to discover that being her heir also makes him second in line for the throne of the Infinite Realms.

Constantine - once he stops having a panic attack about it - does try to sell his soul to each of the Speedsters just to see if it would work. It does, but since they technically out rank everyone else he's sold his soul too, anyone who has a soul contract with Constantine takes this to mean the new members of the Royal Family want *all* of Constantine's soul and hand thier contracts over to try and gain favor. Constantine now constantly feels like he's on the brink of having an adrenaline crash and no one will buy his soul off him anymore because no one wants to piss off the new royals lol

[tigergirltail]

TIGER HRT CHAPTER 4 - MONTH 3 - GROWING PAINS

First - Prev - Next

Everything hurts.

I started noticing it about two weeks after my first dose. It felt like a dull headache at first, but over the next month it spread to pretty much my entire body.

I had to start working from home, and eventually it got bad enough that I could only put in a few hours of work each day. My boss is a reasonable enough guy, but he wasn't going to pay a full time salary for part time hours, so I had to take a salary cut.

Luckily, my partner is around to take care of daily errands, not to mention being there to reassure and comfort me when the pain gets bad. They've been thinking about seeing if Lindwurm HRT is a thing, but they don't want to get the process started until I'm in the clear and can take care of myself again.

Gods I love them.

The reason the pain is happening, as best I can tell, is that my skeletal structure is already changing. I've gotten at least an inch taller, and my face has been reshaping into a feline muzzle. My teeth are getting sharper, and I'm developing proper fangs. I also noticed a little while ago that my fingernails and toenails had receded into their respective digits, which sucks for two reasons - I can't paint fingernails I don't have, and they are sore as HELL when I put any amount of pressure on them. I have to be REALLY careful with how I type to not inflict agony on myself. I'm also feeling my tail growing in, and even if it hurts, it's euphoric as HELL. A tail was always the part I wanted most out of this.

It's weird, the skeletal changes weren't supposed to happen this early. I've been trying to reach Dr. Erian about it, but he's constantly busy, probably because of the sudden surge of people looking for Humanity Removal Therapy.

Other than that, I've been getting areas of white and black fur coming in - mostly on my arms and legs, but a little bit on my face and ears - ears that are gradually reshaping and migrating. Nothing to report on hearing sensitivity, but I think my night vision is getting better.

I did a little bit of looking around for anyone with similar pain experiences. I got my hopes up when I found a girl, Antonina, who had a painful experience with Cat HRT, but it turns out it's because she took the rumoured Fifteen Minute version. She described the pain as "like bathing in an active volcano".

It leaves me wondering whether I would have preferred a 15-minute lava bath over a months-long full-body headache.

I ended up reaching out to her anyway, just because I wanted to know what I was in for in the endgame and feline HRT is rarer than I thought it would be. Sounds like the prey drive is the real deal - she keeps feeling the urge to bite this one girl who's on mouse HRT.

We've been spending some time comparing notes and getting to know each other. It's nice to know someone else who's going through this thing, even if our experiences aren't exactly one-to-one.

I also talked to my mother for the first time in nearly a year. I went No Contact with her a while back because she was only getting more obnoxious and combative about me being trans, but I figured changing my species is a big enough deal that I should keep her in the loop.

Besides, my savings had nearly dried up and I needed to ask her for money.

It… did not go well. She hadn't heard of therian HRT before, and once I explained it, she started panicking about how I'm "mutilating my body" with "untested treatments". I think I also heard her cry something about how her "son" is "killing himself", which is just multiple layers of insensitive.

At least she sent me some money. Hopefully it'll be enough to last until my transformation stops being agonizing and I can go back to work, and then I can go right back to pretending my family doesn't exist.

At roughly the three-month mark, I have a check-in video call with Dr. Erian. From the moment his face appears on screen, though, I can tell something is wrong. He seems… older, somehow.

"Hello, Miss Alexis.", he offers. He sounds tired. Sorrowful, even.

"Hey, doc." I have to ask about it. "Everything okay? You seem a bit tired."

"Nothing to worry about Miss Alexis, just the ordinary stresses of daily life."

Liar. I know I'm not entitled to details of your personal life, much less your professional secrets, but I know when something is eating at someone.

"…Does the word 'crossroads' mean anything to you, Miss Alexis?"

Huh? That came a bit out of left field. "I've… heard some other therian HRT patients use the term, but I don't know much of the details. Something about a point of no return?"

"Something of the sort." He lowers his head and seems to go from sorrowful to downright grim. "There will come a time, Miss Alexis, when you will have to make a very important decision in your care, and I ask that you do so with great consideration for the consequences."

I recoil a little in my seat. "Yeah… Of course I will. Any decision I make, even reaching out to you in the first place, I don't take it lightly."

"Good… That's good." His demeanor shifts back to his stoic, clinical self. I don't know what just happened, but he went somewhere for a moment there.

"Now then, I did receive your messages, I apologize for not getting back to you. You mentioned you were experiencing persistent and debilitating whole-body soreness?"

"Yeah. I can't even leave the apartment most days, it hurts so much."

"Odd… You are taking the treatment as directed, yes?"

"Of course. One tablespoon a week, just like it says on the bottle."

I see his eyes twitch behind his glasses. Did I say something wrong?

"…Teaspoon."

I cock my head to the side. "Say again?"

"You mean one TEASPOON a week, yes?"

I feel my heart sink. The dark smear on the dosage information… I could have sworn it said '1 tbsp/week'.

"…Could you hold on a second please?" I mute the mic and call out to my partner to bring the bottle of tiger HRT over. When they do, I unmute and hold it up to the webcam. I hear Dr. Erian take a sharp intake of breath as he notices the obscured instructions.

I set the bottle aside and the two of us share an awkward silence.

"So…", I begin. "…How bad is it?"

"The good news", he offers slowly, "is that you have only been taking three times the prescribed dose. An increased dose imbalances the growth rate of the different parts of your body, hence your pain and persistent weakness, but it could have been much worse."

I think back to the so-called Fifteen Minute version, and Antonina's description of it - like bathing in an active volcano.

Dr. Erian continues. "Assuming you return to a CORRECT dose, your growth rates will gradually level out over the course of the next month or so. It is my medical opinion that you should maintain a low-activity lifestyle until then, but you will eventually be able to return to your typical activity level, and you will also find that the physical effects become more… consistent."

"That's… reassuring. Thank you, doctor." I pause. Something I noticed a little while ago has been weighing on my mind. "There's one thing, though - do the treatments have… I guess you'd call them restorative or regenerative effects? I've noticed some old wounds aren't there anymore."

The doctor clicks his pen and brings up his notepad. "Interesting. Do go on, Miss Alexis."

"Well… I used to get lower back pain from a car crash injury I got a little over a year ago, but I haven't noticed it at all lately. Pretty much the only part that DOESN'T hurt… There also used to be some marks on my arm from a cat biting me when I was little." I give a slight smile. "The cat's name was Tiger, go figure."

Dr. Erian is writing the whole time I'm talking. "Yes, that is to be expected. Minor persistent injuries will fade over time as your body re-forms itself to a new baseline, even severe chronic symptoms may fade. If there are no other concerns…"

"Just one… Most of the other therian HRT patients I've talked to have gotten their meds as pills, so what's with the potion bottle?"

Dr. Erian pauses, and adjusts his glasses nervously, as if he's been caught out on something he doesn't want to admit to. "Well… advances in the field are occurring rapidly, and you are one of the more recent patients, so a more… streamlined option was available to you. I took the liberty of choosing the most compatible option based on your medical records, and that bottle is it."

"Okay… But what's IN it?"

"The active ingredients are antihominidone, which is your humanity-blocker, and a specialized formula of felistrogen, infused with white tiger genetic material. The rest of the fluid is a suspension used to dilute the effects, without which you would be looking at a short, but excruciating and potentially lethal process."

The Fifteen Minute version, I think to myself. I'm taking diluted Fifteen Minute meds. There's no WAY this isn't experimental, and I'M the experiment. I despise saying it, but maybe my mother was right to worry.

"But I'm afraid I really do have to go, Miss Alexis, my next appointment is waiting."

"G-gotcha. See ya, doctor."

---

Special thanks to @paintedbytosia for letting me write her in, and shoutout to @megamoonerjenny for coming up with 'antihominidone'

[reduxulousoctopus]

Logan: “Whatever Chuck did in there, it worked. I don’t know how he faced that thing. He never loses his cool.” Rogue: “Forget it, hon. In our business, we all get shook up every now and again.” Logan: “I don’t.” — X-Men: The Animated Series, season four, "Proteus"

~4500 words, immediately Post-Episode, Morpherine established relationship, The Most Traumatized Man in the World dealing with the fact that he is now Slightly More Traumatized

If you missed my last fic, Morph has in-universe (he/him) and out-of-universe (they/them) pronouns because I think that's funny.

--

After watching waves crash against the island’s rocky shore for a moment, Logan stuffs his hands into his pockets and starts walking in the direction of the tarmac where they left the Blackbird. He’s ready to go the fuck back to Westchester, find his favorite seat at the bar, and drink until he forgets he even exists. Plenty of ye olde pubs to be found on the mainland, of course, but he’s had more than enough of bonnie Scotland for one day.

Too bad some force out there—be it God, the Devil, or the whims of an uncaring universe—seems dead set against ever letting Logan have what he wants.

“I think the professor’s gonna want to stay a while longer,” Rogue pipes up behind him. “Y’know, to make sure Kevin’s really okay, and to make sure Dr. MacTaggert’s doin’ alright, too. We probably got at least an hour to kill before it’s time to head home.”

Holding back an enraged scream, Logan instead grunts out through gritted teeth, “Uh-huh.”

“Why don’t you pay Morph a visit?” Rogue suggests with a smile. “That might make you feel better. Even if you don’t wanna talk to him about what happened, he always puts you in a good mood.”

Despite her words, Logan’s mood somehow turns even more sour at the thought of seeing Morph again. He crosses his arms and grumbles under his breath, “Morph’s already got more than enough to deal with—he doesn’t need me dumpin’ a load of my garbage on top of everything else.”

Rogue rolls her eyes. “For some reason, Morph actually seems to like your garbage. I already told him you’d come see him before we left. You gonna make a liar outta me, or do I have to throw your sorry butt in through his window?”

How in the hell did Logan end up surrounded by so many females who think they can boss him around? Jean, Storm—even Jubilee’s gotten real bold about demanding rides to the mall.

They’re completely right, of course, but they don’t always have to rub his nose in it.

“I can walk.” Logan gives her a mocking bow. “By your leave, ma’am.”

“Go on, now, get,” Rogue says, nodding her head towards the research center’s entrance. “Surly ol’ polecat. Don’t know how Morph puts up with you.”

Thing is, Logan thinks as he grudgingly makes his way back inside the building, he isn’t so sure Morph wants to put up with him anymore. Three times now, he’s had to watch Morph walk away and not look back, even as Logan called his name.

Kinda hard for a fella not to start taking that personally.

Upon entering the laboratory where the others have gathered, Logan immediately locates the cause of his bad day—across the room, playing some kind of hologram puzzle game with Cassidy, too busy to notice him—before very deliberately looking away and approaching Dr. MacTaggert instead. “Hey, Doc. I’m gonna head upstairs. Unless now’s a bad time…?”

She’s understandably reluctant to tear her eyes away from her son. Even when she manages to meet Logan’s gaze, it takes her a second to actually register what he said.

“Oh! Of course you’ll be wanting to see Morph.” She checks her watch. “He should be nearly done with his morning round of mnemotransience therapy. I’ll call the supervising nurse to let her know you’re on your way.”

Logan frowns, wondering what the fuck ‘nemo-transients’ are, but nods politely when she tells him which room Morph’s in. Not that he needs directions—as usual, Logan opts to trust his nose, letting Morph’s familiar scent lead him through the building, instead. But when he arrives outside the closed door at the end of the trail, something makes him hesitate.

He reaches for the knob. Pauses.

Reaches again, before pivoting on his heel and walking back the way he came.

Stops. Runs his hand through his hair. Returns to the door.

Hesitates again. Growls in frustration.

“Just leave him alone, old man,” Logan mutters to himself. “He’s here to heal.”

Not listen to a whining, yellow-bellied coward like me.

With that bitter self-recrimination, Logan turns away from the door again—only to nearly jump out of his skin when he hears it suddenly open behind him.

“Are you that ‘X-Man’ come to visit Morph?” asks the middle-aged woman with frizzy grey hair and coke-bottle glasses. “Sorry love, Moira called ahead but I only just remembered the door was locked. Must not have heard your knockin’ over my headphones, either. Come on in, love, he’s almost done with his treatment, shouldn't be more than a minute or so.”

Now there’s no chance he can sneak away without word getting back to Morph. Reluctantly, Logan follows the nurse into the room. As soon as he’s through the threshold and he hears the door automatically lock itself behind him, his breath catches and a bolt of sick terror shoots through him, followed quickly by rage.

He hates hospitals, and he really hates laboratories; this room is some hellish combination of both. Sterile metal walls, acrid chemical smells, computers and machinery blinking and blooping with obscure purpose in stalagmite-like clusters rising from the floor. Seeing Morph unconscious on a slab, hooked up to those machines—it makes him want to break things. His pulse is a war-drum in his ears.

This can’t actually be helping Morph get better. They’re hurting him, experimenting on him maybe. Ripping him apart to learn how his shapeshifting powers work. Maybe that’s how MacTaggert figured out how to make her son look normal, because that’s all humans ever want from mutants: to use them, or make them normal.

His claws itch at the underside of his skin. He’s gotta get Morph out of here, run away as far and fast as they can because if they can’t trust MacTaggert then they can’t trust Xavier then they can’t trust the X-Men—

Logan closes his eyes. His thoughts are spiraling in on themselves like a dog chasing its tail; he grabs that dog by the chain and forces it to heel. Maybe he can’t trust MacTaggert—the fact she managed to hide her mutant son from Xavier all these years proves she’s good at keeping secrets, who knows what other skeletons may be hanging in that woman’s closet?—but he damn well knows by now that he can trust Xavier and the X-Men. There’s no point in speculating to the contrary. May as well start doubting that the sun will rise or the tides will turn; may as well send himself to the funny-farm, too, while he’s at it.

“You can sit in that chair while you wait, love,” the nurse says suddenly. Logan’s body jerks in surprise as his eyes snap open. She doesn’t seem to notice, though, already taking her own seat behind a desk not far from the door and picking up a well-worn paperback romance novel. “That one there, by the window.”

“Thanks,” Logan grunts.

The nurse puts on her headphones and presses the play button on her portable tape-player. Logan blinks as his acute hearing picks up shredding guitars, crashing drums, and guttural, growling vocals.

He would not have guessed from looking that she was a metal fan.

Although he moves towards the window the nurse mentioned, Logan doesn’t sit down in the squashy-looking armchair. Instead, he slides the window open and just stands there a while, breathing deeply. No ocean-view this side, but he can smell the brine and feel the cold wind against his face. He can hear crashing waves.

He can still smell Morph, too, which is always a balm—even if he can’t bear to look at him while he’s hooked up to those machines. He can hear his heartbeat and his calm, soft breaths.

Eventually, the room stops feeling quite so much like a trap snapping shut around him.

Morph trusts Dr. MacTaggert. Trusts this place, even if it makes Logan’s skin crawl. He clearly feels safe enough to recover here. Safer than he felt at the mansion, apparently.

Safer than he felt under Logan’s protection.

Some ‘protection.’ Not even one whole day back and I let him go up against Sentinels again.

Yet even when confronted by his worst fear, Morph ran in literally guns-blazing and faced an entire squad of Sentinels almost single-handed to save the team. A true X-Man, through and through.

And what does that make me? Just the guy that turns tail and runs while his friends are in danger, all because he let himself get spooked by a snot-nosed teenager with daddy-issues.

Logan hasn’t forgiven Morph for leaving again—hell, he might even hate him a little—but he’s still so proud of him. That pride only deepens his own shame.

Bamboo and steel, like Master Oku used to say. Guys like Morph, like Xavier and Beast and Nightcrawler, too: they’re bamboo. Strong enough to bend, able to grow back when cut down. For all that Logan’s bones are plated in adamantium, as often as he’s tried to change his nature, he knows he’s made of steel. Tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. And if even one crack appears—he breaks.

Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.

Something beeps on the console by Morph’s bed. Eerily, he seems to instantly snap from asleep to fully alert, like he isn’t so much waking up as activating. His eyes open and he takes a single, sharp breath, which he holds for a moment before releasing it in a sigh.

Logan crosses his arms and leans back against the window-sill, content to watch that long, lean body stretch and those pretty brown eyes flutter.

When Morph eventually sees him standing there, to Logan’s relief, he smiles. That’s gotta count for something. “Hiya, Logan…”

“Hey, kid,” he says softly.

I miss you.

I hate you.

Something terrible happened.

Come home.

I don’t know how to be afraid. I don’t know how to bend.

I don’t deserve you.

“Nice helmet,” Logan says. “You look ridiculous.”

Morph laughs as he sits up and starts to remove the strange device strapped to his head. “You think this helmet looks ridiculous, you should have seen my first and only attempt to design my own costume. There’s a reason why I opted to go with the generic uniform, instead.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta see it. You can’t say that and not show me.”

“And lose what little respect for me you have left? No thanks.” After setting the odd helmet down on the side-table, Morph taps it with his finger. “This is a new thing we’re trying out. Moira says it might help make my nightmares and flashbacks less intense.”

Logan nods like he knows anything about anything. “Nemo-transients therapy, right.”

Morph laughs again. “Right.”

“What’s it do?”

“No idea. Moira tried to explain the science but there were a few too many five-dollar words,” Morph admits. “Basically, it’s meant to make some of my bad memories fade away a little over time, the way the memories of other people do.”

“That perfect recall of yours givin’ you trouble?” Logan guesses with a regretful sigh. It’s a necessary side-effect of Morph’s powers. He can just glance at someone and remember every single detail of their appearance; listen to a brief recording of a voice and replicate it flawlessly; watch anyone perform a physical skill, from a martial arts maneuver to a complicated dance-step, and immediately add it to his own repertoire.

He could probably tell you how many rivets were used to construct the Sentinels that killed him. Or remember the exact moment—month, day, hour, minute, and second—when he realized that no one was coming to rescue him from Mister Sinister; that the X-Men, his friends, the people he trusted most in the world, really had left him for dead.

“On the bright side, I never had to study back when I was in school. You win some, you lose some.”

“Morph…” Logan uncrosses his arms and takes a step towards the bed, but stops himself from getting any closer. Although the nurse is thoroughly distracted by her kissing book and her metal music, she could glance up at any moment. Besides, there’s a security camera looming in the corner of the ceiling, pointed directly at them.

As much as Logan might want Morph to come home, he won’t do it by making this place unsafe for him, should someone at the research center react poorly to seeing two men be a little too affectionate with each other. His hands fall uselessly to his sides.

“I can’t say I like the idea of you lettin’ people tamper with your memories,” Logan admits after a moment.

“It doesn’t erase anything. Just sorta gives me a little breathing room, so the other therapies actually have a chance to stick. That’s all,” Morph assures him. When Logan still looks unconvinced, he adds, “The professor helped design it, if that makes you feel any better.”

It does, actually. Logan can’t understand any of this modern, high-tech psychology mumbo-jumbo. Back in his day, when a fella got a case of shell-shock, the brass would just put a gun in his hands and shove him back in the fight. If Xavier and Morph both agree that this is the best way to help Morph get better, who is Logan to question it?

“I don’t know how much longer we’ve got before it’s time to catch my ride back to Westchester,” Logan says.

“Oh.” Morph shoots him a knowing smile and a wink. “I get you.”

Well. That wasn’t what Logan was getting at, but he definitely isn’t going to say no…

Morph yawns and stretches again. This time, there’s nothing innocent in the arch of that spine or the flex of those lean muscles. “Goodness, these sessions sure take it out of me.”

“How ‘bout I walk you to your room,” Logan offers.

“Thanks, Logan,” Morph says with a shameless grin. “You’re a good pal, y’know that?”

As they walk towards the exit, Morph pauses to drum his fingertips across the nurse’s desk. She jumps and removes her headphones with a slightly guilty-looking smile. “All done, then, love? How was the session?”

“Good. How are Fae and Tavish?” Morph asks. After a moment of confusion, Logan realizes those must be the names of the woman with the heaving bosom and the oiled-up, tartan-clad highlander and on the cover of the nurse’s romance novel. “Have they sorted out that little misunderstanding at the clanmeet yet?”

“Aye, things are finally heating up again,” the nurse replies with a grin. “So if you wouldn’t mind maybe holding off telling Moira you’re done with your session, that’d be grand.”

Morph literally zips his lips shut. After Logan and the nurse have a good laugh, he unzips to say, “Don’t work too hard, Doreen.”

“You know I’m in no danger of that, love!” she calls after him as they leave the room.

Although the two of them don’t speak as Morph leads Logan through the halls of the research center, their eyes keep meeting as anticipation builds. It’s been too long—even longer, if you don’t count that cramped, awkward quickie in the mini-jet en route between Morph’s welcome home party and the trashed polymer factory.

When they arrive at Morph’s guest room, Logan doesn’t have long to re-familiarize himself with the scenery. The door is barely shut and locked behind him before Morph slams him up against it with enough force to rattle the hinges. Logan growls appreciatively around the tongue in his mouth and slides his hands down Morph’s back to grab his ass.

There’s surely no better cure for what ails him.

–

Glaring up at the ceiling several minutes later, Logan thinks he’s going to kill someone. Possibly himself.

“It… it’s fine, Logan. Really.”

“Shut up,” Logan snaps. He flops back against the scratchy hospital sheets covering Morph’s bed and hides his eyes in the crook of his arm.

“Everybody has trouble, uh, performing sometimes,” Morph insists. “Especially older—er, I mean—”

“Stop. Talking.”

Morph sighs and turns away, looking frustrated, worried, and worst of all, guilty. That last one breaks Logan’s heart a little. This sure as hell isn’t Morph’s fault. He doesn’t deserve Logan’s anger.

Too bad anger is just about all he ever has to offer.

“I should go,” Logan says, wishing he’d stuck to his guns and stayed away instead of letting Rogue bully him. He’s no good for Morph like this.

Not enough of a man to stand and fight. Not enough of a man to fuck. What good am I for anyone?

Logan stops in the middle of looking for his clothes to shut his eyes, clench his trembling fists, and wait for the wave of rage to pass over him before resuming his search.

“Oh… okay,” Morph says. Logan can’t bear to look at him. He has his jeans buttoned and is in the middle of shrugging on his flannel shirt when Morph asks, “How’d the mission go, by the way?”

A pure, wimpering-animal dread creeps into his chest. Morph keeps talking—Logan hears Rogue’s name, and the phrase ‘made of glass’—but nothing else sinks in. His stomach turns. Sweat beads on his brow. Although he can feel air rushing in and out of his lungs, he can’t breathe.

“Why do you care?” Logan snaps. He can barely hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears. “Thought you turned your back on that life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Morph demands. “Of course I care—you’re still my friends, I’m still an X-Man! Do you think I wanted to leave?”

“I… I don’t know why I said that,” Logan lies. His vision blurs, but he can still see his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes as hard as he can. They have to be playing tricks on him. He’d be able to smell that monster coming.

Right?

“Besides, I didn’t turn my back on you! You turned your back on me, left me to—” There’s a soft thud behind him as Morph punches the mattress. “No… no, that’s not true. Especially not about you. You did more than anybody to… But don’t you see? That’s why I had to leave! I’m no good for the team like this. I thought you understood that.”

Logan nods, although gun-to-his-head, he couldn’t say what he’s agreeing to. He stands up and staggers a few steps away from the bed on legs that feel like jelly. He needs… he needs… to button his shirt. Find his boots.

Grab your gun and head back out there, soldier. The war ain’t over just because you’re scared.

“Logan…?”

“What?!” Why can’t he find his fucking boots? Why can’t he see anything besides his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag.

“Why are your claws out?”

Logan blinks. Looks down at his hands.

His claws hiss back at him like angry snakes.

He retracts them, feels them squirm all the way back up into his arms, alien and repulsive in a way they haven’t felt since they were brand-new.

He blinks again, and suddenly Morph is standing in front of him, between Logan and the door. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Logan should be the one closest to the door. When that monster comes in here—

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Morph says. He offers a smile completely devoid of amusement or joy. “And I’m heading that way, too, so lets see if all these boring counseling sessions I’ve had to sit through are worth the time I could have spent watching TV.”

Closely observing Logan to gauge his reaction, Morph takes his hand and guides it to his bare chest. His heartbeat is a little too fast, his breaths shaky and hitched. Holding Logan’s hand in place, Morph takes as slow and steady an inhale as he can manage, holds it for a few seconds, then releases a sighing exhale. Again and again. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Although Logan doesn’t mean to join in the breathing exercises, he finds himself subconsciously matching Morph’s pace.

Over the course of what somehow feels both like several hours and no time at all, Morph’s heartbeat gradually slows to something approaching normal. As it does, the worst of Logan’s terror fades, leaving him exhausted, angry, and embarrassed in its absence.

The monster—the kid is still downstairs with his mother, Cassidy, Beast, and Xavier. The only thing tormenting him is a few bad memories.

“Sit down,” Morph says, pushing him a few steps backwards until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. Logan doesn’t sit so much as collapse. His muscles twitch uselessly with unspent adrenaline. “Easy, big guy. A panic attack can really take it out of you. Believe me, I know.”

“You take it easy,” Logan snaps without any heat. “I don’t get panic attacks.”

“Uh-huh,” Morph says dryly, not buying what Logan’s selling even at a discount. Standing between Logan’s spread knees, Morph reaches out and runs a hand through his hair. Logan nearly growls at him—until he feels blunt fingernails scratch over his scalp just right. All the fight bleeds out of him until he can only slump forward and rest his sweaty forehead against Morph’s belly.

While he continues to play with Logan’s hair, Morph speaks again: “You and I aren’t great at this mushy stuff. And I know you too well to bother asking if you want to talk about what’s wrong.”

Logan shakes his head.

“Just… know that if you did want to talk, I’d listen. Okay? I know what it’s like to go through this stuff, and I know it feels like you have to tough it out alone, but—”

“You don’t.”

Morph’s hands go still. “…What’s that?”

“You said you know what it’s like. But you don’t,” Logan repeats, gritting his teeth, “because nothing happened to me.”

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” Morph asks, taking a step back so he can look Logan in the eye. “Wait, so this isn’t about Weapon X, or Sabretooth and Fox, or—”

Of course Morph would assume that, because that might actually make some goddamn sense, but no. Some of the worst things that ever happened to him, yet they only ever made him tougher and stronger and angrier. Instead, it’s a kid throwing a temper tantrum that finally managed to break the Wolverine.

—he’s falling apart, weeping at the feet of a stranger he nearly killed, begging her for answers she can’t give him. Why did they do this?—

—pretty brown eyes stare up at him, brutalized and afraid. What’s the matter, punk? Can’t take care of your woman?—

—he sees his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. Where are you, Logan? Wolverine!—

“I ran away during the mission,” Logan snarls. There it is, the ugly truth.

A long, terrible silence hangs between them, until—

“Oh.”

Logan cringes and looks away like a scolded hound. Shame burns acidic in the back of his throat.

After a moment, Morph moves to sit next to him on the bed. Logan watches out of the corner of his eye as he leans forward, braces his elbows on his knees, picks at his hands.

Then, to his dismay… Morph quietly chuckles.

—high, mocking laughter echoes through the dark jungle. Who could ever love a freak like you?—

“Funny,” Morph remarks. Unlike the corrupted thing he became under Sinister’s control, there’s no sign of cruelty in his voice, his face, his pretty brown eyes. “I used to think you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“I’m not,” Logan insists, before amending: “I shouldn’t be.”

“Why? Is it so terrible to find out that you’re just as human—er, so to speak—as the rest of us?”

Logan frowns down at the floor between his bare feet.

“Or was all that stuff you told me after the Sentinels came back just bullshit to make me feel better?”

His gaze snaps up to meet Morph’s cold, flat stare. “It’s not the same.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because…” Logan starts, and then doesn’t know how to finish.

Morph, the absolute bastard, smirks like he’s already won the argument. “So you ran away. So what? Did you come right here, afterwards?”

“No,” Logan growls.

“In the time it took you to turn around and get back to the mission, was anyone killed or maimed?”

“The professor fell in a pit of fire.” Morph’s eyes go wide, which is a little gratifying at least. All the more unfortunate that Logan has to tack on a reluctant, “Dr. MacTaggert and I caught him.”

“Jesus… Don’t scare me like that, you asshole. Okay, you almost let Xavier fall in a pit of fire; I almost let Xavier’s brain get stolen by Sentinels,” Morph says with a shrug. “We’re as bad as each other. Anything negative you have to say about yourself, you may as well say about me, too.”

It’s a tidy little trap Morph’s caught him in, without a doubt. Hell of a catch, that catch-22.

“Alright, put it away,” Logan grumbles, and covers Morph’s entire smug, cackling face with one hand.

“What, my dick?” Morph asks, muffled against Logan’s palm. “Talking about some guy’s emotions while my whole hog is out. I feel like I’m in a student film.”

Logan laughs. “You coulda changed that at any point, shapeshifter.”

“Hey, I wasn’t complaining.” Despite his words, Morph shifts back into his uniform as he rises from the bed. “Alright, no bars on the island, but there’s probably a boat somewhere we could steal. Or I can turn into a whale and swim you across to the mainland.”

“Can’t,” Logan says regretfully, shaking his head. “My ride home is leavin’ soon.”

“I’ll buy you a plane ticket. Even better, I’ll pull a guilt-trip on Scott that'd put a Jewish grandmother to shame, get him to come visit me tomorrow, and you can fly back with him after. In the meantime, we’ll rent a hotel room for the night and see if Little Logan has recovered from his stage-fright.”

Logan chuckles. Seeing Morph play Summers like a fiddle would be worth the price of admission alone; that he’d be doing it so Logan can play hooky and drink beer and have sex is just gravy. Still, he can’t help but ask: “You sure it’s a good idea for you to leave?”

“I don’t imagine we’ll see Mister Sinister or any Sentinels having a pint down the pub in a random seaside village in Scotland,” Morph says with a laugh. “What about you? Any chance we’ll run into whatever freaked you out?”

Logan thinks of young Kevin MacTaggert, happy and safe with his mother and Xavier—the man who’s been a better father to him in the past two days than Joe MacTaggert has for the boy’s entire life. In a strange way, maybe that makes the kid a bit of an X-Man, too. “I’ll take my chances.”

Morph grins as he pulls Logan to his feet. He doesn’t let go of Logan’s hand right away, almost absentmindedly stroking the thick, rough callouses, the knots of scar tissue, the bulky pugilist’s knuckles.

Steel is tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.

Luckily, for all that Logan’s bones are plated in metal, he isn’t made of steel. Flesh bleeds, flesh breaks; then it heals and grows back stronger.

Logan is pretty damn good at healing.

[viridianevergarden]

Reading comprehension and critical thinking has really gone out the window hasn’t it? At least in a portion of the fandom.

People are forever stuck under the presumption that Az feels pure lust for Elain and nothing more. That lust suddenly doesn’t go hand in hand with love? That Az is mentally fucked up and should get therapy yet no one else in the IC should? That Az is wrong for naturally shifting his feelings of love from one person to another? That he’s wrong because he didn’t “take a break”? That because of these, Az doesn’t deserve to have love and to love in general?

People are also forever stuck under the presumption that these characters are oh so evil and shouldn’t deserve love at the same time? Take Rhys for a popular example. (When it’s a book series about the ‘villain’ getting the girl. The math isn’t mathing. He’s not even a real, true villain).

No character in ACOTAR is meant to be a saint, I thought everyone knew that. (Oh my god! Morally grey characters when they do morally grey things, shocking😧)

I find most Azriel antis are literally just people who can’t put two and two together. Or just don’t like him for whatever reason they may have. (Everyone has their opinions, yes). But my god, the shallow interpretation and failure to understand his character annoys me ngl. He’s a complex character but he’s not a damn mathematical equation. (He is complex yet linear.)

“He only thought about sex in the bonus chapter.”

As if Elain also wasn’t aroused too? And gave him permission? (Omg, mutual consent! Blasphemy!)

But also the fact that they disregard Az’s noticeable and careful attention to Elain that he has shown throughout the entire series? They disregard purposefully romanticized moments?

“What happened with Elain?”

“What about Elain?”

“I’m getting her back.”

“I can imagine.”

“Would you like me to show you the garden?”

“There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.”

“This is Truth-teller.”

Shadows gathered around the room like snakes preparing to strike.

“Sit. I’ll take care of it.”

“Wait until everyone is seated before eating.”

“We need to get these chains off her.”

Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring [Elain]…

“She doesn’t need anything.”

“The Cauldron made you a Seer.”

“Happy Solstice.”

Staying up with her til 3 am, talking about her gardening plans.

The kiss on the cheek.

“Beautiful.”

Countless times of him gently carrying her around.

Him constantly looking out at her garden.

Him spending actual effort to get her a thoughtful gift for solstice.

Facing death itself to get her back immediately by himself.

A laugh so deep and joyous.

Looking at that headache powder every night for over a year without ever using it.

The absence of his shadows in her presence.

“His secret to tell, never hers.”

Need I go on? Azriel is always hyper focused on Elain. Always. If it weren’t for him, Elain would probably be dead or in more trouble than she ever would have been before.

If all Azriel cared about was slipping under Elain’s dress, why did he attend to her so? Why is he hyper aware of her? Why is he so assertive with her needs over anyone else? Even over Nesta? Why would he feel the need to defend her against Nesta, her own sister, if it called for it? Why does he respect her and Lucien’s boundary by refusing to have eyes on Lucien for the sake of their privacy? Why was he the only one to show initiative over anyone else to get Elain back to safety now rather than later, by himself, even if it meant certain death?

But yeah, all he wants is her body. Right? Yeah, that makes sense…

I’m just saying. No main SJM character would ever go through so much effort just to bed another character. Thats not SJM’s style nor is it logical in the slightest.

But oh yes, he feels entitled to her and her body…

…Entitled?

Wrong E word.

Envy ≠ Entitlement.

Feeling Envious of the love that his brothers have? Of the bonds they have with the other sisters? Yet he’s the only one left all by his lonesome? He feels left out. Third wheeled. And rationally so. He’s happy for his brothers but envious all the same. (As if Cassian didn’t feel the same but no one said shit about him did they?)

I’ve said this in another post too but he is NOT looking at Elain and going “she should be mine.”

He doesn’t even think he deserves her for freaks sake.

Rhys doesn’t really know Azriel. Cassian doesn’t really know Azriel. No one truly knows Azriel. The only one who has truly understood some semblance of Azriel is Elain. Even when his heart and feelings are so incredibly gated off from everyone.

So that word —entitlement— that people keep throwing around from Rhys’ lips is completely misguided.

The sheer mischaracterization makes me see red 💀

But back to the point, with obvious and mutual romantic feelings, being horny is normal. (This is also an adult romantasy series, shocking that there’s sexual content).

I’ll die on that hill for Az and Elain.

I don’t get how it can be this hard, but maybe it’s just me.

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

I believe brittney doesn't deserve the unrecognization but i want to see relationship hcs about her. Mc/Reader is stoic and stern but can be sweet to her, A type of relationship where brittney is somehow different around Mc (Stealing glances, daily ranting to mc, i just like to think sweet things being happen)

A Gyaru's Rhapsody (Brittney x Stoic and Stern! MC/Reader - Relationship HCs)

Anon, I hope you enjoy, had fun writing for Brit, and I hope you lot enjoy reading it! (“⌒∇⌒”)

Also I do agree she is underrated AF. >:(

Also dw y'all Jess loved Brit as a bsf for life in this. <3

- Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer

Rhapsody: an effusively enthusiastic or ecstatic expression of feeling.

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

You were notorious for being cold and distant.

Hell, even Geo had deemed you icy.

Across the school people had learnt to simply not interact with you, because dear gods above did you master your intimidating death-stares.

Alas, the sole person whom you genuinely got along with, to everyone's surprise?

Brittney-fucking-Claire.

People were astonished, hell, she was astonished when you and her became friends (by your wish).

Usually she's the one who made the rules, who led the charges.

But she doesn't mind.

She personally thought you were intriguing, your personality was that of Geo's and Jess's smushed together, so Brit was shook when you went out of your way to talk to her.

After a while you join the group, becoming somewhat good friends with Crowe, Jess and Deryl while getting a lot closer to Brittney.

She didn't know why, but she felt a strange sense of security around you, she felt safe.

Unjudged.

Free to say how she felt.

You warming up to her - for reasons she still couldn't figure out - along with you being so oddly nice to her made her feel strange.

Eventually she decides it's not a facade and fully accepts your friendship.

Will start splurging all her gossip to you, you want dirt? Tea? Juicy deets? She's got it all.

Starts sharing her skincare routine with you (only shared this info with Jess so you better keep it secret pookie).

Soon enough you and her start going to facials and hair salons together, then do manicures and pedicures, then each other's homes.

Essentially you worm your way into her heart, and she's worried.

She'd not felt this strongly for someone in a long fucking time.

But...you'd proven to her repeatedly by this stage you were trustworthy...that you genuinely cared about her.

It slowly creeps up on her, the realisation that she's fallen for you, hell she didn't even crush on you, she fucking fell so hard she doesn't wanna get up.

She'll ask Crowe for information about you, and then advice.

He becomes a wingman frfr

Crowe will have to drop hints for you to confess, so when you finally do (btw congrats Anons, doing that shit sounds hard), Brittney just nods briskly. "Brit...I. Like. You." "Yeah, I like myself too." (liar) "Romantically. I...wanna be with you. Genuin-" "Yes."

When you both start dating, Brittney would have already been comfortable with you to the stage of being able to talk about literally anything (y'all love shittalking the nastier girls at Olympieus)

Also defends you from bullies, and will protect you if she deems it necessary (she always will, any excuse to hit those girls is a good one)

However, she becomes much more possessive.

Not to an extent where she'll restrain you.

She will simply fight anyone who dares try and steal you from her (spoiler alert, she wins)

When one of you is sad, you have an unspoken ritual to grab vodka, go to the others' house and rant, ramble and rave on about your problems.

Banger form of therapy.

Brit will also help you study if you need it, she's willing to take notes for you, hell, even tutor you if absolutely needed.

Will also give you #girlboss treatment

You both go out looking badass.

And you have the most fun ever. In short, you're both devoted to each other. And you're both more than happy to keep it that way.

[cherries-in-wine]

A sort of rant/review (mostly negative) of the tortured poets department:

English isn't my first language so apologising in advance for the mistakes <3

I don't think ttpd would've had so much criticism if it wasn't so hyped up by swifties and Taylor herself. Folklore and Evermore are my favourite albums and because Taylor put so much emphasis on how good the songwriting of this album is i thought i was going to love it. So my expectations were a more Lana del rey or the national kind of vibe, orchestral pop or psychedelic rock and it would be like a third sister to folklore and evermore. I've noticed that Taylor's albums are all starting to sound like midnights. 1989 is such a good pop album but 1989 tv sounds midnightified especially the vault tracks sound like they belong on midnights. As much as I love Jack Antonoff as he gave us some great albums i think Taylor desperately needs a new producer. I think the album is definitely "raw" in the sense that unlike the other albums that are super put together, in order and organised, ttpd is messy like a bunch of paragraphs from her notes app thrown together, it isn't essentially a bad thing, but if you're gonna talk about how ttpd required more song writing talent than any other album, it's pretty reasonable for people to be disappointed. I thought name was a reference to joe's group chat name and kind of poking fun at that, but oh no it's an actual fuking asylum and the whole idea makes me very uneasy. The reason why folklore and evermore work is because it's not from the perspective of Taylor but rather the people she's made up in her mind and because she is such a good story teller those albums sound awesome. Something about a straight cis billionaire white woman calling herself a tortured poet in all seriousness and romaticising asylums/electroshock therapy makes me so so so uncomfortable. I understand why swifties are so defensive and protective of Taylor, with all the shit that happened with Kim and Kanye but I feel like they think she's a god that can do no wrong, which is stupid you can like an artist but still call me them out their shitty decisions. The "oh you think her singing writing is not that good why don't you write something better" is such a stupid argument, this random person criticising Taylor isn't constantly referred to as the greatest song writer of our generation, she is. I saw a post saying "the biggest burn is that most songs are about Matty Healy and not Joe Alwyn" like excuse me but if my ex that I dated for many years just starts gushing over a slimy ass Nazi racist sexist pathetic excuse of a man, I'd go "thank god good riddance". What happened to "you are what you love" Taylor?. I really like some songs, but I keep getting disgusted when It clicks who they're about. "But daddy I love him" is a great song but it's about ratty Healy fuck off ew.

I have a lot more to say but my brain isn't braining so I'll update later lol

[wol-fica]

-𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕀-

parings - jennaortega x singer!fem!reader

summary - you realize your relationship with jenna seems to be crumbling, so you do something about it

warnings - weird therapist, some percy diss, but that’s it :)

an - :) ————————————

“Relationships can be hard, and arguments are a normal thing all people go through.” 

You sighed, fidgeting with your fingers while searching for anything to look at besides your therapist. 

The reason for today's sudden visit was because you felt like your relationship with your girlfriend was going downhill. You understood that life can be tough sometimes, but this was much too stressful for you to keep bottled up.

“Can you tell me some specific reasons why you believe your dating life is struggling?” Your therapist asked, giving you an encouraging smile.

“Well,” You readjusted on the couch, “It just feels like I’m trying way too hard to keep us together, when I shouldn’t be.”

“I understand.”

“Having a girlfriend shouldn’t induce stress or anxiety, it should be fun and enjoyable.” You went on, now feeling like letting all your worries out, “I get that she has a job; I do too! But that isn’t an excuse to treat me terribly….”

“Yes, I agree.” Your therapist said as she jotted down some notes in her book, “You are still pursuing singing right?” 

You nodded, smiling at the thought of your recently ended tour. Traveling the world was very exciting, and you loved experiencing different cultures along the way. The only wish you had was that Jenna would have been beside you; But like always, she put work first.

“So think about this. You have a job that takes you around the world, causes you to miss out on certain things but be included in newer things like events and shows?” 

You nodded again, confirming the description of your work.

“And Jenna’s job consists of…exactly the same thing.” 

You let out a shaky breath, turning to look at the ground sadly. It was true, you both had time consuming jobs that dragged you about the globe and took your time away from family and friends.

Yet somehow, you always made sure to have time. You would always tell your manager that family was first, and no matter what you would squeeze them into your schedule just so you could see them and feel at home while traveling or working. 

Jenna’s job was similar in the aspect of yours, minus the singing and dancing, but she never seemed to be able to make any time for you. You would always plan your off days to be on her off days from filming so you could maybe go get lunch or just enjoy each other's presence, but Jenna would always have the excuse of “I’m to tired” or “I already have plans with Percy.” 

Percy. The name was distasteful to you. As much as you appreciated his skill of acting and his wonderful personality, you still didn’t like him. He would always weasel himself in between you and Jenna, whether it be during her relaxing days or at award shows, he always pushed you out and brought her in. 

“I have an idea; you may or may not like it.” Your therapist stated, setting her notebook down, “You need to pull her aside, no matter what plans she has, and talk to her.”

Your eyes widened and your nerves proceeded to spike. Pull her aside? You were not a confrontational person, and you were most likely to avoid conflicts if you were given the chance; hence why your relationship is crumbling.

“What do I say to her?” You fought back, taking a sip of water, “I have no idea how to confront her. ‘Hey Jenna! I feel forgotten and like you don’t care anymore!’” 

A small sob escaped your mouth, your head falling into your hands. God, you missed her. You missed being able to hold her, to laugh about stupid soccer plays, to enjoy sunsets together on her balcony. You never knew how much of an impact she had on you until you started going to therapy.

“Don’t get emotional about it, just politely but firmly ask.”

You sniffled, raising a hand as an acknowledgment before getting up to leave the room. As much as you wanted to stay, you knew that if you were going to confront her you would need to do it now.

Pulling out your phone, you opened your text message app and clicked on Jenna’s contact.

A chuckle involuntary left your mouth, your lip slipping in between your teeth afterwards.

Jenna always knew how to make you laugh, no matter how you were feeling. Diffusing a situation is one of her many skill sets; but you were not letting her get away this time.

“I’ll be home in 5.” You texted before shoving your phone into your pocket and heading outside to your driver.

The ride seemed long, and even though it was a 15 minute drive to your place, you still felt the small confident monster roaring inside of you. All its pleas and cries were telling you to be bigger and let your emotions out onto Jenna; but you knew you couldn’t. You would scare her, anger her, or even just annoy her that she could possibly leave you on the spot; you couldn’t let that happen.

“Miss? We are here.” Your driver said, looking at you in the rearview mirror.

“Oh, thank you.” You replied before hurrying out of the car.

As you walked to the front door, passing Jenna’s black Audi along the way, your anxiety started to overtake you and your thoughts.

What if you say something wrong and she leaves? What if you are just overreacting and this is all some stupid act you’re pulling? What if she decides that you aren’t enough for her and she confesses about Percy?

A wooden blockade hit you in the face and you realized that you walked full force into the front door.

“Ow.” You mumbled before pushing your key into the slot and walking into your luxurious living room.

A mansion was one of the very gracious things you received from being such a popular face in the music industry. Money was an easy-coming item, and spending it was just the same, so why hold it all in your bank account when you could just show up and show out with your 102,000 square foot palace.

“Y/N?” Your name was called out softly, startling you from your place by the shoe nook.

You turned your head to the left to see her, in her ever standing glory. She looked slightly confused but all together relaxed, and was clearly dressed to be heading out for a fun night.

”Hi…” You said, completely unmoving as you stared at her.

“Hi…you wanted to talk?” Jenna asked, fidgeting with her phone.

“Oh, yeah. Here.” You gestured to the kitchen island, leading to sit on a stool.

She sat opposite from you, leaned against the cool countertop as she seemed to study your body language.

“So…” You trailed off, your confidence from before completely burned out.

Jenna raised an eyebrow at you, but turned to her phone when a notification went off. She clicked it, smiled, and started giggling as she replied to whoever messaged her.

That whole interaction set you off, especially since you saw who the person was; Percy.

“Jenna put your phone down, please.” You said sternly, staring at your hands.

She looked at you with a confused expression but slowly put her phone down, retracting her hand so it sat in her lap.

“We…are not okay.” You started, playing with a ring on your finger.

Jenna watched you patiently, listening intently to your words.

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but I feel like we aren’t what we used to be.”

Silence from her end.

“Many times I feel like you don’t seem to care about me.” You said, the ring on your finger was now very interesting, “I go out of my way to reschedule so my off days line up with yours, but we don’t even spend any of that time together.”

More silence.

“I feel under appreciated and alone. Anytime we have free days together, you either say you are too tired to do anything or you already have plans with your friends.”

You inhale, breathing shakily and meekly.

“Am I not enough for you?” You asked, your tear clouded eyes finally looking up at Jenna.

She looked, shocked. Her mouth was hanging open while her eyebrows furrowed in confused and disbelief. She stared at you, her eyes glossing over with her own tears and her shoulders slumping sadly.

“Y/N…what?” Jenna mumbled, clearly lost for words.

You searched her face for any sign of anger or annoyance; there was none. Surprisingly, she seemed to be softening and relaxing.

“You, are more than enough for me.” She said, reaching for your hand, “Hell I don’t even deserve you.”

The weight of all your worries instantly lifted when she spoke those words, which caused an avalanche of emotions to hit you.

“Aw honey.” Jenna cooed, pulling you into her chest when you started crying profusely.

She stroked your hair, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead. Her fingers began to scratch your scalp as she coaxed you to relax.

“I love you, god I really do.” She held you close, rubbing your shoulders, “I’ll never take you for granted.”

You sniffled, leaning yourself into her as she fed you comforting words. Your stress and anxiety seemed to melt away as she held you.

“I’m sorry if I pushed you away, I didn’t mean to do it on purpose.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at her.

“Then why did you?” You asked softly.

Jenna smiled sadly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

“Filming has been…stressful. Tim and the rest of the crew has been antsy, and my cast mates have been no help in being calm and collected.” She said, caressing your face with the pad of her thumb, “I’ll be honest, Percy and the gang have been partying to much, and HE is quite the touchy type.”

You frowned, jealousy building up in the bottom of your stomach at the thought of Percy getting to close with your girlfriend. Jenna chuckled at you, pressing a quick kiss to your lips to diminish the pout that formed on your face.

“Don’t do that, a frown doesn’t look good on you.” She said, rubbing her nose against yours as you laughed.

“Mmm, I love you.” Jenna murmured as she gazed into your eyes.

“And I love you.”

————————

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i do not give anyone permission to repost or copy my work onto any platform

[east-polaris]

Some thoughts on the last few Magnus Protocol episodes as I’ve just now gotten caught up

SPOILERS!! Obvi

- feels rather cruel to have Alice be shaken up by her experience with The Horrors and worried that she’s going to get hurt by interacting with them and then give her a statement about someone who was shaken up by their experience with The Horrors and then died because of their interaction with them

- also return and voice of Ink5oul! Hey girlie!

- the fact that Madame E’s last video was just titled “help” made me giggle at first but then o thought about it more and. This is a person who uses excessive words on everything she says. Her vocabulary is loaded with filler and slang, so for this video to just have a one word title? Yeah you know shits about to go down

-Gwen girlie I hate to agree with Lena but they are Calle externals for a reason

- I am so curious about what’s going on with Celia. Like did she just wake up on a railroad track like an old times super villain put her there?

- And where does Celia keep disappearing to? She missed her date with Sam, she had to run out on her child, what’s going on?

- The statement in 17 is wild I was so confused at the beginning and I’ll be honest I’m still not sure what was happening there

- I know for a fact that people have pointed this out already but Jon and Martin?? In the therapy waiting room? Little Jon and Martin as a treat?? I hope it was them god knows they need the therapy

- MAGNUS INSTITUTE MENTION 🚨‼️🚨‼️

- this statement reminds me of when Jon said man I wish we had that guy who could take peoples bones out and Melanie said you’ll never guess who were keeping in the basement

- shout out to that housekeeper for getting the hell out of there I respect her for that

- making eye contact while falling down the stairs and breaking all your bones sounds very impressive and also hilarious someone please animate that

- CELIA HELLO??? Is this conformation that she’s from the other dimension??

- haha jmj error

- also WHAT JMJ ERROR

- I like to imagine that a jmj error happens when Jon Martin and Jonah are arguing about which case to give them

- “no Jonah you can’t give her that one that’s way too similar to what she went through she’ll freak out” “exactly we can watch her fear” “no you elitist prick that’s so rude cut it out or I’ll kill you again”

- why is Celia saying she’s seen Colin?

- Teddy is being so suspicious why is he saying everything like he’s looking from side to side shiftily the whole time

- Lena you can’t call a child an it that’s rude

- unless she knows something that we don’t…

- can’t believe they started to open up to each other and it went horribly wrong

- I don’t think we’ve ever heard Sam like that before, like I couldn’t tell who it was for a second

- actually, i couldn’t confidently tell you that we’ve ever heard someone laugh that hard in the entire podcast

- can you really blame him though? “Monsters are working for our government organization and one of them is Barney.” Wild.

-I do hope he apologizes though cause that wasn’t really cool of him

- Also is that our first f-bomb of the season?

- GEORGIE WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

- I think that Georgie might also be from the other dimension. Why else would she be so concerned about the government stalking her? That does beg the question, where is Melanie?

Thank you for listening to me ramble I had a lot on my brain

[grimalkinmessor]

Okay okay okay. So. I have yoinked the translations. And here are my thoughts on chapter 407.

All For One was not born evil, he was literally just born as a baby. Do you condemn people that ate their twin in the womb for killing their would-be sibling and say that they're born evil? NO.

I very much think—especially with the rats and the river thing even though I also think that's some mythology bullshit Remus and Romulus style—that All For One and Yoichi likely weren't taken in by humans for a WHILE. LOOK AT BABY FOR ONE. NO ONE IS PICKING THAT FUCKING THING UP AND TAKING IT HOME. Do you expect children raised by wolves not to bite you? Honest to God the most surprising thing about that whole chapter was the fact that Yoichi had morals. And that either of them knew how to speak human language at all. Like,,,,Yoichi becoming a morally good person after having his twin yoink most of his nutrients in the womb, cannibalizing his mother's corpse with said twin, and then likely growing up in the fucking woods after almost being eaten by rats and drowning in a river—that's a fucking miracle!! Yoichi is the odd one here!! Where did his morals come from?? Sir where did you get those? The world sure as hell didn't give them to you because DAMN.

My point is that had Baby For One been taken in by a nice family and gotten a shit ton of fucking therapy for his apathy and feralness he might've been alright. Or—maybe not alright but definitely not the creature that we saw in this chapter good LORD. I'm now convinced that any humanity that All For One developed came solely from the need to manipulate people. Otherwise he'd still be stabbing and biting them to death in complete silence like (⁠●⁠_⁠_⁠●⁠)

ANYWAY. Their backstory very pointedly focuses only on several key, damning points in All For One's history. The sapping of nutrients from Yoichi, the eating of their mother, the stealing of her Quirk, the killing of civilians and law enforcement alike—everything that leads up to his name. All For One. And yet it doesn't answer any of the other questions! Like where he and Yoichi grew up, WHAT HIS REAL NAME IS (which. is this now confirmation that AFO named Yoichi. did i get that part right at least. did i.), how they survived beyond that initial river flood, the progression of the world beyond them. I have more questions, not less.

Plus—Yoichi was clothed. All For One was in what seemed to be rags. Yoichi did not seem to be starving or severely ill. Which means that All For One likely was taking care of his basic needs as the "stronger" sibling. Because Yoichi was one of his "things", and of course he wouldn't want his things to be overly sickly and thin and dirty. If I'm not mistaken I'm pretty sure Yoichi even had shoes, while All For One was wandering around barefoot like a little vagabond. Now, All For One definitely beat Yoichi up plenty, we can see plenty of evidence of that both in this chapter and past ones—as long as Yoichi isn't irreparably harmed then AFO doesn't seem to have a problem whacking him around to keep him in line. They were probably never openly affectionate or even emotionally close, but Yoichi was still the only person that All For One seems to see as...a person. And even then :')

ANYWAY, my point is that you can't criticize the chapter for having an unreliable narrator, because they've literally done that before. Multiple times throughout this series, there have been multiple backstories revealed ONLY TO BE REREVEALED FROM A DIFFERENT PERSPECTIVE. I'm fairly sure, since we get All For One's inner thoughts and not Yoichi's, that 407 is from AFO's perspective. Another reason to believe it's from his perspective is because there's no other way that anyone could've known that their mother was a prostitute and she died by the river giving birth to them, other than All For One having access to those memories through the vestige of his mother's Quirk. I think that's also why Yoichi's death scene was so vague—All For One likely blocked a lot of it out.

I think we'll get Yoichi's perspective at some point too (we BETTER get Yoichi's perspective), but for a chapter seen through All For One, it's a lot like Tomura's origin chapter. Of course All For One, the chunni asshole edgelord, paints himself as someone who was BORN evil. Who ignores the nuance to go NO I WAS ALWAYS EVIL I WAS MADE TO BE LIKE THIS BECAUSE I ENJOY IT IMMENSELY.

Tldr; 407 was AFO's perspective of his own origin, which includes an incredible amount of bias and lacks a lot of the basic answers that an origin story usually gives. He IS evil, but it's naive to say he was born that way.

[pureblisswrites]

A guide to being kidnapped and escaping 101

Prologue

Chapter 1

"I know you tried to move. Otherwise there would've been no marks." He looked at you accusingly as if you were the one who commited a crime or were covered in blood.

Pairing: afab! Psychologist! Reader x Bang Chan

Word Count: 1.6k

Genre: Crime, mafia au, eventual romance, slow burn, comedy (an attempt was made)

Warnings: kidnapping (not with malicious intent), use of injection(s), mentions of blood although nothing graphic, criminal activities of course.

Summary: You are a fairly renowned psychologist and therapist but definitely not renowned enough to be getting kidnapped in the middle of the night. Is it one of your past patients with a criminal record? You don't know what the kidnapper wants but you have a feeling you are about to find out.

This story takes place in the same universe as "A guide to accidental murder and cover up 101" but with a different reader. I suggest you can read that too if these kind of stories are your type. But both can be read as standalones too.

Completing Mrs Kim's therapy sessions, check. Because God knows that woman would rather chew glass than talk about her mommy issues and inferiority complex. Being promoted to senior therapist, check. Getting another new pet, check. Being kidnapped from your home, check. Okay so being kidnapped was definitely not on your this year's bingo card.

It's not everyday a bunch of well built men approach your apartment in the middle of the night, inject a needle into your veins, and take you in an expensive looking car with tinted windows. You feel yourself going limp and your mind filling with cloudy haze. Yeah you'd much rather have another therapy session with Mrs Kim than feeling like this, you think to yourself before loosing consciousness completely.

You wake up after God knows how many hours or possibly days? That thought scares you, you hadn't even submitted a leave of absence. What if they fired you? No they wouldn't fire you right? You were one of the top therapists in the country. There was no way they would fire you just after promoting you. And more importantly, what about your pets?

You look around you, observing your surroundings. The room looks like a 5 star suite room. You look down to see silk bed sheets wrapped around you. When you attempt to move you find that your movements are restricted. Your hands are free though, so you remove the sheets from around your legs. Only to find that your feet are cuffed from the bedpost. Great. Just fucking great. You jerk your legs in an attempt to unlock them but it's of no use whatsoever except making some noise.

Should you scream? What if the people who kidnapped you are psychopaths or sociopaths and it sets them off? It certainly won't be your first time dealing with psychopaths or sociopaths. But you needed to be very careful if you wanted some answers and didn't want to die.

"Hello?" You say. Your voice barely above a whisper because your throat feels so fucking hoarse. Just how dehydrated were you? You cough a bit to try to regain your voice. "Hello?" You repeat again. A little louder this time. "Is anyone there?" You almost scream now. Still no answer. You'll have to say something that they couldn't ignore now. You just hoped someone would be on the other side of the giant door. "I'm sorry but I really really need to go to the washroom. I'm not kidding." What the fuck? Did they just brought you here to leave you in a bed and go on with their days? You wished they would talk to you at least once so you could grasp what kind of people they were and what to say and not say to them. "EXCUSE ME?" You shout with all the voice you're left with now and then cough violently afterwards.

Suddenly the door opens by a man dressed in all black with a mask on his face, but his eyes are directed downwards and he isn't coming in. You see the reason mere seconds later. When a man with really well built body enters. His eyes as cold as the cuffs on your feet. He's wearing a white shirt with black harness belts over it. Who wears stuff like this? But that's definitely not the most concerning thing about him. It's the way his white shirt is splashed with blood. And not just one kind of blood. Different shades of blood. So are his black gloves and wrists.

You have worked with people who have been diagnosed with violent behavioural disorders and have seen your fair share of blood in your years long career as a psychologist. But never in this much quantity. And definitely never in this situation where you're tied to a goddamm bed. This was pretty fucking scary.

"Oh hello." He said like he was surprised that you were here, as if he wasn't the one who kidnapped you in the first place. "Did you need something?" He asked politely as if he was some underpaid staff at the local convenience store.

Deciding to not test the waters right now you just uttered one word. "Washroom."

"Oh right." He held out a hand towards the man who had opened the door in the first place and the man placed a a tiny key in his hand. He then walked towards you and opened the lock of the cuffs in one swift motion. It took you longer than this to open the lock of your door. That means he is pretty skilled at what he does. Which is scary because you suppose he murders people. Or animals? What if he is just a butcher? No but he kidnapped someone, the someone being you, he is definitely involved in criminal activities. He frowned when he noticed the red marks on your ankles. As if! Did he not know this would happen? He also seemed fairly experienced in whatever it was that he did considering the number of men working for him, you assumed. "You shouldn't have done that." He stated.

"Huh?" You questioned, too busy analysing his every move. Who knew for how much time they would leave you here again.

"I know you tried to move. Otherwise there would've been no marks." He looked at you accusingly as if you were the one who commited a crime or were covered in blood. This man needed to get his priorities straight.

"Can I go now?" You asked. It felt so weird after asking for permission to go to the fucking washroom after telling people what to do for years as a therapist.

"Uh yeah. It's that black door on your left." He gestured to said door. You stumbled to walk and heard him talking to the other man near the door. "Why did you fucking cuff her?" He sounded a bit angry.

"Because you told us to Boss!" The other man exclaimed while looking pretty shaken up.

"Yeah well I didn't-" he cut himself off and looked at you watching them while standing near the door. Fuck. You rushed inside quickly, afraid of what will happen now that he heard you eavesdropping on their conversation. Even though technically they were talking right in front of you.

You used the washroom not knowing when will be the next time you'll get to get out of the bed you were chained to. You go out and see the man who was not the "boss" standing next to the bed. Trying really hard to unlock the cuffs from the bedpost.

"I- uh sorry I'm kind of an intern here so-" he was clearly struggling to get the key out of keyhole now. Did he get it stuck there? "So- um I wanted to apologise for the inconvenience caused to you on my behalf. Boss ordere- uh asked me to apologize. Did that sound too formal? Sorry I used to work in retail before this if you couldn't already tell." You could.

"Let me see this." You go up to the lock as the man makes way for you. "I think you pretty much broke one of the latches in the locking pad." You observed. You had some experience with broken locks from that time you had your first internship in an asylum.

"Well then I'll go prepare for my funeral. In the meantime you can wait here. Someone will be here soon enough with some food for you." He sighed in despair and walked away. Not even bothering to close the door. Yeah he definitely was an intern.

Well then you might as well observe this place right? Right. You approach the giant door with slow and light steps. Not knowing what you could see on the other side. You look out to see dark hallways on all three sides with multiple doors in them. They are dimly lit from the sunlight that's passing through the huge windows on each end of the walls. You can see greenery. Maybe there's a garden somewhere.

Now... you were a psychologist but no psych vol. 6 book ever had notes about how to escape from a supposed mansion after being kidnapped by God knows who and for what. So you decided to throw caution out of the window and run out. Future you will just have to deal with whatever happens.

Confused between whether to go right, left or center, you decide to follow your instincts and go center. You run as fast as you can, which isn't actually fast because you had long ago decided that you would never have to run. Your job was to sit in a room with someone and talk to them. Why would you need to run? Yeah right. You hear footsteps following you behind so you look behind you just to find... no one? Running while looking in the opposite direction was definitely not a good idea. Because you just know you ran into someone you weren't supposed to run into.

You look up from the well built and hard chest your face had collided into, only to see the "boss" looking at you with an expression you couldn't identify. He was unusually cold yet held a soft look in his eyes. Very contradicting. Thankfully he had changed his blood stained shirt for a plain black one, although he still had those bloody gloves on. You can feel him staining your t-shirt as his big hands grip onto your shoulders from when you had lost your balance while faceplanting into his chest. And you really wish he hadn't held you and let you go so the ground could swallow you whole.

"Going somewhere doc?"

A/N: I wanted to make this longer as well as show their first proper conversation but I've been running low on motivation lately so I thought I should just post this first. Please let me know your thoughts on this, comments and reblogs are much appreciated!

[mrblazeflappybird]

I have noone to talk to about this new Helluva Boss episode so you're getting subjected to my ranting

(I'm going to be talking about the end scene with Blitz and Stolas - loved the whole episode though, not my fave but definitely not my least favourite by any means)

STOLAS. MY GOD. YOU SHOULD NOT BE RELATABLE AND BECAUSE OF YOU I SHALL BE GETTING PROFESSIONAL HELP ASAP.

I completely and utterly believe that both Stolas and Blitz need to get a reality check. But whilst I am certain Blitz will in the series (probably multiple times over) I'm worried Stolas won't. The most he might probably get is him getting told by Octavia that "You don't love me, you love him".

Stolas. Needs. A. Reality. Check.

I get that (as a character) his response to everything is trauma based just like Blitz. But the way he's acting is kinda like... you aren't perfect. You are messing this up just as much as Blitz is, possibly more so.

The way he and I are similar is the fact that we both do things so heavily based through our immediate feelings that we just don't take time to think about stuff, especially not in the moment. To the point that we are blind to the damage it causes.

The relationship started as a purely "no feelings" deal. Regardless of them both catching them, that was THE RULE that they both followed most the time. Obviously until they didn't. And whilst its painful and the reasons Blitz didn't do anything is because of self hatred and therapy-needing reasons most likely, he still kept to that rule.

Stolas immediately was like "Nah, I'm changing everything right now."

Yes, yes, please, if you aren't happy and know ultimately this relationship is hurting more than bringing happiness, end it. But he can't just expect Blitz to immediately understand what's going on and what to say. Its such a huge backhand that's so unexpected by Blitz that ofc he's gonna be confused and think its something its not.

But like.... Stolas just didn't listen to Blitz, didn't really let him make sense of everything, and when Blitz jumped to the (unfortunately) logical conclusion in his brain - which is both trauma AND because of this relationship's nature - Stolas was just done.

And like... I get it?? Because that's me. Bruh. Will be and have been changing my behaviour in the future. I'm aware of my flaws and thank you to my wonderful girlfriend for giving me my reality check. Very glad that I managed to listen to her... UNLIKE A SPECIFIC DEMON.

I understand that the yelling and the slamming doors down the corridor complaining about how shitty you are reminds you of your abusive ex wife, and honestly whilst you should have listened to him in an ideal world, getting yourself out of a situation you can't handle is understandable and valid. BUT - and this is important - YOU NEED TO LET HIM HAVE SOME TIME TO PROCESS. AND LET HIM TALK.

Blitz was justified in yelling in my opinion. Stolas was also justified in teleporting him away because he yelled in my opinion too. But they both need serious reality checks.

I just don't think Stolas is ever thought to be in the wrong with any of this. He should have listened and not be so impulsive with his actions. He never really thought of the reality behind it (seemingly) and was so certain that because *his* emotions and feelings change and adapt quickly along with his, like, reality and wants and needs(???), it doesn't mean Blitz's will too.

Anyway sorry for the rant lmaooooo. Was not expecting Fizz in that episode I love that little robot imp man favourite character yayyy

[cairavende]

Worm Arc 12 thoughts:

Brian needs to watch the Barbie movie holy shit! (I understand the story takes place in 2011 and the movie doesn't exist there)

Just like, fuck get off Taylor's back. She is playing it too safe but also being too aggressive. Moving too fast but also not being aggressive enough! AHHHHHHHH!

Seriously, nearly every time Brian showed up in this arc I was yelling at him. Dude. Just back off.

Skitter fucking just, killing thousands of rats in a few minutes is absolutely terrifying. God I love her.

Hookwolf is a dick. I can't believe everyone else went along with him and gave the Travelers and the Undersiders shitty choices like that. I mean that's not true, I can believe it I'm just mad.

I legit forgot Imp existed until Tattletale mentioned leaving her at the meeting as a spy. I love how the way her power works combined with the writing style means she just disappears for the readers as well.

Loved seeing more of the Travelers and more Noelle. Excited to learn more about her (I don't have great feelings about her long term situation though).

Jack is such a fucking POSER oh my god!

He just. He thinks he's so cool. But he's not. Fucking "this is not an exit" reference and shit.

He is Tobey Maguire Spider-Man from Spider-Man 3. Just thinks he is the coolest shit. Everyone just has to accept it cause he got fancy knife powers.

Tattletale just fucking full confidence fucking with the Nine while standing right in front of them. She clearly knew it was high risk but she took it and she got results, spoiling Jacks plan with Cheri and shit.

That said, AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! MY BABY SOMEBODY HELP MY BABY! AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! (Ok she's not like, my baby, that's Taylor. But she's still my baby.)

LOOK AT MY FUCKING DAUGHTER! FUCKING LOOK AT HER! HOW MANY PEOPLE DID SHE SAVE FROM SHATTERBIRD? HUNDREDS? THOUSANDS? SHE IS AMAZING!

She fucking needs therapy though. Saves more people than anyone else could have and is mad because she didn't do enough. God damn Taylor love yourself!

Danny is fine. Besides, he had warning so any injures are basically his fault. Git gud Danny. (Ok look that's a little unfair, but he messed up pretty bad with raising my daughter so I'm allowed to be a little unfair to him I think.)

And look at my daughter again! She goes and organizes people to help the wounded. Takes charge. Gets a cool butch lady that might never show up again to help. I hope she does show up again though.

AND THEN FUCKING MANNEQUIN! AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

After he showed up I said "I don't know how the fuck she's gonna do it, but my daughter is gonna kick your ass". And then like a few paragraphs later I read "I have no idea how the fuck I’m going to do it but I’m going to make you regret that." This made me both happy - fun to say something and have Taylor say almost the same thing - and worried - cause when I said I didn't know how she was going to do it I kinda hoped she had a plan.

But then she fucking does it! She kicks his ass. She steals his arm. SHE RIPS HIS HEAD OFF! GOD DAMN! THAT'S MY FUCKING KID!

I do think she should hire the buff burly guy who helped her rip Mannequin's head off. He clearly has motivation and would be loyal. And maybe I want to see him more. For reasons.

But anyway she fucking wrecks Mannequin, makes him look like he lost a fight with a paint store. Just fucking clowned on him. She is so good.

Then the next day Brian comes in and fully focuses on how stupid it was to fight Mannequin, not really praising that she won or asking if she needs medical help. God damn bud!

But I loved how a fuck ton of people were like "Oh shit she beat Mannequin! I want to work for her." She's going to be so fucking famous soon.

Interlude 1 - Jack is a poser again. Sucks to be the Merchants, can't say I'll miss them. Jack trying to sound all clever with his carrot and sticks thing, but most of what he lists for the other Nine is really obvious. And he misses some stuff as well. Poser. I could lead the Nine better than him (not that I would lead the Nine, just that if I did I would be better than Jack).

Interlude 2 - God damn this is a doozy. Shit ton of Cauldron lore. Battery backstory. Assault backstory. I made a "now kith" joke when they fought for the very first time cause I didn't realize who they were yet. It was supposed to be a joke. I did not want them to end up together. They should not be together. Legend should not have allowed Assault to be on Battery's team. He was a bit of a dick for that. So much Cauldron lore though. I can't put it all here.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

wibta if i showed up to someone's house unannounced to get closure?

cw: brief s/a mention, kidnapping, stalking but not in detail 

ok, so I (30F) had a years long very close friendship with A (30F) when we were in school. close to us graduating high school, she met K (M, 31) and they started dating. K gave me weird vibes (he made r*** jokes and was kind of a fuckboy) but she liked him so it was whatever.  Fast forward to us graduating high school. I leave the state for a several months and an injury brings me back. A and I are still friends and I find out she broke up with K. She also tells me that when they were dating he s/a'd her while she was drunk (but she "didn't mind/it wasn't r*** cuz she "couldn't feel it and he was gentle"), kidnapped her from a party to "take care of her while she was drunk", and stalked her house. I was very upset and immediately hated this guy. But I also noticed that for some reason she was trying very hard to get him back (ie dressing up like one of his favorite youtubers (who had a very distinct and gimmicky style), dying her hair, just generally being...different). I have to leave the state again. 

I find out later that A and K are dating a year later. I'm infuriated and tell her I don't like him, that the thought of him makes me physically ill (I had undiagnosed anxiety at the time), and how can she date him when he did all those things to her. she tells me that he got therapy and that he's really nice to her now and that she's happy. she also tells me that her mom kicked her out of the house because they were dating (mom didn't like her either). Anyway, I tell A that I love her and that I still want to see her when I visit home / talk to her / etc but the stipulation is that K can't be there because I will probably be physically nauseated the whole time. she tells me i need to respect her dating decisions, but that she'll keep him out of our interactions.

a few years later (we're still talking on an off, but not a ton), i am about to leave the country. i contact her again and apologize for not respecting her decisions and that i was only reacting to the things she told me about him. she says it's okay. fast forward i leave the country, have to reset my phone, and in the process lose her number. i try to contact her a few times via facebook but she doesn't answer me. several months go by, nothing. i get the "read by" message though, so i know she's on facebook. i also find out that she and K had a "picturesque" fairytale theme wedding and i can only look at one picture before getting sick to my stomach again. i decide to cut my losses and let the friendship be over. 

here's where the stupid thing starts. since we stopped talking, i've had at least 10 dreams a year about her. i've gotten therapy (not for this situation specifically but i've talked about it in therapy), written/torn up a symbolic "letter" to her, blocked her on all my socials, made good friends, gotten married to a loving spouse (who is my best friend!), have a job i love, and am pretty happy now. and really don't think of A anymore. but for some reason, the dreams persist and make me very frustrated. they're always about us rekindling our friendship or me apologizing to her about things. i've tried ignoring the dreams, accept that they're just my subconscious processing things, accept that the subconscious is just being fuckin weird, etc. i've basically moved on from this whole situation except for these god damn dreams. 

now here's where i might be the asshole. i looked her up online because the dreams were driving me crazy. it doesn't have her cell number but it does have a new address that might belong to her. i'm going to my home state next month. i haven't talked to her since 2017. aita if i showed up to her house unannounced to verify with my own eyes that she's okay and happy and maybe get closure? if that's even what i need? is there a better way to stop having these dreams?  

please tag as "dragonfly" so i can find the post later. thank you in advance to anyone with advice. 

What are these acronyms?