Sigmund Freud Is My Arch Enemy

sigmund freud is my arch enemy

we need a support group for the girlies that still get reads/views/likes on fics they wrote at 12 that are atrocious but they can’t bring themselves to delete them bc that’s mean to little you who was so proud and bc you’d feel bad for the person currently making their way through the chapters. 😭

me when the hereditary aspect of bipolar starts feeling less like a statistic and something that will affect me for the rest of my life

Hi there!!!

Are you planning to write a Fic for Halloween?

Also, do you have any original material that you are writing for a book or something similar to it?

Thank you very much! Love your writing, it’s wonderful and draws you into it, I’m always left wanting more

Hi!!

short answer to the first question--yes! i have one true halloween fic (which means it directly involves halloween) and one (maybe 2...and if i squint 3) halloween adjacent/fall vibe fics that may be coming out before halloween, but will probably be up by early november lol

so the real halloween fic is based on a request that's almost done, but i won't be posting until the 31st (final girl fic universe inspired, but not actually set in the universe bc of the timeline)

(i also have some other final girl/billy, stu, and reader fics/requests but i doubt they'll be up by halloween, but maybe close enough to early november to still count ?)

i also have a tate request that i've been working on that doesn't mention halloween/revolve around halloween activities, but murder house is such fall/halloween content that i think it counts (even if i don't finish it until early november lol)

the 2nd fall fic is a twilight fic (jasper x reader) that i started writing bc fall is definitely twilight rewatch season, but i'm not sure how i feel about it so who knows if it'll see outside of my drafts? lol

the 3rd fic is definitely coming at some point (a jason todd x reader request) that has fall/early winter undertones but bc DC/jason todd in general aren't inherently fall and idk if it'll be done within the halloween season window,, i have no idea if it counts

--

thank you for also asking about my personal writing!! i'm working on an original book (depending on my mood and productivity level) i have another WIP that i'm tinkering with/planning out

(but tbf i have been at least working on one book since i was 9 and genuinely would not know what to do with myself if i wasn't 😭) this one however is the most mature/developed /original thing i've ever created so i'm cautiously optimistic that this one will start my career as a writer :))

and my roommate is a film major and asked me to write a script for her short film which is an endeavor i'm a little iffy about bc of some personal stuff, but have committed to

this was such a nice ask!! hope you have a good halloween :) 🎃

UPDATE: just remembered a really cute tasm! peter parker x reader request that could be a really cute halloween/fall drabble if i change direction just a little, so keep an eye out for that too lol

pretty sure a guy friend just asked me out 💔

Okay?

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A/n guess who watched the five nights at freddy's movie for matthew lillard and josh hutcherson and actually really liked it, so i wrote this :)

Summary: The one good thing about working the nightshift? You're always there when Mike gets back.

----

Your nails press into the fabric bundled on your lap. It's simple, the way you pinch and fold the corner of the blanket before straightening it again. The gesture is clearly subconscious, just something for your hands to do while your eyes remain focused on the TV screen. Mike should be doing the exact same thing.

He should be staring at the television, taking in the end of the movie you were watching when he got home from work. A classic, you had called it, expressing your shock when Mike had innocently mentioned that he'd never seen it.

Normally, a reaction like that would have left some small part of him tangled in on itself. But from you, it felt gentle. That's part of the appeal of having you around. You're warm and everything about you is so easy it circles around back to difficult.

Stop it. Mike's getting used to scolding himself on late nights and early mornings that blur together like this. He's always begging himself not to notice the way your presence manages to tug at him.

Mike swallows once, forcing his head to snap back to the screen. The credits are rolling and the only thing he's gathered is maybe the name of one character and the way you part your lips slightly to exhale when something intense happens. Great.

"See?" You turn your head, tugging at the blanket, pulling more of it onto your legs. "It's good." You shift so that you can face him, your knee briefly brushing against his leg. "Right?"

There's so much optimism in the way you're looking at him, wide eyes and an expecting, almost smile, that a part of him feels a little guilty for not having retained anything.

"It was...good," he starts slowly, his pace a beat too slow to feel natural, "But I don't know about classic."

Your mouth falls open in a dramatized display of shock before your lips pull together into an offended pout. "You know it was that good." Not your most profound argument, but it's late and your everything's starting to feel heavier. It's taking enough energy to keep the weight of your eyelids from overpowering the desire to talk to him. "You're just being difficult."

Mike's eyebrows draw together, equal parts surprised and amused. You're not exactly closed off when you're fully coherent, but his schedule and your position as an ever growing babysitter for Abby has let him learn that a drowsy you doesn't shy away from bluntness. You'll call him out more openly in a way that you'd just keep in your head if you were better rested.

"Difficult?" You nod, solidifying your stance. He lets out a partial sigh that's meant to hold the place of a laugh. "I only saw the last fifteen minutes."

You frown dismissively, like Mike should know better than to see that fact as relevant. "Then I'll have to show you--" Your sentence is broken by a small yawn that you cover with your hand. "The rest some time."

The potential for intentional plans hits him hard enough to briefly chase away his drowsiness. "Yeah." He blinks hard, trying not to think about it too much. You say a lot of things when you're tired. "Some time."

You nod, the motion distinct, like you guys really have just settled something important. A cruel sort of warmth begins to crawl up his chest and settles against his neck. He needs to let it go, to get back to only seeing you as an outgoing, friendly face that's always willing to help him out with Abby. Nothing good can come from him developing feelings for you that are more than friendly. He'd mess it up in one way or another and you'd walk away and he...

Mike can't deal with the thought of you walking away. And more importantly, Abby shouldn't have to.

"Good." You push yourself so that your back's off the couch. The blanket shifts, nearly sliding over your knee before you catch it. "I should--I should get going...it's late."

Right. This part of the night. The awareness of what comes next constricts his airways. It must, there's no other explanation for the way he struggles to take a full breath. "You didn't drive today."

For the first time since the movie ended, you drop your attention to your lap. "Uh...no." You squeeze your hands together. "The engine's still a little..."

Mike sighs. Sometimes it feels like your car is more of a topic of conversation than actual guaranteed mode of transportation. Maybe if you let him pay you for babysitting, you wouldn't constantly be fighting with an engine that's likely significantly older than Abby.

The thought of you being forced to brave the cold whenever your car's having what you usually refer to as an "episode" digs at him strangely. Mike also doesn't love the thought of you walking here alone so late.

"Maybe if you let me pay you for watching Abby." The sentence is more of a huff than Mike wanted it to be, a pinch of real annoyance leaking into his voice.

You frown. "It's too late for this." The TV's low lighting doesn't let Mike read your expression fully. "And I already told you, it feels weird to charge friends for favors."

The word friend sticks out in a way Mike doesn't get. It's meaning is suddenly too abstract and concrete all at once. "Weirder than guessing whether or not your truck's going to work every morning?"

You roll your eyes, pulling more of the blanket onto your lap. "It's not every morning." He raises his eyebrows at that. "Seriously. Rebecca is fine." The name nearly forces him to abandon his point. Abby had picked it out early on into knowing you. "She's just occasionally temperamental."

"Occasionally." He ignores your heavy glare. "You could..." Mike's throat goes dry. He knows what the next part in your usual exchange is. "Stay over..." The words feel much too slow, too careful, to come off as casually as Mike wanted them to. "If you want."

Staying over used to be as casual as an extra throw blanket on the couch. Then, overly cold weather paired with difficulty sleeping and the kind of thoughtless decisions people only ever make while half asleep morphed it into something else. When it feels like more work than it's worth to get you back home, the two of you usually end up in Mike's room.

It's all perfectly innocent and carefully unspoken. The two of you barely let your hands touch and even when you're genuinely half asleep, you don't say anything you wouldn't say anywhere else, and yet it's still different. Sometimes it's different enough to help Mike sleep better than the pills.

You nod, eyes now focused on the the throw blanket. Something about your expression makes Mike wonder if you're debating something. "See? If I let you pay me, I'd have to worry about things like overstaying my welcome."

Mike nods, not quite meeting your gaze. "Like that'd stop you."

Playing into the bit, you pretend to gasp before sitting up a little straighter. You raise a fist, gently bumping your knuckles against his arm. The gesture leaves that uneasy warmth clawing its way up Mike's neck.

----

You can't remember the ceiling of Mike's room becoming familiar. The soft grooves that you have to squint to make out in the dark, invisible shapes that you pretend to trace when you need a distraction.

Usually, what you need to be distracted from is Mike's proximity. Tonight, though, Mike's so curled in on himself in a way that has to--at best--border on uncomfortable. That paired with his stiffer than usual demeanor has to mean something.

You don't get why Mike's positioning reads as concerning to you until it clicks. He's pulled into himself like he wants to disappear.

The thought cracks at your heart. You and Mike are a lot more comfortable than you were when you first met. But it hasn't been that long, and you get the sense that Mike and Abby move as a family unit that keep outsiders at a safe distance. Not cold or unwelcoming, just cautious. There's so much you appreciate about their friendship, about Mike, and you know that it'd be easy to blow up.

Maybe you can pretend to be too close to sleep to notice and cautiously bring up your concern in the morning. A passive comment, an opening that Mike can take if he wants to.

But then your body betrays the rational thoughts of your mind and you turn your head enough to see the slope of Mike's back. It hurts enough to force you to break your silence. "Mike?"

A beat of silence that has you contemplating the possibility that he already fell asleep like that. That could be a sign, the universe's way of intervening so that you don't ruin a relationship that has yet been given the opportunity to cement itself.

"Yeah," he mumbles, voice low and uncharacteristically raspy. Mike doesn't turn over, which might not mean anything, but still makes you frown. "You okay?"

The question snaps you out of your train of thought. Of course Mike's wondering if you're okay. It's not that the two of you never talk before falling asleep, but the two of you have been quiet for so long, and now you're bothering him because of--what? A gut feeling?

"Yeah," you whisper back, a little too quickly, "Yeah, I'm--" You cut yourself off, not sure where you're going with this. You're not even sure what you're worried about, or what you want to ask. "Are you?" Echoing the question makes you feel much smaller than you did a second ago. "Okay?"

Another stretch of silence. "Yeah."

It'd be easy to leave it at that. You should leave it at that. "Okay." You swallow, trying to figure out what you're even looking for. "Because if--if you--" You sigh, eyes focusing on his back. "I don't know what it is, and it might be in my head, but you seem kind of..." You trail off, incapable of explaining it any better.

Mike sighs. You don't know what to make of the sound until the mattress shifts beneath the adjustment of his weight. Mike moves so that he's lying flat on his back. It's instinct to push yourself back to give him the space he needs to adjust. Despite your exhaustion, you lift your head, propping yourself up on one elbow.

His eyes are open. You're surprised by how coherent he seems. "I'm okay."

You study him much more openly than you've ever let yourself. His tone is sure enough and even though it's dark, you can feel that his eyes are on you. It's convincing...a little too convincing when he could have just pointed out that you're acting kind of crazy.

"Abby's right," you mumble, "You're a bad liar."

"I'm not--" Mike stops himself, finding it a little harder to hold your gaze and keep his voice steady. There's so much patience in the way you're watching him. "I'm fine, just tired."

You don't fully believe him, but a part of you wants to and there's no way you're getting anywhere tonight. You'll keep trying, and when Mike's ready to talk, he'll talk. Rationally, you know that letting him think you believe him isn't the end of the world. It's not like you're giving up on him. But the word tired had come out so fragilely.

Without your permission, the hand that's not tucked against your cheek reaches forward. Your fingers brush against the back of his wrist. The contact leaves air tangled in your lungs. When the world doesn't end and Mike doesn't pull away or give any indication that there's something wrong, you start to intertwine your fingers. Mike lets you, so stiff you'd consider him passive if it wasn't for the way he squeezed your hand back.

Another wave of silence takes over, this one lasting so long you're not sure what's supposed to come next. Maybe you should have laid back down and fallen asleep already. "You guys talk about me?"

The question's almost enough to make you laugh. "Yeah," it's broken up through a partial giggle as you move to lay down again, "The other day, right after you left Abby started th--" His head is turned towards you, eyebrows pulled together skeptically. Maybe some things are left better said just between you and Abby. "Never mind, I--I forgot that when you leave Abby and I just sit in respectful silence until you get back."

"Mhm," he breathes, his hold on your hand briefly tightening in a comforting squeeze. "Are you going to sleep now?"

The question reminds you of the heaviness pulling at your eyelids. "Yeah." You're satisfied with ending it here. For now. "Goodnight."

He lets out a huff of air that you can't interpret. His thumb drags over your knuckles slowly. "Goodnight."