#BLOCK AND FILTER THINGS THAT ARE TRULY DISTURBING AND TRIGGERING TO YOU

[quillcat]

I would say it’s truly one’s choice to do this or to not do this. There are certainly many different and valid reasons to NOT do this. But don’t shit on people who DO do this, and likewise, don’t shit on people who DON’T. Personally, I know my boundaries, and I agree that being able to deal with the uncomfy makes things a bit nicer. My experience online has been boosted because of the skills I’ve developed to deal with the “ick” I feel sometimes seeing something I don’t like. My legitimate advice though, in addition to exposure (granted you can handle it) is to simply... pay it all mind and then pay it no mind.

This is easier said than done for some people, which is respectable, and I’m not saying you have to. I’ve just noticed that if you take the minute or two to fully acknowledge something, what it is and how it makes you feel, it makes it much easier to move past things later down the line of the uncomfy things. And then after, just... don’t mind it. I’m not saying in a passive or agreeable way, but simply heaving a sigh and continuing on your way does wonders. Just... roll your eyes, say a short “ugh” and get back to what you enjoy. Working on not getting yourself worked up over these things is a key factor, I’ve learned. For me-- and that’s not everyone. Take your own time, do your own steps, and find your own approach-- if you even have or care to have one.

I didn’t even have to look anything up. A lot of exposure came by stuff just popping up and me seeing it in real time, at which point I could take it on as I saw it. It took longer, and I think I’m just naturally “eh, go with the flow” in personality, but if you’re willing to work with what you have in front of you as it comes along, you can do the whole desensitizing that way.

Again, this is a personal thing, and not an end-all advice bit. If you want to avoid these things, all power to you. If you want to take steps to desensitize yourself, know yourself and your boundaries/limits, and good luck. But don’t hate on each other, y’all.

(This all goes without saying, but: anything you truly find super disturbing or triggering, go ahead and block/filter/etc., whatever is right for you. This topic isn’t talking about purposefully exposing yourself to that-- stay safe.)

I mean I think people should curate their own fandom experience and whatnot and it's perfectly fair to just avoid things one is uncomfortable with...

That being said. From personal experience? Immunizing myself to all my discomforts by browsing through pixiv and kink memes with raised eyebrows while searching for things I am interested in back when tagging was non-existent has really made my fandom experience much more pleasant nowadays.

I have preferences, for sure. But I have no fear. I have no cringe. The filthiest, grossest fanwork holds no powers over me. I am a god.

Like honestly dl;dr and block on sight is respectable and all but I genuinely think everyone could just benefit from purposefully exposing yourself to your nOTP and non-triggering squicks sometimes? (And obviously don't go bother the creators for it.) If only so that it makes it easier/safer to search for content you like without living in fear of accidentally glimpsing something you hate and having that ruin your day.

[the--queen-of--hell]

I don't know what to think about anti proshippers anymore.

Antishippers say "stop normalizing child x adult ships" "stop normalizing incest" "stop romanticizing child x adult ships" "stop romanticizing incest" while being okay with romanticizing murder in some shows/movies and romanticizing cannibalism in some shows/movies. I didn't see any antiship throw hands the moment someone said "I like Hannibal" although it romanticize cannibalism. It's weird, isn't it?

Antishippers say "shipping fictional minor x adult ships is gross and disgusting" "shipping fictional incest ships is gross and disgusting" and "shipping X is gross and digusting" while being okay with telling real people to kill themselves. While being okay with telling real people "you should be raped" "you should be tortured" "you should burn in hell" and more things. Do you even pay attention to your actions and the actions of other people? How shipping two characters is worse than telling a real person "kill yourself"????

Antishippers say "you are gross" "you need help" "you're insane" "you need therapy" while being the ones who tell proshippers "you deserve to have trauma" "you deserved to be raped" (for those proshippers who were raped and were told they deserved it by antis- I'm so sorry). I'm no therapist, but if I were I would honestly find more disturbing an anti saying "kys" to a real person than a proshipper liking problematic fictional content.

Antishippers say "protect the children" "children could see this and think it's okay" "victims of pedophiles/abuse don't deserve someone romanticizing their trauma". You have no right to claim you want to protect children when you're harassing or telling children to kill themselves. Because yes, in the proship community there are minors. And no, they haven't been groomed into being a proship. Actually, if anything, they would have been groomed into being an antiship because they're scared of people telling them "kys" "you're a pedo" "you're fucking disgusting". And what are children doing in Tumblr/AO3/Wattpad anyways? They're not supposed to be here. They're not supposed to see content not made for them. If they are in these websites, I'm worried about why their parents aren't there to tell them "this is not a safe place for you". And if people were hurt by real pedophiles or were abused, I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry for them. But why the hell they're seeing fictional content that triggers them? If it upsets them, then block the content, ignore its existence, and trust me, you will feel less upset and more happy.

Antishippers say "you deserve to be harassed" "if you don't want to be harassed then stop being weird" "if you don't want to be harassed then stop sharing that type of content". Do you realize you sound like those people who say "if you don't want to be harassed for being gay, then don't be gay" "if you don't want to be harassed for being trans, then don't be trans" "if you don't want to be bullied, then stop being a weirdo", right? Or you didn't realize that?

Antishippers say "this ship is fucking gross" "this ship is fucking disgusting". I'm sorry, didn't you see the thing that said "block button" "filter tags"? Because you can do that. If you don't like some kind of content, use the filter tags/block button. Watch the content you want to see. Use the block button and filter the tags. Search for the ships you like instead of the ships you don't like. I forgot something? Oh yeah. Use. the. block. button. and filter. the. tags.

Antishippers say "why there are so many fics of these ships on AO3?" "why people are so gross?" "why people have to write about this?". Bro- I'm sorry that you didn't realize before but- AO3. IS. A. FUCKING. WEBSITE. FOR. PROSHIPPERS. So don't start with the "Proship DNI" in your tags because AO3 is a PROSHIP web. If you don't like it, GET OUT of AO3 and go WATTPAD or FANFICTION. AO3 is for PROSHIPPERS and we're TIRED of your "Proship DNI" bullshit.

Antiship community is honestly one of the worst communities I've ever seen. There's no other community so inmoral, digusting, and horrible in the Internet.

To my proshippers fellows, if I forgot something antis say you're free to add it.

[hydrangea-moobloom]

I have a couple things I'd like to say about current trends in the Dark SBI tag. (For full transparency, I don't explore or read from the DSBI tag very often, despite the majority of my writing falling under it. Mostly I read the isolated works of a few close friends and fellow authors. Everything I'm about to mention was originally brought to my attention by and discussed with these other writers.) One of the most unique parts of the DSMP, from the beginning, was the overlap of character and content creator. And even though we are writing and reading about the characters the cc's put forward, there also needs to be awareness that unlike with movies and tv shows, the "actors" are tied even more intrinsically to their characters. In name, appearance, and personality in some capacity or another. Because of this, be careful of what tropes you use and what it may be saying to your audience.

Most notably, I'd just like to urge all authors, whether it's your first time or your hundredth posting to ao3, please be sure to use robust tagging. It isn't just disheartening to potential readers when a fic isn't tagged properly with something they might not enjoy. It can potentially be extremely triggering. Especially with very dark topics like dehumanization, suicide ideation, self-harm, kidnapping, etc, etc. There's been a very strange and sudden surge of fics featuring topics such as slavery and/or ownership. If you truly want to write that kind of thing, I cannot stop you, but I beg of you, tag that shit. Tag it to hell and back. Everyone should have the ability to filter that out if they don't want to see it. Making readers walk in blind to potentially hurtful and disturbing topics is not cute.

If you are an author unsure of what tags to use, I recommend exploring what tags do exist and whether they apply to your fic. Additionally, I advocate for writing warning briefs either in the beginning or end notes. This can be a list of warnings relevant to the current chapter or a cut-and-dry summary of actions. Whatever works for you personally.

If you are a reader of one of my fics and believe I've missed tags/warnings, please let me know! I'm not a pinnacle in this fandom by any means and I always have room to grow and learn.

If you're a reader and truly dislike or are disgusted by what an author writes, don't send hate or death threats. Use ao3's blocking abilities and move on. I'm not pro-censorship, I'm pro-self-moderating.

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding VII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - Part II - - - Part III - - - Part IV - - - Part V - - - Part VI

CONTENT WARNING: Please be advised this chapter may contain triggering material. More detail available in tags. 

It wasn’t until Anakin was staring at the hot sauce bottles and solitary mysterious green takeout container that he remembered they were at war, and therefore no longer in the habit of restocking the apartment’s cold stasis.

“Obi-Wan, there’s nothing to eat!” 

"I know!” came the call back. “I’m trying to meditate!”

Anakin closed the stasis door and walked back out to the common room. Obi-Wan sat crosslegged on the window sill.

“Do or do not, there is no try,” the knight quipped.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes to look fondly at the man standing before him. Maybe tomorrow, when he woke alone in a dusty desert hovel, he would regret letting himself play pretend for so long. Maybe this whole day would fade from his memory like a dream.

But right now, he felt... peaceful. He wouldn’t claim to be satisfied by the explanations he imagined for Anakin, but it would have been far more disturbing if he somehow came up with an actually sympathetic justification for genocide. He got to say and hear a number of goodbyes. He even got to cry over Anakin with the comfort of his presence. 

Now he had to let go, to be there for Luke. (And he could always get more spice...)

“I guess if you need to meditate, I can go pick us up food from the Temple Tapcaf.” Anakin offered. 

“Thank you, Anakin. Today...helped. More than I can explain.” Obi-Wan said softly.

“I- I don’t really deserve that. Considering it was all my fault.” Anakin bowed his head, helpless for words, but uncomfortable with being praised.

“Not every terrible thing that has happened is your fault. You made a series of terrible choices, yes. But there were, there are, other dark forces at work and not a single Jedi in the order was able to stop them. At least for a short time today I was able to set that aside, so for what it’s worth, thank you.”

“Kriff.” Anakin said shocked. “Of course there’s more. Ok. That’s all right, we-” he was cut off by a growl from Obi-Wan’s stomach. 

A snort of laughter escaped before Anakin smacked a hand over his mouth. “Alright, I’m going to the Tapcaf, you just...meditate until I get back.”

Obi-Wan swallowed and nodded, “I love you so much.” 

“Force Obi-Wan, you’re going to make me start crying again.” He pulled him into a bear hug. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m not gone, ok? Just...meditate. And drink some water.”

"Hmm, I don’t know. Some of my best choices recently have been stupid,” Obi-Wan laughed. The words were light, but Anakin felt a prickle of unease, a hint of danger. There was no clear cause, and Obi-Wan seemed relaxed but...

Anakin gripped his Master’s shoulders, staring him dead in the eye. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

Obi-Wan sighed, “I promise.” He pulled Anakin down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Goodbye, Anakin.”

"I’ll be back in 20 minutes.” He paused, then mumbled, “i love you too” before speeding out the door.

Obi-Wan settled back into meditation, reaching inwards. Everything but his body and the light within faded. He magnified his hunger, his thirst, visualizing the pack of dried jerky in his hut, the precious jars of water in the basement. He could almost feel the heat that never quite abandoned Tatooine, even during the short nights. He opened his eyes

and saw the temple apartment.

He shut them again quickly. He was sure he could snap himself out of this. He sank deeper inward, careful to leave his shields perfectly intact. With the galaxy as dim as it was, a real show of force had the potential to grab attention across star systems. Force purging toxins, fortunately, was more a matter of internal concentration than outward power. It was one of the first skills Obi-Wan had truly mastered as a Jedi, thanks to numerous kidnappings at the start of his apprenticeship and hard drinking towards the end. 

It was uncomfortable to be that keenly aware of one’s kidneys, but Obi-Wan managed. It was less intense than a healing trance, anyway. His heart rate increased as various metabolic processes sped up- and almost immediately slowed down. Huh. The drug must of almost run its natural course, and now he 

still in the temple.

Kark. Shit. 

‘Breathe’ he thought. Stress was only going to increase his chances of a stroke. Alright, so meditation wasn’t working. Maybe he could try for longer, but part of him was nervous that if ‘Anakin’ returned he’d lose the willpower, and so far the passage of time had been extremely linear. He was too invested in the fantasy at this point for anything easy.

Remember your training. Your eyes can deceive you, do not trust them. 

Padawans were taught three main methodologies to move beyond mindtricks, hallucinations, visions, and the like. Looking In, Reaching Out, and Breaking Out. 

Looking in wasn’t working. That left the other two options. In the past, when his senses were lying to him he could always trust in the force, but now...it was just too much risk. Reaching out like that, with his whole self, meant the chance of finding someone.

That left breaking out. Obi-Wan jumped up, staring intensely at the details in the molding, the stains on the carpet, at everything. At no point today had he spotted objects fading to grey in the corner his vision, or ripple as memories from different time frames overlapped, but surely there must be some weak point.

Nothing. 

Shit, he really had stayed too long. Alright then, time for more uncivilized measures.

He walked to the kitchen and pulled their butcher’s vibroblade from its block, holding it to his neck, then hesitated.

This had to be done, but it didn’t make it any less unsettling. It was his own fault for lingering in the delusion so long; all the more palatable paths to escape had closed off, and after all he had been through he refused to die from a drug overdose. Gods, it might take years for someone to find the body.

He steeled himself, bringing the blade back up decisively only to drop it with a clatter. Pressing a hand to his throat, he was unnerved but not entirely surprised to find a stinging line of pain. His hand came away wet with blood. He instinctively pressed both hands to the cut, pulse rapid and heavy and slippery beneath his palms.

It’s just a hallucination. It’s just an extremely vivid hallucination.

A thought occurred to Obi-Wan then, and he felt something in the pit of his stomach drop in horror.

What if...what if the blade was real. What if he was actually moving around his home right now, hazily sleepwalking in a pantomime of the peaceful stroll and tender embraces he was imagining. It would explain the immediate relief from the water this morning...hadn’t he found his way to food and water even dazed from sleep-debt and blood-loss during the war?

He had a vibroblade in the desert too...

His pulse pounded harder beneath his hands. The cut wasn’t even that deep, but for the first time Obi-Wan felt the true existential horror of his current trap well up. If he didn’t know where the walls were...how could he escape.

He took a deep breath, acknowledging and letting go of his panic.

He had the force. He would just have to be delicate in his application. He picked up the bloodied tool from the floor but decided to simply to clip it to his belt for now. A force-null object would be harder to distinguish at first touch.

Obi-Wan walked to his temple bedroom and opened the barest crack in his shields, just enough to reach out, get a sense of existing currents in the force. He stirred at one until a small vortex of light formed. To anyone looking, it would appear a naturally occurring, low-powered whirlpool, common enough on Tattoine. Any gentle moves he made in the minutes before it fell apart would hopefully be obscured by its wake.

He hesitantly laid a hand on the lightsaber on his bedside table, lowering his shields a little further. His heart sunk when he realized that his memory had even recreated the perception of force-imbued temple walls in the periphery. The Kyber in his saber reverberated with a familiar song. He jerked his hand away. That felt too much like his real lightsaber. He couldn’t risk it. 

Before Obi-Wan truly began to panic again, he realized something missing. Anakin’s- Darth Vader’s saber. Since picking it up on Mustafar, the crystal in it had screamed at him, halfway to corruption. When he touched the blade he could almost feel... feel what horrors it had been bent to commit.

Most of the time he left it buried under a rock pile in his basement, too afraid to work on healing it.

He couldn’t hear it now- but he could feel the memory of what it used to be.

It sat innocently on his Anakin’s bedside table. There was a tinge of darkness to it of course- this saber had only ever known war. But when he rested a hand on the blade it was clear this belonged to the memory he had walked with today, not the tyranny of reality.

Grasping it firmly, he marched back to the windowsill and settled, intent on his choice. Sunsets here couldn’t compare to tattooine- they were just too different. The binary play transformed the infinite horizon. It was something on Tatooine he unabashedly marveled at.

Courasant, on the other hand, transformed the sun into a reflection of itself. Untold millions of transparisteel buildings refracted the star painfully at some points while casting shadows on the rest. The filter of light through constant smog resulted in strange shades of neon green and blood red. It was beautiful, but uncomfortable to look at too long.

He closed his eyes and pressed the saber to his chest.

---

Anakin was impatiently waiting in the hot service line when the urge to return to his apartment insistently welled up again. He pushed it back of course- Obi-Wan needed food and Anakin couldn’t keep putting his own selfish impulses in front of his Master’s wellbeing.

He held out for a few seconds, but the itch was getting stronger, sharper. He looked down at the tray- it already had most of Obi-Wan’s cold favorites, but he really wanted to get him his favorite soup if the line would just move a little faster. He jolted when, for the first time that day, Obi-Wan’s shielding thinned the slightest amount. Not enough to get anything clear, but the fact that there was movement at all...

He left the line; they could always come back together if Obi-Wan wanted. Hells, maybe they’d do a late night visit to Dex’s for some real comfort food. Anakin still couldn’t get a sense of what Obi-Wan was up to through their muffled bond. He felt a buzz in his ears, not unlike the moment before an enemy blow.

He picked up speed, tea sloshing in its thermoflask. An elder looked at him annoyed as darted around him.

He started speed walking in earnest as the feeling got more intense. A sandwich fell to the wayside.

Speed walking quickly switched to jogging, then running; there was a shout of complaint as he ditched the whole tray carelessly behind.

He took the last few hallways at a full-out force-assisted sprint, the Force itself screaming at him to move. A small part of his mind thought we’re safe inside the temple Obi-Wan promised not to do anything stupid i’m going to get such shit for freaking out over nothing. 

He sensed nothing from Obi-Wan over the bond; not a hint of fear or anger or surprise. He blurred around the last corner, feeling like he might throw up with his increasing, unexplained panic.

Not caringabout anything butgettingto Obi-Wan beforeitstoolate he smashed down the door at the same moment Obi-Wan, sitting peacefully by the window, turned on the lightsaber pointing directly at his heart.

Time seemed to slow. Splinters of the door frame hung in the air as Anakin desperately pulled the lightsaber away from Obi-Wan in the half-second between activation and ignition.

He wasn’t quite fast enough.

Blue plasma pierced Obi-Wan’s chest as time caught up. Pieces of the wall shattered like shrapnel as he turned, shocked to see Anakin. The saber flew away in a straight arrow. 

Anakin threw himself to Obi Wan’s side, wildly trying to draw heat away from the searing hole before it could vaporize the surrounding flesh. He couldn’t tell what the saber had pierced, or how far it had gone in considering its last second movement.

One hand trained on a hundred battle fields robotically reached for his comm-unit to call for emergency medical assistance. His mind however, had largely been left behind a few minutes ago, when he was trying to pick what Obi-Wan would want to eat for dinner.

What came out his mouth was more incoherent shrieking than anything else, but he had at least called the correct line for temple aid.

He threw down the comm, focus intent on controlling the smoldering burn. The air around them seemed to boil and Obi-Wan started struggling to get away. Anakin bodily held him down, finally finding words,

“What the FUCK, OBI-WAN! YOU LITERALLY JUST PROMISED NOT TO DO ANYTHING STUPID! YOU PROMISED!”

“that’s why- hkk I  have  to” Obi-Wan rasped.

“Karking Fuck.YOU- STOP MOVING!”

Anakin felt a twinge of danger come from the side but was too focused to do anything but shift his body as shield. A sharp pain pierced his gut but he ignored it. 

The air crackled with heat and power as the wound beneath him cooled. A faint trickle of dark blood oozed out, probably burns breaking from recent movement, considering the instant cauterization. He couldn’t see any light coming through, which meant he had moved the saber at least a quarter klick before it activated, Anakin thought semi hysterically.

Finally, someone showed up to investigate the disturbance. In truth, probably less than a minute had passed since Anakin entered the room, but he really didn’t care.

“HELP ME!” Anakin shouted.

“What happened?” Mace Windu asked grimly, falling to the ground next to them. Not waiting for an answer, he set his lit saber aside and placed his hand to Obi-Wan’s forehead, stilling the violent thrashing.

Anakin opened his mouth but he just didn’t have the words. He didn’t know. 

“General Skywalker, report.” Mace Windu commanded sharply. 

“I left him alone to get dinner for us. I ran back and when I broke open the door he was holding the lightsaber to his chest. I tried...to pull it away. It pierced him, and I’ve been trying to manage the initial burn risk. I called for medi but I don’t know their eta.”

“They’re behind me. How did you get stabbed?” the Master demanded.

“How did I what?” Anakin looked down to see a vibroblade sticking out from his left side. Right, the pain from before. Obi-Wan suddenly mustered up the energy to wake up despite his state and Windu’s compulsion. He looked around wildly before yanking the knife from Anakin’s side.

Anakin gasped, but managed to still his brother’s hand using the force before he could finish bringing it up to his neck, which Anakin just noticed was bloody.

“STOP TRYING TO DIE!” Anakin screeched.

“...I’m...not....I’m....trying.....to...” 

But before Obi-Wan could finish the sentence, the healers finally arrived, pushing Windu aside to grab hold of Anakin and Obi-Wan. He could feel a buzz of energy go through him, stopping at the growing damp patch at his side. He tried to push the man away but the heat in the room was starting to make him dizzy

“I’m fine! Focus on Obi-Wan.”

Mace placed a hand on his shoulder, and in the gentlest voice he had ever heard from the man, said, “You’ve been stabbed Anakin. Let the healers help both of you- you’ve done well looking out for him.”

Obi-Wan, still occasional thrashing was being loaded onto a hoverstrech for transport. A second stretcher waited next to it. 

“Master Windu! He’s fighting us,” Master Che called sharply. “Can you tell us what happened?”

“Master Kenobi tried to kill himself,” Windu replied flatly. “His wounds are self inflicted and he’s violently fighting assistance” 

There was a beat as that information was processed. Knight Bant, who must have arrived at some point, said in slightly less flat voice, “He displayed erratic behavior earlier today, and I ruled out drug interactions.”

“Thank you, Knight Bant.” Master Che plunged a syringe of some kind into Obi-Wans thigh. He finally stopped attempting to fight, falling down onto the board. “Red team, with me. Orange, you have Skywalker,” She instructed sharply. 

Anakin numbly watched most of the healers leave with Obi-Wan through a hole in the wall. He slowly started to stand and somehow ended up guided into a seat on the hoverboard. Looking down, he was surprised to see his tunic cut away in favor of a large bacta patch. 

“Hey,” he protested. “Who stabbed me?”

“We can discuss that after you have surgery,” A Human healer replied. Master Covamos, he thought.

“This is my fault” Anakin said, suddenly urgent. “I shouldn’t have left him. He told me goodbye, he was saying goodbye all day, I should have...”

“You saved his life,” Windu interrupted. “You got to him just in time, don’t waste your energy on should-haves. Now sleep.”

Anakin wanted to argue more, but instead found himself laying down, vision blurring. His face felt damp, had he been stabbed more than once? Windu said a few more words he couldn’t quite make out. There was a brief stinging sensation, then everything faded away. 

----

Part VIII

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Not by the Moon | 07

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: A philosophical slant, (heavy) angst, Werewolf!Jaebeom being absolute hubby material, Werewolf!Jaebeom being awkward and (a bit of a) pervert, domestic fluff, talk of medication, apparently werewolves don’t like to wear clothes (what is my canon...), talk of life and death, mention of blood, mild swearing

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Jaebeom’s POV.

Well, here it is, earlier and much longer than originally planned. It’s also a lot more tragic and philosophical than I intended it to be, but then again, what else can you expect from a tragedian fascinated by the human condition even as it is translated into the realm of the magical?

I think I just thought of the modern literary movement I might belong to: magic realism.

It’s a crying shame the Decadent Movement isn’t active anymore, though, because that one truly feels like a good fit for me both as an author and an individual. Ah well, c’est la vie.

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

Masterlist

There is nothing better for a wolf than being with its mate. 

Well, there is one thing.

Having them completely at your mercy as you’re inside them.

I still don’t understand what the plastic wrapping is good for, but Jinyoung was very insistent on using it while we drove to the airport. And Y/N seemed glad I had whatever it is, her scent even betraying a hint of relief. However, one day, I hope she’ll tell me not to use it.

No, that’s not right. There’s a word for the… whatever it is.

A condom.

That’s the word.

I hope she’ll tell me not to use a condom. It doesn’t matter whether I’m in season or not, although the chances she’ll pup are higher if I am. I want pups with her, a little pack of our own. I want it to be our toddler running around the park, chasing its sibling. Then again, will I remain human long enough to see them grow up?

Will I even remember their birth on the day they’re born?

Will I still be here?

Or remain without a family, a proud bloodline?

I slowly open my eyes, blinking a few times to get used to the sunlight bathing the room in a warm golden hue, swallow hard and force myself to calm down. There is no use in contemplating this now, not this early in the day nor in our time together. What counts is that I’m here now with Y/N in my arms and we’re in her apartment somewhere.

A faint whiff of brine seeps in through the air cleaner filter above the window overlooking the city. A gull flies by and lands on the roof of the building opposite ours.

Sea. Rusted metal. Right, the old harbour.

A high-pitched noise, a disquiet hum followed by a sigh, makes my ears perk up. I look down at the lady sleeping on my chest, curled up and fingers balled into small fists similar to a bunny’s paws. More importantly, however, she’s perfectly alright and was only unconsciously trying to get more comfortable.

A breathless chuckle rises in my throat at the display. Y/N’s adorable even when she’s fast asleep, her lips parted yet not enough to allow drooling.

I, on the other hand, am another story. I don’t do it often, but I must have been so tired last night I triggered the habit. The finger I swipe over the corners of my mouth comes away wet both times.

Oh no, I didn’t drool on her, did I? Would she mind, though, if I explained it’s a sign I’m comfortable with her?

It isn’t hard to guess the answer to the question. She would beat me over the head, likely with a shoe, and say I’m not allowed to bite her at all anymore. Not even in the future.

In a hurry to discover whether I made the fatal mistake, I check her messy hair but keeping my movements controlled to not wake her up. Fortunately, there are no locks sticking together nor a trail running down over the side of her face.

With a deep sigh, I slump further down into the bed again and kiss her crown. However, I don’t go back to sleep despite the comfort of the sheets. Instead, I lift the lady’s head and gently put her down on the pillow as I get up, carefully calculating every movement like I do when hunting to make sure she won’t wake up or notice my absence in her unconscious state.

The faint smell of burned iron comes from somewhere when I rearrange the sheets to bundle Y/N up. My mouth dries up, throat blocked by something I can’t swallow as a familiar stench disturbs the morning happiness. Former intentions abandoned, I claw through the sheets to try and discover where the rank odour comes from.

Did I hurt her? Is she bleeding? Why is she bleeding? Where is it? Where’s the blood?

As suspected, the frantic search wakes the pretty lady. Propped up on an elbow, eyes half-closed and brows furrowed, she turns to me. “Jae, what-’’ she yawns, “What’re you doing?”

Barely has she asked the question or I find what I’ve been looking for.

On her side of the bed, between her thighs, is a puddle of dried blood.

Where did it come from? Did I… Did I do this?

I grab her by the shoulders and pull her close to check her condition, turning her this way and that as each thought grows more troubled. “Are you okay?” There’s nothing to see on the bare skin of her upper body. “Are you hurt?”

Maybe the wound is somewhere lower, on her hip or leg. I didn’t bite her last night. Right? I didn’t hurt her. At least, I don’t think I did. No. Surely the wolf- I wouldn’t harm her. I had enough control to prevent that from happening. Yes, that’s the case.

But then, with a fading mind, how much can I trust myself?

“Jaebeom, I’m fine. What are you- ah.” Y/N notices the spot of dark crimson when I pull the sheets completely off the bed and toss them aside. She lets out an incomprehensibly careless chuckle, evidently oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

“What are you giggling about? Y/N, you’re bleeding!” I bark, lost.

A small paw cups my cheek, her thumb caressing the skin in an attempt to calm me down. “You took my virginity. It’s natural to bleed a little when that happens.”

“Are you still in pain?” Even though it’s natural, surely it’s not without repercussions. Otherwise, the stain wouldn’t be there.

“No, I’m not, silly. I’m okay.” She kisses the tip of my nose when I let out a whine, unhappy with the response. Withal, a curious tone in her voice overtakes my own displeasure. “Are you?”

Why do you say it like that?

She sounds weird, hinting at something I’m supposed to find as obvious as she. Yet, I have no clue about what it can be. So, I tilt my head and stare blankly at her, waiting for an explanation. “I’m fine.” 

My choice of words makes her visibly flinch despite the effort to hide it. The sleepiness which glazed her eyes evaporated, leaving them devoid of the amusement at my failure as a human. The recognizable sour note of anxiety creeps back into her scent, setting off alarm bells in my mind. “I’m alright. No pain. Happy to be here. Happy to wake up next to you.”

I rub her arms in a poor attempt to make her calm down, have her scent return to its spring-like fruitiness. She is supposed to smell like fresh fruit still hanging from the trees, yet to ripen. Not like fallen fruit beginning to decay in the summer sun.

“Okay,” is all she says in response before she pulls away, the absence of the warmth of her palm sending a cold shiver throughout my body.

The world always seems a little colder without her.

“Want breakfast?” A low grumble pierces the silence following the question, giving me enough of a response. And a reason to get my head, no, that’s not the idiom. To get my thoughts ordered. Organized. To get my thoughts in order? To think about… stuff. Last night. This. Everything. “Never mind. I’m making you breakfast. You have to eat.”

I stand up and head for the bathroom to first get rid of the weird plastic wrapping she put on me last night. Having thrown it in the bin there after a bit of an awkward struggle removing it, I move to the kitchen. Nevertheless, I don’t start preparing food right away. Instead, I pick up the grey hoodie I gave her from the bag between the sofa and chair facing the kitchen. I remember how she held it up to her nose, breathed in and basked in the scent.

My scent.

A fragment of last night’s memory.

I remember we had sex and that she told me I’m her first, but afterwards things are blurry.

Smell. I said something about how nicely she smells. Not really an original compliment since I’ve said it a lot already, but I can’t help but focus on it.

And then…

Then…

Then instinct took over because I let it, thinking I’d remain in control even though I let go a little. After all, I’ve learned enough to know how to deal with the wolf inside thanks to the rehabilitation procedure Jinyoung put me through and supervised. Since then, there’s been a healthy balance between human and beast in my mind.

Or, rather, there was one.

I think.

Another boundary to watch out for. I have to keep myself in check. No more experimenting.

Because to do so is to forget.

And I want to remember.

 I stop absent-mindedly thumbing the piece of clothing, drape it over the armrest of the sofa and head into the kitchen to make breakfast. Unfortunately, the fridge quickly brings my plan to a halt, empty except for a pack of soy milk and a tray of eggs. The groceries Jinyoung and I got were only enough for dinner last night and there are no leftovers.

To be fair, she did just come back from a trip abroad. But still, is there really nothing to work with?

I sigh in defeat and grab the plant-based milk to pour it over the apple and cinnamon granola I find in the cupboard above the sink. At least it’s food and drink in one meal.

From the drawer next to the oven, I grab two spoons which I put into the bowls, grab the hoodie from the couch and return to the bedroom.

Y/N sits with her back turned to me, but flips around a little too fast for my liking once she hears my paws approaching. “Jaebeom?”

The terrible mixture of barely suppressed horror and genuine concern in her gaze has translated into her voice, which is cold and calculating. The sour note of anxiety hasn’t faded from her scent, creating a stone to sink to the bottom of my stomach because there’s only one thing that can be a distressing factor this early in the day.

Me.

Withal, the reason why she’s scared puzzles me since I haven’t done anything out of the ordinary. I’ve simply been me since I woke up.

Human.

Although, that’s me now.

Last night, I don’t know who or what I was though it isn’t hard to guess.

The pretty lady traces the deep indentation in the headboard of the bed with her fingers bent to resemble a claw. “Did you do this?”

Did- Did I? No. I- I don’t know. I was less strict with myself last night and don’t remember much, but surely I wasn’t gone enough to do this.

I hope.

I think.

I’m not sure.

But the reality provides the necessary evidence to repute any kind of denial I can offer.

I set the bowls down on the nightstand and crawl back on the bed to sit next to her. Gently, I nudge her hand aside to mimic her action, my own fingers perfectly fitting into the large gash. “I don’t know.”

A surge of violence shoots throughout my body, triggering the nagging feeling of a forgotten memory strong enough to knock the air out the lungs and split my skull with flashes of a memory. Nevertheless, the fragments pass by too fast to make sense of them and the mere attempt to do so worsens the headache. I flinch and scramble backwards with a paw- a hand pressed to my head as if I can thus suppress the pain. Yet, I remain unable to look at anything but the damage.

“I don’t know,” I repeat, my voice hardly louder than a scared whisper.

“I felt your skin move beneath my fingers last night,” Y/N starts, catching my attention with the timid response suggestive of requiring more explanation.

Exactly what I don’t have since I can’t even explain it myself.

This shouldn’t be happening.

“I think I did, at least,” she adds doubtfully on a shivery breath. The sourness sweetens to doubt instead of anxiety. Nonetheless, it’s still worrying she’s ill… uncomfortable.

“Did I-“ I swallow hard, forcing out the words describing my worst nightmare. “Did I transform?”

“Transform?’’ She briefly turns her gaze from me to the indentation, lips parted in an attempt to articulate a thought that’s dismissed with a headshake the second thereafter. Her attention returns to me, her expression slackened. ‘’What are you- What… No, you didn’t, but you looked far away. Retreated further into your own world, more so than you normally are.”

“That’s good,” I mumble, nodding as I, too, briefly return my attention to the claw mark. “Was human. Good.”

Still, need to talk to the weird-smelling intruder. Doctor. Friend. Name, his name. Jinyoung. Jesus, man, get yourself together. Your name is Im Jaebeom. You’re a twenty-eight old werewolf that- no, who runs a bookshop called Paper Souls. Jinyoung is your friend, doctor and supervisor appointed to you by... by... some organization.

“Jaebeom,” the pretty lady puts her hand on my shoulder, features softened instead of frozen and marred by fear, “have you taken your medication yet?”

The natural fruity undertone seems forced to be stronger.

You should be scared. I might have- I made that claw mark. Why treat me like a human? I’m a wolf.

“Me- Med-“ The strange word barely registers until a spark of humanity recalls its definition. “Medication. Pills. No, I- I haven’t.”

“Let me grab a glass of water and get them.”

She ruffles my hair, jumps off the bed and rushes out of the room. I listen to her bare feet lightly treading the floor as she moves on the other side of the wall, hurried steps going from the hallway, where she rummages in my coat for the rattling bottle of pills, to the kitchen. There, she opens a cupboard to grab a glass. The loud clinking of glass alongside the sour undertone in her scent indicates she almost accidentally caused several to fall out and break on the tiles. Fortunately, judging by the deep sigh of relief, Y/N could prevent it from happening.

She turns on the tab, fills the glass with water, turns the tab off and walks back into the room.

“There you go,” she says, handing me the small brown bottle and water. 

The mattress dips a bit when she sits down next to me with one of the bowls filled with cereal in her hands. After stirring the spoon around like she is trying to evade something, Y/N finally takes a first careful bite. Nevertheless, she starts eating properly after I kiss her temple, which is an apparently effective form of encouragement. I have to remember that. 

Quietly seated in the golden sunlight, we have our first breakfast together. I don’t mind her watching me as I’m taking my medication, measuring out the amount Jinyoung told me to take. Or, rather, as much as the label notes I should. Immediately my gag reflex is triggered when I put them in my mouth, the taste of bitter metal extremer than before so it’s like licking one of the rusted over buoys drifting in the harbour.

He’s increased the nightshade and silver. Damn, I think even the worst coffee tastes better than this.

“That bad?”

“Yep.” I open and close my mouth, nauseous due to the sickening taste lingering on my tongue. To prevent the bile rising in my throat from escaping, I gulp down the water. Unfortunately, it only washes down part of the bitterness.

She holds up a spoon with milk-soaked granola to feed to me, but I turn it down and shake my head. I might actually throw up if I eat anything right now. 

Disappointment flashes across her face, though it’s gone in an instant as she puts her bowl down and stands up. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

“But... food,” I meekly offer and point at the half-empty bowl on the nightstand. She should put herself before me. 

Because I’ll be fine.

“We’re missing something important. Coffee,” the bunny-like lady playfully responds before she bounces off again to the kitchen.

The pleasant and slightly sweet scent of instant cappuccino warms the apartment, replacing the sharp scent of frozen water alluding to hail later on in the day. It’s a little early in the year, but soon the first snows will fall.

Hopefully, she’ll move before then so we can spend Christmas in her cottage. Although, it doesn’t even have to be the holidays. I’d light a fire, drape a blanket over our shoulders and keep Y/N close to warm her with mine as we read and look at the snowfall.

Like a snowflake falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling before our eyes, so we pass through life. At this rate, I think the next snowfall might be the last I’ll see.

Consciously.

Meaningfully.

Like a human.

The snowflake will faintly fall on the man I am, descend on the husk I’m becoming, while she will continue living.

Without me.

The living and the dead.

I smile wistfully until the same shot of pain treks through me as when I tried to fill in the gaps of the fragmented memory. Folded in on myself, cold sweat on my skin and short of breath, I press my palms against my snout to push the agony away.

The pained groaning must have alarmed the pretty lady because she rushes to my side and pushes one of the mugs in her little paws… hands in mine. “Here, take a sip. The caffeine will help.”

As told, I nip at the hot beverage. Indeed, the cappuccino lessens the headache and cold shivers that ran down my spine and threatened to spread. Though I dislike instant coffee, it actually tastes good when she prepares it. I sigh in relief, blow on the coffee to cool it down, and slowly drink it while Y/N caresses my jaw and ear just the way I like it. At the same time, she comforts me with her soothing voice, murmuring words of solace and assurance as she sits down next to me again. 

I could listen to you all day. Maybe I should ask you to read to me sometime. Although, not maybe. I’ll ask it later. Note to self, write a note on your phone to ask her to read to you. Also, make note of kissing her temple.

My reverie is broken up by a comment which rubs me the wrong way. “I have to go to the office later today-’’

“Already? You just got home.”

“They’re counting on me, Jae. Besides, I’m not that jet-lagged.”

“It’s not healthy. You should stay home. Rest,” I bark. Her eyes widen, taken aback by my bluntness.

She opens and closes her mouth, planning to say something yet deciding against it. Instead, she tugs my ear. “I’ll be fine. And you have your shop to look after, so let’s both work hard today.”

“Still,” I take another sip, “I don’t think you should go.”

“As long as I have caffeine, I should be able to manage. How about this? I’ll come to your shop as soon as I’m done with work and cook for us. We’ll have a cosy night in like we had last night.”

“Last night was ‘cosy’ indeed,” I murmur, hoping she catches on to what I’m alluding to.

“It was. I really liked it.” Her lashes flutter with the memories of last night, cheeks tinged pink. Unfortunately, the heartstopping girlish giggle is short-lived and becomes serious too soon. “But while I did, I think we shouldn’t do it again so soon.”

“Agreed,” I respond, mind occupied by the ripples of transformation and the splashes of pain wanting to remember something significant only communicated in incomprehensible flashes.

Distorted.

Like the memories of the forest.

I need to call Jinyoung. He needs to know.

 “What shall we eat tonight?”

The change in subject is welcome, but also a confusing bridge to cross. How can humans go from severe to casual without a care? The aspect of communication has me furrow my brows as I try to work out the mech… work… nuts and bolts behind it. Nevertheless, I answer the question. “I thought you had a plan already.”

The corners of her mouth curl up into a cat-like grin. “I have no idea, so that’s why I’m asking you. You’re a better chef than I am.”

“I’m not that good,” I murmur, my ears lowered like a shy pup. “But I’d like something we can make together.”

“Pancakes?”

“Yes!’’ I bark, leaning in and grabbing the sheets to contain the excitement at cooking together. ‘’Yes, I’d like that!”

A flicker of doubt passes over her face, hesitant in the way she tends to be when it concerns food. However, a second later, she taps me on the nose with a content hum. “Pancakes it is.”

While Y/N showers, I clean the dishes and pull the sheets off of the bed so she can bring them to the laundry. Although, maybe I could do it myself. I’d have to text Jinyoung for instructions since he always does mine, but even then it shouldn’t be too difficult. Humans do laundry all the time. It’s part of their routine and if they can do it, so can I.

I hope.

As I’m making the bed and contemplating the process to get at least the blood stain out of the fabric, my mate walks back into the room. Her wet hair is bundled up in a towel that’s smaller than the one wrapped around her body. The addition of the scents of cherry blossoms and matcha to the blend of summer fruits drives me dizzy as she moves to the wardrobe.

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help looking as the towel falls to the floor to reveal her naked body. An appreciative growl unconsciously rises from my throat, a surge of heat culminating between my legs.

Just one more time. I’ll keep myself in check. Behave. I’ll behave.

“Jaebeom,” cheeks flushed, Y/N glances over her shoulder, “don’t even think about it.”

“Sorry,” I mumble as I shuffle to her side to help her put on her bra by closing the clasps. When they click in place, I place a kiss between her shoulder blades, feeling her shiver against my lips. “I know what we agreed on.”

I wrap my arms around her waist and let my head rest on her shoulder. Eyes closed, I try to keep a clear mind as she scratches me behind the ear.

“It’s not necessarily... that.” Her voice is light, wanting to move past the concerns of last night with humour. “It’s rather the thought I wouldn’t get to leave for the office at all if we go back to bed.”

“You’re right.” I decide to play along, if only to give us both some peace of mind. So, I bury my nose in the side of her neck, nuzzling her and earning myself a bird-like giggle that spreads a nice fuzzy feeling inside. “I wouldn’t let you go. We’d read the day away with coffee.”

“Tea, in your case. Doctor’s orders. I don’t want you bouncing around the place. You’re my calm, well, sort of calm bookish wolf. Not a supercharged husky.”

It’s a lame joke, but nevertheless makes me laugh.

“What will you wear today?” I ask, glancing at the clothes on the hangers.

Here and there, there’s a colourful item in the collection. Withal, the majority of the items are mono… one-toned... black and white items to be switched up with a dark-shaded checkered blouse.

My attention drifts to the long white dress with lemons. The fabric is on the thin side, which makes it suitable for summer or a warm spring.

I’d love to see you in that dress, if only just once.

She pouts her lips. “I was thinking about grey high-waisted jeans with a black button-up shirt and ankle boots.”

“Wear my hoodie,” I whine, upset my… my girlfriend. That sounds nice. My girlfriend. It makes me upset that my girlfriend doesn’t plan on wearing one of the things I gave her. “You like the grey one, right?”

“I do, but-’’

“Then wear it.”

She sighs, shakes her head and turns around to look up at me. “There’s something like a dress code at the office.”

“Don’t care.” I nudge her nose with mine, bark lowered to a woof to persuade her to go with my choice. “You’ll look better. More pretty.”

“If you put a pair of boxers on, I’ll wear the hoodie. Deal?”

“But they’re uncomfortable. I only wore them because Jinyoung told me to.”

“Then I won’t wear the hoodie.” Little devilish will-o’-the-wisps light up her eyes as the corners of her mouth curl up into a taunting grin. “Shame. Now my colleagues won’t get to see I have a boyfriend.”

The tables have flipped since I’m apparently not the only one who’s good at using their charms.

Nevertheless, reluctant to start a fight over this, I let out a compromising chuff. “Okay, fine.”

Humans and their clothes. I like yours, but you’d look even better in mine. Still, I’m only doing this because I want every male at your office and in the city to know you’re mine.

No matter what size they are, clothing is a thing I absolutely haven’t missed. Notwithstanding, to please my mate, I wriggle myself back into the tight short trousers and the loose pants to wear over them. Y/N gives me a warning look when she sees me fumbling with my shirt, hopefully missing out on the obvious clue I secretly hope she’ll let me off easy.

Of course she doesn’t.

“Yes, Jae, also the shirt,” she chastises me like a mother disciplines a rebellious pup. “And the shoes. You don’t want other people to call the cops after seeing a naked man in the streets.” Unaware of the fact I can hear her perfectly even as she mutters under her breath, she adds. ‘’Or me to pick you up at the police station because of it.’’ 

Amused by the funny image the fantastical scenario creates in my mind, I relent. “Yes, ma’am.”

Once we’re both dressed, Y/N makes way for the bathroom to do her makeup. Ignoring my protests it’s unnecessary since there’s nothing to hide or improve to make me love her more, she closes the door behind her and locks it.

There goes the plan of dragging her out of there by the collar to have her scratch my jaw and ear again instead. A much better way to pass the time, if you ask me.

In the meanwhile, I return to the bedroom to take a picture of the damage with my phone and send it to Jinyoung.

Jaebeom: We need to talk.

Immediately, I get a response.

Jinyoung: Yes, we absolutely do. Everything OK?

Jaebeom: Yes, Y/N is fine. Alive. A little shaken, but so am I. Well, we’re more than a little shaken. Fuck, Jinyoung, I don’t know what happened.

Jinyoung: I’ll drop by later today. I have to give a lecture in a bit and have to see a new patient afterwards. He’s going through the reintegration program right now and needs a little extra help.

Jaebeom: Help with what? What is he?

Jinyoung: A wolf. Not a standard case.

Jaebeom: Anything I can help with?

Jinyoung: I think you need to focus on yourself right now. I’ll be at the shop around two.

Footsteps disturb the silence, going from the bathroom to the hallway.

That was quick. Are females always this fast with applying their face?

It’s a funny phrase, ‘applying my face’. Also, it’s the argument the pretty lady used as the final word on the matter. But she already has a face so there’s no need to apply a second like some Greek god.

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Ears perked, I glance around the corner into the living room and in Y/N’s direction.

“Work?” she answers sheepishly, looking back at me with her head slightly tilted to the side. In her hands is the black trench coat she was about to put on.

Fortunately, she’s kept her makeup natural with a golden brown eyeshadow, a bit of a black line to accentuate her eyes and something to enhance her lashes. It’s a natural look which some of the female customers could learn from with their fake lips or chest that makes them reek of silicone and plastic. Their makeup, often overemphasizing their fake features, doesn’t add to their supposed charm. In fact, it makes me turn my snout away even faster if their attitude already hasn’t.

I’d never offer them coffee or want them around more than once.

But not her.

Not Y/N.

I can’t remember if she wore the same makeup when we met, but I vaguely recall a sense of calm and need for protection alongside a strange recognition. A connection that would make all the puzzle pieces of my life fit together.

The missing last piece.

“Not so fast.” I swiftly move to her side to kiss her forehead. No way I’m letting her go without giving her at least one more.

“There,” I pet her head, griggling and sweeping my tail triumphantly, “now you’re free to go.”

“I wouldn’t have gone without telling you, you know?” She stands on the tip of her toes to peck me on the lips, slightly swaying side to side to keep her balance.

So I lean forward to make it easier for her and chuckle against her lips. “Have a good day at work, Y/N.”

“You too, Jae.”

And with that, she puts on her coat, grabs her bag and opens the front door. She lingers in the doorway, waving half-heartedly as a final word of goodbye.

I wave back, faking a smile to see her off without worry.

Being human again isn’t so bad.

However, the deadline is another story.

The shop is as tranquil as it is on any other day. The quietness of unread words hangs between the shelves, the only noise to disrupt the silence being the rustle of a page being turned. Seated by the window as per usual, listening to the hail in the dim light, I read the time away, but whereas it’s normally a form of amusement and pleasure, it now functions in part to forget this morning’s discovery.

I didn’t mean to pry, but I inspected Y/N’s bookshelves before I left her apartment. There was the usual assortment of classics, but also a lot of Asian fiction, a genre I haven’t delved into too much yet. So, of course with the intention of returning it, I took Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage by Haruki Murakami with me.

She must have read it recently because her fruity scent still lingers on the paper. The summer blend distracts me to the point that the movement of the hands of the clock pass unnoticed in the background.

Regardless of the appointed time, it’s half past two instead of two o’clock that Jinyoung comes in. In his one hand he holds a carrier with two paper cups, the sleeves on them decorated with the silhouette of a black wolf and the name of the café printed in vintage letters beneath the design, the letters spelling out Wolf’s. Judging by the scent, it’s tea the doctor has brought with him. Apple cinnamon for me, since that’s the only one I like, and rooibos for himself.

In his other hand, he holds his bag. One of the claps has either not been fastened before he left or came undone along the way. Whatever the reason, it’s clear he came here in a hurry.

“Sorry I’m late. Christian and I had a lot more to discuss than we thought.” Jinyoung stumbles inside, puts the tea and his bag on the counter, and turns around to lock the door and flip the sign so we can talk in private.

A hint of leather mixed with coffee and wood is mixed in with his own.

Male.

Threat.

Teeth gritted and jaw clenched, I make a mental note to myself to keep this scent away from Y/N. To keep this Christian away from her.

“Jaebeom,” the other male sighs. His tone holds a silent warning of being close to breaking some kind of boundary.

“What?” The answer rolls off the tongue as a growl rather than an actual question. Not that it matters since he must have had a lot worse to endure from me. Besides, it’s not him I’m pissed at so he’s safe.

Although, the wild undertone in his already peculiar personal blend alludes to the opposite.

Has he always smelled like this or is this new? He is human, but then why does my instinct tell me to watch out for him, that there’s more than to him? Strange. 

“He’s no competition. I think he might have imprinted with my colleague, although neither he nor she might be aware of it.” He rolls his eyes. “The gods know whether Gráinne will do anything with it. I wonder if... no, I don’t think either of them told her anything.”

A grim wistfulness stains his voice, which ignites a curiosity about his colleague’s circumstances. Notwithstanding, that story will have to wait until another day and his willingness to tell me.

Still, I quickly fish my phone out of my pocket, open the notes app, and jot down a short reminder to ask about it at a later date.

“Anyway,” Jinyoung steps away from the door, hands me the cup with apple cinnamon tea, and gestures at the worn couch by the window overlooking the west side of the neighbourhood, “we’re here to talk about you. About the picture you sent.”

We move away from the counter to the sofa. A burst of hail spatters against the glass as we sit down.

I’m glad to have something to hold to conceal the shivers running through my body at the image of the claw mark mixed with the memory of what Y/N told me she felt. Or, rather, thought she felt although I’m certain she actually did feel the first ripples of transformation.

For a moment, we sit in silence as I mentally prepare myself for the conversation. Nipping on the tea with my shoulders curled over my chest, I try to reconstruct last night as best I can.

As much as my memory lets me.

To break the... something. There’s an idiom, no, a phrase? A saying.

I don’t know.

Not anymore.

To make it easier, likely noticing the struggle to say anything, Jinyoung speaks up. “There’s more than the photo. You’re leaving things out, things I need to know to help. What aren’t you telling me, Jaebeom?”

“Y/N-” I begin, my breath unsteady as I restart the sentence, “Y/N said she felt my skin move and if I try to remember last night, I can only recall fragments that give me a headache when I try to string them together. Which I can’t.”

He pales, frozen in place as the weird briny scent sours. “That shouldn’t-’’

“Shouldn’t happen,” I finish the remark. 

A horrifying idea arises that sets the hairs on the back of my neck on end and has me nervously tapping my thumbs together as I try not to squeeze the cup in my paws. Nonetheless, voice a low woof bordering on a melancholic whine, I tell the doctor what’s on my mind. “I think the pills stopped working. Completely. I- I don’t think-’’

The world stops, shrinks, and strings my chest as tight as a string as I shrink within myself. Each thought evaporates as fast as the flashes in the wolf’s memory, incoherent if meant to be sensible at all.

The snow hasn’t even come.

I can’t leave her alone.

I don’t want to leave this life.

I don’t want to go just when being human again starts to get good.

I don’t want to be the old me again.

  “I think so too,” Jinyoung agrees grimly. “If I increase the silver and nightshade or the doses it will kill you.”

He tilts his head to the side, eyes sharp with focus as he poses the question I’ve been wondering about myself. “Does she know what you are?”

I shake my head. I might be her weirdo wolf guy, but she’d never believe me if I told her what I really am. Besides, werewolves are the stuff of fiction these days.

We’re no longer seen as a real threat nor have the power and status we used to have in the days of yore. We are devoid of an identity acknowledged by humans.

But, if I don’t possess an identity, am I really here?

Alive?

Or dead like the wolf inside?

Paradise is calling, the song of the forest playing like a red thread through my broken memory.

Beckoning me home.

The woods are calling.

And I must not go.

Jinyoung’s new question pulls me out of my reverie, just in time before the train of thought would crash and burn. “Are you going to tell her?”

“No.” I take a sip of the sweet tea, to have a second of bliss and enjoy a new human pleasure.

Another happiness I discovered a little too late.

“Will you at least tell her about your meds?” Even though she’s seen me take them, Y/N doesn’t know what they’re for. But, then again, did she look at the label?

Regardless of whether she did or not, she’s perhaps not truly ignorant to the reason I have to take them. After all, she thinks they combat my amnesia, which is partially true. It’s a half-truth.

But the real reason is a secret I intend to keep.

“No,” I repeat, determined in my answer regardless of the world spinning out of control. “I won’t tell her.”

“She deserves that much, doesn’t she? She’s your girlfriend, Jay.’’ Although his features have softened, the doctor’s voice rises to a fierce bark as he reinforces his point. ‘’Your mate.”

“I can’t tell her,’’ I retort, my bark closer to a growl than a civilized answer. Tears brim on the edge of my lashes, obscuring my vision in spite of my attempts to blink them away. The vision of Y/N by herself in the snow, on her knees in the middle of the orchard, blocks my throat and makes breathing harder than it already was. 

The vision changes to the image of a spring day close to summer, warm enough for her to wear the dress with the lemons. She’s seated in the same position between the trees which are now white and pink with blossom. However, whereas her belly was flat before, it’s now swollen, pregnant with pups.

My pups?

No, I have to stay here.

I have to survive the winter.

I have to be here if I ever change my mind and want to start a pack with her.

I must be here.

But the question is whether I actually can.

At this rate, I’m not sure.

I don’t know.

But I know enough to explain why I’m reluctant to tell my pretty lady anything. ‘’I can’t tell her, because the news will hurt her and I don’t want that. I don’t want to hurt her.”

Plus, what am I supposed to say? I’m a wolf that turned into a man and is slowly dying, going back to his old form in which it... he. Am human. In which he’ll be stuck until it- He! Am human! Until he dies?

“Y/N has to know about this, Jaebeom.’’ A hand on my shoulder makes me look up from the floor to the man next to me. ‘’How about I talk to her, tell her what you told me and discuss what our options are as well as a plan for the future?”

“You’re right.” I let out a mirthless griggle. “Fuck, I hate it when you are. But… But how will you… explain, uhm, explain… this- me! How will you explain me? What I am? For all she cares, werewolves are my- myth- fic-’’ I throw my head back, frustrated I can’t find the right word or properly speak.

Jinyoung gives me an encouraging squeeze, kindheartedly chuckling at my failure. “I know what you mean. Nobody comes into our world willingly or at least without a good reason. I think your... situation is enough of the latter for her to get involved too. She doesn’t have to join the branch, I’ll leave that up to her. But, if Y/N decides to believe me, or us for that matter, she’ll at least have a community to rely on when you, you know, you’re...”

“When I’m gone.’’ The hesitance to state the facts makes me grimace and my tone sharper than intended. ‘’We both know where this is heading so just say it.”

“Fine,’’ the doctor puts his hands up as if he’s at the risk of being shot ‘’when you’re gone.”

“What’ll happen to the shop?” I gesture around the paper paradise, changing the topic slightly. Books have been another treasure of humanity I will forever be grateful for, especially since I hopefully have created a legacy with them that’s worth keeping.

The doctor glances around, a somber expression on his face. “Either the university will keep it and maintain it as a potential workplace in the reintegration program or sell it off. I don’t know, real estate doesn’t fall within my jurisdiction.”

“Ah, I see.” I lower my head, gaze averted to the half-empty cup in my paws.

Funny how I once thought of making this a family business or to have at least my pup’s name on the spine of one of these books. If I ever had them, would they like to be a writer? Would Y/N tell them their absent father, I... I love... loved to read?

I force myself to forget the thought, swallow despite having a dry mouth, and shake my head. “Thank you. For wanting to tell her. She’ll come over tonight, so-’’

He holds up his hand to stop me. “I’ll text her so we can meet at a later date. She just returned from a business trip and had quite the evening with you. You two deserve a bit of rest.”

“But what if...”

It’s unlikely, but what if it happens again? What if I spin out of control tonight?

“Keep your temper in check and try to suppress your instinct,” Jinyoung answers matter-of-factly.

So, no sex.

Although the unspoken implication doesn’t come as a surprise, I can’t help but feel disappointed even though Y/N and I agreed on not doing it again so soon. Notwithstanding, it would be a lie to say I didn’t want to do it again this morning. But then there was the pool of blood and the amnesia that ruined our morning bliss.

All the same, flashes of what I do remember from last night replay in my mind.

They say once you’ve had a wolf, you never go back. Maybe because I won’t let you.

She looked beautiful, tears glistening in her eyes, equally as beautiful as her meek whimpers. She’s so small and fragile, easy to overpower.

To conquer.

“Your mind’s…. gutter again, isn’t it?” A groan sounds from somewhere on the side, distant like a faint echo

I was inside her.

In spite of the weird plastic, she felt nice.

Warm.

Wet.

I replay the image of her whimpering on the sheets as I looked down at her over and over. My hand on her cheek and Y/N keeping it in place. I should have used that second to dive down and worship her soft breasts more.

I could have bitten her there. Just a small bite on the side.

The snapping of a pair of fingers before my eyes interrupts the pleasant reverie. A bit offended, I snap around to growl at whoever took the pleasure of a cherished memory away.

 Only to face Jinyoung, who sighs and looks down at the bulge in my pants before pursing his lips with an exasperated knowing expression as he looks up. 

Scrambling to regain my composure and hardly remembering what he said, I answer as best I can. “No!”

“Then why are you drooling?”

[whitewolfbumble]

The Fallout - Part Eighteen (Bucky x Reader)

Summary: You had been a ghost for years, taking down the bad guys from the shadows that had once enslaved you. That is until the Avengers finally caught up with you and yet again your life changed. But your past won’t stay dead and everything starts to shift when a familiar face joins the ranks: Bucky Barnes. He may not remember you, but you certainly remember him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Warnings: Slow burn, language, death, gore, mutilation/amputation, torture (SO SORRY. listen, this makes it sound so bad. I’m not saying it’s inaccurate though so just be warned)

Word Count: About 4k

A/N: Action and death are back here. Yet again, I make apologies for the pain in this chapter! We start right where the last part left off so brace yourself for that scene’s conclusion. Please let me know what you think with a reblog, like, or message! If you want to be tagged on this or my permanent list, let me know!

MY MASTERLIST // THE FALLOUT MASTERLIST // PART SEVENTEEN

“Enough, Soldat.” 

Finally, those words came and ended his fists beating mercilessly against your still body.

Immediately Bucky quieted, stepping back at the command.

You couldn’t see beyond a blurred darkness, could barely hear, couldn’t move your broken body an inch. You lay, bloodied and dying on the ground in front of the man you loved, his fists dripping with your blood.

You were always going to die in a fight, let’s be honest about that. You had never planned to ever stop fighting so naturally, your inclination was to believe that that was where it would all end for you. But you didn’t want it end this way, for his sake. 

If you died at his hand, from your perspective, it hardly would matter as you would simply be dead. 

But if you died at his hand he would remain behind, alive and tormenting himself, unable to forgive or forget. The Bucky that you fell in love with would die along with you in a much different way. As your body would decompose, his soul would rot too under the weight of it all.

Footsteps clanged against the metal coil floor, vibrations not enough to cause your dead-weighted body to move really. The only slight sway was the arm pinned under your body hanging loosely down through a gap into the void below.

“Y/N... We’ve done a lot of planning to get you here today.” Gerault started pleasantly, towering somewhere over you. “You always appreciated a well-constructed plan that revolved around uncompromising pain. I think that gives us cause to all take a minute and admire my work here, don’t you?”

You couldn’t speak, jaw bone cracked in more place than one. You still would have tried to talk but found your body wholly unable to form a single word.

Instead, you very, very slowly shifted all but your middle finger down on your hand laid out beside you, slowly flipping Gerault off. It was essentially the same sentiment as you would've said if you could.

“Soldat,” Gerault said singularly.

Quick as a flash Bucky’s foot landed on your hand, crushing your wrist over a metal coil. The intense crushing burn instantly roused you, moving to pull it away as your lungs let out a horrendous wheeze, unable to scream anymore. You heard your wrist crack and pop audibly, even above the ringing in your ears.

“N... No,” you tried to say, words not quite getting out.

You spat blood, screaming internally as he didn’t stop or let up the pressure. 

“Again,” said Gerault.

A brief reprieve was almost not even felt, brain moving too slow and pain too great, before his foot lifted and slammed down again. 

This time you felt nothing, the only sensation was a shaking that started from your spine and enveloped your whole body. You couldn't even feel if his foot lifted, like there was nothing at the end of your wrist at all.

“Alright, that's enough. Soldat,” Gerault commanded, you barely hearing him anymore, your body rolling and shaking internally. “Trigger her and pump her full of this to get her moving. We have plan to be followed here.”

At the word “trigger” a memory lethargically resurfaced, of Bucky in your early Hydra days. He had been a handler of yours. He knew how to trigger you.

You shut out the pain of that thought. At the thought of him of all people bringing you back into the perversion that was Hydra’s control over you. 

You just tried to shut it all out.

Walking through the base was a much more leisurely affair this time around than the last. Your hunter was not following behind anymore, but he was now a partner, walking with you.

With The Winter Soldier- your once and now at least partial hander- at your side you weren't likely to do anything Gerault wouldn't approve of.

Blood dripped down from all over you like you were shedding what had made you soft. Ordinary. Weak.

Visions of you friends melted away. Of a kind of home. Of a love. 

Gone.

You strolled down the corridor, the Soldier marching beside you with his ever intense gait. A man on a mission he was. You could admire that.

When you approached a turn, you both stopped, hearing voices filter with an echo down the hall.

The Team was there. At least the three you came with. The others wouldn’t be that long out though. The pair of you still had time.

Your sharp eyes went to the Soldier’s. Together you nodded before stepping forward.

Walking into their view, you only took a few steps before stopping, hand on your hip.

“Bucky!” Steve said in shock, the blue-clad captain stunned with his two counterparts behind him.

Steve took a few steps forward before Bucky raised his gun up, stopping Steve in his tracks. Understanding and revulsion dawned on his face. 

Steve had seen Bucky like this before, on more than one occasion. He knew what to expect. But as he turned to you, you could see that he very much didn’t know what you were truly capable of. He should have looked far more afraid.

Your eyes watched him, so far dilated it was like they were completely black. Whatever the Soldier had given you on Gerault’s commanded was like pure adrenalin in your veins, blocking out any physical pain of your body completely. It was intoxicating, like you were fucking invincible.

You heard and saw and felt everything and nothing, the entire world spread open and closed to you at once.

“Y/N,” Steve said, choked, looking down your clearly broken and shredded body.

His eyes didn’t leave your right arm though, and behind him Natasha’s went wide. Sam only whispered an “Oh my god”, devastation plain on his face.

You held up your right arm, where naturally your hand should be. 

But it wasn’t there anymore.

It was gone, now down in that pit somewhere. Crushed off under the force of the Soldier’s boot.

Honestly, you didn’t feel a thing. Two hands or one, you could still cause more pain and win more fights than anyone else in the game.

It didn’t take a second to put on your most pathetic, quivering voice.

“Steve, how could you let this happen to me?!” you whimpered, tears gushing down your face on command. “How could you do this to me? You were my friend, my leader...”

He went white, almost gasping, and you couldn’t help but break at the sight of him, with a short little cackle ringing out. 

“Such a softie,” you murmured, face pulling back into neutral lines at the drop of a dime.

But on orders not to engage, you found this was getting boring fast. Time to get this done.

Fear and heartbreak was the name of the game, for both you and them. Plant it in them to complete the mission. Then the real torture of your newly altered life would begin again.

With your black eyes coupled with a bloody smile, you gave off an instantly disturbed feeling, and that didn’t escape your friends.

“You should be running,” you said low, smile growing.

Eight Months Later

The Winter Soldier stood- as he always did- arms crossed. Only when Gerault came in did he drop his arms, ready for orders.

Pathetic and submissive. You, on the other hand, didn’t leave your chair, leaning back leisurely. You tapped your metal finger down impatiently, your new metal hand now matching the Soldier’s arm.

Typical stealth assassin. No creativity, no will. The Beast that ran under your skin was not the same as his. And your mind turned around how you could make him bend under your will, what pain you could cause this stone statue of man.

Don’t you fucking touch him! you screamed, somewhere deep down in your mind, locked away and easy to ignore.

You had been here for some time and need something to occupy yourself.

It was a dark and gritty room, like most of where you spent your time. Your days were filled with experimentation, your body being slashed and stitched over and over, you brain fucked with a cocktail of drugs pumped through you to alter this or that about you. Then, out of your mind and torn apart, they sent out on missions to test the effectiveness of their meddling. 

Months this went on, each session worse than the last. Each episode breaking your down. Each experiment letting loose the maniac in you yet forcing you to submit to their commands. It caused a rift inside you, breaking you apart and burying the person you once were underneath the madness of it.

So yet again, you were back after the latest mission, needing to give a summary to Gerault himself, who refused to be too long without either of you, his real life trophies in all this. As per the routine of it all, you found yourself in this depressing and dank room, unremarkable and boring you not to tears but fury.

Finally you caught the sound of distant footsteps down the hall. Gerault soon walked in with a few other men in tow, veering slightly to the side where the Soldier was. 

Really, the man could say “beg” and you would be down on your knees groveling. Your “processing and conditioning” (also known as mental and physical torture and drug experimentation) over the months making your will bend to his.

But that was if he could say it faster than you could move to snap his neck. 

Hence the needed protection of the Soldier.

At his entry, they had left the door wide open and naturally your eyes flitted to it than back to Gerault, who watched you, waiting for you to make a move.

Run! Get out! Please, just end this!

You almost externally scoffed, looking down to your hand with a slight smile to hide it. Your old self remained, a voice in your head, screaming and wailing and generally being a fucking nuisance.

Run, damn it!...

But you stayed, looking to Gerault with a pleasant expression. He wasn’t stupid and neither were you. Whatever they were doing to you now was not like before when you were under their power previously. The last heads of Hydra had been much more careful. Gerault was pompous, thinking he could take you further, could push you farther. 

And happily, you would go where he led you. Because somewhere he would make a mistake. And you would strike. 

His freewheeling attitude about you being up and around under (somewhat) of your own will (even with the Soldier) was a dangerous game and he liked to play it, believing he had thought of everything. In those years while you were a free agent with the Avengers he schemed and planned and prepared for this. 

Well, he wasn’t going to win this so easily.

Every round of torture they committed on you made you certain of that.

So no, you didn’t run. He would be expecting that. You needed something he wasn’t expecting. Something that would hurt.

“Soldat, mission report,” he said. His eyes were on you though.

You could practically see him trying to hide the thrill in his eyes and the fear of you there. It had been his life’s work to get you back into the fold and he had done it. Now he was going to try for something even greater.

He meandered a little, walking behind the Soldier who stood stock still.

“Mission completed.” the Soldier’s voice came, deep and dead sounding.

“Well, that’s not very descriptive. How did our Siren do? Anything out of line?”

“No.”

Gerault nodded, clearly trying to hide his pleasure. He thought he was winning. Thought he could win.

To his credit, you had been a good little girl for him, this being your eleventh mission now. Basic murder, evisceration, or a bit of psychological torture. Last nights was just another test to see how you would do.

It had been a family. Ex-Shield agents who met on the job, married, had a couple kids. They were celebrating their youngest 15th birthday when the Winter Soldier and Siren came to their door. The four of them never stood a hope in hell.

Like always you were drugged to the nines, still feeling high like you usually did now out on the field. It was that or in pain, being tortured and mutilated by Hydra for maximum results. They had fixed your mind, altering what they needed too to make you compliant to them alone. Though obviously still quite unlike the Soldier.

They shut down his emotions (externally anyway, you knew Bucky was down there somewhere screaming like the old Y/N was in you). They wanted stealth and unrelenting brute force, and they certainly got it with him. 

In you, you were full of emotion. It raged and burned and kept you spiraling out of control from one state to the next, drugs and triggers keeping you line mostly. They had shut off your inhibitions and revved up the need for destruction. He was calculating and cold; you were calculating and burning, constantly.

Hence the need to see how you would perform, if still under constant and direct supervision by someone they could count on.

The Soldier would watch, would sometimes command you to do what Hydra wanted. But usually he just stood back, watching your carnage, and judged. Never had his compliance come into question though and unlike the convictions of Gerault or Hydra, you knew that it should be.

You kept silent on the several times you noticed a tick from him. Just a glimmer of the man underneath shining through.

If Gerault asked you, you would no choice but to answer, truthfully. But he didn’t.

They might give you orders, but if you could slither around them? You would. They made you an agent of chaos and blood here. It would be a shame to keep things too orderly and clean, anyway. 

They forced you to let loose and yet kept you on a string. It was likely to be an explosive end result. And they loved him so dearly. You were going to exploit that.

The previous heads of Hydra kept you hurting, kept you broken. Gerault wanted to see the full hurricane force of you unleashed as much as he could. And that just gave you way too much power to be forever controlled.

So you sat, leaned back, waiting for the time when you could really do some damage.

“She always loved a messy fight,” Gerault said, flecks of hunger in his eyes.

You felt more than saw a flicker in the Soldier beside you, and at Gerault words you casually looked at the one called “the Asset”.

He had flinched. You had seen that before. Last night was the most recent. It seemed to be happening more.

You had grabbed his hand which was holding a knife, and plunged it into a wailing man as you had just about had enough of his mewling cries for mercy. At the touch of your skin to his- your hand holding his hand- the Soldier had flinched.

You studied him now, trying to feign a cool casualness about you, head tilted, body relaxed.

Your touch seemed to do it. But certain words as well. You felt a deep pull to find out more, sensing a way to make him suffer. You could always pick up what made people hurt the most and were instinctually drawn to take painful advantage of it.

You would find his and whatever it was, you would make him hurt. You wanted everyone to suffer, particularly Gerault. But you would settle for a little fun on the side for their Golden Boy.

Stop it!... Keep your fucking eyes off of him!...

My my, how venomous.

“The next mission is the mission. It’s The Avengers. All of them.”

Again, his eyes were on you. 

This was a way to torture you, no doubt. To go after your friends and teammates, to cause them harm or kill them or have them hurt you? That would be the nail in your coffin of sheer, unbridled pain and secure in Hydra’s mind your ability to comply. And he knew it. His plan to break you down and push you farther in action.

“You both have inside knowledge of all of them. And I think it’s about time to use that.” he then shrugged, looking at his nails trying to feign an air of disinterest, in his arrogance. “You’re ready, at any rate. And you’re worthy.”

At the word “worthy” your head snapped over to the Soldier as a visible movement shaked him, and for a moment his eyes turned from dead and limp to an awake shock of blue.

Worthy?

Then it clicked into place.

The words you had spoken. Just like Hydra could trigger him to the Winter Soldier, maybe your words- the ones you were trying to engrain into him- could trigger him back? Coupled with your touch, which even back in the 50′s had roused him, maybe you could actually do it this time. Wake him up.

And now Gerault wanted to take down the Avengers. All of them.

Fucking stop this!... Don’t! Please!... Just let me go!...

You simply nodded once to Gerault, slowly. You weren’t stupid enough to speak directly to him anymore, he who was likely to get a rise out of it and plunge you back into a tortured hell just to hear you scream.

Confidently he turned to the men with him.

“Get them both prepped for a fight.” he said, practically buzzing with delight. “Full measures taken, perhaps the three-day long session we were discussing. We can’t risk a slip-up.”

Gerault left the room with a smile and a confident walk, leaving the four now doomed men behind.

Your plan was already in place in your mind now though, and it didn’t have room for them.

They approached however slow, with hands on their gun to the pair of you. Really they didn’t stand a chance. Poor things.

Don’t do th-

As one man reached to put a hand on your shoulder- and no one touched you without severe consequences- you let out one toothy grin, eyes hungry with a smile dancing behind them.

He was in tactical gear, bulletproof vest and all, but you didn’t need a gun to reach through to his insides. 

Like a shot your metal hand whipped out and went into the little bit of exposed fabric just below his armpit. Like a shot of lightning you cut through the fabric and into his flesh by pure force. And you didn't stop until your fingers hit lung.

With a gargle, he began to drop like a rock. 

Before his body even hit the ground you swung up and kicked another Hydra agent in the face, teeth and blood knocked right out and hitting like pellets against the far wall. You pounced to snap his neck, grabbing his weapon and shot the other two, silencer ringing out quietly.

You didn't have a chance to breathe before the Soldier was on you, forcing you down on the ground. His metal hand grabbing your own that held the gun, shrieking as he tried to restrain you. His flesh elbow pinned down yours, body trying to crush you under his weight. But he wouldn’t be winning this today.

Fucking hurt him and I’ll kill you!... Don’t touch him!... Oh god, just stop...

Such a broken record.

You didn’t have to hurt him, you just needed him still for a second. So than yeah actually, you kinda had to hurt him.

Swinging a knee up you jabbed him in the ribcage, knocking him to the side slightly, enough for your other knee to go up to his groin repeatedly and push him off more. There was split second where his elbow on your arm loosen, and you swung your forehead into his face as hard as you could. A brutal sounding smack rang out and as he leaned back at that force, his blood spilling down on you like a delicate spring mist.

With enough leverage and room to move, you forced your arm out from under him, grabbing the gun from your metal hand. 

God, no!... Stop, don’t!....

A shot rang out and the Soldier flew back off you, raining more blood. God, that felt so good. When someone hurt, you were rewarded. It was just intoxicating to hurt people now.

You threw the gun away and grabbed the fabric of his leather tactical coat, hoisting him up onto a chair. He was dazed but cognizant, your shot hitting an area of muscle below the shoulder but above the heart. Right on target.

Time was crucial here, you only had minutes. You were determined to get this done and finally start having some satiating fun.

You smiled down to the man then straddled him, hips grinding into his lap. You grabbed his face in your hands, bringing it close to yours.

Get the fuck off of him you fucking-

“If touch won’t fully do it, maybe a combination will?” you muttered, wriggly closer to him, as close as you could.

Even though you were different now, your times with the Avengers were there in your memories. Including you time with Bucky, with those warm delicately intimate nights together. You felt a pull of familiarity there, so close to him now, bodies pressing together.

You looked to him, drawing his face almost to your lips. A hand held his jaw while another went through his hair, holding him to you.

“Bucky,” you whispered.

Face falling back not into one of a wicked smile and crazed eyes, you watched him. Your look was now soft, honest, unguarded to the loving, concerned feelings below.

“Bucky, darling,” you cooed, looking into his dazed but watching eyes. “Come back to me, my love.”

You brushed your nose down his cheek, before starting to press soft kisses into his cheek, eyelids, and corner of his mouth.

“Bucky, please,” you begged, sounding needy and desperate. “Don’t let them hurt me anymore, don’t let them take me away from you again.”

You pulled back every so slightly, mouth open and breath mingling with his, face pouting and eyes starting to brim with tears. You felt a flinch run through him, saw a stirring in his eyes.

Perfect.

No!...

“My love,” you whispered, lips hovering above his before kissing him once, slow and chaste. “You are worthy.”

This time he jerked but you didn’t stop.

You placed another, deeper and longer kiss on his lips before pulling back a little. “You are so loved, my darling.”

And you felt him move under you.

Another kiss, wet and deep, as you brought your arms around his head locking him into you, wanting as much physical contact with him as possible. Even as a brainless toy soldier he was delicious.

You brushed your fingers through his hair, looking deeply into him, urging him to come out.

“You are not what they made you, my love. You can break through this. Come back to me, darling.”

With his shudder under you, you pulled away, watching for the telltale signs of Bucky.

Immediately he clutched his shoulder where you shot him, blood still pool out of it, blue eyes pained and shocked. You immediately got off of him, watching for some concrete sign he was not the Soldier.

But his eyes said it all. They were Bucky’s. 

That was all the confirmation you needed.

Running to the grab the gun on the floor, you next bolted to the door and grabbed the outdated intercom, pulling the receiver up, voice sounding pained and frantic.

“It’s Bucky!” you screamed, sounding desperate. “The Winter Soldier he- he’s just gone! Bucky’s killed four men and he’s after me! Please! I need help! Someone! Oh, god!”

“...Siren? What the f-” was a static response.

But you made a choked noise before hanging up the receiver. Right on cue a flashing red light lit up the room, sirens wailing. Calmly while illuminated in red, you turned back to Bucky.

He was crumpled slightly, hunched over with a hand still on his shoulder, looking tormented and struggling under his new ability to control himself again.

You looked at him with a predatory gaze in your eyes and smile on your lips.

“They’ll be after you now, Soldier Boy. You should go. Though, I think I’ll stick around just a little longer.”

He stumbled to his feet, still dazed by the sudden awakening and pain of the last months catching up with his fully conscious body.

He stumbled to the door, almost brushing passed you as his hand and body fell against it, trying to push the thing open.

“See you soon, honey.” you said, low and sweet to him.

Walking back over to the chair, you casually took a seat, leaning back like you had been mere minutes ago. 

Shouts and voices were heard down the hall. He was running out of time. He could either leave now and maybe get out, or hesitate and be dragged back into this hell.

Bucky!... Bucky, don’t leave me, please!... Don’t go! Oh god, don’t leave me here!...

You waved, gun in hand, relishing in the way his face crumpled as, completely out of options, he left you behind.

PART NINETEEN

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[anxious-amethyst]

I don’t see people go into the nitty gritty bits of mental health..

And I mean those details that I find not many people speak of. As if its taboo to mention we are human. I have a filter made of cling wrap with giant holes in it. And the cling wrap bunches up in places too, distorting the words to others’ perspectives; making me come off as a bitch. (I truly am a very kind person, I am just bad with social skills at times.) My point being, that I have no problem speaking my truth to all of you invisible faces that may or may not see this. I’m sure down the road, if I ever finish and publish my novel and become J.K. Rowling famous (a dream of mine) that this can easily be dug up. I will smile with a small laugh in that interview with Stephen Colbert and be frank. 

The tags come at the end of a post and not everyone filters everything that makes them (is it squick? what was that word that is a better replacement for trigger..) So as a heads up, if you absolutely can’t stand the thought of body, hmm, uh functions I suppose. (Not sure what category my topic falls in to) then I have given you an escape rope. (Now I want to play Pokemon again.)

As I am being completely honest and transparent, I literally can’t seem to figure out when A. my nervous breakdown began (still in it) and B. when I last showered, heck even brushed my teeth. Now I know several things, thankfully. One being that I have not left the house this whole week from April 14th to today, April 20th. Easter is tomorrow and I am forcing myself (to the best of my abilities) to attend Church and the whole family get together. My plan being, Church is for God and you owe it to him and yourself to go and be lifted up. Family gathering is going to be hell, no point sugar coating it. So bring a book and think of the Strawberry/Pretzel Casserole that Aunt Faith hopefully made and the sweet pickles that Pop-Pop usually brings. Remember to be kind to yourself and fake a smile, these are the people you do NOT want to be honest with. Lie through your ass like your life depends on it because in a way, it does. You are not obligated to say anything more than hello, give hugs however because you need and love them. Do speak for a bit so as not to be rude. But the book is your safety net. Deploy it ASAP. And somehow get your loving cousin to attach to your sister instead.

A nitty gritty part that is not gross, is the withdrawal... from everyone. Like I’m straight up not talking to anyone unless I have to, and society is out of my mind. I do however, happily speak with my irl friend when she messages. I know she is busy though and has her own problems so I try to censor my frankness quite a bit because she doesn’t deserve that kind of worry. Unfortunately, my parents and sister are not able to be kept out of the whole truth for their protection. They see it. I don’t even have to say a thing. I have been threatened with a, how to put this nicely, place full of even crazier people imo and where they drug you to the high heavens. Yeah. I’m not flying over the cuckoo’s nest. (Deep terror of those places, this will not be helpful to me.) But that gives you an idea of how bad this breakdown is. The other thing I know, is that it started on Sunday. I’m inclined to believe that it was the April 14th Sunday, but am unsure as it still feels like Monday. So maybe this breakdown is heading into a week, maybe not. One thing is, those websites were right. The longer a breakdown continues, the worse it gets. Each day is less and less food, water, and movement. And that’s just basic necessities. I’m trying to hold out for my therapist appointment coming up next week. She has so many people though, that each appointment is a week or two, sometimes more, away. Not exactly the best mental treatment for my situation, I admit. But I am stubborn, perhaps that stubborness can save me while I also shoot myself in the foot. Its possible.

Now for the gross nitty gritty. Apologies for the many tangents, turns out when you don’t talk to anyone for a week, you end up with a lot to say. Good news! I finally showered AND shaved my armpits which hadn’t been shaved in months. So they can breathe I guess, and my skin can breathe too LOL. But with depression can come fatigue. I have that. So a normal depressed person can be way too exhausted to even think of a shower. For others, it may be some other form of hygiene. All forms of hygiene have died with my depression. On top of that, the bitch depression bought a horrible, mangy dog with her called Executive Dysfunction. This mutt dogs your every step. (Thank God, depression didn’t steal my love for jokes, puns, and metaphors.) Some people have depression that goes an extra step and brings about the literal destruction of that executive function system in their brain. (I just mean that the signals are all fucked up.) And then, some people with both of these also have Anxiety! So they end up with all of these contradicting thoughts and emotions that in the end, makes tasks, like showering, unaccomplishable. Now there are many other conditions that bring about these issues, I am aware, but I am speaking of my own and know for a fact that I can’t be the only one with these kinds of experiences. So this gross factor goes out to all of those who have experienced the same level of cringe or worse, and aren’t up to the potential ridicule that comes with expressing your truth. (To be clear, I’m not dedicating a gross thing to you out of spite, I just mean I’m making a problem you have encountered, heard as well.) 

By the end of the shower, I could barely make it. I was slowing down realllll fast. The NeebsGaming video I was listening to on YouTube is what got me through the shower. Gosh those guys are great. I shaved my armpits before washing my body because I figured stray hair or shaving cream might be in the crevice of one’s arm that I legit can’t see, even with glasses. Between the amount of hair that came out of my head during scrubbing shampoo like a madman, any stray dog hairs that my head picked up from my pillow which my dog sleeps on when he waits for me to snuggle, and the long armpit hair; the drain was kinda blocked. Our shower has that metal thing with holes in it, so its not as terrifying of a drain. But excessive hair or large lumps of solid soap (from a soap bar) can block off a hole. Or in my case, all. So water is not draining, which naturally means the tub is filling. My body is slowing down and I’m trying to push through it while not thinking of the disgusting water approaching my feet. If you’ve ever washed your hands after not washing them for ages and touching many things out in the world, the water, and sometimes soap, turns varying shades of gray. Depends on the dirt particles and amount of dirtiness.Well I has transparent, because its water, charcoal shaded water approaching me. As if my own filth refused to leave my body and was threatening to drag me down the drain with it. 

When I finally finished and got out of the shower, I almost decided to just leave it. Thinking that maybe it will eventually drain on its own. I’m glad I didn’t. I began reaching my hand down to the drain and told myself not to think too much about how pubic hair makes me cringe and how pulling hair from a drain in general, makes me gag. Its a disturbing act if you ask me. Now I’m struggling to get armpit hair off of my hand and there’s somehow still loads more! So I dry my other hand on my towel and rip off a piece of toilet paper. The water is still not draining and I disturbed the many hairs when I went for the first grab. So now I am fishing in charcoal water for clumps of armpit hair. Then wiping it onto the paper. The water finally drains..... oh no.... I kid you not, a whole fucking trail of dirt was left on both sides of the tub on the water’s way to the drain. I take the showerhead and turn it on. Now I’m washing hair and dirt and some other substance I couldn’t see at the time (nearsighted plus the tub is white) down the drain. Except the hair covers the drain again. Typical. At least the dirt and the tub was rinsed. Since there’s no more water, I take a sheet of toilet paper again, and save myself from having to deal with pubic hair that sticks to any surface. (Seriously, what is the deal with pubic hair.) But there’s something else in it. And a lot of this something else. Like a whole body’s worth. The pubic hair is laced with large clumps of tannish, white (my skin color) skin cells. Now I have rubbed my arm before and made a trail of dead skin rolled up into fine lines appear. In the shower I wiped my face with my hand and pulled away that same rolled up skin. But I have never, experienced this amount of filth from myself before. I am still rubbing off some skin, so I probably should have washed my body a second time.

When you become so “broken” that you can’t seem to take care of yourself in a normal time and a healthy manner, you get to learn new things about the human body and experience some events that you probably could have gone your whole life without knowing. And that is something that I feel should be shared more often. That when the person who experienced this, opens up to those they trust, or to a complete stranger, that an appropriate reaction and response be given.

Julie: And then I saw large clumps of my own skin!

Tyrone: Oh damn girl, that is nasty. 

Julie: I know right! But the saddest part is, it probably won’t be the last time. I don’t think its enough to get me to shower regularly. 

Tyrone: Julie, while that isn’t “fine”, it is fine. It is understandable. You are experiencing and suffering from a very real problem. While I can’t confidently say it is or isn’t in your control because I’m no psychologist or whatever, I can confidently say that it won’t always be like this. I doubt that your whole life will be this mess that you are in. Now you may not be back to peak function a year from now, but you will definitely be more knowledgeable of yourself and probably better than you are today. It takes time and so long as God doesn’t need you in Heaven, I’d say you have time. *chuckles* I don’t know all that you are going through, I just met you. And I don’t know how to help you in a way that you may need. But I can certainly offer an ear or two, and a hug if you want one. You just keep on trucking on. You aren’t doing much, and you aren’t doing well. But you are here, and that’s an achievement in of itself.

Julie: Wow, thanks Tyrone. This really helped. One weight on my chest has been lifted, and I will take you up on that hug if you don’t mind.

That’s what it should be like. So if you are reading this and are like Tyrone, not suffering from mental health issues, but you know someone who is, or a stranger comes up to you in need of someone to listen to them; be like him. Offer encouragement and understanding, give advice if asked for it, don’t force physical contact without consent because some people are paranoid (like me) and choose your words and expressions carefully. If someone tells you something gross, react like you are grossed out (which you likely are) but don’t put them down for it. I imagine Tyrone to have that expression of “holy cow, you serious that this happened” when he said it was nasty. That easy going expression can clue Julie in on how he isn’t getting on her, or implying anything sexist by how she is a woman and shouldn’t be this filthy. He’s jovially charismatic, and open. That makes Julie comfortable and feel lighter. Now I included religion in Tyrone’s comment to tack on some humor without making jokes at Julie’s expense, and to show how to appropriately use your spirituality, if you have one. He’s not forcing it down her throat, she may not get the satire of the joke, but he tried. Not to mention, that Heaven, in Christianity, is a place where you are whole and happy. When you go to Heaven, you are with God and your loved ones. You live an eternal life of peace. So for him to imply that she is worth God’s eyes and Heaven, means that he respects her and is lifting her up. Bonus, he is reassuring her that while time is not infinite and we don’t know what the future holds for us, as of today, she still has plenty of time to get back on the track that she desires to be on. Instilling hope and faith. If you were on Julie’s side of life, wouldn’t you want a kind and funny Tyrone to listen and talk to?

[unorthodork]

I don’t really like saying anything uber mega personal here, because I’m sorta just here to reblog relative stuff, and maybe write a little? However, I feel I need to get some stuff off my chest. Depression is perhaps the most devastating mental war there is. It is at moderate difficulty to enter such a war zone, although ridiculously easy to remain. You have no choice to vacate and return to your family, only to man the guns and arm yourself to endure this one soldier battle. The rivalry between joy and depression plays tug of war with your mental stability, a lone troop desperate to escape. Joy enrolls and deports you to the battlefield with little to no notice, a lingering presence of an infinite vast No Man’s Land. Tarnished terrain with jagged sharp branches that disperse from ash brown bark makes the land look like a filter. Not a single barricade in place, you trek onward with the assumption this first passage will be simple to cross. A few miles in, unsuspecting of such a disturbance, you fall into a trench. Luckily it isn’t very deep, minor as if it were unfinished. You dig your fingers into the Earth, flinching as you feel a rock attempt to slip beneath your nail. You check your flesh, unscathed as it has always been, many would compliment and envy your complexion and condition. Upon settling both feet onto the terrain, you step on a shard of glass that barely pricks the heel of your sneakers. “I may need a change of footwear more suitable,” you conclude, pulling out a pair of pristine combat boots. Your eyes dart between your current favorite pair of rainbow sneakers, and the midnight black combat boots. Reluctantly, you change pairs and stuff the favored item into your rucksack. Wiggling your toes and looking down, you realize you much preferred the saturated and colorful option over the grim, achromatic resort. The petal falls free from the rose, the first chip off the old block that is your happiness. The glass caught between the soles go unnoticed by your newly recruited self, properly suited for the rubble now. As your mind begins to wander and ramble, distracted you trip over a small sack barricade. A hand swats away dust and pebble nestled into the fabric of ocean blue denim jeans, yet again a favorite article of clothing. A light sigh slips between parted, plush lips as a set of leg pads jerk free from a small compartment. Strapped tight around plump thighs and durable knees, the color is a dim grey that instantly makes you miss the vibrancy of your trousers. Weeks fly by as quickly as the crows overhead, days of the week less monitored than prior. Was it Monday, or Wednesday? Perhaps it was a Friday or Sunday? The silver watch fastened around an overused wrist broke long ago, and so you lost your track of time. Barricades, debris, rivers and trenches have came your way and ultimately resulted in an entire change of your wardrobe. “I won’t be leaving this place with all intact.” Thought to be alone, the pistol within its holster is gripped firmly upon a shadowy figure approaching. “Hey friend, I’ll help you find your way about. It’s awfully lonely here, isn’t it?” spoke a scrawny civilian, decked in gear alike yourself which indicated they may have been a solider rather than common folk. You nod and accept the invitation of their company, friendship is a good thing after all; they appear wholly capable of surviving these harsh conditions, the battle will be easier together. What is it you’re looking for, pal?” “Um, it’s the guy who created all of this..destruction. The bodies,” You gesture your thumb towards one of the many surrounding piles of lifeless corpses, sided by various weapons. Their eyes widened in fear, taking a hasty few steps back before exclaiming in a shaky manner “Oh no, not it.” “You’re seeking it,” “Yes, I am? Who exactly are we talking about here?” They shook their head, retrieving a dull blade beside a body they for some reason took interest in. Aged blood the shade of rust was smeared by saliva coating a slim thumb, much to your surprise. “Not a who, a what. Maybe a who depending on how far gone you are.” You tilt your head in confusion. “It is a gastly demon you see, one I advise to steer clear of.” In a battle stance, you shake your head triumphantly, “I will act accordingly when I see it, then.” The following crackle of vocal cords startle you, this man hasn’t been so loud, every word spoken pillow soft. Anxiety racks your nerves and thought process, heart beat increasing. “You can’t see it, useless kid. Do you lack sense? It’s invisible or otherwise similar to dense smoke, kind too. It has to be to ensure the thoughts can get in, now let’s travel onwards.” You hadn’t thought much of the insult, as it’s been heard so many times you assume it’s likely correct, that you lack sense. Useless was a new one, however speaking up may not be quite beneficial, so you follow his lead now. A sickly crooked smile highlights already wrinkled features, skin crinkled even more so thanks to his expression as you begin to feel inferior in comparison to this solider. He knows more about this creature, after all. Months have sailed along in resemblance to the battleships that once littered the now surrounding body of water. During this journey you were fortunate enough to meet another survivor, and learn more about Sixten, the other occupant of your party. Anorexic and skeletal in result of such, he forcefully kept true to making his body reject all meals. You found this out the one night he’d stripped himself of his sweater and faced the dead trees, the only sound other than the roaring, luminescent fire being gagging and violent hacks. Sixten Davis, Luci Furr, and yourself. You and Luci have grown quite close, a relationship that blossomed gradually although now somewhat sketchy. Being with her, you've learned it's much to blame yourself over the latter; Hearing seemingly endless complaints and witnessing shed tears pool at the underside of her pointed chin. The loyalty established is as well questionable, as many a nights may you find hear her lilted giggling and Sixten's voice mingling in the distance. "We've met the end of land, sea is only ahead," You exclaim with a hint of sadness, the life and essence you once contained now in bottled amounts. "Make yourself useful then, and begin to craft a raft," Luci giggled at the intentional rhyme in his demand. "Perhaps you can help?" You inquire sharply, eyes narrowed and brows knitted together in irritation. Luci was quick to defend Sixten's honor, unlike yourself. "He's on watch for any more demons, don't be rude to him. We don't have to help you, you're luck to have us." Relax, the therapist once said it helps to breathe deeply. "This is why I must insult them, I don't get why they can't just learn." Your eye twitches, ire boiling in the pit of your stomach. Inhale. "It's their fault anyways, dragging us along on this trip," "Ungrateful as always." Exhale. "You both treat me like absolute trash! How is it my fault, when Luci is the one who ate all the rations? When you're the one who screwed the calculations and sent us on a run around in the forest?!" You soon regret this outburst, silence numbing your skin as it tingles and the palms of your hands grow clammy. A year has driven by now, and you've forgotten the type of car you'd once desired, otherwise you would compare the statements. Luci robbed you of your supplies and self esteem, whilst Sixten had vicked you of your prized physical attribute. A once clear complexion was now littered with scars from a sharpened blade, the same dull knife Sixten pocketed and spent time repairing afterwards. To spite you, he'd carved many insults into the flesh of your stomach and chest to remind you of who you are. Tired limbs swam through filthy waters to the next slice of land, fragile bones creaked and moaned like old wood from the constant maneuver of land not one bit level with the rest. Here you stand now, before the ghoul you've long searched for. It depressed you how many trials you'd suffered just to see it was exactly as Sixten described it, smoke. "Hello, it." "Please, call me friend." It's voice echoed and repeated as if someone played multiple audio clips at the same time from different tabs. It's tone was inviting, warmth enveloping you as it approached a single step closer. You shook my head hastily in rejection, fearing now what friendship's purpose was, and what it truly meant. It's hand was firm and constricting on your shoulder however, despite the vain attempt at warding it away. Physical contact has grown void in your life, it's hold served pleasant and home-like. "I cannot hurt you, my dear. Please, invite me in." It's request made little sense, nonetheless you accepted it. Everything sounded fuzzy and unclear with it's grasp growing uncomfortable now, the pain felt relieving though, you make no attempt to pull back. Slowly nodding, it smiles, "Good, very good." You realize it didn't smile, rather you visioned it. Charming little nothings were whispered softly and rotated about in your membrane, and the cold pressure of a pistol to your temple failed to wake you. "You've endured so much pain, why not join me, and lessen the amount of hurt you experience? You don't have to feel it any more." Hot tears streamed down cool blemmished cheeks, calloused fingers pressing tighter into the weapon. "Pull the trigger." For a mere moment you debated tugging it back, before your eyes widened upon seeing yourself stand upright before you. The curve of plush lips complemented untouched skin. A rainbow tie die t-shirt to match your rainbow sneakers, Converse brand just like you liked them. Ocean blue denim jeans. "The sooner you do, the quicker the pain will vanish." Beside that image was the current you, mirrored in horrific fashion. This wasn't the you everyone would recognize and remember, certainly not the one you'd wanted to be. Dusty combat boots that faded away from their once true color of midnight black, split from the now flat soles. Loosely hanging padding on your legs, arms, and chest. Greasy locks strewn about a grimey forehead, dandruff flakes caked onto your scalp. Ocean blue denims now faded to an ash color, a tiedie shirt near black and white. A trembling hand pulls up the shirt to reveal carved flesh, reading adjectives like "Stupid," "Useless," and "Weak." A violent scream echoes, and a bang follows. The trigger was pulled.

[thetransgenderwiki]

Being Trans Online

While the internet, unlike the outdoors, provides little to no opportunity for direct physical harm to us, it is still just as dangerous. There are fewer consequences for what is said online, and this can is potentially very damaging for minorities such as transgender people - ESPECIALLY trans youth. Just as for all youth, the internet has brought as many opportunities for harm as it has for growth.

The dangers that transgender people face online:

Misinformation - There are a lot of people out there spreading information, both intentionally and unintentionally. This can be severely damaging to the transgender community.

Cyberbullying - The abuse, sadly, does not stop in the streets. People can say some really nasty things online, and being bullied is hard for EVERYONE, no matter your identity.

Manipulation - There are many people, in and out of the trans community, that try to use your/their identity/situation as a mask or a means to get people to do what they want. For trans youth especially, this could lead to compromising situations that could traumatize them in ways others can only begin to understand.

Exposure to sensitive/inappropriate topics in the case of trans youth - The internet is far from a sensitive platform of information or communication. The last thing we want is for youth as young as 10 being exposed to information about self-harm, or to stories or visuals of other disturbing content. This information and those visuals are out there, and in ABUNDANCE.

Exposure to dangerous individuals - Whether it is to a pedophile, a murderer, a manipulator, a kidnapper, or any other dangerous individuals, we don't truly know anyone online. This puts all people, not just transgender people, at risk.

Things we can do to minimize the risks for ourselves and for others:

Always research before spreading something - Make sure the information you're spreading has something to back it - whether it's a different source or making sure the original source is not outdated. In the case of information surrounding the transgender community, sometimes the cause of an argument is simply an opinionated person who has got the facts wrong. It can just be as simple as providing the correct information.

Be careful 'where' you are online - There are some platforms online that are full of hate - Tumblr itself has its fair share of unpleasant individuals. It is a case of avoiding these threads, or even the worst of these platforms, completely, and warning others about them! Reading harmful threads, or worse, replying to them can put you under a lot of fire that you don't need or deserve to deal with. Being trans is hard enough without reading hundreds of thousands of threads about what people say they "would to you" if they ever met you, simply because you're trans.

Be careful who you speak to online - There's nothing wrong with making friends online - it's one of the joys of the internet. But it's important to know who to put your trust into, and to know where you're drawing the line with them. If you're getting dodgy vibes, don't ignore them! You don't "owe" anyone online anything, and if you're putting your all into "friendships" online with very little back, don't be afraid to drop out of this, or even seek help. There are some horrible people online, so please, keep your guard up. This goes for anyone.

Know your triggers - If there are topics, threads, people or content that endangers you by being in contact it, try your best to filter it out! Many platforms have filters you can put in place to keep certain content away from you - don't be afraid to use them. Don't hesitate to block people who scare you, and DO NOT hesitate to know when you have to report things to the police if they get out of hand!

NEVER READ THE COMMENTS ON HATEFUL/'CONTROVERSIAL' POSTS, ESPECIALLY IF THEY PERSONALLY  AFFECT YOU - Just don't. It's not worth it, and it will probably upset you more than you expect.

I know this topic isn't exactly "trans exclusive". However, it is very important. There are too many threads of transphobia across more platforms than one can count online. Transgender people already face higher mental health risks than the average person, and something as simple as blocking certain tags, or knowing when to stop interacting. might just save a life - and that life might just be yours.

What to do when:

You're being harassed online:

https://www.googleadservices.com/pagead/aclk?sa=L&ai=DChcSEwjZ2-uxoc7iAhVvte0KHfxoChgYABAAGgJkZw&ohost=www.google.com&cid=CAESEeD2C74aVHB0VR9uBSo-VeH_&sig=AOD64_28gaw4636PLLsnwf2KbJFtXpdzYA&q=&ved=2ahUKEwi8reOxoc7iAhXBTRUIHfOGCgEQ0Qx6BAgLEAE&adurl=

https://www.seventeen.com/life/a14724/dealing-with-cyberbullying/

http://endcyberbullying.net/what-to-do-if-youre-a-victim/

Many of these recommend talking to an adult, as they are aimed towards a younger audience. In the case of older people seeking help, it could be just as helpful to talk to a counselor or a therapist if you have one, or even to START counseling or therapy if needed!

You're being threatened online:

https://www.lifewire.com/what-to-do-if-youve-been-threatened-online-2487763

http://www.legalaid.qld.gov.au/Find-legal-information/Personal-rights-and-safety/Safety/Threats-abuse-and-harassment

You're being stalked online:

https://www.googleadservices.com/pagead/aclk?sa=L&ai=DChcSEwilodnEo87iAhUKsO0KHR7WCPEYABAAGgJkZw&ohost=www.google.com&cid=CAESEeD2901YONTQTVFcff3vns71&sig=AOD64_105u_rUzAiz0s357k7KcQ9dpvMSg&q=&ved=2ahUKEwjb_dHEo87iAhVxs3EKHeMhCrkQ0Qx6BAgKEAE&adurl=

https://www.stalkingriskprofile.com/victim-support/cyberstalking

You want to avoid certain content:

https://famisafe.wondershare.com/internet-filter/internet-filter-reviews.html